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isagrimorie · 2 months

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I did a really fast read through of the book becaues I was really excited about it— I’ll definitely revisit it to look up the details I missed the first time. It will also help that I’ll be listening to an audiobook of it.

I liked the book!

Things I like in bulletpoints:

Seven has a holophoto of her Voyager family but Janeway has a special singular portrait. LOL. Seven.

Seven loves classic music (the Janeway influence) and apparently punk music and mosh pits.

Seven’s first Fenris Ranger mentor— pretty cool, even cooler, Seven’s trill girlfriend.

Janeway being a large presence in the book.

Further explanation of the whole *gestures to the whole hellpit of fire* Romulan evacuation mess and how that can seriously fuck up both the Federation, the worlds it had to pull out from in order to focus on the Romulan crisis, and the eventual pulling out from Romulan aid. I get it but I don’t — as Picard would say, the Federation let its fears guide them and turned inward. Coming from the existential war against the Dominion, and the far too close attack on Mars right on Earth’s doorstep… (Like Seven has her work cut out for her as Ambassador of goodwill as Captain Seven after the Frontier Day shenanigans). Anyway, screw the Romulan leadership and their secret police.

Going a bit more in depth:

— I loved that Janeway was also a big part of the story and she was genuinely trying to get Seven into Starfleet and the Federation, at the cost of her own reputation. I like that David Mack got that part about Janeway right, that Janeway is a dog with a bone. But she also got herself some pretty powerful enemies helping Seven in the book, I don’t know if we’ll see that in Prodigy or in future Trek Lit books.

There are some things I don’t agree with, in the book.

I liked Ellory, she wasn’t just Seven’s Trill love interest but also helped Seven find a place with the Rangers.

There is that one thing about one of the Rangers taking credit for Seven’s “I don’t leave anyone behind” attitude which — excuse me, Kathryn Janeway was the one who influenced that. Janeway did not march into a Borg Cube alone to rescue her — so I’m glad Janeway reclaimed that by the end.

And I’m glad I’m right in my reading that Seven going at it at 100km/h against Picard about Rangers being a vigilante group was because Seven was picking up a fight she was having with Janeway. I do love that they ended the story amicably but with understandable differences about the Rangers.

Janeway already laid out how the Fenris Rangers can turn out bad, especially since it’s more decentralized and has no oversight. The constant need for looking for budgets and money to fund the Fenris Rangers will eventually be too much.

To the credit of Rangers and Seven, it at least had 20 year run before it began to succumb.

Also, because of how the book ends and how Stardust City Rag begins, it heavily implies that Seven loses out on some of her friends, she breaks-up with her girlfriend somewhere down the road.

One thing I think I don’t agree with David Mack is his depiction of Bjayzl… Stardust City Rag heavily implied that Seven and Jay were heavily involved and as seriously screwed up and self serving it ended up being, Jay did have feelings for Seven. Terrible motives, still murder. It’s fucked up but I think Jay did love Seven in her own way. And Seven didn’t allow anyone to use Annika but her, and Jay thoroughly tainted Seven’s association with the name.

“Annika” was Seven’s shibboleth whenever she needed to call herself back from being a Borg drone. Fuck Jay but also, I just don’t buy how easily Seven would just talk about Icheb to a total stranger even if they plied her with alcohol.

No. In-show, the one we saw play out, Seven and Jay had more history. The animosity Seven had with Jay were multiple things, wrapped in a messy complicated thing. It was worse than Seven befriending someone in a bar.

But overall I liked the book, the framing device might not have worked for me but I liked the story overall. It showed why Seven needed to be part of the Fenris Rangers, she needed to carve her own path and stand her own ground and fight for things she believed in.

I get why Seven looked a little worn by the time we see her in Stardust City Rag — because as she tells Jay, almost all of Janeway’s predictions about the Rangers were coming true. And I had the sense by Picard s1 and s2, Seven was one of the few that’s keeping the Rangers honest.

I can see the path of how Seven, after a long and much needed time away from everything Starfleet, finds her long and winding path leads her back to Starfleet.

Janeway is a dog with a bone. And she never let go of the bone that led Seven back to Starfleet.

Anyway, the novel also successfully makes me wonder about how Janeway is coping too, after all these years because the book implies after the Voyager scattered Janeway and Seven had was each other. Janeway still had her family, of course.

But I just realized, in this book, and on Prodigy with how everyone’s scattered after returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Janeway is lonely.

Because even Seven leaves Janeway behind too, and to somewhere Janeway can’t follow.

Chakotay disappears in the Protostar thing— see: Prodigy.

(Yes, Mack wrote Janeway as thinking of Seven as a ‘prodigal daughter’ but there’s enough ways I can work around that as a Janeway/Seven shipper. (One sided from Seven’s side, ‘she’s NOT my mother.’ and maybe denial on Janeway’s side.) (Look, I’m a shipper okay, allow me this.)

Firewall and all through Picard the show, makes me wonder how Janeway coped with Starfleet and the Federation. Picard gave-up and lived in a vineyard for years. But Janeway isn’t a woman who knows the meaning of giving-up, still it must have grind her gears. She’s already furious with Starfleet and by Firewall and Star Trek Prodigy Janeway is still a Vice-Admiral, and from what we saw in Prodigy— she still has higher-ups to answer to. (Hello, Jellico).

Even when she ranked-up to Admiral, I have a suspicion that some Badmirals and Changeling Admirals made an effort to keep Janeway out of big things.

Also, Janeway got herself an enemy within Federation Security, and I won’t even be surprised if she managed to ruffle Section 31’s feathers too.

I get Seven’s instincts in trying to protect Janeway because there are people who seem intent on keeping Janeway where she is.

It is funny how Seven complains to Janeway about how chafing and stifling she finds Starfleet, not knowing that majority of the time, Janeway shared her sentiments and Janeway spends the book going:

(Seriously, I think it’s better Janeway sat out the whole Dominion war, post-Dominion War Starfleet already grates at her, Dominion War!Starfleet would make Janeway furious.)

TLDR this is a really good book, I don’t agree with some of its narrative choices and just like in comic book continuity, I will just pick and choose what I like and don’t.

I was initially thrown how organized the Fenris Rangers were and how well funded, as opposed to what we see of them in No Man’s Land, but in context by the end, its because Rangers is feeling the burdens of having barely any funding and having no central oversight.

I loved seeing Seven figure out step by step why she needed to be here out in the fringes of Federation space, and forming her own identity. She’s not quite the Seven we see at Picard season 1, life hasn’t dragged her through the wringer yet, she’s still idealistic enough to keep the fight going.

And the people there needed Seven.

Anyway, let me end this with a sort of spoilery ending that doesn’t really say much but is very shippy if you’re so inclined to ship Janeway/Seven:

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to trust me.” There was a pleading note in Seven’s voice, and a purity to her expression, that moved Janeway deeply. She wished she could touch Seven’s cheek.

“Always, Seven. Always.” Seven mustered a sad smile. “Thank you, Admiral.”

“Seven… call me Kathryn.” A bittersweet silence lingered between them until Seven said, “Tell the others I said hello and that I’ll be in touch again soon.”

“I will.” Janeway’s eyes misted with emotion. “Be careful out there, Seven.”

Seven mirrored Janeway’s teary expression. “You, too… Kathryn.”

Look, if not shippy, why ship-shaped???

#firewall spoilers #star trek picard: firewall #star trek picard: firewall spoilers #seven of nine #kathryn janeway #ship: janeway x seven

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warpedlegacywrites · 5 months

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For the DADWC: "I drank every sky that I could," from the Florence + The Machine lyrics prompt list, for Dorian Pavus?

Happy @dadrunkwriting! Have an adorable scene of Dorian and Cullen hiding from a party at Skyhold and drinking on the battlements!

Dorian storms down the hall of Skyhold as fast as he can without looking like he’s hurrying. He estimates he’ll have maybe until the next bells before anyone notices he’s missing, and he wants to savor every moment of freedom he can. Much as he normally relishes the chance to be everyone’s favorite exotic curiosity, tonight’s crowd is especially voracious. He pushes through the final door and emerges into the frosty night air, breathing the cold deep into his lungs. Yes, tonight is a night for solitude. Contemplative, constructive. Quiet. The battlements are mostly empty, sparing the odd soldier on patrol. Dorian storms past all of their stiff salutes without so much as making eye contact. Perhaps his impending departure and proceeding journey home has lowered his tolerance for being the center of attention, but tonight he really just wants to be alone— He comes up short just as he rounds a corner and nearly trips over Cullen, leaning forward between crenelations, propped on his elbows and gazing out at the vast, white emptiness below. He might have anyway, at the rate he was going, if the foul-smelling smoke from his pipe hadn’t warned him just in time. Cullen looks up in surprise at the dramatic near-collision, pulling the pipe from his mouth. He blinks once, twice, and then shock melts into wry humor. “You too?” he asks.

Dorian takes a moment to straighten and readjust his stance, trying to reclaim some of his laconic charm and cover up his malcontent.

“I only needed a moment to catch my breath,” he says, coming around Cullen to lean with his back to the view and crossing his arms. “These people are relentless.”

“Tell me about it.” Cullen’s eyes roll dramatically, and he returns to puffing at the pipe and admiring the view.

Uh-oh. There’s that grumpy tone that Dorian has come to associate with the intrepid Commander’s darker moods. Even at a glance, it’s plain to see the broody shadow over his face.

“You’re not about to hurl yourself over the battlements, are you?” Dorian asks, only half-joking.

“Not yet,” comes Cullen’s flat response.

“Good. The Inquisitor would be so disappointed in me if I let you deprive her of another dance.”

“What’s disappointing is how difficult it is to find a good Fereldan ale tonight.”

Josephine had left standing orders that not so much as a single hops leaf be allowed within sniffing distance of the main keep, where it might offend the delicate sensibilities of a few dozen of her little Antivan merchant court.

“That’s because ‘good Fereldan ale’ is an oxymoron.” Hmm. Can an oxymoron be more than two words? Ah well, Cullen’s not likely to care.

“Don’t tell me you actually prefer that syrupy mess they’re serving in there?”

Dorian scoffs. “I should hope you think better of me than that.” And he pulls forth from the folds of his robe the wine bottle he’d managed to smuggle away from one of the servants. And by smuggle, he means bribe.

