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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

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hello gorgeous! if you don't mind modern au, i have an idea. if you don't feel like writing anything it'd be great to hear your thoughts abt it. daemon x wife!reader (who's somehow connected with magic but not targaryen) who are devoted to each other like madly in love. before daemon has to go to war they're saying goodbyes kissing, crying and not being able to let the other go. feeling like something's off he says smth like "i'll find you in another life. i'll find you in any time we'll be existing. i will love you any time i am alive" (in high valyrian or calling her some name in it) kissing her knuckles and going away. unfortunately, he was right. reader died some way while he was away and he remains faithful to her for the rest of his life (oc but whatever) and in the modern world he does find her. maybe targaryens are some sort of royal family, maybe they keep a family business or an ordinary family with lots of relatives. but he fins the reader and they somehow just feel. sorry if it's too much. i'd really like to read something about it but it absolutely ok if you don't feel like it. thank u in advance! take care!

Waiting For A Lifetime

Part 1 2 3 ?

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Aegon Targaryen x Reader cos it just sorta happened

Summary: Overcome by grief, Daemon turned to black magic to revive you. Moved by pity, the witch who casted the spell promised you would live until you met your love again in his next life.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Modern AU, fem!reader, mentions/depictions of death/still birth/war, my pretty boy aegon whom i would die for, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: i saw this last night when i woke up in the middle of my sleep and couldn't stop thinking about it. I changed a lot about your req nonnie. I do hope you still like it though. I absolutely could not help myself with this one and I got so carried away T_T also a lot of facts about the Targaryens have distorted so just just just roll with it ok ok ok thank you And yes i know this is a gif from the crown but i love it so much the hat falling off the kiss ITS EVERYTHING I WANT TO BE HERRRRRRRRRRRRR also i do acknowledge the fact that this anon came to me with this idea after i reblogged this amazing moodboard sooooo yeah i think this post sparked this fic idea lol ALSO ALSO ALSO 2022 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! LOVE YA ALL imagine seeing this post in like 2032 or smth shit thats like 35 years from now Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony pssst i made p2 "Never Before"

Daemon's face was streaked with tears and sorrow. His eyes were bloodshot and his voice was as sure as it was grave as he repeated the word he uttered to the shaman, "anything."

She looked at him, able to taste the desperation in the air, "even if it costs your life, prince?"

Daemon looks at his love before him, his love that was carrying his child. He places his bloody palm on the gaping wound on her stomach.

"Your child will not live even if she does."

Daemon screws his eyes shut tightly. He begins to quiver in anger, in grief, in pure sorrow. He mutters, "anything," he slowly opens his eyes to gaze upon her lifeless face, "better it me than her. There is no world worth living without her."

The woman narrows her eyes at the prince. She knew he was the Targaryen, once heir, known to be rugged and harsh. The Rouge Prince. Yet, there was no trace of malice within his being, only what she would describe as true devotion, true love.

"So, may it be done by the gods old and new," she says, drawing the prince's attention to her, "I will plead for her soul that she may live."

Daemon watches the witch, as she stands to her feet from the ground they were both sprawled on, in front of the body of the dead woman.

"I will plead that she may live long enough to meet you again in another life, so that you may have the love you have now once more."

"Another life?"

"Yes," she says, "the gods recreate humans they are pleased with to grace the earth again. I am certain they will let you be reborn to be with her again. I will make it certain."

Daemon grabs the cold hand that was beginning to stiffen.

"Although, I am unsure if they will allow you to remember her."

"I will remember her," Daemon retorts, kissing the hand of his love, "I will remember her no matter form I take... I will, I must."

"So it remains to be seen," she says before speaking out her incantation.

And it would not be seen until nearly 2000 years later.

The times have changed drastically. Women wore pants and voted. Men where made to take more responsibility for their actions, though still got away with things.

And yet...

... my love for him never faded.

Every prince that was born and named Daemon, I hoped would finally be him. It went about like this century after century, war after war, plague after plague, rise after fall. I had feared the Targaryens would die out, but they proved to be as strong as the very foundations of the earth.

And it took the televised of the marriage of Viserys XXIX to Duchess Aemma of Eyrie for me to see the face of my love: Daemon, the Wild Child, the Knight of Knickers, as penned by the press. Ultimately, the prince of my heart.

I burst into tears when I saw his cheeky face as he nudged his brother at the isle. I pressed my hands on the screen, thinking to myself, the wait was finally over, he was finally here.

All that was left was for me to meet the Prince of Valyria.

Yes. That would be no problem at all.

Except it was, because Daemon was just as mad as he was in this life as he was in the last.

After all, he did not get those nicknames from the press for nothing.

I used up so many of my resources to even just get a glimpse of him. It was hard to catch him in one place. I mostly caught him with a scandalous headline in the cover of magazines and newspapers.

Tonight, it was a newspaper.

"You know," the bartender taps his finger on my newspaper that was sprawled out on his bar, "he's a frequent here."

I turn to the blonde, in his white dress shirt, black waist apron, and black slacks. I raise a brow as he purses his lips as though the information was ground breaking. He wipes on a glass with his blue towel.

"Gee, Aegon," I lean on the surface before me, "I would have never guessed that from the picture on the wall."

I nod at the said picture. It's one of Daemon and the current owner of the bar, Tywin Lannister, who also happened to own Lannister Land Corp, shaking hands. Oh, Lannisters.

"Hey," Aegon shrugs, pulling his lips down in a nuff-said manner, "it had to be said, since you're literally the only patron here that has not interrogated me with questions about the Knight of Knickers."

I snort, "then allow me to change that," I rest my head on my hand, "is he truly so dashing that his looks practically steal the knickers of the ladies around him?"

Aegon finishes buffing his glass and puts it down, looking up in thought, "mmm, I think it's mostly cause he's a prince that he's got the effect he's got. I've got no idea what possessed the first girl to throw her panties at him."

I giggle, "are you saying the prince is ugly?"

"Bit harsh, innit," Aegon pulls back, getting another glass, rubbing it down with his towel, "your words, not mine."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head, as I laugh at the light haired boy's muses, "you know, if we had been living at the height of the Targaryen rule, Daemon would have had your head for that, pretty boy."

"Gods, to be beheaded," he sighed, "a dream, rather than working here, taking about some monarch who lives off the money of the people."

I snort once more. Aegon's face softens as he breaks into a laugh himself.

"No, but honestly," he says putting down the glass and the towel, "you, my dear, are my saving grace. The highlight of my begrudgingly stretched out day," he stretches out a hand to me.

I chuckle at him as I take his hand. He presses a kiss on the back of it, making me grin at him in amusement.

"You're the only sane person here," he releases my hand, "everyone else is so desperate to brush shoulders with the prince, or simply even catch a of whiff of his flatulence."

I break out into a fit of chuckles, slamming firmly at the wood between us.

"No, I'm serious! I heard the fittest gal, a total bombshell, boasting with pride about how she managed a sniff of the bloke's fart."

I'm wheezing with laughter, unable to believe what I'm hearing.

Aegon releases a deep and dramatic sigh, "what has the world come to?"

I wipe a tear as Aegon watches me empty myself of laughter. His face crinkles in a pleased expression, Adam's apple bobbing as he chuckles airily.

I sigh, catching my breath, "well, if I ever become that desperate, I ask that you pray for my soul."

Aegon presses his palms together, "praying for that girl as we speak."

I chuckle, folding the newspaper before me, "I must say, I am actually desperate to meet the wild child myself."

Aegon drops his hands along with his humored expression.

I cannot help but laugh at him as I continue to fold the paper, "though, I would say I am the desperate kind that is so desperate..." I eye him as I press the grey material together, "that I, somehow, dread to meet him at all."

Aegon snorts, screwing his eyes shut as he wipes his face, "the Stranger. Don't say things like that! I nearly had a heart attack believing you."

"No, but it's true, Aegon!" I say with a faux wounded pout, "prince Daemon is my great love, we have been destined to meet for millennia!"

Aegon leans on the table, humming as he nodds his head, "yes, and I suppose I am Aegon the Conqueror."

I lean towards him and grab his jaw, "no, you look more like Aegon II. The spitting image, I dare say."

He scoffs, swatting me off, "I'm hotter than him."

I pull away, "yes. That I can agree with, pretty boy. Personal hygiene does wonders."

Aegon snorts and plays off the blush on his cheeks by wiping his nose with his thumb, "you speak as though you met him."

I straighten up, "that's because I have. He was once my nephew."

He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. His face contorts at the thought.

I raise my brows at him, "have I not told you I am not only a Targaryen historian, an expert at that, but I am also a patron of the Museum of Ice and Fire? I'm married into their family."

"Okay," he raises a finger, "ew."

I snort.

Aegon lifts his jaw and hums, "well, now that you mentioned it, I always knew you were one of those insanely rich blokes who frequent here. I was thinking you were a mafia boss or something though."

I scoff in amusement, raising my brows at him.

He pushes his white sleeves up then raises his hand in defense, "you have a very intense aura about you."

"That's because you trigger my fight mode," I retort.

He huffs, "do I? I'm scared to know what you'll do to me when I've seen what you do to men who hit on you."

"Aww, don't worry," I coo, "I wouldn't hurt my pretty, baby boy."

Aegon doesn't get to reply when a customer calls his attention. With this, he pulls away and leaves me to my own devices.

We don't get to continue our conversation at all, for it was clear that the rush hour had begun.

I eventually pulled back and decided to entertain myself while my favorite bartender was busy. I swiveled on my stool, looking out to the room, spotting the jukebox collecting dust in the corner. I smile at the sight of it, thinking about how it was still here after all these years, in spite of being older than Aegon.

I stand from my seat and walk over to it.

Aegon, finding one patron missing, frantically looks around then calms, raising a brow.

I place my hands on the jukebox, bending over to check if it was plugged in.

Aegon snorts as he hands a man a beer, eyes not at all fixed on him, "that doesn't work, love."

"Mmm, ye of little faith."

Aegon is annoyed by the man that sits on the vacated stool, blocking his vision. In retaliation, he blocks out the sound of his voice. Aegon calls out, "if you can make that hunkajunk work, I'll clear your tab for you."

I chuckle as I pull the machine forward, checking its wiring, "I wouldn't want to make a kid working on minimum wage to pay for me at all."

"I only said I would clear your tab, doll face," is all he replies before he goes back to tending to drinks again.

I break into chuckles as I fiddle with the wires on the back. I admit, it took me quite a while to go through everything, which was why Aegon warned that he would not call an ambulance for me if I got electrocuted.

The sight of the jukebox coming to life was enough to shut him up.

I get to my feet with a huff, brushing my hands off with each other. I turn to Aegon, who was already looking at me in astonishment, along with a few other people in the room.

I smirk, "my tab then?"

"Good as gone," Aegon shakes his head in disbelief, cutting his hand across his neck.

I release a satisfied sigh as I punch at the hardened buttons and play whatever it was that was available to be played.

When the music starts, I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off with the music. The sound brings back some memories I had in the 1940's. If I recall correctly, it was around this time Daemon's father, King Baelon, was crowned.

I slowly moved to the rhythm of the song, swaying my hips, waving my extended arms out as I made my way to the center of the room.

Aegon stilled in his spot upon seeing this. His breath caught in his throat and he was only brought back to reality when someone demanded a gin. He looked around the room as he poured that idjit his drink and clenched his jaw tightly when he saw the onlooking crowd.

He snorts loudly, grabbing his towel, throwing it over his shoulder roughly, clearing his throat with more noise than necessary.

I smile to myself when I hear Aegon's familiar coughing. He had a tendency to do this whenever men around me started to be a bother. And I loved him dearly for it. He was a sweet boy.

With my eyes still closed, I continue dancing to the soothing song. My smile grows bigger when a section comes that tickles my musical senses. I chuckle as I twirl in my spot.

When I felt a hand come to my waist, I didn't have to open my eyes to know it was Aegon. He wouldn't have let anyone come near me at all without barking up a storm.

I hummed at the scent of him, familiar yet foreign to me at once. He must have changed his cologne. I prefer this one better. He pulls me close when I reach out to him, grabbing one of his hands and placing a palm on his shoulder. His dress shirt is softer than what I imagined it to be.

I am surprised when he leads us into a ballroom dance. In fact, I am so shocked, I open my eyes and see a blur of his white shirt and blonde hair as he spins me around.

I break into a fit of chuckles, screwing my eyes shut in pure bliss when he dips me, "I had no idea you were a dancer, pretty boy."

"Yes, well, journalists don't find it interesting enough to write about."

My eyes burst open at the sound of the deep voice.

My heart is pounding at the sight of the smirking man with silver hair. I nearly faint at the violet irises so close to mine.

"I do say," his hot breath fans on my face, "if we were spotted by one now, they'd have a field day."

I jolt upright and shove the man away. He doesn't seem to be offended by my harsh actions, and, in fact, chuckles as he reels back from my action, "not what I had expected and not the reaction I usually get, but there's a first for everything."

My breath hitches when he smiles at me. I turn from him, to Aegon, who was staring coldly from his place behind the bar. It seems the rest of the people here were doing the same as well, gobsmacked by the presence of the man in the middle of the room

I roll my shoulders back, turning to my dance partner, "Prince Daemon," I mutter, bowing my head slowly, "pardon my rudeness."

He chuckles, waving me off as he stuffs a hand in his pocket, "oh, no need to be so formal, my dear. I can understand the shock," he tilts his head at me, lips still curved, "you surely weren't expecting to be dancing with the prince and thought me to be someone else, no?"

I look at him and stare in silence. For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words.

Everything was suddenly so real, and it was making my mind and my heart race.

Aegon watches this and clears his throat loudly.

It does not help anyone.

Daemon raises his brows at me in expectation, placing his other hand in his pocket as he leans on one leg.

I open my mouth. A second passes before I mutter, "I thought you were my pretty boy."

His lips spread into a toothy grin. Airy chuckles leave him, "I can be your pretty boy."

When he extends his hand out to me, it was like the heavens opened and I could hear the angels sing.

This was the moment I have been waiting for since that day that I came back to life and kissed him goodbye with a promise of finding him in his next one.

My breath was heavily taxed when I lifted my hand.

My soul nearly leaves me when I jolt in shock over the sound of a record scratching and jumping, repeating over and over again.

In that moment, I am hit by an epiphany. I am so overwhelmed with emotions that I could barely breathe. The sight of Daemon before me brought tears to my eyes. This was all I ever wanted, and yet-- and yet-- I was drowning. I could not breathe properly.

"I..." I shudder, making Daemon's face fall, "I have to go," I mutter through a strained breath.

Daemon knits his brows, shifting in his spot with his hand still out, "what?"

Aegon watched with tightly knit brows as I ran out of the room.

The prince drops his hand and spins on his heels, eyes locked on the runaway. His nostrils flare as his face contorts in confusion, "wait! Stop! Where are you going?!"

I heave heavily as I push past people on my way out. I am absolutely winded when I exit the establishment, hands shivering from both the cold and the nerves that were getting to me in this moment.

I walk aimlessly farther out, down to the lawn that was now dark, since it was gods-know-what hour.

"Wait!"

My heart drops.

I spin around when someone grabs my wrist. My heart is still quick in my chest when I see Daemon, heaving. His short, light hair was slightly tousled in its place. He knits his brows at me, tilting his head, "you dare leave your prince, Cinderella?"

My jaw hangs low.

He releases a sigh, shaking his head, "I forbid it."

Seeing him here and now made everything feel more Real with a capital R.

Daemon adjusts his grip on my wrist, pulling his hand back, so that he was now holding my hand.