It’s a bottle of clear cordial made from some type of winter night-blooming flower Dorian only vaguely recalls are called something like “snowbells”. The label reads “Blissard” – a pun so terrible it should have landed its crafter in prison. But judging from how protectively the servant was hovering around the cupboard where it was stocked, Dorian is fairly certain it was well worth the loss of his second-favorite ring.

Cullen glances at the label with one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is that one of the bottles Josephine has been so paranoid about? She better not catch you with it.”

Even better. “Catch us, my friend. I’m making you my partner in crime tonight.”

He and Cullen share a grin as he pulls out the corkscrew he’d grabbed on his way out. The cork gives way with little trouble, unleashing a pleasant if sharp scent that reminds Dorian of flower petals. He takes an experimental sip, and immediately his tongue is awash with something dry and pinpoint-sharp, a cold burn that he feels sliding smoothly down his throat. A bit like drinking the sun-kissed sky in the midst of winter.

He makes a pleased sound, and hands it to Cullen, who hesitates. “You’re really going to turn your nose up at this when you’ve already burned off half your taste buds with that?” Dorian points with his nose at the pipe.

Cullen smirks, and takes the bottle, challenge accepted. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, giving it a thoughtful frown, before taking a pathetically small sip. “Mm, that’s actually not bad.”

He hands it back, and they trade it back and forth for a few rounds. Soon, Dorian can feel its effects tingling pleasantly in his extremities, and the relentless mountain winds don’t bother him nearly so much. It’s not the sort of thing they’d serve in Tevinter, and… surprisingly, that’s exactly why he likes it.

Tevinter wines are so dry they’re more like scorched earth than sun-kissed flora. Which he normally quite enjoys – “a vintage that’s as sharp as his wit” is his favorite joke at parties. Where else will he be able to sample such a wide variety of flavors, from so many different skies?

Vishante kaffas, he’s waxing poetic again. Usually a sign of melancholy. Better continue to drink about it.

“You leave in the morning?” Cullen asks, in a deliberately casual tone.

“That’s right.” Dorian takes another drink. “Within a fortnightI’ll be back to civilization at last. I can almost taste the sweet air of the Nocen Sea already.”

“Have you said your goodbyes to Tess?”

That’s the cordial – Cullen almost never lets his pet name for the Inquisitor slip in mixed company. Theresa never seems to mind when he does, though.

“Haven’t had the chance yet. She’s been waylaid by Josephine’s cadre of accountants most of the night. Supposedly, it’s absolutely vital to the future of the Inquisition.” Dorian allows himself a sly sideways glance at Cullen. “I think she’s avoiding me.”

Cullen smiles knowingly. “Don’t take it personally. That’s her default maneuver when avoiding her feelings.”

“Oh, I take it as a compliment. The longer she avoids me, the more she’ll miss me.”

“She’s not the only one.”

Dorian gives him a skeptical look. “Andraste’s arse, you’re not about to get sentimental on me, are you? Because I’m suddenly strongly reconsidering sending you over the battlements after all.”

Cullen laughs outright. “You wouldn’t dare risk Tess’s wrath.”

“I already risked it when I told her I was leaving.”

He’s met with a canny stare. “Are you sure it’s her who’s doing the avoiding?”

Dorian’s breath hitches for just a beat, but he recovers quickly. “You see? This is why I’ve got to leave. Far too many of you know me far too well. I need to return to a place where no one has the slightest clue what’s actually going through my head.”

It’s as close as he’ll ever come to an admission, and Cullen seems to recognize it, reclaiming the bottle with a victorious grin.

“Far be it for me to ever claim to know what’s going through your head.” He drinks, and hands the bottle back.

“There’s a good man.”

Yes, he’s going to miss this place.

#dadwc prompts #my writing #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #dorian & cullen #drinking buddies #i love their friendship #florence and the machine prompts #i drank every sky that i could

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pukanavis · 2 years

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Bug♡Buzz♡Dreamy Alice Fantasia Pt 6 - Alice vs The Queen of Hearts

Lim: The Queen of Hearts was the spitting image of Fran, my precious friend.

Not just in appearance, but in personality too. He wouldn’t cut any corners when it came to cuteness and he was a little scary when he got mad…

But the Queen of Hearts and Alice don’t know each other…something about that feels a little strange.

♡　♡　♡

Alice: Did you say…associates?

Queen of Hearts: From the looks of it, you’ve both got a lot that I can work with! With a proper makeover, you could be almost as cute as me!

I have looots of outfits in my castle you could try on ♪

Alice: I refuse!!

Queen of Hearts: Wait, what!? Why!?

Alice: I like being cool! I don’t mess with all that cute stuff!

Queen of Hearts: Huh…but…can someone wearing such a frilly outfit really be saying that!?

Alice: I’m not wearing this because I want to! …Wait, actually, why am I wearing this?...Ugh, it doesn’t matter!

Lim: A-Alice! Don’t fight…

Alice: Don’t worry, White Rabbit! Just leave this to me!

Queen of Hearts: …Fufufu. It’s completely pointless to be saying that now.

Your face! Your figure! The way you talk! Everything about you is making my cuteness sensors go off!

Being cool now is utterly useless! How about you surrender and we’ll fix you up some more of those dreamily cute outfits~?

Alice: No way! Sorry, but like I said, there’s nothing anyone could say to make me like that cute stuff!

I don’t even see what’s so good about it in the first place! It’s so weak and flimsy!

Queen of Hearts: …Grr~~! How dare you~~~!!

If this is how you’re choosing to act then it seems I’ll just have to give you a very special training course on cuteness myself! Cards! Seize them!!

Lim: H-Huhhh….!?

Alice: Shit, we’ve pissed him off! We’ve gotta get out of here, White Rabbit! This way!

Queen of Hearts: Stop right there!!

Soldier Card 1: Soldiers! Follow them!

Soldier Card 2: I hold no malice towards either of you but I must follow Her Majesty’s orders! Catch them!!

Soldier Card 3: Her Royal Majesty…shall always be victorious!

♡　♡　♡

Lim: —And that’s how their adventure ended up like this.

Hyd, Fran. No…Alice and the Queen of Hearts. Those two are different from my friends…

And yet, it still hurts so much to see this happen—

♡　♡　♡

Alice: Hehehe…how does the power of my Alice Kick feel, huh..!?

Soldier Card 1: …Uugh.

Soldier Card: How shameful…

Soldier Card 3: Alice…is the victor.

Queen of Hearts: Did you really think you had me beat? This is nothing.

You’ve only bested a fraction of my cards!

Alice: Ugh…! He’s still fighting back…!

Lim: Oh no…w-what do we do, Alice…!?

Alice: I’ll distract them while you get out of here!

Lim: Huh…!? I-I can’t leave you behind…!

Alice: It’s fine! I said I was going to protect you, didn’t it!?

Lim: But—

Queen of Hearts: This ends here! Get them!!

Alice: They’re coming…! Run, White Rabbit! RUN!!

Lim: Ahh…!? But, Alice…!

Alice...!!

♡　♡　♡

Lim: —...nn…nh…

…Huh!?

???: Ah, you’re finally awake, White Rabbit.

Lim: I…huh…? W-Where am I…?

???: This is the garden of the March Hare. As for me, I’m a guest here at this tea party.

…Although, said March Hare isn’t here at the moment. Perhaps he’s gotten lost somewhere? The Dormouse went out a short while ago to search for him.

Lim: Tea party…? Then, you must be…

The Hatter: Please call me The Hatter. Now then…keeping an eye on this garden by myself has taken a toll on my boredom.

What do you say to celebrating our day off together?

Back | Next

#fran #lim #hyd #nobel

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nbmudkip · 2 years

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audrey or

reigen

lucky for you this ask sent twice so im doing both. audrey time

favorite thing about them: probably how loyal and dedicated she is when she sets her mind to something. if she believes something is the best course of action, or if she believes in a certain value or a certain person or anything, she WILL fight tooth and nail to make it happen, to make others recognize it, to protect them. honestly, she’s a born protector, a champion of the people who got steered a ways off track. i really respect her stubbornness (and see a lot of myself in it)

least favorite thing about them: kind of a different side of the same coin deal. when she makes up her mind, its made up; she is going to be very poorly receptive to even the slightest bit of resistance. her mind handles doubt and dissent kind of like how the voidfish handles fragments of things that were erased, where it molds the mind into not even noticing a problem; she’ll go to lengths of truth-bending, hypocrisy, and straight up denial in order to preserve her belief that she is correct. she refuses to doubt herself, which makes it difficult for her to learn and grow until things become dangerously extreme

favorite line: “This is MY STORY! EVERYTHING THAT EXISTS is at stake! How DARE you try to take that for yourself!” its just. it perfectly exemplifies how her desperation brewed hypocrisy yknow? yeah, everything that exists is at stake, but she’s the one working to destroy it

brOTP: i have a whole thing in my head i never bothered to iron out or write where ash finds her being kind of pathetic and lonely postgame and reaches out a hand to her and they become close. hell if im gonna write it out now though sorry. i also love kiwi/miri/audrey postgame enemies to friends arc, but i think kiwi and miriam probably remain closer to each other than either of them are to her

OTP: i don’t really ship her with anyone. audriam can be cute when done right but i usually prefer kiwiam

nOTP: i don’t really like her and eyala paired together, or eyala paired with anyone, really. eyala is a divine being who’s existed for millenia, and through the way she interacts with both the game’s characters and talks about the current reality, it’s clear that she has a sort of…detachment from it all that thoroughly separates her experiences and emotional responses from that of mortals. i don’t think her being in a romantic relationship with someone who is apparently such a small insignificant blip in the eternity of her existence would be healthy for either of them

random headcanon: the sword’s lightning actually scarred her hand due to overuse. her right hand is a patchy mess. she always keeps it covered up, and they make her upset, because they remind her of a really desperate and hopeless time in her life. also, they throb terribly whenever she ends up seeing kiwi or miriam’s lightning scars

unpopular opinion: i really, truly think she was doing what she thought was best for the world, yknow? she has a one track mind and was trying to follow the path of what that one track had been convinced was the right thing to do. of course, it wasn’t the right thing to do, and of course, she has to come to that realization, apologize, and accept responsibility for what she did, or else she’ll never be able to move forward. but i really, truly don’t think she was operating out of pride and malice. i think she was operating out of a combination of desperation for approval and a need to adhere to the guidelines she set for herself

song i associate with them: under my skin by jukebox the ghost

favorite picture of them: forgive me for picking a non-canon image but it’s gotta be this one by @vulpineprince

#answered #ask #fordcrullerselfship #vera #audrey redheart

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keepholdenonblog · 2 years

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This is my calling

“Be the reason someone believes in the goodness of people”

You know what I absolutely love more than anything else in the world? I love being incredibly kind to people, especially strangers. Giving random people on the street compliments. Making someone’s day better by being patient and understanding or just having empathy for them. Seeing the look of relief on the 16 year old waitress’s face when you thank her instead of yelling at her for messing up your order because you know she’s having a busy Friday night. Complimenting the outfit of the 22 year old girl who’s in a rush because she’s late for her job interview and has a look of stress and worry written all over her face. Saying thank you to anyone and everyone who does something for me, even if it’s their job. I believe there are too many selfish people in this world. Too many people who don’t care about possibly ruining someone’s day because they’re busy thinking about what they are doing or what they need. I might be a little bit naive, but I truly believe in the power of kindness and I think the world would be a better place if more people did too. I believe that I can change lives and leave my mark on this planet just by being kind and loving. So, here’s my story on how I chose my career.

After I graduated with my associates degree a few years ago I decided to change my major and completely start over with school. I realized I wasn’t interested in majoring in psychology or education anymore. The only thing I really knew was that I enjoyed taking care of people and I was pretty good at it too. My sister, at the time, just declared nursing as her major and that was the moment I knew I was supposed to be a nurse too. All I remember from that day is the feeling I had in my stomach. I was so sick from the combination of nerves, excitement, butterflies, and the thought of “would I even make a good nurse?” The only thing I knew for sure was that it completely terrified me, but the thought about being a nurse excited me even more.

After going back and forth about the idea I finally told my family I wanted to change my major to nursing. I’m not going to lie, I received some grief and doubt from them. They questioned my decision because they knew my personality. They knew I was timid, shy, and even a little ditzy at times. This was hard for me because I felt like I wasn’t receiving their full support. This all happened at the beginning of the covid pandemic, so I’m sure you can understand how confused I was and why I started to question my decision. It felt like the world was falling apart and I was only 2 years out of high school. I saw the way this affected hospitals and healthcare workers. And even though nurses were being overworked, underpaid, and under-appreciated in general, I still knew that this was my calling. I ended up getting my CNA license that year, because I thought it would be a great way for me to gain a little insight on what nurses actually do. I got my first CNA job in an assisted living facility, then my second, and now my third, which is where I’m currently at. I work in the hospital in my town and I absolutely adore it. I have learned so many things at this job, the main one being what nursing means to me.

In the hospital we have days that are so busy you don’t even have time to think about using the restroom. My job is more difficult than I thought it was going to be and I am exhausted when I come home after a shift. Even though it’s hard, I still enjoy it. One of my favorite things to do to make my day better is to stop for a second, take a breath, and take the time to actually talk to my patients and get to know them. Don’t get me wrong, it would be a lot easier to get in and out of a patient's room as quickly as possible without talking or doing more than I have to. I’ve definitely worked with some people who do this. But I am slower at my job than the rest of the girls because of this. I enjoy taking the extra few seconds to ask my patients how they are doing, how they slept the night before, and even just learn where they came from and what things they enjoy doing. I try to find anything that I might have in common with them, so I can really connect with them. I have noticed that I build their trust this way… they quickly realize that they’re not alone and there is someone who truly cares about how they’re doing and wants to take the best care of them as possible.

After only one year of working as a CNA I now know I made the right decision. For me, nursing is all about improving the quality of life for my patients, even if it’s just for the short period of time they are in the hospital. And when I say “improving their quality of life” I mean their emotional needs AS WELL AS as their physical health. I don’t believe nursing is simply passing meds and monitoring my patients. Nursing is so much more than that. Nursing is listening, responding, connecting, loving, selflessness, and truly, deeply caring. I am so happy and so grateful I get to do this for people every day.

I have learned two important things I would like to share from my experience in nursing so far:

#1- Go after things that excite you and never look back. Don’t let fear, doubt, or worry get in the way of experiences, opportunity, and growth. Maybe you’re excited for a reason. But you truly will never know unless you give it a shot.

#2- Take your time to be kind and understanding instead of being indifferent, preoccupied, and selfish. You never know what someone is going through and what kind of day they’re having. Your words and actions are more impactful than you realize. You don’t know how many people’s memories you are stuck in. Wouldn’t you rather leave a positive impact on someone’s life rather than a negative one? Wouldn’t you rather be the reason someone laughed instead of cried?

From my experience I am the happiest when I can make other people happy or even just make them smile.

Thank you for being here and listening to my story. Stay true to yourself, be kind, and keep ‘holden’ on.

-Hunter Louise

#keepholdenon

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shorkbrian · 3 years

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So happy your requests are open and I don't mind the wait at all!

I just really want to see a sweet quirkless omega going into heat and sending her alpha Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) into a hard rut and he just pins her to a wall and fucks the life out of her before taking her to the bedroom to knot her.

but you do know that it would 100% be like "hate sex" on Chisaki's part (even though he kinda do like it lol)

(Kinda overhaul x reader x chrono btw but only for a little bit)

Just. Overhaul being able to tolerate you being kept at his compound because one, you're his mate, whether he likes it or not.

Two, you're quirkless.

And three? You don't bother him, you stay out of the way and you have passable hygiene when compared to Chisaki's standards.

But that has to be thrown out the window the second Chrono hauls you into Chisaki's office, the man in charge of watching you when Chisaki isn't around flustered and pink around his ears.

"B-boss, your omega, she's-"

"What the fuck is that smell." Chisaki growls, eyes immediately snapping to your trembling form. Taking in the way you're gasping, sweaty, barely able to stand even with Chrono's hand tight around your bicep and holding you up.

For some reason, the sight of Chrono touching you makes Chisaki itch. Odd, that usually wouldn't bother him.

The smell is cloying; too intense and too sweet, it makes his throat burn and his skin crawl.

"I think she's in-"

"Please, it hurts." You choke out, cutting off Chrono. "Need... I need-"

Chisaki recoiled as the scent got stronger, clouding his senses, making him feel... Chisaki didn't even know. Excited? Tingly?

Uncomfortable - he decided.

"Get her out. Give her a bath too, she smells disgusting." He commanded, but Chrono stepped forward instead of back out the door.

"Boss, she's in heat."

Heat?

Oh.

Overhaul cringed.

Logically, he knew it was going to happen eventually. But on the other hand, he had hoped his omega would be different. you was already quirkless, already pure... surely it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that you wouldn't be affected by the mindless heat-addling that Omega's all seemed to undergo?

His irritation was rising.

"So?"

Chrono looked at his boss with questioning eyes, unsure what to do with the omega becoming increasingly more distressed at his side.

"You'll get her over it." Chisaki decides, ignoring the bitter taste that floods his mouth as he utters those words. His eyes slide over you again, lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Messy thing."

Chrono is frozen in disbelief. But this isn't a test of his loyalty, Chisaki truly doesn't want to deal with the germs and the mess and the cleanup associated with omega's during their heats. Slick everywhere, pheromones staining the room, needy hands touching everywhere-

"Sit her down on the couch." He instructs his second-in-command, rising from his office chair and stepping around his desk so he can close the door. "I want to make sure you don't damage her."

That's the only reason. Only reason he wants to be present and watching while Chrono fucks you through your heat.

"You're serious then?" The white-haired man asks, removing the plague mask he wears while inside the compound, thus beginning the process of disrobing.

Chisaki waved his hand idly, resuming his position in his office chair with a tired sigh. "It'd be such a chore for me to do it myself. Aren't you an alpha yourself Chrono? You should be jumping at the chance to bed a nice quirkless omega."

Chrono shrugs off his white coat, looking up from where you're panting on the couch while he stands in front of you, eyes finding his boss. "I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries with your property."

The brunette smiles, not that anyone can see, but it's clear he's pleased by the crinkle near his eyes, the relaxed way he slumps in his chair. "And that's why you're my favorite Chrono."

You're wearing what you usually wear - long pants, a cozy sweater. Overhaul hasn't heard you complain about the chill in the compound, but it's clear to see it affects you by the way you dress and the way your nose darkens from the cold.

You don't fight the half-naked Chrono as he helps you out of your sweater, unbothered by the temperature of the room and looking entirely too hot and sweaty.

Chisaki supposes it's good that you aren't fighting. You had at first, when he first brought you here, crying and pleading for him to let you go and leave you alone. That pathetic show was quickly shut down with a simple demonstration of Overhaul's quirk, and what he'd do to you if you didn't comply.

Now you're seemingly accepting of the situation, casting nervous glances towards Chisaki, your attention constantly getting stolen by the pale man stripping in front of you.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Chrono has his cock in you.

And you look completely blissed out, mouth open and letting out choked little gasps on each thrust, one hand desperately trying to hold onto Chrono's shoulder, his arm, his chest - anything you can reach.

The other hand is on your stomach, and Chisaki doesn't understand why until he focuses on it, sees the distention whenever Chrono swings his hips into you.

Chisaki feels himself throb.

The sounds you're making sound like music. Awful music, all discordant and rushed and pornographic, stuttered breaths and pitiful cries, high-pitched and girlish moans in between Chrono's quiet huffs.

The sweet pheromones in the air become sweeter, thicker, and Chisaki can see the direct correlation between the smell and how much slick is dripping out of you, drenching Chrono's pretty cock, his stomach, even splattering his thighs on each thrust as his cock squelches deeper.

It's disgusting.

Digusting but curiously enamoring. Chrono's got you sitting on the couch, pushed up against the back while he fucks you. It's a tall piece of furniture, and Chrono merely hikes his leg up onto the cushions to gain a better angle to fuck you with. Your slick is everywhere; Chisaki knows that couch won't be salvageable after this. Somehow, he doesn't mind.

What he does mind, however, is the way Chrono is speeding up, rhythm stuttering and practically falling apart. He's going to knot you. Chisaki had given him full permission to - that's what taking care of an omega during their heat means, after all. But jealousy is boiling inside him, blood painfully engorging his cock, he feels tingly all over, very unlike himself.

He wants to touch you.

But you're a disgusting mess, smelling sweet and fertile and sweating and dripping everywhere. Chisaki can't believe he's feeling... attracted to you right now.

"O-ohh feels good, r-right there! Yes, thank you,t-than-" You mumble out, drunk on cock as you shudder through an orgasm, cream gushing out of your cunt and further dirtying Chisaki's office.