I look at him, blinking the glassiness of my eyes away, still in shock of his presence. A million questions were running through my head, and I was glad to be able to even have the mind to ask one in this moment, "do you know me, Daemon?"

He tilts his head upon hearing this, brows knitting, lips curving. He releases a chuckle at the lack of formality and how haphazard the question was, but finds himself further drawn because of it, "no," he shakes his head, "but I would love to know you."

Hearing the words come out of his mouth shatters something in me.

He did not know me.

I turn away from him as I try to even my breath. I retreat my hand and step back as a shiver runs down my spine.

And yet here he was, chasing after me.

Daemon steps forward to make up for the space between us, "don't leave. Come back inside with me. I'll give you my coat, then you can boast that the prince of Valyria gave it to you."

I continue stepping back as I shake my head, "you don't understand," I mutter under my breath in High Valyrian.

"Then make me understand," he retorts in the same tongue with a chuckle as he shakes his head and takes a wide stride over to me, grabbing my hand again.

I gasp at the warmth of his touch. When I turn back to him, tears have finally fallen from my eyes.

Daemon's face hardens at the sight of it. His hand reaches out to my face, wiping the wetness away. The sight of his torn expression tears at me, bringing me more tears.

"Why are you crying?" he asks in High Valyrian.

I do not get to reply, as suddenly there is a loud burst from behind us, commanding both our attentions.

It's Aegon. He busted through the door with my things in his hand. Upon catching the sight of the two of us, he freezes, breathing heavily as the looks out.

Daemon's expression hardens; his grip on me tightens. He turns to me, jealousy coating his mouth when he catches I where I am looking, "is that your pretty boy?"

I do not reply to him as Aegon walks over.

Daemon pulls me close to him. I look up at him with teary eyes. Aegon looks between us, jaw tense as he hands me my bag, coat, and newspaper.

"Thank you, bartender," Daemon dismisses, patting Aegon on the shoulder, before turning from him to face me again.

When I catch Aegon's face, I finally have the wits to move.

I pull away from Daemon to put my coat on. I swallow a heavy lump in my throat at feel of the stares of the two men.

Once I have my coat on, I pull a card from my bag, handing it to Daemon. He wastes no time in taking it from me, immediately scrutinizing it.

"I'd..." I start, taking a deep breath, "like to see you again."

Daemon's eyes dart to me, breaking into a smile.

Butterflies explode in my stomach at the sight of him.

Aegon's face tenses.

I release a breath before asking, "when are you fr-"

"Whenever," Daemon blurts. He places the card in the breast pocket of his white shirt, "I'm free whenever."

I nod slowly at his words, "I have work tomorrow, but I do have a long lunch at 12-

"I'll call you a 11:55."

I purse my lips at his words, trying to hold back my chuckle, but failing, "11:55?"

Daemon grins, nodding once, "on the dot."

I chuckle, turning to my feet as I nod at his words, "11:55 then."

"On the dot," he nods, extending a hand out to rub his thumb on my cheek.

I turn to him just as Daemon pulls away and stuffs his hands back in his pockets, "I'll walk you."

I shake my head, turning to Aegon, who was still standing there, watching the whole interaction between us, "you don't have to. I have a car parked nearby."

"Then I'll walk you to your car."

I turn back to Daemon, who then offers his arm out to me. I smile, unable to deny him, or myself, of the offer. I take his arm, and the next moment, he leads us off.

I turn over my shoulder, raising a hand at Aegon while I offer him a smile, "see you, Aegon."

Aegon watches as I turn back.

There is a twisted feeling inside him that grows. He mutters softly. It is too soft for anyone but himself to hear, "see you."

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ametrictonofaudacity · 5 months

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Bonds 2

Yandere Platonic Batfam x Trans!Masc Reader

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping/captivity, manipulation, non-consensual touching (cuddles), general yandere themes. Reader has been pretty thoroughly conditioned in this, posted non-chronologically.

There is the soft sound of cracking flames and breathing filling the room, a thick, almost heavy heat that sinks into your bones and makes it hard to think. The logs had long since almost burned themselves out, casting a low, red light over the entire room, a far cry from the cheery yellow it had been not three hours before. Everything is dim and soft, the shadows jumping and dancing when the flames sputter and lick up the logs, refusing to die out.

You hum, sleepy and tired, and turn your head. It’s late, late enough that you wonder when the grandfather clock was going to swing open and let your siblings back into the Manor. Soon, you think. You hoped. It was exhausting, waiting up for them when you didn’t operate on the same schedule they did, unused to pulling long nights without rest and the intense exhaustion that came with what they did.

You huff, pushing the blanket off yourself. The heat was almost stifling, almost uncomfortable, and you lament the fact that you were allowed to open the windows. One gust of Gotham’s wind, biting and chilling and so very dangerous to those who either didn’t know to get out of it in the winter months or couldn’t, would bring relief right away, cool the room down instantly. It used to do the same to your old apartment, even if you hadn’t wanted it to. Wormed it’s way into the cracks and crevices around the windows, whistled loudly as it battered against the door.

Wayne Manor didn’t have that issue. You’re still adjusting to it.

The clock dongs, and you groan, turning your head over to look at it. Fuck, it was late. Late enough you should have gone to bed hours ago, but the silent Manor was almost eerie, the lack of your siblings or Father almost disturbing. Alfred was in the Cave, where you weren’t allowed anyways, monitoring the comms. And you, most likely, now that you thought about it.

The grandfather clock swings open.

You push yourself up, and there’s a strange mix of relief and anxiety in your chest. While you hadn’t, technically, been breaking any rules, you weren’t supposed to be up this late.

It’s Bruce who comes through the entrance first. There’s a heavy exhaustion written all over him, a tiredness that makes your chest twist with something that feels like worry and just might be. Your eyes skim him for injury, for blood, whether it was his or someone else’s.

“You’re not supposed to be up this late.” He frowns, all severe lines and frowns.

“It’s too quite. I couldn’t sleep.” You say, and that makes his shoulders soften, the sternness melting away into something softer, more sympathetic. He sighs, then pulls back his cowl.

“Right. I’m sorry we had to leave you home alone, it was all hands on deck tonight.” He apologizes, like leaving you home alone in the Manor is some great sin he had committed. It was fine. You just weren’t used to the quiet.

“It’s fine, Dad.”

You assure, and he hums. He doesn’t believe you, you know, but he doesn’t press.

The shadows in entrance to the cave shift, just slightly, and Cass melts into your view. You had never figured out how your older sister did that, melted in and out shadow like she belonged in them, but she had startled you more times than you could count doing that. Part of you thought she found it funny.

“Why don’t you let me put a movie on?” You offer, tilting your head. They were always exhausted after patrol, nearly always put on some nostalgic, gentle movie after a long night. You were pretty sure it helped them unwind after a harsh night. It would help you. It had helped you, after fights with them over things that weren’t important and nights when you hadn’t been able to think about anything other than freedom.

“Did you stay up for us? You know you have a bed time, yeah, baby bat?” Dick teases, and you hadn’t even seen him come up, too focused on Cass and Bruce.

“I do not, actually. Y’all just worry I don’t sleep enough.” You huff, batting his hand away gently. He grins, dragging you towards him. It’s not careful, there’s strength behind it, but not enough to hurt.

“That’s because you take after the old man and don’t sleep damn near enough.” Jason scoffs, coming up the stairs and into the room. Tim follows, then Steph and Damian. The only person missing was Duke, but Duke was at his uncles, out of state.

“Okay, well, do you want this stupid movie on or not?” You huff, annoyed. Dick still had you trapped against him, and you knew that wasn’t changing any time soon, so you resign yourself to another night of being forcibly cuddled until you fell asleep. If you were particularly unlucky Tim would manage to cling to you like an octopus and fall asleep, in which case you wouldn’t be able to move for the next day without fear of disclosing him, because any time Tim fell asleep he suddenly developed a death grip and a complete inability to wake up unless a bomb goes off.

“I’ll put it on! It was my turn to pick anyway, no matter what Jason says.” Steph volunteers, flicking the tv on and scrolling through the movies so quickly you barely even have time to look at the titles.

“Slow down, Blondie, fuck.” Jason grumbles, squinting at the screen in annoyance. “My concussion may be gone but that shits annoying.”

“You got a concussion?” You can’t help the barely hidden alarm in your voice. You can’t help it. It wasn’t like Jason had any brain cells he could risk losing, for one, with all the extensive head trauma he had already gotten, and for two, you were ninety percent sure he wasn’t supposed to be looking at a screen after getting one.

“Minor concussion. Practically babies first concussion. ‘Sides, Alfie already checked me out and deemed me a-okay.”

“He’s also benched for the next two days.” Bruce tells you dryly, and you snort.

“You’re as bad as Tim.” The puffed up offense is entirely warranted, and you laugh as he drags you against him, tugging you out of Dick’s grip. Dick pouts, predictably, and you snort, amused. Sometimes your older brother was just a little pathetic.

“Oh, bullshit.”

He snorts, settling into the couch. You end up curled between him and Bruce, and Dick pouts again, before he crawls across the top of the couch, splaying himself out to be in contact with all three of you. It’s borderline uncomfortable to look at, a delicate balancing act that came so naturally to him.

“We’re watching The Devil Wears Prada.” Steph announces. “Because we haven’t seen it in forever.”

“We watched it just the other night!” Jason argues, even as the movie starts to play. You settle further into Bruce’s side, who curls an arm around you lightly as he watches your siblings bicker.

“Fuck you, you don’t hear me complaining everytime you want to watch Little Women!” Steph shoots back, and you laugh.

“That is a goddamn masterpiece, you shut the fuck up. It’s way better than fucking- this shit!” Jason argues, almost genuinely offended.

“Shouldn’t you be intervening?” You stage whisper to Bruce, who shoots you an almost conspiratorial look.

“They don’t listen to me anyways.” You laugh, and it’s nice. Happy.

The sound of the movie and bickering and bodies shifting around each other is calming. Familiar. At some point you drift off, and you wake up to the familiar sensation of being carried in warm arms, safe and secure.

You hum, letting them tuck you in carefully, press a kiss to your forehead. You wouldn’t have, months ago, but now it was something long familiar. Welcomed, even.

You can’t remember what changed. You think you were glad it did.

#yandere batman #yandere dc #yandere platonic x reader #yandere platonic batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere platonic batfam x reader

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passivenovember · 18 days

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Harringrove Relay Race -- passing the torch to @raven-cl ! Run babe RUN!

blooming forth, it's every color in the moments it has left.

Turns out, shit hits the fan in the dark.

Steve’s known that. It’s still a surprise when Billy takes Max and hits the ground hot with his feet aching after a long shift at the pool, even though his sandals are covered in blood. His. Neil's.

Doesn't actually matter, because when Steve wakes up to a phone call so late in the night he thinks someone's gotta be dead or dying, or they need to get sucked off like they need air and water and Steve's gotten himself penciled in as the number-one, go-to asshat for both types of situations--

Point is, the phone goddamn rings. Sounds like pennies being thrown against the walls of Steve’s two-bedroom apartment. And it's the middle of the night. All that matters is that when Steve rolls over and yanks the receiver from its cradle, all, "Someone better be dying–”

Billy's trying his best not to cry. "I hit him," Billy says, an earthquake that shakes the foundation of the city. That gets Steve wide-eyed and fearful and awake. "Fuck, Steve, I hit him--"

“What?” Steve sits ramrod in bed, covers a limp and useless pool around him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm. There's, like. Blood," Billy says, "I guess."

"You guess?"

"I'm okay. Nothing’s broken," Billy pulls away from the phone to say something to someone. To Max, Steve would bet money on it. And then he says, "I have blood on my feet. And. Max has blood in her hair so it looks black, almost, and. Shit, Steve, I hit him--"

"Where are you?”

"--It might be Neil's blood," Billy tells him. Like Steve's lost in the weeds, here. Like he needs a compass pointing him toward the huge, terrible obvious truth. "I--"

"Fuck who's blood it is," Steve tells him, already upright struggling into a pair of week-old jeans. He tries not to focus on that, swallows against the urge to be harsh with himself, because he was knocked out two minutes ago, dreaming of the pretty pink pucker of Billy's cunt when the phone rang. "That's not important. Where are you," Steve asks, cock still hard because he's human, getting tangled in the phone cord, "You said. Is Max--"

"She's okay. We're at a gas station about twenty miles outside of town."

Steve's hard-on dies. "Twenty miles outside of town?"

"Yeah."

"What are you talking about?" Steve doesn't put a shirt on. He throws a jacket over his chest. Billy's jacket. Doesn't even zip the thing. "Never mind. I'm coming to get you."

"The car works, you don't need to get out of bed."

"I'm dressed, I'm out of bed," Steve says, teasing, "Stay put. Are you, like. East or west, twenty miles out of town?"

"Steve," Billy says, and it casts an unflattering spotlight on everything.

Steve ducks to hide from it, searching under his bed for a pair of shoes. "Okay, yeah. Stupid fucking question to ask, but I was asleep--"

"We have to go," Billy tells him.

"Okay," Steve says quickly. Doesn't like the tone of Billy's voice. "Let's go, blue. Where are we going?"

“Max and I–”

“--And you and me,” Steve finishes for him.

“Steve,” Billy says. “You know Max and I can't stay here."

Steve shoves his bare feet into a pair of shoes. Rain boots. "So, you're just gonna leave? Without saying goodbye? There’s no other option, here?”

"This isn't about you."

"Fine," Steve says, stalking over to his dresser mirror. The phone cord tugs on him, not nearly long enough, and he fights the urge to rip it out of the wall. Doesn’t. 'Cause. He'd lose Billy.

Steve fiddles with it, anyway, trying to keep calm. “How’re you gonna get there?”

“We’ll drive.”

“Okay, and what happens when you get to where you’re going?”

“Wow, aren’t you the bearer of bad fuckin’ news–”

“--Billy, you don't have money.”

“So?”

“So, I have money,” Steve concludes, “A shit load of it.”

"Fuck you, I have a shitload of money."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah huh, I've been saving up."

Steve snorts, grasping at straws because. It’s true. The exact opposite of everything Steve’s been hoping would never happen, the same thing as a knife slicing through his heart. Billy’s been saving. Steve knows he’s been saving because Steve pays for every date because Steve’s a dead fuckin’ end and has nothing to goddamn lose by treating his boy right. He’s not going anywhere from here, but Billy–

"You're not leaving,” Steve says.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Fine, then,” Steve backtracks expertly, a perk of what he learned dating girls for nineteen years before this. “You can’t go without saying goodbye.”

“Sap.”

“Let me kiss you, man. I fuckin’. I love--"

"--Steve--"

"--No, it's alright. I gotta say this, 'cause. Every fucking thing in my life is about you, right?"

Billy groans. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled by the wall of whatever payphone booth he's standing in. "You're so annoying."

"So are you. I'm being honest," Steve says. He ducks, a little, peering at his reflection from across the room so he can run a hand through his hair, at least, 'cause.

He's still got a crush on Billy, after all this time. Sue him.

"You're, like," Steve says intelligently, choking to death. "You're everything. You chopped everything up with just bein' yourself and slid into its place and I fuckin' care about you more than. Everything. And if you're going to run away to California--"

"--Who said I was--"

"--Twenty miles west outside of Hawkins?" Steve points out.

Billy doesn't say anything.

Through the static of the phone line, Steve imagines him cast in the grimy street glow of payphone booth glass, tempered but breaking. Twenty miles away but already gone.