Chisaki sees red.

He's furious - not only at you, but at Chrono for touching you, and for himself for explicitly allowing it to happen. Chrono's about to knot you, claim you, and Chisaki is out of his chair before he knows what's happening.

"That's enough." And his gloved hands are ripping Chrono away from you, sending the other man reeling as his subordinate struggles to control his alpha instincts and stop himself from fighting his boss, tearing Chisaki to shreds for interrupting his mating.

Chisaki doesn't care, he's too focused on you.

"You're so pathetic." The man hisses at you, crowding into your space. When had he taken off his mask? He wanted to smell more of you.

His gloves are gone too, ripped away in a moment so he can feel your wet skin against his hands, feel the sweat beading your brow before those same fingers snap to undo his pants.

"I hate you, I hate you." He seethes, golden eyes staring at you so intently that you start to cry, overwhelmed with the situation, still craving a knot, craving intimacy and tenderness.

You've reduced him down to barely better than an animal, tearing at his clothes so he can sink into you, closing his eyes at the way you're wet and warm inside, perfect and velvety.

Chisaki doesn't know what's come over him. Normally he'd be disgusted, absolutely incensed at having such filth be in direct contact with his skin. But right now... all he feels is pleasure ripping through his veins, clouding his head, his mind, flushing rational thought down the toilet.

"Stupid, hate you-" his words rattle out on each rapid thrust, breath uneven and labored as his muscles stretch and work to fuck you harder and faster. He's building up to his peak.

One of his hands is fisted in your hair, close to your scalp and keeping you still, the other hand clamped firmly against your hip and making sure you don't wiggle away. Alpha instincts taking over as his brain convinces him to mate, breed, cum.

"You're so fucking dirty." He gasps, voice heated and gravelly as he struggles to fight through the heat taking over his body.

He's going into a rut.

Chisaki isn't supposed to do that. He takes supplements and suppressants to ensure he doesn't have too. Ruts are messy, nasty things to endure, and Chisaki would rather lick the floor of a dirty subway than experience one.

Yet here he is.

"You disgusting, wretched thing-" And you're crying, fat tears mixing with sweat and rolling down your chin. Chisaki feels disgusting himself, wanting to lick the liquid away.

He hasn't felt this good in his entire life, this burning fever pitch rising and rising and cresting, blazing along his nerves.

He can barely thrust his hips anymore, and only then does Chisaki realizes that he's popped his knot, jammed it in deep while you cried and moaned and struggled to hold onto him.

Theres a sick sense of satisfaction filling him up, his mind clears for half a second and Chisaki thinks to look over his shoulder, seeing Chrono still standing there with a soured look on his face, cock still swollen and drippy and bobbing purple against the man's stomach.

"Get out." Chisaki orders, and Chrono knows enough to merely pick up his coat and wrap it around himself before exiting the room. He's never seen his boss like this - so feral and unhinged and debauched like some regular dirty plebeian.

But Chisaki doesn't care. Odd.

He cares about grinding against you, feeling you milk every last drop of cum from his balls, shimmying his hips to hear you gasp and moan and clutch at his body, trembling like a little lamb.

Chisaki doesn't want to stop.

"As soon as my knot goes down-" He growls, lowering his face until it's mere inches from your own, breathing into your space. "I'm going to take you to my room and knot you until you break."

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

“Not quite the child you expected to be on the front page today, was it?” Lucius commented, falling into step with Bruce as soon as he exited the elevator on their offices’ floor.

Bruce shot him a slight glare. He heavily suspected the receptionist at the front of letting Lucius know he was on his way up so he could stage this ambush. “No, no it was not,” he gritted out. He loved Lucius. He did. But he was not looking forward to discussing this with anyone right now. He needed to talk to Sabine and figure out his next steps. He didn’t have time for teasing or hurt feelings, unless they were Marinette’s or his other children’s.

“Don’t think she expected it either. She was quite distraught when the reporters found her this morning,” Lucius noted calmly.

Bruce stopped and glared full force at him. “Why were you with her this morning?”

Lucius raised an unamused eyebrow at him. “Early morning meeting with her and her friend, Max Kante, the one who actually invented the fabric Ms. Cole tried to take credit for.” He continued walking toward Bruce’s office, not caring whether he caught up or not. If he wanted to be an overbearing ass, they could have a meeting with that tone and Bruce definitely wouldn’t be the one to win.

“Sorry,” Bruce grumbled, catching up to him.

Lucius nodded to let him know he accepted the apology. “She takes after you, you know. I could see how upset she was with the reporters’ questions but she masked it expertly. Seemed to completely shut down those emotions. If I didn’t know you, I might not have known it was all an act. Shut the reporter down without admitting anything too, or lying. Quite smart, that daughter of yours.” Lucius turned toward Bruce as they passed through Bruce’s office doors. “Must get that from her mother,” he teased.

Bruce let out a long breath. “Without a doubt. How was she at the meeting?”

Lucius raised both eyebrows at that question, otherwise not reacting at all. “You haven’t spoken with her yet?”

Bruce focused on his desk as he sat behind it. “I haven’t had the opportunity yet,” he hedged.

Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly but answered the question. “She was brilliant. She is brilliant. She was calm and collected. Engaging and polite. Very insightful. You would never know she had been accosted and almost assaulted a few moments before. Completely professional.”

“What do you mean ‘almost assaulted’?” Bruce growled.

“Particularly aggressive reporter. I gave PR and security his name and picture. We’ll have a restraining order put out and he won’t be allowed at any Wayne events,” he answered calmly.

Bruce squeezed the arm rest on his chair until it fell off in his hand. He let out an annoyed growl and threw it in the garbage. He pushed the intercom on his desk phone, more aggressively than necessary. “I’m going to need a new chair, David.”

He slammed the button again before he had the chance to respond and let out a long deep breath to calm himself. “It’s already started. It hasn’t even been a day.” He shook his head and looked up at Lucius. “Can you see about getting a restraining order for her personally as well, please? And how was the meeting?” Bruce asked.

“It was successful. Mr. Kante seems extremely excited about our contract. He’s looking over it today, but I expect he’ll begin working for us as of next week. I’m still working on your daughter though,” he mused.

Bruce choked and looked back at him. “Excuse me!”

“To work for us,” Lucius tried to disguise the amused glint in his eyes, but not too hard. It was interesting seeing Bruce acting so disconcerted, and not pretending for an audience, actually feeling it. “She helped Mr. Kante develop the fabric and understands how best to show it off. She would be invaluable to have on the project. Hell, she’d be invaluable to have in the company.”

Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought Mr. Kante developed the fabric.”

“He did. He definitely figured out how to make it work, but she was a significant help. Her insights and advice were key. She tried to deny it but he kept insisting. Without both of them, there wouldn’t be any fabric. Not to mention she’s the one that discovered Rabler and Cole were stealing ideas. She created the trap and presented the evidence.” Lucius couldn’t keep the proud tone out of his voice.

Bruce’s lips turned up in a wide, proud smile. “Yeah?” Lucius nodded with a proud smile of his own, albeit smaller than Bruce’s. Bruce just stopped himself from saying ‘that’s my girl’ because he wasn’t sure he got to make a statement like that. Not when he hadn’t been involved in bringing her up in any way. But it didn’t stop his chest from puffing up with pride at the knowledge.

She was smart. She was caring. She was creative. She was insightful and brilliant. She was healthy and unscarred. She was everything he hoped she would get to be growing up away from him. He must have done something right. But the idea of having her work next to him like Tim did, getting to see her every day… He smiled at the thought. “How successful do you think you were getting her to agree?”

Lucius hesitated. “Not very,” he admitted slowly. “I don't know the nature of your relationship…” He watched Bruce carefully as he spoke. “… but she seemed to respond positively when I stressed that I wanted her because of her skill, not because of any association with you.”

Bruce looked down and nodded. “There is no relationship. She didn't know.”

“So her being your daughter isn't the reason if you manipulated Candice into looking into her and offer her to the rest of us as a possible designer for the product like it was her own idea?” Lucius raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I knew. She didn't,” Bruce admitted.

Lucius nodded in understanding. “Until when?”

“This morning, I imagine,” Bruce sighed.

Lucius raised an eyebrow at him, vividly recalling her behavior at the gala. The way she’d balked at meeting him in his office at WE. The way she’d frozen immediately upon seeing Bruce, all her fire and confidence falling instantaneously. The way she’d been almost begging for a way out from having to spend time with Bruce. “You think she didn’t know before the gala?”

Bruce scrunched his face in indignation. “No. Sabine would have told me if she’d told her.”

Lucius shook his head incredulously. “Alright.” If Bruce wanted to believe that, he wasn’t going to correct him. “So you were going to stay out of it and manipulate everything from behind the scenes? Only exposing your relationship when you felt comfortable with it?” Bruce looked down and nodded.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at him, his gaze suddenly sharp. He tossed the file in his hand onto Bruce’s desk. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce sighed as he watched him walk out of the room. His gaze fell on the file Lucius had left behind on his desk, the file on DCD with Marinette’s picture on the front. He pulled the picture off of the file to look closer. He smiled as his mind flashed back to innocent baby eyes blinking back at him. Her eyes hadn’t changed in twenty years. Still the same bright, brilliant, hopeful eyes. His mother’s eyes. He could see it almost as soon as she was born. He could never allow those eyes to be hurt, could never bear to see them in pain, which is all his life seemed to be.

“Then you don’t really know me,” he mumbled as he put the picture back and turned away, his eyes landing on the phone. He took a deep breath and got ready for the conversation he had to have next. He picked up the phone and dialed the number he knew by heart. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration realizing he had memorized it not because he’d actually dialed it enough to have the muscle memory, but because he’d intentionally committed it to memory.

“That took longer than expected,” Sabine answered on the second ring, annoyance clear in her voice.

Bruce let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t expecting this call to go well, but he needed her help. “I was handling the rest of my family. They didn’t take to the news that they had a sister I never told them about too well.”

“Shocking,” Sabine deadpanned. “And how did Marinette take it?”

Bruce hesitated unsure of how to answer that. “You haven’t spoken with her yet.” The disappointment in her voice was almost palpable. Bruce could almost feel it slapping him across the face and pulling him down to her level.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he admitted more honestly than he had intended. “More than I have already. I don’t want to drive her away by saying the wrong thing,” he chuckled mirthlessly at himself again, “and we both know that’s absolutely something I would do. I need to know the best way to approach her. What do I need to do?”