Makes Steve crazy. Makes him want to hold on tighter, hard enough to break his own fingers. "I just," He starts, turning from the mirror, "I always thought, or. Maybe I've been thinking lately that if you're going to California, I'd be there to help."

To see you off. To hold your hand. To beg you to make room enough in your suitcase for me to come along–

"Oh yeah? You've been thinking that always?" Billy teases, and. It's gotta be a good thing. That even though he has blood on his feet, he's feeling okay enough to crack-wise.

"Please," Steve says. Tells him. Begs. Has nothing left to do but make it through this phone call even though he's about to shake loose from his own skin.

Steve is very cool these days.

Billy pulls away from the phone and says something, to Max, in a soft, pillow-top rumble that does shit, like. To Steve's belly. His heart. The very rotten, love-sick matter of who he is. Who Billy has turned him into.

Steve bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood, swallowing every single please please please that shifts like the fabric of a sourdough starter in the back of his throat. Steve paces. Taps his foot. Digs his nails into the palm of his free hand while Billy and Max argue in hushed voices for what feels like hours and years.

Finally, Billy says, "Okay, fuckin'. What happens if Neil hears that we haven't left town?"

Steve has to focus so his knees don't give out, full of relief. "That won’t happen. No one pays attention to me. This is an apartment complex."

"Yeah, but what if he drives by and sees the car?"

"I'll kill him," Steve says. Simple, because it is.

Billy snorts. It almost, almost, sounds like a laugh. "'Kay, well. Say he doesn't go looking for the Camaro. What if he calls Hawkins High to try and find out about Max?”

“He won’t.”

“You’re fuckin’ stupid for saying that,” Billy snaps, “Neil doesn’t give a shit about me but her? He won’t let her–”

“--I won’t let him–”

“Shut up; just. What if he shows up during fifth period and--"

"--We're both over eighteen. We’re old as shit, old enough to drink, almost, We'll. I dunno. We’ll change her emergency contact first thing tomorrow so they'll call me at the video store when he breaks into the building," Steve says, "And then I can take my fifteen-minute break to drive over there and kill him."

Billy does laugh that time. Sounds like it hurts. He pulls away from the phone to repeat Steve's evil plan to Max, who starts laughing, too, and Steve would do anything for them. He would be anything for them.

"Come over," Steve says, coiling the phone line around his hand, "Just until we can figure something else out. We can park your car ‘round back by the slop sinks. No one ever goes over there, we can hide you."

"Steve--"

"I can't watch you walk away from me, Billy," Steve says, and. His voice. Fuckin’. Cracks. Like glass and barren earth. A fist to the back of his own head, still. Desperately, pathetically in love with Billy even after all this time. Still drowning in the intensity of it. Sue him.

"Fuck, this is so fucking dumb," Billy says, aching. But he tells Max to sit in the car.

Steve considers it a win.

He decides not to waste the get-up.

Twenty miles'll go by in a heartbeat, and Billy has a tendency to sugarcoat shit when it comes to the marks Neil Hargrove leaves behind. Tends to get jumpy, ready to go pedal-to-the-metal.

Steve prepares for the worst. Makes three cups of coffee, to fight the dregs of the worst, and then dumps them into the sink when he remembers that Max is sixteen years old and it's a Wednesday. Thursday, now.

Whatever.

He makes tea, instead, and sits in the shitty lawn chair on his porch, sipping a mug of the very same chamomile bullshit that Robin keeps buying him.

Steve tries to cobble together a plan in under 30 minutes.

He imagines Billy, shaking and scared and covered in blood, on the canvas chair next to him. Asking how. How are you going to do this? How are you going to prove yourself a safe house for me and my kid sister?

Steve tries not to swallow his tongue, choking to death on the absolute weight of such a responsibility. He focuses on not dying. Hones in on how pissed Robin would be to discover such a close call, and how she would remind him to list the facts.

Truth is, a two-bedroom apartment is more than enough room, Steve tells her. Tells Billy, who looks easier to convince than the one who's on his way in from the edge of town. Everything will be alright. He'll fix up the couch for Max until he can get down to Red Oak Furniture after work tomorrow for a bed frame. He'll need to dip into his savings, but a sixteen year old girl needs her own space, she needs a bed.

Tears slide down Billy's cheeks and Robin disappears. When Billy cries he has a way of wounding everything around him.

His eyes say we need groceries. Steve needs to shop for groceries. Max won't eat a vegetable, but she's still growing, Harrington, and Steve doesn't make enough dough to afford fresh ingredients every week, just when he's putting on his a-game to get into Billy's pants, but.

He's always trying to get into Billy's pants.

Everything boils down to money. Steve needs a new job.

He sips Robin's shitty fuckin' chamomile and tries to focus on the immediate, too piss-poor to list the facts. He'll make tea when they arrive. Dinner, if they're hungry. The couch made up. The tea, drank, and tomorrow when the blood is gone from Billy's feet and his tears have dried, Steve'll call his father and beg for an assistant gig at the office downtown. He's got mouths to feed, now, he's got--

Billy's Camaro swings into view.

Steve jumps to his feet, rain boots squeaking, and holds his breath when the car disappears around the corner, parking where Steve said it would be safe.

"We're only staying for the night," Billy tells him, instead of hello, voice hard as marble the second Steve is close enough to really hear it.

Max throws the passenger door open.

Her backpack is stuffed. Soft. “What the fuck are you wearing?” Max demands.

Steve shifts under the intensity of her stare, embarrassed. “Billy said. I was gonna come and–”

“--You look stupid,” Max tells him helpfully.

Before Steve can move or breathe or think, Max storms past him in a fury of wild red hair and red, wet cheeks. "Thanks," Steve says, but the door slams shut before she hears him.

The entire apartment complex shakes. Hawkins, too, and the world, beyond that. Steve can't take his eyes off it, for a second. For a lifetime. It's a black hole, eating and eating and eating--

"Sorry about that," Billy says. When Steve looks at him, Billy's still half-hanging out of the car. One foot on the ground. Leaning against the gaping wound of the driver's seat with his arm on the lip of the door, like. Steve's going to take Max and tell Billy to fuck off forever.

His head is bald.

The cut is uneven, vicious. Almost like--

"Hey, pretty thing," Steve says. Everything's yellow from the Camaro's headlights, everything lies shattered in the grass around them. "Don't worry about it, she's upset."

Billy nods, the rest of him terrible and still.

Steve aches. He moves closer. "Baby. Do you want to come inside?"

"I didn't get to pack a bag," Billy says, like it matters, somehow.

It doesn't. "I have clothes you can wear," Steve tells him, padding closer, hands splayed as if approaching some sweet, terrified, rabid animal. “You know that you can have whatever you want, right? With me?”

Billy nods again, still unmoving. Still unseeing. "We're just staying until sunrise," Billy tells him, trained on the soft, fleshy landing of Steve's throat as it swings into view. "Just until it's light enough."

Billy's ear bleeds. Or. It did, at one point. Like someone came at him with a butcher's knife, swinging blindly but only getting his hair.

Steve has trouble remembering that the world isn’t burning around them

"It's just,” Billy tries, “It's not safe to drive when it's dark like this, y'know?"

"I know," Steve says. Billy's chest heaves like he's being chased, so. Steve nods. "Max is lucky to have someone like you. Someone who knows what they're doing."

"Right. So fucking lucky," Billy shakes his head, snorting bitterly. "Doesn't matter. Couple hours and we're gone, Harrington. I swear."

Steve reaches the car door, fiddling with its handle. Touching Billy without. Touching him. Testing the waters. "I'm not worried about it."

"You've probably never had to run from your fuckin’ house in the middle of the night," Billy tells him, finally looking at Steve but not. Seeing him. "This is the third time for me. First for Max."

Steve notices a black eye. A split lip.

Billy's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I've never had to run," Steve tells him, because it's easiest to get the hard shit out of the way, first.

He wants to know about the other two times.

He wants to ask about California. If things were the same with his father there. If Billy's really going as soon as it's light out. If the blood in Max’s hair is her own, and how Billy would feel about Steve pressing his thumbs into Neil's eye sockets before the sun rises and Billy has the chance to run away.

Maybe. The proven death of this monster will change things.

Steve inches closer, instead, past the lip of the car door. He slips into Billy's space, grateful when Billy lets Steve touch his chest, checking for injuries.

"I could always go home, before," Billy says, eyes unfocused over Steve's shoulder when fingers prod at his ribcage, "But. I never had Max. I always had to go home to make sure she was gonna be okay without me, and then I'd be too scared to leave her behind so I’d just stay put until–"

"Does it hurt when I press down like this?"

Billy shakes his head, "Steve. She's sixteen--"

"What about here? Does this hurt?"

"She wouldn't stay," Billy looks at him, then, tracking whatever emotion breaks like a wave between them, "Neil started, and. It got bad, Steve. And she wouldn't fuckin' stay put like I told her to, and now. We have no place to--"

"--Is she hurt?"

"She's homeless," Billy says. Steve exhales through his nose, trying to keep up. "We're homeless. I made her homeless," Billy tells him, with rising panic.

Steve takes his hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"We don't have anywhere to live, Steve."

"Billy, look at me," Steve grabs his face gingerly, staring into his beautiful, shattered, empty eyes. "You live here with me, baby. We're here together and I'm not going to let anything happen to you, right? Yes?"

Billy blinks at him, coming back to himself. He nods. "Just until tomorrow, right? Until I can--"

“Sure, whatever,” Steve says, playing along if that's what will get him into the house.

The shower's running.

Billy won't let go of Steve's hand so they shuffle through the cramped living room together on plan b, stuck like paper dolls. Max has made up the couch, and already has the T.V. on, so Steve leads Billy to the bedroom, depositing him gingerly onto the unmade mattress.

“Sit still,” Steve tells him.

“I know,” Billy says, far away even as he strangles the blood from Steve’s wrist. “Max was right, you look like a dork.”

“I was asleep when you called,” Steve says thinly. “I thought you were running away.”

“I was.”

“Ah, truth comes out,” Steve ducks to retrieve a battered first aid kit from under the nightstand, because. This isn't the first time Billy's shown up in the middle of the night but it’s the worst shape Steve’s seen.

Steve swallows that, too, and struggles to get the fuckin' thing open with only one hand. He can't feel the other, Billy's holding on so tight, but Steve's not complaining.

He holds on just as tight. Just as hard. Wonders what counts as running off, in Billy's mind. If there are certain boxes Neil has to check to push Billy to that point, the 'running away and never coming back,' point, and Steve can't sift through his rampant emotions quick enough to discover what it means that all those times Billy stumbled through the dark and Steve found him, bruised and bleeding all over Mrs. Harrington’s imported Oak flooring, that wasn't the worst of it.

“You don’t need stitches,” Steve says.

“You’re a good nurse,” Billy says, wincing at the forward burn of isopropyl against his ear lobe, “You’re hot. Anyone ever tell you that, Harrington.”

Steve grins, “Once or twice, maybe.”

“Real dime,” Billy says, working to meld their pulses together until they’re one.

Steve swallows a lump in his throat, everything he feels for this boy rushing to sit like water in his lungs. “Almost done,” Steve says. Wondering how someone could hurt this boy, this spot of gold. This vial of sunlight.

Billy winks at him, even though it’s starting to swell shut. “Thanks, doc,” He says.

“Don’t mention it,” Steve tells him, instead of run.

Instead you should’ve been a thousand miles away, by now.

Instead of drag me along.

It's ten minutes after Billy disappears into the bathroom before Steve ventures out with his first aid kit clutched in the hand Billy wouldn't let go of.

His fingers are still numb.

Max sees him and the aid box and immediately snorts at, incredulous. "I'm fine, Harrington, you can put your Barbie band-aids away."

Landmine. "Sure.”

“And your rain boots. You look–”

“Stupid, I know,” Steve shuffles, put on edge by the soft click of the T.V. remote in Max’s hand. “I just. Billy said that you had blood in your hair, and I just wanted to--"

"--It was Billy's," Max tells him, eyes trained carefully on the flickering screen in front of her.

Steve knows Max well enough now to get that she needs to be comforted, probably. She's still a kid, she's sixteen, but he also knows that the truth needs to be coaxed out of her, dripping like saliva past her rows and rows of sharp, vicious teeth. Just like Bill--

"Stop fidgeting like that. You look fucking stupid," Max tells him.

Like Steve said. A piranha. A sixteen-year-old hammerhead shark. The shower's still going so Steve frowns, tucking his first aid kit onto the coffee table. "It’s not just the rain boots?”

“No,” Max says, “It’s the whole outfit. And your big, dumb, worried eyes.”

“I’m sorry. I give a shit about you, and he said you were running away because he hit--"

"Yeah, I know what he said, and he didn't hit him. Not hard enough to do anything," Max snorts, again, mean. "Jesus Christ, he's so dramatic."

Steve nods, and the movement pulls her in. Brings her claws out.

"You’re dramatic, too. You were made for each other.”

“Okay.”

“Dumb and soft and earnest,” Max shakes her head, disappointed in them both. “Billy isn't dad. He thinks it's his fault. It isn't."

She says, like. Steve's going to lose his fuckin' mind and argue. "I know."

"He always thinks everything's his fault, but it's not. That's the Drama Bitch in him. He's a prima donna grade-a loser asshole but he's a good guy and he's my brother--"

"--Max, maybe we should--"

"I'm not moving back to California without any money," Max tells him, eyes on fire. "I'm not. I have a life here, I won’t starve to death here, so you can run in there and tell your stupid boyfriend that I'm not going until–"

"Right. Yeah, I," Steve swallows against the lump in his throat, "Max, you've gotta know that I'm not trying to make you leave."

Max snorts.

"I'm serious," Steve tells her, shuffling forward, "Why the fuck would I want that?”

“Won’t have to pay for all your dates, anymore,” Max tells him, and.

Steve. Didn’t know she knew about that. Didn’t know they were close enough to talk about boys, but he guesses. That’s probably a stupid thing to believe when Max ran away to be with her brother.

She sneers at him, "You're such a loser,” She says, disgusted by his presence.

Lights Steve on fire. "Why?”

"Because,” Max takes a deep, steadying breath, her grip so vice-like on the remote that Steve worries it will shatter. “Because you’re gonna let us stay here.”

“I thought you weren’t on board for California,” Steve demands, embarrassed that he’s angry at a sixteen year old girl for running away from home.

“God, you think you’re the only one who’s holding on to someone?” Max chuckles but it’s not a laugh. It’s mean and raw and bleeding.

Steve nods, reeling, drowning, sinking, flying, swimming, sailing--

"I'm hungry," Max says, and turns back to the T.V.

Steve loves Billy so he makes him something to eat, something heavy and full of starch to sop up all the bad shit inside of him. It works, for the time.

Max has three bowls, even though potatoes count as a vegetable.

They cram together afterward, three sardines on the couch clear of blood. Patched. They watch some stupid fucking cartoon thing until Max falls asleep and Billy can hardly keep his eyes open.

Steve tugs him close, says, "Let's go to bed, honey," And Billy comes, too tired to be irritating and awful. ‘S almost too bad.

When they fold onto the mattress Billy slots into all of Steve's empty spaces, a perfect fit of expanding ribs and tickling eyelashes. Steve pets over the knobs of Billy's spine. He focuses on the warm landing of Billy's forehead where it holds steady against his jaw, burning because of blood and split skin.

Steve tacks lips to Billy’s shorn skull, his forehead, his left ear, and tries to imagine death dropping his scythe on Neil Hargrove's cranium somewhere across this sleepy town. Wonders when everything became an eye for an eye.