Sabine sighed and Bruce could hear her shuffling around until letting out a lighter sigh like she was sitting down. “Well, everything’s going to be pretty raw for her. That’s the first thing. She hasn’t had time to process this. She needs to process in order to know how she wants to respond. If you approach her before she’d had time to process, she’s going to freak out on you or just shut down completely, cold, detached. Did I mention she sometimes takes after you, especially since Hawkmoth?

“But, she tends towards anxiety and overreaction spirals that she has to be brought out of. Her friends are there, so see if she wants them with her whenever you meet. They’ll know how to bring her out of it and calm her down. She might need a few more days before she can meet in person, but don’t wait until then to contact her.”

Bruce nodded, fighting the urge to take notes. That would be inappropriate right? To write down psychological insights into his own daughter? “Yeah, a few hours isn’t all that much time to process,” he agreed absentmindedly, still trying to figure out how many notes would be acceptable. He almost jumped in his seat when Sabine started cackling. He did accidentally ram his arm hard enough to bruise on the point sticking up from the remnants of the broken armrest.

He sputtered until she took pity on him. “You think she’s only known for an hour?”

Bruce paused and stared at the phone, trying to process her words. “You told her?” he was too shocked to be upset yet.

“No,” she answered quickly. “I don’t know how she found out but she knew before today.”

“You think she knew when she planned to come here,” he said incredulously.

“No, definitely not when she first planned it,” she corrected him.

“How can you be so certain?”

Sabine chuckled ruefully. “She's not like us Bruce. She can't lie to save her life. She's terrible at it. She wears her heart on her sleeve. If she knew she was going to see her biological father for the first time, without him expecting it, she would’ve been anxious, fidgety when she told me the plan to go to Gotham. She wasn't. This was all about Max.

“I have no idea what point between last Monday and today she figured it out. But, I can say that she's not answering my calls now. I expected her to call and laugh about it or get anxiety about it because she felt bad for causing you trouble. She didn’t. She asked Adrien to let us know she needs space. So she knew.”

Bruce let out a frustrated groan. “She's upset.”

Sabine took a beat before responding. “I'm not sure since I haven’t gotten to speak to her about it. But, knowing her I’d bet on confused rather than upset. Hurt. Betrayed. Can you blame her?” There was an extended pause while they both tried to process what they knew and how to respond.

After a minute of silence, Sabine spoke up a wry tone to her voice. “You know, she’s always been an extremely cheery child. Wouldn't know she was related to you at all when she was younger,” she laughed lightly, “well, people who bought into your socialite persona might, but nobody that knows you, really knows you and your brooding nature. She always tries to see the best in everyone and bring it out.

“She used to come into the bakery when we had customers and no matter what mood they were in, they would leave smiling. Even the ones in the worst mood would be laughing by the time they left. She just had that effect on people.

“But the one thing she could never stand, that drove her crazy, was a liar. She can’t stand lying and liars.” Her voice suddenly turned sharp and serious. “And she just found out, and not from us,” she emphasized, “that we lied to her about this her whole life and that you never wanted her around but did want other kids around.”

“That is absolutely not the case and you know it,” Bruce roared instantly.

Sabine made a few placating noises. “You know that. And I know that… on some level. But she doesn't.” She stressed. “I have no idea how you’re going to prove it to her now. Because all she sees is that you walked away when she was one and never turned back. Not until the media got involved and forced you to. And she doesn’t even know that much actually. Really all she knows is you walked away. That's what you're going to be up against; her thinking that she is a burden, a prop for you, that all your interest is feigned.”

“Inadequacy issues,” Bruce nodded. Memories of Damian’s first years in the manor flashed through his mind. He shuddered at the memory of Damian trying to kill Dick his first night and trying to kill Tim the first time he saw him, believing he was interfering with his birthright. “But not violent, right?” he asked cautiously. Because if she was anything like Damian, they were going to have to take some precautions, not that Sabine had given him any reason to suspect that. But then again, it would mean she wanted to be part of their family, so that was at least a starting point.

Sabine laughed. “Marinette violent? She’ll rip you to shreds if you touch one of her friends, but verbally. She couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag.”

Her reassurance made Bruce frown more. That was good… kind of. He didn’t have to worry about her attacking the other kids, not that he was worried about that, really. Nothing he had ever heard about her or seen so far would indicate that was something he needed to be concerned about. But that also mean she had no way of protecting herself if she ever got kidnapped or caught in a rogue attack.

Maybe that was something Damian could help her with. He was an excellent fighter and it was something he greatly enjoyed. He felt at ease when he was practicing or sparring. Maybe that was a way they could bond, Damian sharing something important to him. Bruce immediately grimaced at the idea. There was no way Damian teaching someone with no fighting experience how to fight ended well for either of them. It was more likely to result in a frustrated Damian and a bloodied, bruised, and scared Marinette.

Dick! Dick could teach her, or Tim. Both also excellent fighters and both much more likely to go slowly, easing her into something her body had never been used to. Bruce nodded to himself. Dick would jump at the chance to work with her. And Tim, although less enthusiastic, would be more than willing to help make sure she could protect herself.

Bruce took a breath and focused back on the conversation at hand. “So… go slowly. Ask if she would be okay with meeting first. Give her time to adjust before the meeting. Try to figure out how to reassure her my interest in a relationship with her has nothing to do with the media.” He nodded with a grimace. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

He could hear Sabine’s reassuring smile through the phone. “As long as she’s had time to process, it should be okay. She’s helped friends go through the same thing. It shouldn’t be too hard once you get past the initial part.”

“Right. I can do this.” Bruce said, more to himself than Sabine.

“And Bruce?” Bruce was immediately tense from the edge in her seemingly sweet voice. “Protect our girl. This is a lot for her all at once.”

Bruce breathed out a relieved sigh. “I will.”

“Because if you don’t, not even Batman will be able to protect you.”

Bruce blinked a few times and opened his mouth only to snap it shut quickly, unsure if he even wanted to figure out if that was a veiled reference or not. After a few seconds he nodded resolutely, deciding it didn’t matter. “I understand.”

“Good day, Bruce,” Sabine said sweetly.

“Good night, Sabine,” Bruce answered with a smile, wondering just how much of her mother Marinette had replicated.

Chapter 6

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie imarivers8 certainmuffinbagelcalzone

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - memories

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oitommothetease · 3 years

Text

Parasitoid

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x Female reader

Description: A parasitoid is an organism that lives in close association with its host at the host's expense, eventually resulting in the death of the host.

Word Count: 1.7k words

Warning : dark themes (minors go away), 18+, dubious consent, degradation, impact play,D/S dynamic, maybe even S&M dynamic idk, delusional reader, angst, cheating, manipulative Andy, smut, reader just wants to be loved, toxic relationship, gaslighting, age gap, this is really messed up and dark, please let me know if I missed something

A/N - I know y’all want soft Bucky but lemme give you dark Andy instead. Yeah, I think I need help.

At first, sleeping with your married boss was exciting. Bodies moving in sync with the fear of getting caught only increased the adrenaline and your desire for the man — Andy Barber.

You didn’t expect to get a call back after your horrible interview with the most famous district attorney in Newton. You did not expect to get the job as his assistant. Furthermore, you certainly did not expect yourself to fuck him in his office three months later. But that's what you get when you mix a tough case with bourbon.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing — a stress relief for both of you. You were aware of his marriage and his son — it was hard to ignore the family picture situated on the table while Andy thrusted in and out of you from behind. In some sick sense, you felt pride — looking at the brown eyes of his wife, Laurie, through the glass in the frame. You thought that you had the upper hand — her husband wrapped around your finger or your cunt in a literal sense.

You imagined her initiating sex with her husband once he reached home, only to be refused while Andy made some excuse about being tired. Likewise, you saw her attempt to mend her failing marriage with her husband when she brought lunch for him at work. Of course, all of their conversations ended up in a fight, and Andy in between your legs. You weren’t supposed to listen during her visits, but the thought of her pursuing your man made you terrified. So, you listened in and interrupted whenever you felt she was getting through to Andy. And she would leave after signing in defeat.

“Fuck, honey, your mouth feels so good around me,” Andy whispered, his hand wrapped around your hair, holding it together while guiding your mouth around his length.

Andy’s free hand impacted your cheek — lightly, then swiftly and then faintly again. “Look at you, taking your boss’s cock like a whore. Anyone could walk in my office and see you on your knees, but you still wouldn't stop, would you?”

Not being able to say anything, you shook your head ‘no’ around his member and he hummed in satisfaction with your answer. His lewd words with the impact play on your cheek made a damp spot form on your panties. You couldn't stop your wandering hands from reaching for your covered cunt in search of your own relief.

That earned you a harsh slap, Andy took your hair tightly in his grasp and shoved his whole length inside you. You choked and tried to pull away, but he held you there while you tried to breathe evenly through your nose. “Keep your hands behind where I can see them if you don’t wanna be punished. You don’t get to come without permission.”

Having received his punishment before, instantly you obliged to his order. During your time working under Andy, you learned a lot of stuff about how to handle cases and clients, but more importantly, you learned not to disobey Andy because that only leads to you begging him for mercy.

After loosening his grip on your hair, Andy soothingly ran his knuckles on your cheek to wipe off the tears streaming down your face.

With a groan, Andy came on your face and like the obedient girl you were, you stuck out your tongue to take in as much of his release as you could.

“Good girl,” he patted your cheek thrice, “Clean this mess up and get back to work.”

You did as he asked, you always did what he asked without any question because you loved him, and you knew he loved you too. He hadn’t voiced his love out loud to you, but you knew he did — with the way he would spank you thrice or look you in the eyes as he released his seed inside you, tainting you as his with his come — you knew he loved you.

No man could ever make you feel the way Andy did. He had that power over you, and you handed him your submission on a silver platter. And Andy reveled in that power so much that he abused it for his pleasure.

“Give me the Rogers file now,” Andy demanded when he came to the office the next day.

He looked tense, and you knew what to do to lighten his mood — you always did. The way to a man’s heart is a woman on her knees — taking his cock in her mouth.

“No, stop,” he said as you were getting on your knees in front of his chair. You were perplexed. Did he want to make love to you instead? Were you doing something wrong?

“Just leave the file on my desk,” he ordered, “And cancel my next appointment. I’ll be leaving for home early today.”

Home. He still called the house with Laurie his home. You wanted to yell at him that that house — Laurie — wasn't his home, you were. Maybe he called it his home because of his son, Jacob. Jacob was 18 and in college now.

Two years ago, when his son was 16, you told Andy you couldn't do this if there was no future. Andy promised to leave his wife as soon as Jacob was out of the house, so he could be with you. It had been almost a month since Jacob moved to his college dorm, yet Andy had not made any effort or even mentioned a divorce in the foreseeable future.

Maybe he just needed more time, you consoled yourself. You understood how the divorce process takes time. And it wouldn’t be wise of him to get with a younger woman right after divorcing his wife.

As Andy’s assistant, your job contained going through his calendar every day before leaving work. It was to make sure that it gave him some break between different client's appointments. You were doing your job until you noticed a reminder — Couples therapy at 6 which was followed by a dinner reservation. He was going to therapy with Laurie? Wasn't he supposed to divorce her? Is that why he left early?

You were mad, no, you were furious. You had waited two years for him to divorce her. Two years and now he was trying to fix his marriage? What about all the promises he made to you?

Without giving another thought, you made your way to the restaurant where he was supposed to have dinner with his wife. Andy and Laurie were already there, you could smell his perfume before you even walked in.

Laurie spotted you and recognized you instantly. Fuck, this was a bad idea.

You tried to avoid her gaze, but she waved at you and called your name. You didn’t even look at Andy when you pretended you didn't see them there — as if you didn't come here for him. Laurie brought your lie, and you could feel Andy staring at you but you ignored him. You knew you would melt the moment you saw those ocean blue eyes.

Laurie insisted you to sit with them and begrudgingly, you accepted. Dinner was awkward. You tried to focus on Laurie, who was telling you incidents about Jacob as a kid, while you were sure Andy was throwing daggers at you with his look. Again, you avoided his eyes.

His wife wasn’t a bad person, you realized. Hell, she was a better person than you, and you felt guilty about sleeping with her husband and plotting with her husband for him to leave her.

Sometime during the dinner, Laurie excused herself to take a work call, leaving you alone at the table with Andy.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Andy seethed, his nose flaring with the anger he was feeling.

“You told me you were leaving her!” you raised your voice, your emotions were getting the best of you. You thought you had a future with him — you wanted to build a home — a future with him.

“What? Did you think that I was really going to leave my wife for the first woman who opens her legs for me?” He took your wrists from under the table and held them tightly, punishing you for raising your voice at him. He hated when you defied him, and he disciplined you accordingly and for most parts, you were in line, but this called for some fucking disobedience.

You pulled your hand from under his hold and examined your wrists to find bruises already forming.

“Fuck you!” you yelled before taking the glass of wine in your hand and splashing it across his face. “I quit.”

Without explaining to Laurie, you left the restaurant to collect your stuff from work.

The next day, you mailed your resignation to Andy and blackmailed him into giving you a well-worded letter of recommendation. He obliged because if the press found out that a married man was sleeping with his much younger employee, it would wreck his reputation. He even paid you hush money to delete all the inappropriate things he had texted you.

Not only that, but he didn’t completely leave you, he was unshakable like a wine-stained white dress. You couldn’t throw it out, but you couldn't get rid of the stain either.

You were still aware of his schedule, and every once in a while you would end up daydreaming about him or where he must be.

Furthermore, you just couldn’t get him out of your system. Maybe that's why you found yourself on your knees again while Andy held your head and pumped his cock inside your mouth like a parasite latched onto its host.

“I knew you would come back, you filthy whore,” he gasped as you took more of him in.

No, he wasn’t just a parasite. A parasite eventually leaves its host in pursuit of another. He was a parasitoid.

The parasitoid feeds off its host until there is nothing left to offer, and that is precisely what Andy planned on doing to you.

#dark fic #dark andy barber #dark andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #dark!andy barber #minors go away

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thestarrynightslover · 3 years

Text

Babe, huh?

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Voight!Reader

Word count: 2,097

Warnings: A little angst (but more in a comical way, I think).

Summary: Jay and the reader have been going out for some time when he spots her happily chatting with Sergeant Platt at the district's front desk. He's happily surprised to see her there, but there's one thing she had been holding back from telling him: who her dad is.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: I think that this could have turned out a lot better than it did. But I think it isn't too bad either.

Also, I wanna thank y’all for the amount support that I’ve been getting on my fics! That really means the world to me, guys!! 💕

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

It was an unusually sunny day in Chicago when you left work that noon. You didn’t always go out on your lunch breaks, preferring to just grab something on the machines scattered across the office, but on that Wednesday you’d told your dad that you two would meet for a father-daughter date. And that really was all you were thinking about, as you walked up the steps of the small staircase in front of the 21st District.

“Hey, Trudy!” You greeted the desk sergeant, who had been a friend of your family for as long as you could remember.

“Hi, (y/n/n)! What a surprise to see you here!” She told you, a huge smile on her face. “A nice surprise, for a change!” Platt stated, looking sharply at a younger woman who was standing at the corner of the counter, probably filling out some paperwork.

“Ah, Trudy! You flatter me!” You said innocently, looking at her through your lashes, the face you always used with the trio: Your dad, Trudy, and Al.

“Ha! Always so cute!” The sergeant spoke again, like she was talking to a baby, as the other woman just stared at the scene in shock. “But what are you doing here, anyway? Came to surprise your dad? Because I’m sure he’ll love that!”

“No, it’s not exactly a surprise! We’d previously agreed on a lunch-date for today...” You trailed off.

“Oh! Then that’s why he came back from the raid they just made pacing like a deer in headlights!” Hearing that comment, you couldn’t help but laugh, as you imagined your father acting like that. “Hey, Burgess!” She shouted at the woman near to you. “Are you finishing that already? Because, when you do, you need to go back upstairs and let your sergeant know that his date’s here.” Trudy said simply, winking at you, to which you just responded with a smile.

“Oh, c’mon, sarge! Really? Why can’t you just call or text him?” The woman, Burgess, questioned, poutingly.

“Because I don’t want to? And tell me, again, since when did I start needing to give you a reason to follow my orders, huh, officer? Because I don’t recall getting the memo!” The sergeant barked, practically biting the younger officer’s head off.

“Geez, sarge-” Officer Burgess started answering, as reality finally began to hit her. “Wait,” she breathed out, turning to face you this time, “you’re Voight’s dau-” Burgess stopped in the middle of her sentence, now being cut off by another voice that was very familiar to you.

“Baby?” Shit, you thought. “What are you doing here?” Your boyfriend asked you, with a bright smile on his face.

How could have you possibly forgotten that Jay worked here? At your dad’s district? Of course, you still hoped that they somehow wouldn’t know each other. But you weren’t prepared for that introduction just yet. And it would happen, taking that he wasn’t shy at all about kissing you that passionately right in front of Trudy Platt. One of your dad’s best friends, Trudy Platt. You knew you couldn’t blame him, though. After all, you were the one who kept him in the dark about who your dad was.

“H- hi, Jay.” You managed to mumble whilst catching your breath.

“Hey,” he started, giving you those cute love eyes of his, “I’m surprised to see you here, but not complaining!” He said, raising his hands and smiling at you. “You wanna grab lunch?”

“Uh, I, uh-”

“I’m afraid she’s already taken for lunch, Halstead.” None other than your dad huffed out, from the top of Intelligence’s stairs. Of course, he would have to see that entire scene, and, of course, he would have to know your boyfriend.

Hearing that, Jay turned his head between you and your dad, and, then, looked at Trudy and Burgess, more confused than anything. “Babe?” He decided on asking you about it. To which your dad just gave a side-smile.

“Babe, huh?” He mocked, walking closer to where you were standing. “Something you wanna tell me, honey?”

“I-” You barely started when someone interrupted.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re shacking up with him, (y/n)?!?!?” Trudy cut you off, half-asking, half-begging while you started feeling the heat coming to your cheeks.

"So, (y/n), you gonna explain this? We're all here waiting." Your father told you, no more sense of humor in his features.

"Look, guys… " You started, not really knowing how to move from there. You didn't think you'd have to have the conversations with both your father and your boyfriend at the same time, and in front of Trudy (not to mention the other cops passing by). So you went for the easy way out, maybe it was a bit of a childish choice, but still. "You know what? No, I'm not gonna explain anything to anyone right now," you spoke, making clear that that was meant for all of them, "and, I don’t think that I’m in the mood for lunch anymore, dad." At that, the three cops just kept staring at you, Jay being the first to speak up.

"Uh, dad? (y/n), baby, just tell me what's going on." He pleaded with you, eyes already showing some hurt, which made you feel like the worst person ever. But you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to properly explain anything to anyone at that moment, not in that kind of circumstance anyway, so you decided to get the hell out of there before you buried yourself even deeper.

After you fleed the building, leaving a bunch of stunned police officers behind, Trudy took it upon herself to figure out why on Earth you’d be kissing the stupid Detective Jay Chuckles Halstead: “So, how’s it gonna be, Halstead? Why the hell were you kissing our (y/n/n), hum?” She asked, bluntly, while motioning between herself and Hank.

“Your (y/n/n)?” Jay shot back, completely confused by the whole situation.

“Actually, she’s mine. My daughter.” Voight finally spoke again, fulminating the younger man with his eyes.

“Okay… I think this is my cue to leave." Burgess finally decided to say 𑁋 as she was feeling very awkward 𑁋, sliding off towards the back exit.

“Uh, yeah, um, I’m gonna- I’m gonna go, grab some lunch outside too.” Jay ranted a little, running his hand over the back of his neck and moving towards the exit, right on Kim’s track.

The rest of the day went by tensely at the police district: Jay avoiding both his superiors, as you ducked his calls, and Hank and Trudy sending almost tangible hate waves on his way. It wasn’t like your time at work gone too well either, with the mess you’d made always in the back of your mind.

So 𑁋 after you got back home 𑁋, knowing it was the right, mature, thing to do, you called Jay and, then, your dad, telling them both to come by your place for dinner. Yes, you were about to ambush them. Because you’re a mature person.

“Hey, babe!” You cheerfully greeted your boyfriend, perking up to kiss him, as you opened the apartment door more.

“Hey.” Jay answered coldly while dodging your kiss, at which you frowned in confusion.