"We'll be out of your hair tomorrow," Billy's lashes flutter against Steve's pulse, body tense and coiled and waiting.

Steve pets over his ribcage, says, "Don't be stupid," because. Might as well call it what it is. Billy tries to pull back, to tuck away, but Steve holds on tighter. Stubborn. "Why do you want to run from me so bad?"

"Not you," Billy says. Cramped and muffled against Steve's collarbone, "Hawkins."

"It'll miss you. So will Max," Steve says, petting over Billy's thigh, now, relishing the rough drag of boxer briefs against his fingertips, "Said she's not leaving."

"When?"

"Told me while you were cleaning up."

"What a surprise," Billy reports flatly, "Who gives a shit. She doesn't have a choice."

"Tell her that.”

"She's going. No matter what I’ve gotta do.”

“What if she fights you on it?”

“Then one of us will have blood on our feet, again."

Steve hums, fiddling with the hem of Billy's boxer briefs. Slipping his fingers under the lip. "You try and put her in that car and it won’t even be a fight. You'll be dead before sunset."

Billy snorts, rocking both of them. “She’s scrappy but I’ve got fifty pounds on her.”

“Sure, just muscle and good intentions.” Steve’s fingers tangle in the thatch of hair at Billy’s pelvis. It’s soft and curly, little blonde ringlets that smell like rain water.

Billy sighs, tilting back when Steve inches upupup his shaft. "Stop trying to get in my pants, Harrington."

"You have something I want," Steve tells him. It's easy to find Billy's cockhead, blooming with springtime mist. Steve smooths it with his thumb. He grins at the noise Billy makes, ducks to nibble at that cut jawbone. “You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t relax.”

"Shit," Billy says intelligently.

"Want you inside me. Want your fingers."

"Fuck you, I'm grieving,” Billy grumbles, but he cranes his neck. Makes room between his legs.

"I could take your mind off it for a little while,” Steve says. He untangles himself, shucking the covers and laying on his stomach next to Billy’s thighs. He smells like the earth, fresh and moist. Steve tugs at his boxers, mouth-watering when Billy’s cock nods and the popcorn ceiling.

“Steve,” Billy protests, choking on a moan when Steve swallows him down, teeth knotted in the feather down at Billy’s pelvis. "Baby, Max is in the next room."

Steve comes up for air, kissing the freckle at Billy’s tip. "She's asleep."

"You're such a whore,” Billy glares sharply, “Is this how it's gonna be every goddamn night?"

And.

Suddenly Steve's heart swells, pushing against the cavern of his ribcage. He must smile, must press love and lightning into Billy's forehead when Steve clamors to his knees and pets over the bruise there, so happy the bed's about to blast out from under them.

"Stop making that stupid face," Billy snorts, dabbing the saliva on Steve’s chin, "Lookin' at me like I'm gonna--"

"I love you," Steve says.

Billy shifts, his cheeks blooming pink, “Just sayin’ that because my cock is out.”

“Maybe,” Steve teases. Can't help it; every goddamn thing about himself. He's stupid, and happy, and so, so heartbroken. He licks at Billy’s cockhead, heart thumping elation through his limbs. "You're really gonna stay with me?"

Billy shrugs, fiddling with the stretched-out neckline of Steve's t-shirt. "I don't know where else we could go."

"California."

"Max said she's not going, right?" Billy mumbles, "And. You've made it pretty clear that you wouldn't either."

“I never said that.”

“Don’t have to say it, it’s in your voice?”

Billy’s talking in circles, feeding his insecurities because that’s what he does when he’s on the verge of something else.

“Oh yeah? What’s in my actions?” Steve slips down the mattress again and sucks Billy to the root, bobbing his head and opening his throat in earnest, licking and swallowing until Billy soft little noises splat against the walls like wads of bubblegum.

Billy groans, knotting his fingers in Steve’s hair.

His roots sing. “I’d go anywhere you asked me to,” Steve points out before Billy can speak. Sounds. Like swallowing rocks is his favorite thing. “The problem is you never ask me to.”

Billy shrugs.

“Ask me.”

“Steve–”

Steve pulls himself out of Billy’s hold and sucks him down again, swallowing. Only comes up for air when Billy starts writhing beneath him. “Say it.”

“I–”

“Say, ‘Steve, come home with me to California, I’ll teach you how to surf, we can live on the ocean–’”

“Costs a fuckin’ fortune to live on the waterline,” Billy stutters, mouth falling open with a groan when Steve spits on his cock. Works up a rhythm with the palm of his hand just so he can watch the way Billy’s stomach tugs at the waistband of Steve’s lended boxers.

He’s only a little worried that Max might hear them.

Not enough to stop, not when Billy’s throat opens bit by bit, little wrecked noises barely reaching Steve across the valley of air between them. Through the shutter of the blinds, Billy’s skin glows. Stardust and bushels of flowering lilac in the shape of fingers and fists, sprouting and withering along his neck and cheek and jawline, breathing and dying over and over and over again.

Billy cranes to watch him, lips raw and red and open, tongue lulling.

Steve cracks and splinters at the sight, at his wits end, at the height of all he’s ever felt–

“What?” Billy asks, chest heaving.

Steve climbs on top of him, swallowing the shock that flutters from between Billy’s lips. His cock presses into Steve’s ass, slick head trapped by Steve’s layer of encasing, rough cotton. It fits perfectly, just like the rest of him, like they were made for this. Each other. Finding solace and rhythm in the tattered edges of the night.

Steve sucks on Billy’s tongue, deepening the kiss. His thighs shake, his hips roll down, startling the air from Steve’s lungs. Or Billy’s. Both.

“Baby,” He says. Or Billy does, “Baby, I–”

Steve pulls back enough to see the tears clinging stubbornly to Billy’s lashes, drops of stardust stranded in bright blue skies. He wipes them away with his thumb, pressing their lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

Chokes on a thousand things. What he could’ve said, on all those other nights. What he isn’t saying now. What he’ll have to stumble over tomorrow so that things can get started on a solid foundation–

It all, just. Dies.

Steve rolls his hips, “I love you,” He says, breaking like waves where Billy’s skin is the shore. “Let me make love to you.”

Because it’s all that matters.

Uncertainty flashes, bright as lightning, across Billy’s face, and then it’s gone. “Okay,” He says, “Alright.”

–

“I lied,” Steve tells him, to distract from the places they’re stuck together, the swatches where they’re bruised and cut and bleeding, “I tried to run away, once. When I was seven.”

Billy hums, his cheek warm and sticky over Steve’s rib cage. “Did you hear what I said?” Steve asks, chuckling, “Not gonna fall asleep, are you?”

“Thought you wanted me to relax.”

“I do.”

“Well, I am,” Billy tells him, “Your pussy’s magic–”

“Don’t say pussy when I’m talking about running away from home, that’s gross.” Steve yelps, wiggling when Billy’s teeth close around his nipple and tug. “Ow, shithead, this is important–”

“What, mommy and daddy didn’t get you the yacht you asked for for christmas so you ran away from home for twenty minutes?” Billy snaps, but there’s no heat. No fire.

“Not exactly,” Steve shrugs, rustling Billy’s head back onto his chest. “My grandma had come to stay with us for a while. She was sick. Dying, actually, but I was too young to notice. She never looked sick, she was constant. Still cooked dinner for us. Still holy-rolled until I cleaned my room. She took care of me.”

Billy’s arm tightens around Steve’s waist. Subtle and constant, too.

“When she finally passed on, I just. Didn’t want to be with my parents anymore,” Steve swallows, nearly strangling himself on the lump in his throat, “Look. They never hurt me, Billy, not like–”

“--We don’t have to talk about this–”

“--I know I could never understand, but. When my grandma stayed with us I felt love. I wasn’t alone, anymore, she was my family. And after she was gone I couldn’t go back to the way shit had been before she came to us, you know? I couldn’t be alone in that empty fucking house anymore, I had to leave.”

“But you didn’t?” Bill asks.

Steve holds him tighter. “I didn’t.”

Billy twists, chin poking Steve in the ribs but it doesn’t matter, when their eyes meet. Steve pets over his forehead, his eyelashes, savoring the plush of his cupid's bow. Vibrant and alive. Free.

“Beautiful,” Steve says. A fact. A name, “I understand why you have to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy leans into Steve’s touch, seeking his warmth. “We all need to run away, sometimes.”

“I could come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Billy says. He starts crying, soft as summer rain. Maybe he already was. Steve rubs at his cheeks, trying to catch them before they fall. “You’ve become the thing I run to, but–”

“--You don’t have to ask. It’s not some fuckin’ sacrifice, if you leave there’s nothing left. I don’t want to go home if you’re not there.” Steve says, and then waits, patiently re-counting the 297 freckles he knows form a village on Billy’s nose.

Billy thinks it over. Finally, he frowns. “So in this situation I’m like your grandma?”

Steve blinks, a laugh startled out of him, “What?”

“You said,” BIlly grumbles, brow furrowing, “You said that when she–”

“--I don’t want to fuck my grandma, that’s–”

“--God, you’re so annoying,” Billy rolls onto his back, jostling the mattress until all their blankets slither, ending tucked around him so Steve will freeze to death.

It’s so achingly usual. So soft.

“Baby,” Steve props himself on one below, chuckling when Billy rolls onto his side. Away. Steve pokes Billy’s shoulder, rocking him, “Hey, you goddamn brat, I was just—”

“--I didn’t mean that you want to fuck your grandma, you psycho, I meant. Like. You said that when she wasn’t home you couldn’t go back.”

Steve’s hand rests on the blanket between them. He feels like a naked, sparking bunch of wire. Thinks maybe he said too much, or didn’t say enough, and now Billy’s imagining himself as a stout Italian woman in a clementine shrug.

“She would’ve liked you,” Steve says finally. Billy peeks over his shoulder, scowling. Steve giggles at him, “It’s true!”

“She wouldn’t be disgusted that I’m a cocksucker?”

“No. She was a muff eater, when she was in her twenties,” Steve says casually, laughing when Billy spins and sits bolt upright next to him.

“Are you serious?”

“As the heart attack that killed my papa, who she never really loved,” Steve rights himself, shuffling until their legs are nestled together, until he can kiss and suck on Billy’s pulse.

“Stop that,” Billy says thinly.

“No.”

“You can’t just say that your dead lesbian grandma would like me.”

Steve licks at Billy’s earlobe, tasting blood and isopropyl, and the hiss of metal shears. “Why not?”

“Because,” Billy sighs, fingernails digging into Steve’s right and left kneecaps, “Because then I’ll want to stay with you forever.”

Steve pulls back, confused, “You don’t want to stay with me forever now?”

“You’re an idiot–”

“--Who loves you.”

“Such a dumbass–”

“--Who’s gonna work two extra jobs to get you and your sister to California,” Steve says. Hands topping Billy’s like stubborn barley thistle. Rooting him in place. “I’m gonna do it and you don’t even have to ask.”

Billy shakes his head.

Steve holds on tighter. “I’m serious. I’m gonna give you the world, even if it means we stay here for a while, until we can save up the money. Until it’s not dark out anymore, right?”

A hundred emotions struggle on Billy’s face, each one fighting for dominance. Finally, “Until daybreak?”

Steve nods. “Daylight.”

#harringrove #harringrove relay race #angst with a happy ending #hurt and comfort #listen #this was going to be something else entirely and then i ran out of time lol #more to come on that story soon!

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thecuriousquest · 6 months

Note

Yandere Levi drags the reader to his room to punish her after she tried to escape. She is kicking and screaming the entire time because she knows whats coming. For starters, he beats her up a little, but then he wanted to spice things up so he roughly face fucks her. But that still wasn't enough so he decides to punish her with really rough anal.

A Rough Punishment

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con, overstimulation, oral sex, anal sex, spanking, whipping threats, nipple and clit stimulation, crying kink, graphic depictions of a beating, Levi punches reader, slapping, hair pulling, Master/Pet play, male dominant/female submissive

Master List here.

—————————————————————————

It was so difficult getting past him. It was even harder sneaking over to the stables. You needed a horse for your escape. You knew better than to go on foot. It would be a lot faster for you to ride rather than walk.

As you prepare to saddle the beast, a hand slaps down on your shoulder, spinning you around. You didn’t even hear your captain sneak up on you.

“L-Levi…”

“Going somewhere, cadet?”

Well, you’re not going anywhere now!

Your lack of response only serves to annoy him even further, and he pinches your ear in a harsh manner. He drags you all the way back to his quarters like a bratty child, as if you are some kid who just threw a tantrum.

You had an actual reason to leave, the reason being him! You wanted to escape this hell he trapped you in. He punishes you, forces you to sit at his feet while he does paperwork, rapes you, makes you touch yourself while he watches. He even goes as far as bathing you every night for some extra quality time.

It had gotten to a point where you cracked and just couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted to leave, needed to get out. A sob rises in your throat as he shoves you face down on the bed.

A sharp spank to your bottom releases that pent up cry, and you squirm under his heavy grip. You reach for the edge of the bed, your arms spread in front of you. Gripping the edge, you try to pull yourself forward, away from his punishing smacks.

Levi laughs at you, actually laughs. He grabs you by the ankle, pulling you back into place, turning you over so that he can look into your fearful eyes.

Your gleaming and tear-filled E/C orbs are mesmerizing to him. The trepidation which casts a delightful shimmer in them make him rock hard. He can’t help but roughly grab you by your clothes, tearing them off of you with the characteristics of a beast. Your shirt flies onto the floor in a tattered heap; your pants following shortly after. Your underwear, scraps of lace and cotton to him, rip quite easily under his strong hands. You whimper and writhe beneath him, but once he has you naked, he pins you down with his body.

Levi crawls over you, hands squeezing the dough of your thighs, feeling you with calloused palms. No, it’s not enough. He needs…he needs to…

His fist cocks back, flying into your rips. A startled cry rips from your core, your body jolting from the impact. He slaps you across the face for being to loud, but he likes how loud you’re being. He wants to hear your screams even more. He wants you to wail and cry, beg for his mercy.

Give him a fucking reason to punish you even further.

The captain’s hand clasps around your throat like a necklace. He presses down on the sides of your throat. It makes you feel light, fatigued. You’re not able to breathe properly. Body thrashing beneath him, your hips try to buck him up and forward, anything to get him off of you.

He’s anchored on top of you quite nicely. No, he’s not going anywhere. This man knows what he’s doing, knows how to effectively pin you down. Knows how to force your submission.

The soldier’s hands come down on top of you rapidly, hit after hit. It feels relentless. He kneels on top of you, removing his own shirt.

He’s an attractive man, but you know what kind of monster lies beneath his flesh, and that monster is ungodly.

You turn your head away from him, to disassociate, to go anywhere but where you are right now. To drift and drift far away, but he doesn’t grant you such pleasantries.

No, this is a punishment, and you’ll suffer through it.

He grips your jaw, squeezing down on the lining of your teeth to force you to open up. You don’t want to, you’re not sure what he’s going to make you do, but the pressure is too great.

He pinches your nose with his free hand, and you can’t help but part your lips to gulp down air.

Taking full advantage of your vulnerable mouth, Levi spits directly onto your tongue, filling your cavern with saliva which isn’t yours. It makes you inwardly cringe, and you’re forced to swallow it down.

You whimper as he shucks off the rest of his clothes. He watches you out of the corner of his eye, making sure you don’t try anything. Grabbing you by your H/C tresses, he pulls you over to him, forcing you to lie down on your side while he stands by the edge of the bed.