“So, um,” you decided to start again, tucking a string of hair behind your ear, “I called you here because I needed to talk to you-”

“Yeah, we definitely need to talk.” He said, cutting you off with a stern look on his face.

At the exact moment you were about to open your mouth to say something, the doorbell rang again and you knew it was your dad. Okay, maybe that whole ambush thing wasn’t a good idea after all. You gave Jay an apologetic look in advance, as you walked back towards the door, only to open it and reveal a, still, very pissed off Hank Voight.

“What’s he doing here?” Your dad barked out, not wasting a second, as he pointed a finger at the man standing behind you.

“You called him too?” This time it was Jay asking. “I thought it was gonna be just the two of us…” He then added quietly.

“Just the two of us! Who the hell do you think you are, huh, Halstead?!”

“Sarge, I’m just trying to-”

“I don’t care what you’re trying to do, you need to get out of here right now so I can talk to my daughter. That’s what you need to do!”

“Enough!” You yelled, finally getting both men’s attention. “Dad, you need to stop talking to Jay like that.”

“But-”

“But, nothing! He is my boyfriend and I love him!” You blurted out, Jay giving you a small smile in response. “So… Now that that’s out of the way… Jay, this is my dad.” You added, motioning for where your father stood by the door. “And, before any of you asks, no, I didn’t know that you two worked together! I thought that maybe you knew each other, but wasn’t ready to make the introductions just yet. And I’m sorry if that caused a, um, situation.”

“Baby… Why didn’t you ever tell me that your father was a cop?”

“I- I just, I was just afraid that’d push you away from me. You know, before we even had a chance.” You admitted shyly.

“Why- why would that push him away from you, (y/n/n)?” That was your dad’s turn to ask.

“Well, I know that you have a reputation, dad. So I figured that maybe he wouldn’t wanna get involved with your daughter of all people. Wouldn’t want the trouble.” You confessed one more time. “Besides, we all saw how, um, fiercely Trudy was willing to “protect me”.” You added, making them both giggle a little.

“Alright, there’s just one more thing that still doesn’t add up.” Your boyfriend started again, still serious but more relaxed this time. “Why isn’t your last name Voight?” He asked, still unsure of what was going on, as you and your dad traded knowing looks with each other.

“Ah, that... After my mom died, I started using her maiden last name. You know, as a way to remember her. It’s been so long now that I actually forget that the Voight’s even there.” You explained. “Sorry, dad.”

“Nah, it’s okay. You know I like the idea.” Hank replied, a soft smile on his lips.

“Ah, okay. That makes sense.” Jay said nervously and started scratching the back of his neck, like he always did when he was getting anxious. “Just- just so you know, princess, I wouldn’t have backed out of our relationship, then. And I’m not going to, now, either.” The anger in your father’s eyes relit but you didn’t really care, not when all you wanted to do was jump your handsome detective and not let him out of your apartment until, at least, the next morning.

“Dad,” you began saying, after deciding to go for a more conciliatory version of it, “don’t be like that, okay? I know that you wanna protect me and everything, but I’m happy with Jay. I really am.”

“And I promise I’ll never, ever, do anything to hurt her, sarge. But, if I do, you should definitely hurt me back with all you got.”

“Oh, I will! And I think you’ve been working with me long enough to know that I don’t need your ‘go ahead’, or anyone else’s, for those matters, Halstead.” Your dad cheerfully stated while shooting a typical Hank Voight fake smile in Jay’s direction. “Now, if my daughter says she’s happy with you…” He started, turning to look at you, as if trying to confirm the information.

“Yes! I am!”

“Then… I suppose I could accept this.” You didn’t give him a single chance to second guess, pulling him in for a tight hug while Jay watched the scene smiling.

“Now let's have dinner! That way you guys can finish talking this whole macho tension out and we can all make a plan to appease Trudy." You told them, moving to heat the takeout you’d ordered earlier in your kitchen, Jay coming to help you in tow.

Many other times you, Jay, and your dad met for dinner, lunch, or even breakfast like that. If you and your boyfriend ever went a little overboard on the PDA, the infamous Hank Voight huff would definitely be heard. But, overall, you knew he was happy for you and Jay. Just like you knew that the detective liked hanging out with you and your dad.

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spacedikut · 3 years

Note

Derek would ask Spencer to explain how he feels about u to try and get him to understand that he’s in love with you but Spencer would just be like... is that not friendship?

god this idea is so fucking good but. i didn’t do it justice cause i went down a way more serious route :p 1.4k words, gn!reader

the team have been trying tirelessly to get spencer to just... see. what the rest of them see. the longing, lingering looks and requests to work together, the subtle touches that are so sweet in themselves but, with the added knowledge that spencer is Spencer, its...well, the team knows what they see. spencer is just lagging behind a little.

they try a whole plethora of methods. everyone talks to him and spencer either doesn’t connect the dots or simply says “we’re just friends!” and emily gets so frustrated she flicks spencer on the forehead and leaves a mark (i ask you picture pure, innocent spencer sat at his desk, watching emily’s retreating form with nothing but a puppy-dog confused expression and a red dent in the middle of his forehead).

penelope is at her wits end, so derek decides to step up and retry a very basic method: talking spencer through how he feels for you. surely he’s self-aware enough that he’ll hear himself and hear how un-friendlike it all sounds and... tada! love.

but it’s never quite as easy as you’ll think it’ll be, is it?

spencer should’ve known something was amiss when derek asked him if he wanted to hang out and let him choose where they would go - spencer? being allowed to choose where to hang out after work? have you ever heard of something called a red flag?

so spencer chooses a cafe which - immediately, the second they step through the doorway - spencer has a joy to him, telling derek about the last time you and him came here and what you ordered and what you thought of it and all these details that even the most attentive best friend wouldn’t think were anything more than trivial matters. he remembers the shape you tore your napkin into, for goodness sake. in what realm is that friendly behaviour?

then, to make matters worse, spencer, mid-walk to a table in the corner by a large window, abruptly changes directions, making derek almost spill his coffee. spencer apologies, then says they can’t sit in that booth cause that’s where you and spencer sit and - well. that’s your and spencer’s place, you can’t disrupt that! friends! friendly things and friends doing friendly stuff. friendship.

derek gives this scoff that spencer is so used to he barely reacts. when they sit, spencer is acutely aware that derek is staring - furrowed brows and this intense, firm gaze that only appears when he’s thinking. spencer’s only slightly intimidated.

he’s never been able to lie to derek. he’s never been a good liar, period. he’s good at omissions and burying himself and his emotions but, god, if someone asks just the right question, he’ll fold like the cheap deckchair he truly is.

and derek... derek knows spencer better than he knows himself sometimes.

(is there anyone else that has similar qualities? no. of course not. only his best pal derek and not a colleague/very pretty person known as You)

a question. a question is all it takes.

“so, you and y/n come here a lot?”

derek’s starting light and spencer is so enthralled at the mention of you every worry he had about why he’s here with derek and why derek is looking at him like that flies out the window.

“we do! actually, it’s the perfect meeting spot; the most convenient distance between our apartments and we both have favourite drinks here. we’ve become regulars, actually, so we make a habit of coming at least once a week at a minimum-“

and he keeps going, sweetly reminiscing about the first time you visited to the silly games you’ve created - because you’ll spend that long here, sitting opposite each other and just each other - and derek wonders how spencer doesn’t see it. doesn’t see the way he lights up at the mention of you, rambles like you’re a statistic spencer’s known for years and can’t help but bestow on everyone at every opportunity, not to mention the physical reaction he has to you. you’re not even present and spencer is wide-eyed, rosy cheeked, permanent curl to either side of his lips that looks involuntary.

he’s in love with you. his entire self, from head to toe, from mind to soul. everyone can see it, except you and him, apparently.

“they make you happy, huh?”

“well, obviously,” spencer hehs, “they’re my best friend.”

there’s an opportunity here, shyly gleaming from the corner of the conversation and derek digs it out. “you got a definition for best friend, reid?”

spencer’s taking a sip of his drink, but is happy to share his knowledge. he’s not quite as bright when he’s saying it. “a best friend has many definitions. friendship itself is usually defined as a relationship of mutual affection between people - it is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an association, and has been studied in multiple academic fields-“

derek hums, encouraging him to keep going. he’ll get there.

and he does, after delving a little too far into the nature versus nurture debate.

“id consider you a best friend. jj, too. and garcia, of course. except... except with y/n it’s- it’s different.”

derek pretends to be shocked. “how’s that?”

“well... they have all the qualities id want in a friend - honesty, generosity, empathy...humour-“ spencer smiles to himself, small and intimate, remembering an inside joke between the two of you. “but they’re more than that, too. they’re there for me - not-not that you guys aren’t there for me too-“ derek just raises an eyebrow. “but...it’s different, with them. it always is.”

the shift of topic from friendship to you has spencer unfocused on his surroundings, eyes glazed over as he stares to the side of derek, who feels like he’s intruding - he rarely understands what goes on in that big head of spencer’s, vast in it’s knowledge and memories and self-perception, but right now he’s confident he does.

it’s you. he’s thinking of you, the moments you have together - perhaps in this very cafe - that are reserved for spencer and spencer alone, a side of you derek will never know because it’s not his to know; it’s spencer’s, just as spencer is yours.

his voice is level but distant, the warning signs of that magnificent mind finding the pieces and putting them together. “i think-i think about them often. how they are, what they’re doing, if they’re thinking of me too. i know they’re only a text message away or-or, on cases, a few feet away... i guess i don’t want to seem clingy. or desperate.”

“they’d never think that. you know that, right?”

“i know. i-i know that. but-i don’t... i can’t.. i don’t want to risk losing them, i guess. one wrong move and they’ll realise what a-what a complete mess i am. ill unravel and they’ll see all the dark inside and they... they don’t deserve that.”

derek goes to interrupt, because god is spencer wrong, but he doesn’t have the chance.

“they deserve love and laughter and everything i can’t give them if they... if they get too close.” now, spencer brings himself to look derek in the eye. there’s a seriousness there, a solemn stand that spencer doesn’t often take. “i can’t lose them, morgan. i can’t.” his hands tighten around his coffee cup. “i want them here, with me, for as long as i can convince them to stay. i don’t want to be selfish, i don’t- i don’t mean to be, but. i want this. i want them. every day for the rest of my life, i want them. i choose them. im just terrified they’ll see me and... they won’t choose me.”

there’s an expected silence that befalls the two of them, the busting background noise of the cafe the only moving piece. does he get it now? does he understand what has motivated every thought and feeling? every worry and action?