“Open up. Come on, open up like a good pet. There we go,” he guides his cock into your mouth.

His dark pubes scrape against your nose and cheeks. The musk infiltrating your nostrils. You try to relax your throat, take him like he’s trained you. You don’t dare bite down. The last time you did, he got out his belt and whipped you until you sobbed yourself to sleep.

“That’s a good little whore, taking your master’s cock with grace. Did you just want some extra attention? Is that why you tried to steal a horse and run away?”

His grip tightens in your locks.

You scream “no” around his cock, but you’re efficiently gagged. All it sounds like to him is you being whiny and noisy.

His palm cracks down on your naked bottom again, reviving the sting from earlier. You beg with his dick in your mouth, so far down your throat for anyone to be able to understand you.

Oh, the vibrations ringing around his length cause him to throw his head back in a state of fucking bliss. His thighs tense up, the muscles in his arms clench. He pushes the back of your head further and further into his base.

Tears sting your eyes, rolling from your lashes. You place your hands on his thighs, trying to push back, to relieve your throat of the strangling sensation.

He pulls back just far enough so that he’s out of your throat but still on your tongue before thrusting back down. In and out, he pushes your nose into his scruffy hair.

Your nose clogs from all of the crying, and you feel a pounding headache from the suffocation. Your lips meet his base, yet he still tries to push himself further and further down your throat. You gag and go limp, resigning yourself to his treatment.

Just as you think you might pass out, he finally shoots a load down your throat. Come coating the inside of your mouth as he pulls himself free of your slick lips.

You gag, swallowing it all, and then gasp for air. You balk, rolling over away from him as he stands there with his hands on the bed, one on a pillow and the other on the mattress. He pants heavily from the orgasm.

It was a lot of come.

You curl up into a ball and cry, clutching your throat with your hand, massaging it to feel better.

He doesn’t let you have any time to yourself. He puts one knee on the bed, leaning over you. Levi picks you up, plopping you down in front of him on the bed. Grabbing your hip, he tries to roll you over onto your stomach.

You groan, shaking your head, a messy little thing of rebellion.

That’s okay. He’ll break you of that real quick.

“You were so bad. Too bad to just discipline with a blow job.”

“I’ve learned!” you croak with humiliation.

“I’ll decide that.”

He kneels over your body, partly straddling you as you lie face down. You grab a pillow, needing something to scream into when he starts fucking you.

He needs more, needs more of you right now. He nestles himself between your cheeks, lining up perfectly with your little hole. He smirks when he hears your soft cries into the pillow.

No warning was given before he impales you with his cock. It explodes right into you, jamming your insides. You lift your head with a guttural wail.

“Get out! Levi, please, out! Doesn’t feel good!” Your feet kick against the bed as your nails dig into your palms.

You need a sensation to distract you from the pain. Anything. You would rather take a whipping over this.

You feel his breath on your ear, heavy panting against the shell. “You’re such a fucking slut. Just a fucking bitch for her master. That’s all. It’s all you’ll ever be good for. Fucking brat thinking you can get away with everything.”

His hands reach underneath you. One pawing at your bare chest, the other rubbing at your sensitive pearl between your legs. His ministrations paired with the pain in your bottom short circuit your brain.

You go blank with the stimulation overload, your mind not knowing which sensation to process first. Does it feel good? Bad? Is it blissful or painful? You can’t tell right now as he fucks into your ass, hips thrusting harder than when he made you deep throat him.

He tears you up inside, rubbing against your tight walls, one’s that are even tighter than your pussy. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, making you gasp.

It takes you a while to notice your hips rutting into the bed as his fingers speed up around your bead of pleasure. Your clit happily buzzing for him.

“Do you really think your master doesn’t know you by now? You think I don’t know when my little pet is lying to me? Look at you. You’re such a cock hungry whore that you’ll take it in any hole.”

You come undone instantly from every single sensation he’s offering you. He laughs in your ear as he hears your tiny whimpers from coming. His fingers plunge into your sopping pussy, discovering just how truly wet you are. He removes them from between your legs, and then you find his fingers pressed against your mouth.

A particularly jarring buck of his hips has you opening up once again for him. Levi slides his fingers in past your teeth, right on your tongue. He groans for you to suck on them. You taste yourself on the pads of his digits. You swallow your own cream as you squirm beneath his body.

With his fingers still in your mouth, he ruts into you, squeezing your asscheek with his other hand. He finally goes still on top of you, his weight feeling heavy against your back as he lies there.

Your captain rolls over onto his pillow next to you, folding his hands over his chiseled stomach. He looks up at the ceiling in deep thought, not even sparing your miserable state so much as a glance.

“Captain?”

“Do I really have to teach you a separate lesson on manners, pet?”

Upset, you sigh through your nose. “Master?”

Turning his head to you, he regards you with a softened expression. “What is it?”

“Am I still in trouble?”

“Your punishment is over with. Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

You nod and bury your face into the pillows.

“Oh, one more thing. Try to leave and steal a horse again, and I’ll have you tied to the whipping post and beaten in front of the entire squadron. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.”

You shake your head. You really, really don’t want that.

He turns over on his side towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“So, what do you say to your master for being so merciful?”

Merciful? As if beating you and raping your throat and ass is merciful. As if keeping you under his thumb is merciful. As if any of this is merciful!

A small droplet gathers in the corners of your eyes, spilling over as the last of your pride slips away from you.

“Thank you, Master.”

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tokkias · 2 months

Text

on nights like these ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: Sleep doesn't come as quickly to Lucy these days—and how could it? A war isn't something you forget over night, it haunts you with the threat and fear of loss well into the night. That's something both she and Natsu are well acquainted with. On nights like these when the memories tug at them the hardest, at the very least they have each other. ao3

Not even the warm comfort of her duvet or the gentle pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof is enough to lull Lucy to sleep on this night. Sleep does not come to her as quickly as it once did, if at all these days. Sometimes that’s a good thing—sometimes not sleeping means eluding from the nightmares that plague her when she does, only to find herself waking with a desperate cry for help. Right now, as she runs on barely more than three hours of sleep, it’s not a good thing.

Natsu seems to be sleeping peacefully beside her, and she tries to keep her envy in check. He struggles with it just as much as she does, even if he’s not as vocal about it as she is. They’re so close that it’s just something she knows by now.

He says he sleeps better next to her—something he’s always claimed, but now she believes it more than ever. She’s stopped kicking him out of bed when he crawls in next to her, for both his sake and hers. She says it’s because the heat he radiates keeps her warm in the winter, but as winter creeps into spring and then into summer, that excuse stops being valid, and they instead just pretend that it’s normal for two friends to share a bed with as much frequency as they do.

On nights where she worries about the war memories that will plague her dreams, it’s nice to have him beside her to remind her that he’s okay. She has him to protect her, and she, in turn, will do the very same for him.

A lot of the nightmares have to do with losing him. She’s looked death straight in the eye so many times that the potential of its coming no longer fazes her, but she can’t say she feels the same about the prospect of losing Natsu. Just thinking about it sends chills through her veins. She doesn’t know what she’d do without him. Every day she wakes up and wonders how there was ever a time when she was able to exist without Natsu.

The war with Alvarez is the closest she’s ever gotten to losing him for real—forever. It served as a harsh reminder that Natsu was not, in fact, invincible, that he was just as mortal as the rest of them, and that there was always the chance that his recklessness would catch up with him one day and rip him out of her life forever.

Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest as the thought crosses her mind. She tries to cast it away, to remind herself that there’s nothing here or now that will take him away from her—that he’s not going to let it if he has anything to say about it.

She rolls onto her side to face him and remind herself that he’s still here.

She watches over him as he sleeps, his expression cast in moonlit gaze. The way the light defines his features makes her heart race a little faster. She wants to lean over and press her lips against his jaw, but she refrains, barely so. He looks so peaceful, and she concedes that even if she does not see peaceful sleep tonight, at least he will.

Unfortunately, as soon as that thought crosses her mind, it’s dashed about as quickly as it came.

He twitches in his sleep, only slightly at first, perhaps barely noticeable to someone who wasn’t quite as in tune with him as Lucy, but they quickly turn into desperate thrashes that she recognises as his nightmares. She’s seen it happen before, but that doesn’t make it any less sickening for her to watch. He whimpers and whines as though he’s in pain—he sounds like he’s sobbing and all but screaming out for someone to help. His breaths are unsteady and desperate, and he sobs out her name and shatters her heart all at once.

Gently, she grabs his arm and tries to gently shake him awake.

“Natsu! Natsu!” She whispers in an attempt to free him from the prison his mind has trapped him in.

He wakes with a start, his eyes shooting open. She sees the terror in them, but it quickly dissolves into relief when he sees her by his side.

“You okay?” She asks, her tone hushed and gentle.

He’s silent for a moment, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed, as though he’s trying to separate reality from fiction. Once he seems to determine that this is real, that they’re both safe, he finally speaks up.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he reassures her, flashing that grin at her that says, don’t worry about me.

No matter how many times he tells her not to, she simply can’t help it. She’s always going to worry about him—it’s engraved into her nature as much as breathing is.

“You were thrashing,” she tells him.

“Was I?” He replies. “Sorry.”

A look of guilt is cast over his features in the low light. He’s the type of person that doesn’t like to worry others. He takes on his inner demons by himself, to the point of his detriment. She knows he feels guilty that he worries her, that he would rather she let him take care of this on his own, but there's nothing in the world that could make Lucy stop worrying about him.

“It’s okay,” she hums in affirmation.

She brings her hand up to thread through his hair, running her fingers through it in a gentle and calming manner. He likes this—or so he’s told her exactly one time. He’s not good at asking for help with things like this, so she tries her best to help where she can. His eyes flutter shut in a brief moment of contentment, and he all but purrs at her touch.

Softly, she moves closer to him, resting her head on his chest, nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck. His arms instinctively move to wrap around her, holding her tight against him. It’s a position she would have been mortified to be in with him in a year ago, but now it’s one they frequent in times where one of them needs comfort, which seems to be happening a lot lately. It’s one of the few that Lucy finds herself able to truly fall asleep in, so she doesn’t complain, lest she jeopardise it and lose it.

“You can go back to sleep now,” Lucy assures in a soft whisper. “I’ve got you.”

“Yeah?” Natsu asks, voice still hoarse.

“Yeah,” she affirms.

His hand trails gently up and down her back in comforting motions. It almost has her convinced that tonight she may sleep through the night. Her eyes droop slightly before they’re shut all the way, lulled into comfort by the steady beat of Natsu’s heart against her ear.

There’s one last thing she hears before she finally drifts off into sleep.

“You too.”

#nalu #natsu x lucy #fan fiction #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #mya writes things

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ashwhowrites · 1 year

Note

When I cheered in high school, I will never forget when a flyer fell and her ankle rolled. Luckily, she was fine (I think it was a sprain?), but how do you think Eddie would react to that? Especially if she got really hurt?

(I'm trying to feed your angst desire without breaking everyone's hearts 😇)

This is so cute! I hope you don't mind I turned it into a headcanon

Eddie waited patiently on the bleachers for the cheerleaders to come out

"what color bow do you think she's wearing today?" Eddie asked out loud

Dustin sat next to him and rolled his eyes

"my guess is blue since you went on a whole rant about how gorgeous the blue is" Dustin teased

Dustin adored how Eddie was so mean and harsh with everyone

But not with her

He babied her and was obsessed

Soon enough the cheerleaders filled the floor

Sure enough, a blue bow rested in her hair

She waved to Eddie and Dustin with a huge smile

Eddie stood up and cheered

Eddie watched their routine closely

He was squirming in his seat

He's been nervous about this routine all week

She was a flyer

And Eddie hated it

Dustin was Eddie's personal stress ball when she went in the air

Dustin silently suffered when Eddie would grip his hand in a tight grip

Refusing to say a word

Dustin felt his anxiety rise when Y/N went in the air, noticing a girl at the bottom's foot moving slightly

He prayed Eddie didn't see it

"did that girl move?"

"no Eddie she's fine" Dustin quickly lied

And he was wrong

Because before both boys knew it

Y/N landed on the floor, hard

Eddie flew out of his seat

"wait Eddie" Dustin held him back

But the second Eddie saw his girlfriends eyes water and a sob leave her throat

He raced off the bleachers

Racing down on to the gym floor

She was holding her foot

Crying hard

Eddie pushed over everyone in his way

Rushing to his girlfriends side

"baby what hurts?" He asked

Her head turned when she heard her boyfriend's voice

"my ankle" she cried

Eddie nodded, wiping off her tears

"okay. Can you try to stand? Get you to the bleachers?" He asked softly

She nodded

Eddie always told her she was tough

"I'm tough. I got this" she smiled

Eddie laughed and kissed her forehead

"so tough baby"

He hooked her arms over his shoulder

Easily picking her up off the ground

Chrissy and the rest of the girls standing behind them

Making sure she doesn't fall back

"I got her" Eddie confirmed as he walked her over to the bleachers

Dustin waiting with ice bags

"I ran to the nurse" he puffed out

"thank you dusty" she said

Tears still falling down her cheeks

"of course" he said

Eddie placed the ice on her ankle, lifting her foot to rest on his knee

Eddie dug through his bag

Pulling out water

"want your after game brownie?" He asked

She nodded

Eddie smiled as he pulled it out

Opening the package and handed her the piece of chocolate

"thank you baby" she smiled

Kissing his hand

He smiled and leaned up to kiss her lips

"anytime"

Once the game was over he took her to the ER

She broke her ankle

Eddie panicked like she was dying on the spot

"baby I'm fine. I just need surgery and it's all better!"

"people die in surgery!" He panicked worse

The nurse had to calm him down

Within the month she got surgery

Coming out perfectly fine

"see. I'm fine" she smiled

"my girl is tough" he kissed her head

He was the first and ONLY one allowed to sign her cast

He ripped the marker right out of Chrissy's hand when she went to sign it

"Eddie! The team wants to sign it"

"no. My girlfriend. Basically my cast"

Y/N giggled at her boyfriend's protectiveness

Silently watching as he decorated her cast with drawings

Some hellfire characters

His character is the biggest with a bride on the arm

"that's you" he blushed, pointing at the bride

"I marry your nasty hellfire creature?" She teased

"HES NOT NASTY"

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975@ago-godance@magnificantmermaid

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

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taegularities · 1 year

Text

colour me in: monochrome (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: The sky and flowers, and even your heart and your mind, have turned oddly colourless since you left the warmth he used to wrap you in.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff?, smut ➳ warnings: lovesickness, crying, coping, tension, a hospital scene but nothing too major, mention of a small accident, MORE tension, pov changes, guest appearance, someone flirts with oc 🤷‍♀️, jk’s attitude is painful, kissing... 🤐, arguments, pining/yearning, masturbation..., the ending x100 – more in the full post! ➳ wc: 992 (teaser); around 20k for the full chapter! ➳ a/n: HELLO. summary is subject to change, as always hehe. also, why does it feel like it’s been ages since cmi6? 😔 but here we are, and that’s just a smol piece of the full shitshow :’) thank you so much for supporting me and loving cmi so far; never stop, and lemme know what you think !! 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

At some point as you bask in the distraction, blurring out your surroundings and the stinging scent of hospitals and disinfectant, it becomes easy to giggle the afternoon away.

Until… those surroundings change.

Until a body walks over the threshold; the first step reverberates in your ears.

You barely need to look up to feel his presence. Like he’s supposed to breathe side by side with you anyway; like your souls are connected, needing to co-exist in near proximity.

An invisible needle pricks different parts of your body, pulling you out of your daydream and into the harsh reality.

A reality where the shiver he elicits doesn’t have to do with affection anymore, but with fear.

Where your heart hammers against your ribcage violently, in the most malevolent way.

Where he isn’t supposed to stand in the same room as you, but ends up doing so anyway.

Fucking cruel.

You blink once, and look up from the cast; the motions of your fingers still momentarily.

It’s not like you didn’t know. After all, Yoongi’s their friend first and foremost — you’re more an intruder who would never see the injured man’s face ever again if it wasn’t for Jimin.

Of course you knew. You expected it.

But facing him facing you, with utmost surprise in his eyes and a tense torso, still hits you with a far worse and vicious pang than you anticipated.

Maybe, somewhere inside, you hoped for it.

But looking at the pain spreading on his face and the hesitant movements, like he wants to run away, makes you want to wish for today’s end.

A butter knife could cut the tension in the room. All eyes flit from him to you and back, then land amongst each other; but yours never divert from his.

And he holds your stare just as well.

One of his hands curls to a fist and releases just as fast. Your eyes witness the tiny movement before they wander up his arm, rushing past the tiger lily, the damn forget-me-nots, and halt when they’re back on his face.

You think that several minutes pass, that your heartbeat stops for an eternity that it’s not supposed to give out for.

But when Taehyung, having arrived with Jungkook, throws a timid greeting into the room, everything becomes alive again.

The slow-motion stops, and the few seconds you lost yourself in give way to casual chatter.

You avert your eyes from him the moment he does, not bothering for a single hello, a friendly how are you.

Instead, you watch Eun walk to the men, only nodding towards Jungkook before she lets Taehyung’s embrace surround her for a moment.

He plants a gentle kiss on her hair. Taehyung’s shy denial that he showcased at the last party has been disappearing bit by bit; he looks comfortable with her now.

You don’t know what they are to each other, but the affection is clear. The way his lips touched her hair… Jungkook would do the same whenever the two of you met—

“Nah, we just came like, fifteen minutes ago,” Eun says, answering a question you didn’t hear. “Rushed here, because he,” she gestures to Jimin, “wouldn’t stop whining.”

“You wouldn’t do the same if, I don’t know, I got hurt?” Jimin defends.

“Oh, absolutely. I’d break your other leg, too.”

Whoever’s in the mood to laugh, chuckles quietly. Jimin complains playfully, “I feel like everyone here just hates me.”

And so on. And so on.

On and on, easy conversations, friends chatting like nothing’s wrong.

And on the other side, him.

You.

The lightning striking between the two of you, even when you’re not looking at each other.

You feel too dizzy to find his eyes anyway; though you can tell that, for at least the first two minutes, his gaze darts back to you every now and then.

You don’t dare to steal a glance until he opens his mouth for the first time, answering a question Yoongi asked and you, once again, didn’t register.

He sounds soft. As though he coated his voice in honey, speaking patiently and soberly. Not with the same enthusiasm you’re used to, and the lack of happiness breaks something in you.

God, of all the ways you had to meet again…

“But, there’s a bell for a reason, right? That woman could’ve used it, and then I wouldn’t be here,” you hear Yoongi complain from a faraway distance; nevermind that his leg is mere inches from your fingertips.

“Or… pro-tip,” Taehyung says, “you put your phone away just once. Just while crossing a street at least.”

Jimin scoffs, and you move your eyes to him, feigning focus with an expression that you’re sure must be transparent. “Oh, he wasn’t crossing any street.”

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, lowering his eyes in embarrassment as he adds with a pout, “I was walking on the bicycle lane…”

Your lips curl to a weak smile when your friends laugh, barely there, distracted by a chuckle’s sound that obliterates any other snicker. The brief, sneaky glance you finally pluck up some courage for falls on his lopsided smirk.

An ever-constant Jeon-Jungkook-feature.

It makes your chest burn.

It’s been so long since you heard him laugh.

The genuine sound of it brings back all familiarity that the prior silence eliminated. Of when you were the reason for it, a source of happiness, the firmest anchor for him…

Hard to believe he’s the same man who danced with you just a little while ago. Who looked at you like you were the centre of the universe, the oasis to save him from a drought rather than the rain.

Now, he’s not even talking to you.

And you, pathetic and heartbroken, can only reminisce and drown in flashing memories; trapped in the near past without knowing how he’s faring. Repeating the same wish in your head over and over again.

That…

You want him back. All of him.

HELLO okay so... how do we feel? where does it hurt (or not)? 🧐

for some reason, this chapter has been easier to write than the last? angst really comes to me just like that 😭 nevertheless... do let me know what you think. new or old reader, your enthusiasm, theories and support encourage and motivate me like nothing else, so please do reblog and drop by to talk to meeee 🥺💕

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moon-fics · 6 months

Text

The Lime Light (prologue)

A/n: I had to reupload this bc I messed up some editing but now it's up for good!

Summary: After disappearing from the spotlight you finally return. However, a rough night and a scandalous paparazzi photo causes you to forge a new PR relationship with the beloved actor, Peter Parker.

Rating: PG 13

The light is too bright in the questionably damp room as your agent's, Elizabeth Allen, voice blurs into the background. Stress drones out all noise from the outside world, filling your ears and mind with tv static. You rub your forehead to ease the unsteady feeling inside, your heart beating louder than a drum.

"So, you'll do it right?" Liz asks, her voice full of hope. You know that you've been letting her down recently, avoiding roles that would boost your audience. "You can't keep turning down roles or they'll stop requesting you," She warns, wagging a finger at you.

If she was anyone else you'd snap at her, telling her you just aren't feeling the role. However, you both know you've been using that excuse for months and she's too sweet of a woman to yell at.

It's a good plot, one that would win awards if done right. A love story with tragedy that isn't expected until the last act. A girl in love with a man with a double life, but she's in love with his secret identity and hates the man behind the mask. It's cliche beyond belief, but almost everything has already been done in Hollywood.

"Have they gotten anyone relevant in the cast?" You ask with a heavy sigh, sitting up straight in the chair. You're now alert and invested in the conversation, at least as much as you can be. "I mean, I'd rather not work with a cast full of new faces," It's a harsh thing to say, especially since you started out in the same spot as them.

Liz nods, a burst of energy coming through her, “So you’re actually interested?” She squeaks as you nod in hopes it’ll satisfy her. It's the first time in a while you've shown interest in any gig she's gotten you, which to her, is a huge deal. She quickly shuffles through a file which you can see contains an out of order script.

"Here we go," She hums, placing a paper with a list of names on it. You hesitantly reach for it, sliding it off her wooden desk. It's covered in scratches from her pen pressing too hard on paper, a few coffee stains as well. You smooth out the paper, starting on the first name.

Felicia Hardy is the first name you recognize and you're surprised she isn't the lead. Instead she's stuck as the supporting actress who eventually dies off to progress the plot. From what you've heard about her, she'll throw a stink about it but eventually agree to her character's fate.

Your eyes scan over names of actors you've neither met nor heard of. You're relieved when you finally land on Harry Osborn but it's gone when you see a question mark drawn next to his name. That could mean many things but the two most likely is that he either hasn't decided or the casting director is still looking.

"Is Harry still dropping roles after what happened?" You ask, glancing up from the paper. You should know the answer, you should be asking Harry himself. But after witnessing something as gruesome as his incident, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him once he was discharged. Liz is no longer sitting in front of you, instead she's organizing her desk. She's nervous, why wouldn't she be?

"From what I've heard from his agent," You forget that she has connections, that she's no longer a young woman struggling to keep actors. Just like how you're no longer a child sitting in a chair you can't fit in; your mother making sure you can't speak for yourself. Her words still echo in your mind telling you to cry on que and to never get close to your co-stars. "He's debating giving up acting entirely." She shrugs, tightening her bun.

The news doesn't surprise you in the slightest, what happened was traumatizing. Even though you had only watched what happened you still have flashes of broken bone and blood on an expensive set. Even now you cringe at the thought.

"I know you get along with Harry and I really think he might accept the role!" She cheers up, placing her hand on her desk. You wait for an explanation, already knowing she'll tell you without a prompt. "His best friend, Peter Parker, is the lead role." She squeals.

Liz is a huge fan of Peter Parker and often laments about how she regrets not signing him to her company,at the time she thought he was a one shot wonder. He's a brilliant actor who has a great streak in the industry and a huge following of fan girls. Somehow every movie he's been in has been a hit, something an actor can only dream of.

As much as you want to continue to pretend like you aren't known by millions, you have to suck it up. You can already feel the all nighters and coffee on your breath. As the buzzing in your mind slowly begins you hold out your hand.

"Hand me the script."

- - -

You stare at the boy in front of you, at least a year older maybe two if you’re generous. You’re examining him from afar, imagining how he looks at every angle just so you can get a feel for him. You’ve never worked with a boy around your age, not in such a serious role like this.

His hair is well kept and he never leaves his father’s side. A part of you knows he only got this role because his father is directing the movie, I mean, Norman Osborn always gets what he wants. So why wouldn’t he want his son to become just as famous as him?

You’re so transfixed on taking note of his every feature you hardly notice your mother approaching you. Your first big role and she’s not letting you out of her sight, she calls it a precaution, but you know she just wants to keep her strings attached to you. Even at the ripe age of thirteen you understand her love is purely based on your achievements.

Eventually, you’re thrusted onto set to practice your lines with the boy… and holy shit you’re nervous. You’re too new to acting to have any fame get into your head but you have no clue how this boy will act and honestly, you’re terrified he’ll get you recasted.

As you approach the set decorated to be a middle class kitchen your hands are sweating. You’re lucky Mr. Osborn has allowed you to hold onto your script or you might forget every line even after the hours of late night practices. Before you know it you’re standing a few feet away from the red, no brown, wait maybe both haired boy.

“I’m Harry,” The boy speaks first, holding out a hand. He isn’t even holding a script, he’s confident he knows his lines which only makes you feel worse. You hesitate to shake his hand, worried he might crush your hand or secretly tell you how out of place you are. “I heard this is your first time in a position like this!” He continues, a genuine and bright smile spreads across his lips.

Finally, you use your voice and take his hand, “I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you,” You’re taken aback by how soft his skin is and how he doesn’t insult you for being nervous. Something about him is warm, he’s like a fall candle that you light at night when you can’t focus.

“You shouldn’t be nervous just because my dad is the director. He can’t replace you,” He assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You don’t understand what he means, actors get replaced all the time for the simplest reasons. “I specifically chose you to work with and my father won’t risk my career over something as small as forgetting lines!” He gestures to your script, his head tilting to the side. A strand of hair falls out of place and suddenly you’re reminded that he’s not some big shot, he’s a kid same as you.

With a new determination in your chest you give him a solid nod. You feel special, you feel wanted for the first time in a while. Harry chose you to work with out of who knows how many other girls. He must see something in you, something he wants to work with. With a yell of ‘action’ and a snapping sound, the flame between friends is ignited.

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker x fem #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #actor!au #Pilot #harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #felicia hardy x reader #felicia hardy #mj x reader

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suguruplsr · 8 months

Note

Please I’m begging do a part 2 of the shoko x reader

Friends..?

✰ ✰ ✰ do friends send mixed signals like this ?

જ⁀➴ i love them sm i need them to kiss so bad bro

,, slight angst, fluff

pt1 , pt3

“it didn’t hurt.” you murmur, clutching the blanket from her silence. long story short, a curse was able to pierce your thigh before dying. The poison and blood would’ve been worse if Shoko wasn’t there with you.

but you’d take that over how she’s been avoiding your eyes this past week. ignoring your not-so-reassuring words. she'd stay in the room for hours, especially if you fell asleep. just watching over you. but you knew doctors didn’t have to hover as much as she did.

if you hadn’t gotten hurt, she wouldn’t look so depressed.

your eyes down cast at the thought. you weren’t sure of a lot of things. but you knew that you wished for her to be happy, a deepest desire that always weighed on your heart.

“i’ll be extra careful next time. but please, look at me.” you stammer out, your chest hurts, you didn’t know why, but you just needed her to comply and finally look at you. just some form of acceptance over your words. you look at her back, a hopeful gleam in your eye that dies with each second.

shoko decides to give in. after, what felt so long, of detaching herself from the reality of you getting hurt. “you’re crying..” she utters, moving closer to wipe the tears that slide down your cheeks. but you could care less, bringing your hands up, you hold hers with a small smile.

“i’m happy so it’s okay..”

“he asked for your number?” shoko raised an eyebrow, watching you place the drinks and food on the table. “yea.” you hum, sitting on the stool beside her, as you ate, you fail to notice the look of displeasure on shoko’s face.

“you gave it to him?” she huffs, clicking her tongue and drinking her soda. the fizz held down the harsh words of she’d say to his face. for asking you of all people out. without realizing it, she ponders in her head about it, a clear fussy look on her face as she stared at the cashier.

“just so you know, i didn’t. you’re better than him anyways.” you sigh, dipping your fries and eating them. your nonchalance on how much those words stunned her only made her feel more flustered.

“what do you mean?” shoko sighs, rubbing her forehead. for some reason, she’s been getting worked up over you a lot more lately, it’s different. she almost dislikes it. but she can’t help it.

“i said that you’re better. i don’t care about him.” you shrug, looking at her as you wiped your hands. your eyes narrow at the dust of a blush on her cheeks. a bubbling feeling builds in your stomach.

she feels your hands turn her face towards you, her brown eyes locking with yours as you whisper. “don’t worry too much pretty.” you tease, deriving pleasure from her shocked expression.

“hush.” she pushes you away, looking away and hiding her face away.

she’s so cute like this.

“can’t sleep?” you whisper, hands running through her hair that’s gotten longer over the past year. framing her face under the moonlight so beautifully. “it’s one of those times where you’re tired but also just..” shoko trails off, her hands beginning to fiddle with yours. lost in thought.

“mhm..” you wait patiently, your chin on top of her head, relishing the moment with her. sometimes you wonder how two people like you, two friends, end up like this. basking in each others warmth.

“i don’t know. don’t want to think about it anymore.” she grumbles, moving closer to your body and kicking the covers more onto your side. you guess the fan did no good in cooling her down.

“it’s okay” you mumble, your hand around her body beginning to lightly rub her waist, the massage into her skin making her slowly slump into your hold.

“i don’t have to wake up early tomorrow..” shoko mumbles, nuzzling into your neck a bit, “so don’t get up in the morning. just stay here.” she whispers. the firm grasp of you intertwining your hands was her only answer.

you wonder, was it okay for friends to do this?

“well aren’t you two comfortable..” suguru eyes you and shoko, who were leaning on each other on the couch, watching one of those 90’s horror movies.

“can we join?” satoru stands behind the couch, quickly grabbing one of your chips. “no.” you huff, swatting his hand away as shoko places one of her chips in your mouth. silencing you before you could nag him.

“you two would ruin our time together.” shoko rolls her eyes, both of you moving closer to one end reluctantly, they ignore you two, sitting on the other end. “let’s be quiet satoru, we don’t wanna ruin their date.” suguru ‘whispers’ in satoru’s ear, the other grinning with him in agreement.

“watch yourselves.” you throw two bags of snacks at them, suguru catches his bag as satoru whines in pain, his face being hit. “deserved.” you and shoko mumble, looking at each other with matching looks in your eyes.

you and shoko whisper to each other as the movie continues, the mumbling about how cute some of the girls were or how gruesome the deaths were. shoko adding a few facts about autonomy, proving how unrealistic they were.

“don’t they look..” “like a couple?” suguru finished satoru’s sentence, them watching you two live in your own little world, shoko laughing at one of your comments.

“do you think they both are..” satoru hums, “gay?” suguru cuts him off, a small smile on his face. “probably. it’s none of our business anyways.” he shrugs as satoru nods, jabbing his side.

“what was that for?!” “you kept cutting me off!”

“how long did they last without fighting?”

“almost 15 minutes.”

“you'll let me dress you up?” shoko grins down at your lying form, dresses in her hands. “shoko..” you sigh, contemplating. “what’s it for?” you questioned, turning off your phone and sitting up.

“i’m going out. and you’re coming with me.” she states, laying out the dresses beside you, most of them were black. not bad, you think.

“party?” you hum, getting up and letting her size the dresses with your body. she only nods, picking a few dress and sizing them against your body

“i didn’t think you’d have dresses.” you murmur, her fingers feel like feather’s tickling your skin as she lingers her hand on you. “You always need some for special occasions. Can you try this on?” she pulls away, handing the dress to you, gesturing to the bathroom.

“okay.”

you inspect the sleeveless black dress on you. cute and simple. it was quite tight, but it hugged your body nicely. suddenly you pause before opening the door.

would she like it?

you weren’t sure why this crossed your mind, you weren’t someone to worry about another persons feelings. yet, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, hints of anxiety brewing. it’ll be fine, you hope. opening the door and walking out.

“almost got worried..” she stops, her eyes holding a look that you weren’t able to discern. “shoko?” you tilt your head, watching her move closer to you. her hands grabbing your waist and turning you.

“you look gorgeous.”

“thank you..” shoko says softly, both of you were up at 3 am, you driving her to the store for a few snacks and pads. the two of you in pajamas and light jackets that did nothing to hold off the cold.

“it’s fine.” you hand her the bag, getting in the car and rubbing your hands together. “well can we stay here for a bit?” you make a sound of confusion, turing to her with concern.

“it’s cold.” “i don’t mind. i’m here with you right?” shoko stuns you, your hand moving away from the wheel and settling in your lap. “how does that change anything..” you hum, leaning closer to the warmth of the a/c vent.

“because i like you.” shoko whispers, her breath hitching at the frown on your face. “i don’t get it, you always say that.” you huff, trying to ignore how your heart wished for her to mean it in the way you wanted her too. for once.

“i like you. romantically.” she says, her voice almost breaking. you hold your breath, hands shaking. “romantically?” you turn to her, reaching over and holding her hand, her firm ones grasping your quivering ones.

“romantically.” she assures you, making you bring her hand up to your lips, leaving a kiss on it. you heart twisted, but it felt nice. for once.

“i like you too.”

#jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieri x reader #jujutsu kaisen shoko #ieri shoko #shoko x you #jujutsu shoko #jjk shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko x reader #jjk ieiri #ieiri shoko x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko series <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

Text

Wasted 4

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

You babble mindlessly as your head lolls against the man's shoulder. Your limbs are heavy and light at the same time, your eyelids flutter and droop, the alleyway skewing with your vision. He forces you closer to the wall, nudging you away from him so you fall into it.

You grasp at the brick, tongue sticky but dry, moving as if you're wading through water. You can barely keep your feet flat as your head spins.

His snicker rolls around the alley and reverberates in your ears. Your eyes close as you hear a rustle and the harsh scrape of his sole. You shake your head but it only makes it worse.

You slip down to your knees, crawling as you search for a semblance of steadiness. Everything is limned in shadows, there are no solid lines, and your hands smear into the tarmac. You feel a hard boot on your ass and fly forward, sprawling on your chest.

He steps over you, a foot one either side, and bends.

"I coulda been nice," he slithers as he snatches up the back of your skirt. He spanks your ass, exposed around the thin string of your thong. "Looks like you weren't looking to be nice, huh?"

He drops to his knees, straddling you. You squirm and reach out, gravel jabbing into your palms. You hear voices and the dull drone of music.

Silhouettes approach the mouth of the alley and you cry out. Your pathetic slurring is smothered in his rough palm. He leans over you and shushes against your crown.

"Faye!" You recognise Heidi’s voice, "where're you going? We have to find her."

"You know how she is," Faye retorts, "always fucking off when it fits her."

"S'not fair. You do it too."

"And you," Faye accuses the whine, "fine, we'll look again, ugh."

They clomp away on their heels as you writhe and whimper against the man's grasp. He looms over you, laughing quietly as he keeps your mouth clamped beneath his hand. He pets your head as your fingers scratch futilely on the pavement.

"Seems like your friends are missing you," he taunts, "better make this fast."

He slides his hand between your bodies, angling himself lower as the rough denim of his jeans chafes on your skin. He shifts and tilts his hips, bringing out his hard tip and crushing it against your ass. He guides his dick between your thighs, keeping them apart with his wide hand.

He turns his wrist, framing your cunt with his thick fingers. He pulls your thong to the side and it catches in the crease of your leg. He prods you bluntly, rocking as he tries to dip inside.

He grunts as your body resists. You squeeze your eyes shut at the pressure. You puff out through your nose as he enters you, his dry intrusion hot and painful. You kick your legs, toes bouncing off the ground.

The agony swirls in your skull. You lean your head against your hand, the strength draining from you slowly. You can feel the world fading, little by little. Edges soften, colour wash out, and your body feels less and less like your own.

He thrusts, rousing you slightly. Your head snaps up at the torturous tide. He does it again, harder, chuckling as he feels the tension constricts through you. He rocks his hips, short strokes, each time dropping his pelvis as hard as he can.

Your eyes prick, further obscuring the dwindling scene before you. The alley stretches ahead of you, a club full of people right through the brick wall beside you, so close, yet so far. You hear the front door open and shadows cast over you as a group passes by the opening of the alley. They don’t and can’t know what’s happening to you. Right there.

He ruts into you, his breath tinging the back of your ear, scalding you as it clouds around you. You pant into his palm, head hanging lower and lower. He slams into you again, over and over, your walls clenching with each intrusion.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet, hottie,” he teases, “I’m not even close to done.”

You moan and snake your hand back to grab at him blindly. You clutch a fistful of his jacket, begging silently for it to end. The gravel mulches against your thighs, stabbing your tender skin, sticking to it as he fucks you into the pavement.

You give in to the hollowness of your body. Your head droops against his grasp and your eyes wander to the stinking dumpster only a foot away. That’s exactly what you are. Trash. He’ll use you and toss you away. Just like that.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #au #series #wasted #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier

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halfmoondaze · 10 months

Note

Jack is hanging out at y/n place just lounging around. Y/n all of a sudden says she doesn’t feel good and he tries to help by giving her a body massage, medicine. It doesn’t work but he won’t give up. Reader then starts feeling dizzy has trouble walking normally and Jack notices. He tries to hold her up and talk to her saying things like “come on stay focused” encouraging her to stay awake. She collapses and ends up in the hospital. This is his first time ever seeing her like this and gets so worried starts crying. Maybe turns out she’s anemic or is just not taking care of herself properly. As they get home to y/n house, he never leaves her side and doesn’t let her get out of bed or pick up anything. Jack brings anything she needs to her and does everything to make her feel better and recover

Jack and Y/N were enjoying a lazy afternoon at Jack's place as they watched reruns of Sex & The City while snuggling on the couch.

It was days like these that Y/N cherished so much, where the two of them happened to have the day off, with the opportunity to be around the other with no distractions, even if they did something as simple as staying in, ordering takeout and watching movies or shows on the couch.

But at one point Y/N became uncomfortable.

"You ok?" Jack asked noticing her contorting face.

"No….I don't feel good" she managed to say.

"What is it?" he asked sitting straight on the couch with his body towards Y/N.

"I feel dizzy"

"Do you want me to get you something?"

"I just need some alcohol on a cotton ball"

"I'll get it"

"No, it's fine. I can"

Y/N went to get up from the couch, but the moment she made one step, dizziness overcame her and everything faded to black.

The room fell into a hushed silence as Y/N's eyelids fluttered open. The harsh white hospital light cast a blue hue over the sterile hospital room while the sound of beeping machines could be heard in the distance.

Upon lying his gaze on Y/N that was now awake, Jack rushed to her side and took her hand.

"You're awake" he said softly.

"Wh- what happened?" she asked in confusion still trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"You fainted…..I was so scared…..I thought-"

You placed your hand on his cheek.

"Hey, I'm ok now. It's ok"

Jack looked away to hide that he was about to cry.

"C'mere" she gestured for him to embrace her.

That's when he leaned into her embrace as he was feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion, and he couldn't help but start silently sobbing as he was overcome by the fear and anguish he was experiencing earlier from the thought that he could have lost Y/N.

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viennacherries · 2 months

Note

As a sucker for hurt/comfort, I especially adored the 9th chapter of your fic! And would love to read more of smth similar to that.

Perhaps smth like Rolan and Tav, both overworked and tense, snapping at each other and then avoiding each other's company (both because of anger but also mostly out of fear that the other one now hates them. Love me some good old miscommunication🤌).

This one is a bit more self-indulgent but I would also love it if Tav specifically self-isolates while trying to process all of the emotions and wants to hide their own feelings away even from themselves.

just a short and sweet one :)) thank you for your lovely words and for your very cute prompt. i hope you like it!!

SFW

read it on ao3

~~~

"Rolan. It's fine, trust me. I think I can manage. I do actually do magic, believe it or not."

"Just because you can do magic doesn't mean you're good at it."

Tav flinches at Rolan's harsh words as if he's punched her. It's not the first time someone's insinuated that she's bad at magic. People have always assumed that because she's a sorceress she never bothered to try and learn magic 'properly'. It's always used to hurt, when she was younger, but gradually as she's gotten older it's lost it's sting. She knows her own worth, her own abilities.

She's never heard it from someone she cares about.

She's never heard it from Rolan.

It feels like he's stuck a knife in the gut. It feels like he's gone straight for her jugular on purpose to hurt her as much as possible. She pushes down the urge to cry and raises her voice at him instead.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What, you think you're better than me?"

He scoffs, "of course I'm better than you, I've spent years studying, but what I mean is-"

"Fuck you! Just because you've studied doesn't mean you're superior! How many times have I saved your sorry ass? And you're gonna stand there and tell me you're better than me?!"

It's a low blow and she knows it, but she's so angry she can't find it in herself to care. She wants to hurt him the way he's hurt her, wants to lash out and defend herself and push him away so he doesn't hurt her again.

His eyes narrow, his voice raises, "what the fuck?! What's wrong with you?!"

"Fuck you!" Her voice cracks as she shouts at him, and she turns and storms off, racing out of the room before he can say anything else. She thinks she might hear him call her name, but if he does she can't hear it over the pounding of her heart in your ears.

She barges into the nearest cupboard she crosses paths with, slamming the door behind her and casting an arcane lock. And then she falls to her knees and sobs.

How fucking dare he? How fucking dare he say something like that to her. How dare he act like they haven't shared their hearts and their beds and their lives for the better part of the last 6 months. How dare he tell her he loves her and then tell her she's useless.

She's not upset. She's angry. She's not even sure why she's crying because she's not upset. It doesn't upset her. It makes her mad. She's not hurt.

Why would it hurt? She knows it's not true.

...

Except for the fact that deep down she believes him. Believes that she's not good enough. That no matter how much she studies and pores over texts and practices she'll never be as good as she wants to be. She'll never be as good as him.

He's right, because of course he is. He's better than her.

She sobs harder.

For the first time since they told each other they had feelings for one another, she sleeps in her own room. He doesn't come to find her.

~~~

It's three days before she has to see his face again. She'd been hoping to keep avoiding him for a bit longer, hide herself in her room so she could pretend her feelings don't exist, but eventually hunger wins out and she goes the kitchen to eat.

He finds her there that morning, rooting through the cupboards.

"Tav?" His voice behind her makes her whole body tense. She doesn't turn. "Can we talk?"

"What's there to talk about? I think you made it abundantly clear how you feel."

He lets out an exasperated sigh, "Tav, I didn't- I think you- I think possibly you misunderstood me."

A bitter laugh forces its way out of her chest. "Yes, sorry, please go ahead. I'm sure there's plenty of other meanings for 'you're not good at magic', though evidently I'm too stupid to have picked up on them."

"For Gods- Tav that's not what-"

"Not what you meant?" She whips around to face him. "Of course it is. You think you're better than me. You think I'm useless. And you think that I think I'm Mystra's gift to magic-users because I was born with magic. Guess what, Rolan! I don't! I fucking hate myself! So thank you for making it abundantly clear that you hate me too."

She's pretty sure most of what she said has nothing to do with the argument they're having, now that she thinks about it, but it's too late.

"Tav will you please just-"

"No, Rolan! No I won't. Because you fucking hurt my feelings and I don't want to fucking look at you right now."

As she storms past him to leave the room, she catches a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg, and she feels a stab of guilt.

~~~

The knock on her door later than night isn't entirely unexpected, though it is completely unwelcome.

"Go away, Rolan. I don't want to talk to you."

"It's me, Tav." It's Cal's voice, not Rolan's. "Can I come in? I brought you food."

"... Is he with you?"

He sighs. "No. He wanted to come, but I said no."

She pauses in front of the door. She likes Cal. She believes him.

She opens it. True to his word, Cal is alone, and he's holding a tray with a plate and glass of water on it. It looks like it's Lasagna, and it smells fucking delightful.

"... Can I come in?"

She sighs, and steps back to open the door wider.

He walks past and places the tray down on her bedside cabinet, and as she closes the door he perches on her bed.

"Go on then, give me the lecture."

He laughs, "Gods, Tav, I know Rolan's my brother but that doesn't mean we're the same. I just want to know what's going on."

She huffs. "He was rude to me."

He snorts, and when she glares at him he makes a big show of steeling himself, pulling a neutral face. "What?! Rolan?! Rude?! It can't be!"

There's a long pause while they stare at each other, before they both they both burst out laughing. It's stupid, that she's so angry at him but laughing about it anyway. Cal just has that effect on people.

She sighs. "I don't even remember what we were talking about anymore, but he turned around and basically said that I'm bad at magic."

Cal frowns. "Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing just," he shakes his head, chuckling lightly, "I don't understand why he'd say that, considering he's pretty much constantly singing your praises."

She frowns, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that after you saved Lia and I from Moonrise, when he finally realised he didn't hate you, he admitted he was jealous of you. He said your magic was beautiful and that you were powerful and disciplined. He said you could do with some practice, that you maybe needed some tutoring, but that he could tell you were a sorcerer from the moment he met you. He said he could feel the weave in you, that's how strong you are. That was actually when Lia and I started placing bets on when he'd realise he had feelings for you, because he wouldn't shut up about how great you were, and he didn't for months. So, not to call you a liar, but I struggle to believe he'd say that to you, because he definitely doesn't think it."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she just stands there staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Eventually he sighs.

"Look, Tav. Rolan is an asshole, without a doubt. But consistently, since you saved us all in the shadow-lands, you're the one person he tries not to be an asshole to. I really think you should talk to him."

The pause is long, but eventually she sighs. She knows he's right, really.

"...Thanks, Cal. Really."

He smiles, "it's fine, honestly. I once went 2 weeks without speaking to him because he told me I swing my sword like I'm constipated."

She barks out a laugh at that, and they're cackling together again.

~~~

She steels herself; takes a few long, deep breaths and rolls her shoulders in hopes of easing the tension. Before she can decide otherwise, she's knocking on Rolan's door.

There's some muffled shuffling behind it, she hears him muttering something to himself, and after what feels like an age the door swings open.

"Tav?" He looks shocked, which makes her feel bad.

"... Can I come in?"

His eyes go soft, "of course you can."

Being back in his space makes her want to cry. She's missed him so much.

"Tav, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"No. Let me go first, please?"

He pauses. Nods.

She takes a deep breath. "You really did hurt my feelings when you said that I wasn't good at magic. But in hindsight I think I mostly hurt my own feelings. You're amazing and I spent however long travelling with Gale and I grew up around wizards and I've never felt good enough. As soon as you said I wasn't good it was like I was a kid again, trying to prove that I was worth something. But I worked really hard, I studied, even if it wasn't a proper wizard education. And even if you're better than me, I think I deserve your respect."

Rolan sighs, steps forwards and takes he hands. "Tav. I never said you were bad."

Her face screws up. He's really going to stand there and deny it?

"Yes, you did, you said-"

"I said 'just because you can do magic doesn't mean you're good at it'. I didn't say 'just because you can do magic doesn't mean that you're good at it. I didn't mean you. I meant it generally. Like, there are lots of people who aren't good at magic."

Her mouth drops open.

Oh.

"Oh."

He laughs, "upon reflection, I probably could've chosen my wording better, but I didn't know about- I didn't know you struggled with it. I always assumed you were super confident and realised how strong you are. You're brilliant at magic, Tav. I might be more practiced, but you're far more powerful."

She's crying, she knows she is, but she feels so stupid. He wraps her up in his arms.

"I didn't- I thought-"

"I'm so sorry, Tav. I really didn't mean it like that at all. You're spectacular. You inspire me. I didn't even fully realise how it sounded until after you left."

"No," She sniffles, looking up at him, "I'm sorry. You tried to explain and I wouldn't even listen. I was too busy wallowing. I thought you looked down on me."

He brings a hand up to her cheek, wipes away her tears, and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Tav, you've saved me enough times to leave me eternally in your debt, and yet asked nothing in return. Not only are you strong, you're selfless. How could I ever look down on you?"

She doesn't answer. She buries her face in his chest and tightens her arms around his waist. His tail curls around her wrist and he holds her against him by her shoulders. When he speaks, he whispers into her hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't explain it properly. I was scared. I thought I'd messed everything up. I thought I'd lost you."

"Never."

He laughs, and she realises he's crying now because she can hear how wet it is. "Gods, I hope not."

They hold each other like that until they feel whole again.

~~~

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fluff #bg3 rolan #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 requests #bg3 angst #bg3 tav #rolan #rolan bg3

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tatiam-x · 5 months

Text

Take it

Annie Leonhart x female bodied reader

im falling in love with annie omg her and mikasa are so fucking hot I cant

tw: lesbian sex, smut, strap-ons, fingering, annie calls u kitten

18+ minors dni

word count: 2.8k+

“You’re already wet,” she hums against your ear, teasing your folds mindlessly with ghosting fingers. Her chest leaves your back, hearing her scuffling to grab something. You hear a clicking sound of the lube bottle opening.

“Wait… don’t, I can take it,” you voice, feeling how wet you already are; you want to take her, all of her until she’s satisfied.

She says nothing, but something tells you her eyebrow is raised with doubt. The lid of the bottle closes, signaling her compliance with your statement.

Leaning forward on your elbows, you wiggle your ass at her, awaiting for the toy to penetrate you.

Snickering, she places a hand on your hip, causing you to sigh at her touch. The head of the dildo teases along your slit and you moan softly at the contact, the heat between your thighs craving the fullness from the strap on.

“You really are a slut, wanting to take this cock from me,” she says smugly, lining the toy with your clit. You tremble, letting out a whine at her comment.

Then, with an agonizingly slow thrust of her hips, she pushes the dildo so deep into you that her hips push against your ass. “Ah,” you moan painfully as you clench the sheets tightly, your eyes squeezing shut.

She pulls out just as slowly, almost completely out of you until she rams deep into you again; you whimper, guessing that she won’t let you get used to the stretch.

“I thought you said you could take it,” she drones as if she’s bored. But even through that guarded exterior of hers, you can tell she likes how you take the entire length of the dildo so well.

She pulls out, then pushes harder into your stretched out pussy.

“Annie,” you moan, feeling her grip tighten on your hips.

She clicks her tongue — it makes you think she’s annoyed that you turn her on like this. So, you decide to turn her on even more.

“Please… fuck me faster, harder,” you beg, arching your back while you lean forward on your elbows to cast a desperate look over your shoulder.

And when you look at those icy blue eyes of hers, she’s blushing. You have to force down a smirk of victory; the expression on her face is anything but bored. Her eyes are no longer dull; they’re filled with hunger that she only ever shows during combat. You know that she can see the faint glint of playfulness in your eyes when she looks away from you, becoming aware of the heated blush on her cheeks.

“You’d even go so far to beg for it? You like how it hurts?” she growls, giving your ass a smack that makes you yelp in surprise. Without waiting for a response, she slams her hips back into you, but this time she sets a harsh, hasty pace, driving that long, stuffing cock into your dripping cunt.

“Ah - nnie!” you cry out, feeling the head of the dildo rub against a sensitive spot in your clit, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. Her name slips so easily from you, it’s a roll off the tongue as if it’s the only word you know. The cock stuffs deep into you so well, so fucking well that you feel like you can’t breathe.

She moans at the sound of her name from you, the sound of her hips slapping against the back of your thighs makes your body heat up in excitement. “So tight.”

She gives your ass another smack, earning another moan from you. It hurts. It hurts so good.

“Fuck… Annie it -” you words fail you as pleasure takes over when she moves her hips a certain way, and you feel the cock move inside you that hits you so good.

“Oh!” you scream, your body moving with the force of her thrusts.

“Right there?” she grunts, slamming into you faster and you whimper at her roughness; it’s like when she fights, how she releases her rage that’s been stored for too long. You feel a sting of pain on your scalp as her hands fist into your hair, yanking your head upwards and she bends over to your ear. You yelp in pain with the sudden action. Her hot breath is against the side of your neck, her plush chest meeting your sweaty backside.

“Tell me,” she heaves, but you can only answer with a moan when her fingers push into your clit, matching the same ruthless pace of her thrusts. It’s too much, how harsh she’s fucking you, how fucking good it feels that you can’t even speak.

“I - ah - nnie - it’s…” you stumble, gasping when her fingers curl so perfectly into your clit that your thighs shake around her.

“Fuck! Annie,” you moan, feeling saliva drip out of your mouth as she fucks you stupid.

She moans against your ear, whispering a soft but heated, “fuck,” and she releases you hair. Your head droops down with the loss of her hand, not being able to keep yourself up with how focused you are on your own pleasure.

“Look at yourself, all strung out on me… fuck you’re so pretty,” she purrs, her breathing heavy from the physical strain of her work.

“Annie… oh, Annie…” you whine, your walls clenching around the cock and you tremble as the pressure of heat builds in your lower abdomen. She hums, maintaining her pace and you become a mess, a moaning mess while you chase your high.

“Gonna come, pretty girl?” she says smugly, kissing the side of your neck fervently.

“Y - yeah,” you gasp, but just as you feel the pressure almost peak, she pulls out of you, your walls clenching around nothing.

“Annie… why?” you whimper weakly, trying to catch your breath and you look at her with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she brings that icy stare to you, making you shudder with how intense it is.

With her hands still remaining on your hips, she flips you over on your back, and your eyes widen as she swiftly climbs on top of you. You can’t help but stare at her, admiring how beautiful she is. Her hair is unkempt and sweat beads her forehead, her eyes drowning in lust as she looks at you. Her mouth parts as she breathes heavily, then your eyes trail down her body to those pretty tits of hers, then down to that pretty pussy that glistens in arousal.

Noticing your wandering eyes, she tilts your jaw up to her with wet fingers, and you look expectantly at her to give you more. With a smirk, she drags her thumb along your lower lip, prompting you to part your mouth; her wet fingers from your chin bring up to your mouth, teasing their way past your lips.

Warm fingers enter your mouth, tickling your sensitive tongue, and you swirl your tongue around them. You moan at the taste of yourself, maintaining eye contact with her and her eyes shine with fascination as your mouth swallows the length of her fingers.

The smile she gives you is wicked, a muffled moan coming from the back of your throat as she gently pumps her fingers in and out of your mouth, watching your lips wrap around them. She seems reluctant to pull her fingers out of you but she does, her digits shining with your work.

“You’re not as innocent as you seem,” she murmurs distantly, stroking your cheek with the back of her wet hand. It’s as if she’s distracted with the thought of your feigning innocence, which makes you shiver.

You press your lips against hers in response, reaching up to wrap your hands around her neck to pull her closer to you. Her lips taste sweet. They’re addicting, your lips greedily taking her in. You feel one hand slide behind your back, the other near your tailbone and she lifts you up onto her lap. Your thighs tremble around her as you stand on your knees, and the way she looks up at you is hot with desire.

“Ride me,” she deadpans, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

You sigh jaggedly, the heat between your thighs becoming distracting. You feel the ache between your thighs despite the discomforting soreness. You look down, shivering at the sight of the cock that’s now drenched in your enjoyment.

Lining yourself up with the head of the cock, you try to look at her when you start to sink down, but you inevitably close your eyes at the feeling of being stretched out again. Your ass meets her thighs, and you whine at the feeling of being filled up. A wave of heat washes through you as her hands meet your waist, moaning and bringing you to remember that you’re being fucked by Annie Leonhart.

At first, she didn't help you. She simply watches as you start to set a rhythm of bouncing on her cock, analyzing the way your head tilts back with your eyebrows tensed together and your mouth open as whines and moans escape your mouth. It feels good, it feels so good.

After your mind is driven by pleasure, you want more, more from her, more of her touch, more of her taste. “Annie… please.” Your pleading voice comes as a moan, forcing your eyes open to look at her with heavy eyelids.

“What do you want? Isn’t this enough?” she says flatly, but you can hear the strain in her voice and her breathing is heavier.

“No… more, Annie,” you beg, holding onto her shoulders to support yourself.

With a sigh, she starts to thrust her hips into you, eliciting moans from the both of you in a euphoric harmony. You can tell she was trying to control herself earlier, but now that she’s fucking you back, her words and actions are shameless.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. So desperate for me, aren’t you, kitten?” she grunts, her lips grazing against your collarbone. She bites down, making you moan with the newly formed mark she made.

“Annie… fuck,” you whimper at how good she shoves the cock into you as you ride her, sweat beading on your skin with the effort.

Her lips crash into yours for a hot, desperate kiss, and you moan into her mouth with how hot everything feels. Her pace quickens, and you struggle to match hers as you feel your walls clench around the cock, soft gasps and moans getting more frequent and louder from you.

“So pretty… you sound so pretty… fuck you take it so good,” she murmurs against your mouth between kisses.

“Fuck…” you moan, your back arching and your grip on her shoulders tightening.

“How’s it feel, pretty girl?” she rasps, kissing down to your exposed neck and you whine.

“Good… so - close,” you whine, your legs trembling and you feel the pressure of heat build in your core.

She moans in response, her teeth biting and sucking on your neck. “Come for me, then.”

Your gasps turn into moans, loud moans that have your chest heaving and tightening. “Oh, it’s so…” you can’t finish the sentence, only moans slip out of your mouth as you fix your attention on chasing your high.

“Annie… god, Annie,” you cry out as you feel your orgasm reaching you, and you come with a loud, high pitched, “Ah - nnie!,” as your peak washes over you in delicious waves of pleasure, your hips bucking and controlled by the waves of your orgasm that hit you. She continues to pound into you until you stop, falling forward to rest your head on her shoulder as you catch your breath.

For a few moments, you stay there, the both of you slowing down your breathing. It feels perfect with her like this, wrapped in an embrace lingering with exhaustion. With a wince, you sit up on your knees to pull yourself out, watching a string of your come drip down your thigh.

You collapse on your back with an exaggerated sigh, your brain still dazed from the strength of your orgasm. She’s good. You can’t resist a smile. She’s mindblowingly good.

You hear the sound of her removing the strap-on, feeling the bed lift when she gets up. After a moment, the bed dips again and she climbs on top of you, her hair falling down to hang over your head. Her eyes are soft; gentle, even. The corners of her lips curl into a small, winning smirk as she looks at you, leaning down to kiss you.

“Someone looks tired,” she teases, kissing your cheek.

“Shut up. You were ruthless,” you roll your eyes, swatting lazily at her face.

She simply laughs, but as meaningless as it seems, you adore the sound of it.

“What about you?” you say suggestively, leading your fingers to her toned abdomen, down to her inner thighs. She pauses, taking a moment to inhale and closing her eyes at your touch. “What about me?”

It comes out as a mutter, almost like she’s afraid that it would turn into something more if she were any louder.

“Well… you’re just as wet as I am…” you trail off, biting your lip when she opens those pretty eyes of hers that have just a hint of desperation in them. “Don’t you want to be touched?”

She stares at you for a moment, a moment that seems longer than it should be, her expression revealing nothing more. Your hands move to tease her folds, and you imagine the sight of her bucking her hips into your hand with flushed cheeks and soft moans coming from a parted mouth. Just the thought of it makes your body heat up, unconsciously bucking your hips in arousal.

“Why, so you can get off?” she smirks, noticing the way your eyes scan her body.

“So I can make you feel good,” you murmur, looking up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes.

Taking her silence as a confirmation, you let out a breath of surprise when she moans softly as your fingers graze her soaked clit. She hides her desire well. You don’t want to push her by teasing her any longer given the common knowledge that her patience wears thin.

With slow, tender fingers, you push into her clit, making her gasp and her hips buck into your hand. You watch her face twist with pleasure, her chest heaving as her breath becomes labored. You’re mesmerized by the sight of her like this, so desperate for your touch.

Pushing your fingers knuckles deep, you curl them deftly into her cunt, watching your digits disappear with enchantment. She lets out a whine, and then a moan of your name. Her arms tremble around you as you increase your pace, struggling to keep herself up as she focuses on your fingers.

“Fuck,” she shudders, and you bite your lip when you hear the sound of your fingers moving in her cunt.

You bring your free hand to the back of her head, grabbing her hair and pushing her down to meet your lips. Her moans are muffled by your lips, but it sounds so fucking pretty coming from her.

You can tell she’s close when her walls contract around you, tightening and you feel her getting wetter and wetter. She can’t even bother to focus on kissing you, and instead moans right against your lips and you watch her whole body react to your touch.

You keep your pace, allowing her to reach her climax, and you know she does when she whimpers a broken, “Oh… fuck,” and her body jerks into your hand. You fuck her thorugh her orgasm, hearing the melody of soft moans and gasps as she comes. You feel hypnotized, absolutely hung up on the image of her coming.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, and you bring your wet fingers out of her and bring her into a kiss. She gladly returns it, addicted to the feeling of your sore, swollen lips.

“I have to go,” she says after kissing you for a while, and your heart sinks that she has to leave you.

“Stay?” you offer, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

“I can’t,” she looks away, her eyes hardening to that same, indifferent stare.

You say nothing, dissatisfied but it’s not in your control. She gets off of you, quickly getting dressed in her uniform.

“I’ll… see you after,” she says quietly, and you sit up on your elbows to see her face flushed with embarrassment. You smile, your heart warming up from its previous cold.

“Okay,” you say, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. She wants to see you again.

Saying nothing in response, she gives you one last look before ducking her head and leaving, closing the door behind her.

She wants to see you again.

#smut #wlw #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk x reader #snk annie #aot annie #annie leonhart #top Annie leonhart

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