“reid,” derek says, softly, in a tone that has spencer straightening his back. “that’s not... that’s not just friendship. you know that, right? you can see that?”

spencer blinks.

no. you’re friends - close friends, yes, but friends nonetheless.

but he thinks back to what he’s just said -

he’d say the same for jj, right? for penelope, and for derek. even gideon, perhaps.

except... no. he wouldn’t. it’s for you, he’s for you, all of it and all of him.

and then the picture is as clear as day. no fog, no obscurity, no hesitance - and spencer’s relieved. relieved that finally, finally, he can put all of his feelings into one simple sentence.

“im in love with them.”

“yeah,” derek says, leaning back against the booth. “yeah, reid, you are.”

#headcanons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #i did not.. expect this to be over 1000 words my deepest condolences #mine #i hope at least one person likes this #india if u see this im sorry u had to put up with my breakdown over this woukd u like me to send u flowers #q

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gifted-burnout-archive · 3 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You

Word Count: 5.8K+

Author’s Note: ok so someone ask me why I chose pedraz and I’ll tell you. I loved writing this, I think we all missed luke smut, I know I did. And frenemies is always fun, especially when the sexual tension is real. And christmas time too! i hope you guys enjoy it.

Pairings: luke patterson x reader - cousin!julie x reader

Warnings: smut, baby!

Some people just radiate confidence, wherever they go, whatever they do. You meet one of those people and often find yourself blown away by their beauty, their intelligence, their sheer, raw and unfiltered talent: the sort of people that walk into a room and all eyes suddenly fall onto them, because why wouldn’t they?

In short, there wasn’t a lot that Luke wasn’t good at.

The Los Feliz senior was perhaps the most popular kid in school; the band he was lead guitarist of certainly aided in that status, but in truth he was just that likeable, that talented, that handsome. He would find himself denying it when complimented, diverting the praise somewhere else, holding on to what little humility a guy that appealing could have. The sort of person who would spend his weekends helping the homeless or saving cats from trees, all while keeping up with his schoolwork, a meticulous work out routine and band practice.

And yet he still couldn’t convince the girl he liked to go out with him.

“Morning, pendejo.” As the school bell rung one colder-then-usual December morning, Luke was greeted by the familiar term of endearment from his locker neighbour and Julie Molina’s older cousin, Y/N. A senior, like he was, and his bandmate’s closest confidante, Y/N and Luke had been acquainted for their entire childhoods, and ‘friends’ for perhaps seven months out of fifteen plus years. They had gone through grade school together, just like Luke had with Alex, and later on Reggie when he moved to LA, lived down the street from one another, ran in similar social circles for the majority of high school.

That wasn’t to say they were actually friends, quite the opposite in fact. Their mutual of Julie forced upon them each other’s company, despite the very blatant truth everyone but Luke’s lead singer and Y/N’s prima pequeña was unaware of:

Luke and Y/N were too competitive to ever get along.

In the same way that Luke lit up rooms with his smile and charmed the socks off of every person he met, Y/N did the same. Call it her adoptive mother’s perfectionist agenda, her own high expectations, or simple happenstance, Y/N Pedraz was the sort of person whose only obstacle was her own mind. The sort of person who had the brightest stars in her eyes and the sweetest symphonies in her laughter, with a brain as sharp as her wit and extensive vocabulary to offend someone in three separate languages; she was the girl with the wall of blue ribbons and the report card with straight As, the girl who, alongside her aunt, taught Julie piano.

The girl Luke had been in love with since 6th grade.

“Idiota? Are you even listening?” Luke was snapped from his thoughts to look back down at the girl stood beside him, watching him with a raised eyebrow as he tried to form enough saliva in his mouth, that had suddenly become very dry, in hopes of responding. After a few seconds of no luck, Y/N smiled and shook her head. “Not wasting your breath on me, how sweet. Julie wants you and the guys to come to mine for band practice. Something about the studio roof having a hole in it and people coming to fix it, and my mom is on her holiday detox cruise until the New Year so the only person you’ll be disturbing is me!” The chipper tone of voice was laced in sarcasm, and Luke couldn’t help but role his eyes at her, to which she scoffed. “Since I’m doing you the favour, Mr Rockstar, you should maybe be nicer to me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Princess?” Luke finally found his words, calmed his heart beat, and dressed his face with a cheeky smirk as he closed over his locker and leant back against the cool blue metal. “But if we were nice to each other, who would hate us?” He posed the question, earning a soft smile from the girl, a victory in his book. It wasn’t often he got a genuine smile out of her.

“The problems with being perfect, Patterson.” She collected her books and closed over her own door, spinning on her sneaker heel with a flip of her hair. “Hasta luego, guapo.” She called back to Luke, making her way towards her next class as the second bell of the day rang, and Luke muttered a soft ‘shit’ as he started in a sprint towards his first class on the other side of the school.

He managed to cross the doorway of his English class just as the bell rang, sending a wink and grin to his teacher Madame Monroe, who was so old people were convinced she immortal, and taking his seat at the back of the class with a sigh of relief, busying himself with pulling out their current reading piece and notepad.

“Hey man-” he started to whisper as he looked to his left, only to find Alex already holding out a pencil to him, the pair sharing a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m guessing the Queen ambushed you, that’s why you’re late?” Reggie asked from his right, Monroe calling on some of the lacrosse players to wheel in the old tv stand: the end of term had some benefits, at least, and the class in unison tidied away their books for the period.

“We’re supposed to head to her place after school, band practice, Julie’s orders.” Luke explained in a low enough voice that Monroe’s limited hearing wouldn’t catch.

“She told me this morning.” Alex agreed, his friends looking over. “What? Student Council happens before school, we were both here early.” He muttered, folding his arms and slouching a little in his seat. “Besides, I like her. I know Luke doesn’t but I do.” Alex took a moment before defending himself, gesturing to the band’s guitarist with a sickly sweet smile. “She’s you, but a little less irritating.”

“Hey!” Reggie interjected, to what Luke hoped was a counter attack. “Y/N is extremely less irritating.” Reggie corrected to the chuckles of himself and Alex, and the groans of Luke stuck in the middle. “You know she got me a Christmas present last week? When was the last time I got one of those from you, Luke?”

“Can it Peters, you know I’m broke.” Luke punched his friend’s arm playfully, and the conversation ended as some VHS b-rated movie started to play, leaving Luke to sit with himself, and wonder just how he was meant to focus on band practice that night in Y/N’s house.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of Christmas movies and idle chatter about their upcoming gig, and with the end of the school day, Alex, Reggie and Luke made their way towards the Pedraz house. Julie’s Tía’s house was only a few street south of the Molina residence. The neighbourhood was lovely: the houses were a little bigger, the lawns a little greener, the air a little sweeter, but as the three friends made their way over from school that evening, the sun already setting as half past four closed in on them, they were more than aware that the Christmas decorations weren’t the only artificial thing on the street.

Everything about the place was almost too perfect: the comforts and mess and the smell of chocolate that seemed to constantly circulate over the Molina home was lost to the Pedraz residence on Mercer Drive: Alex knew, his parents developed the area. There was no room for gum on the sidewalks or dry patches of grass, not a soccer ball or trampoline or anything fun in sight. The holiday décor was simple Christmas lights, all the same colour, all the same icicle effect design in a bright white-blue to match alongside the greyscale housing. Every inch of the Mercer development looked the same, almost like a movie set for one of those new Netflix movies, and it was almost disturbing.

Almost: because just as the three boys arrived at their destination, they spotted the only house on the row with paper snowflakes in the window and a snowman sat by the door; the only house, it seemed, to have anyone under the age of fifty living in it.

“You found it!” The cry came as the front door swung open, Julie rushing over and hugging each of the boys in greeting, careful to avoid the guitars Luke and Reggie had strapped to their backs, before taking Alex by the arm and leading him inside, towards that same Molina smell of chocolate that wafted from the house. “Hurry up, Y/N made cookies.” She added, talking to Reggie and Luke, the former wasting no time in rushing into the home and kicking off his shoes.

Luke found himself paused, what his friends believed to be his reluctance to enter the home was actually his taking a moment to examine: to notice the wreath on the doorway that was sprinkled in a coat of glitter; or the way each of the snowflakes in the front room window were cut with perfectly straight lines despite the intricate patterns; how beyond the blinds he could see the flickering Christmas tree lights.

“You coming in or what?” It was the second time that day Y/N caught Luke off guard, Luke following the sound of her voice to her frame in the doorway, arms folded over a white slip dress, paired with a deep green turtleneck under it, and white fluffy slippers. Her hair was tied up, a messy bun atop her head, that did little to make her appear taller. “You’re letting out the heat, Patterson.”

“Really? With how cold your personality is, I assumed your house was some sort of modern day ice palace.” Luke quipped back, making his way up the front lawn’s path and onto the little porch. Y/N seemed hesitant to let him in, almost as hesitant as he was to enter: he had never been to her house before, this was new territory. Their common ground at the Molinas was the limit of their out-of-school socialisation. “You look really nice in, uh, the dress is…” Luke started, in hopes of relieving the tension.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Y/N seemed to concede, walking back into her house and, by association, allowing Luke to follow her in and close over the door. He followed her straight to the kitchen, where Julie was sat on a counter while Alex and Reggie dug into the fresh baked cookies. “You can you the front room, there’s another batch of cookies in the oven that need to come out in seven minutes.” Y/N began to explain to the band, Reggie pausing the shoving of sweet treats into his mouth for a moment to listen. “There’s juice in the fridge, if you need anything urgent I’ll be in my room. Upstairs, second door on the right.” She informed, walking over and letting Julie latch onto her, forcing the girl into a hug from her little cousin.

“Don’t you want to stay and listen? We’re pretty good, you know.” Julie gave her best puppy dog eyes, and Luke couldn’t help but smile as he watched Y/N pinch the singer’s cheeks.

“I know you’re good, but someone has to plan the fundraiser you’re performing at.” Y/N reminded. As a member of the Student Council, and an upstanding citizen in general, she had been asked to assist in organising the community Christmas Concert, a concert she had also gotten her little cousin’s band on the set list for. “Besides, I like surprises.” She assured, picking up a cookie from the cooling rack and taking a bite as she headed upstairs, leaving the four friends to their own devices.

“Luke, come on man, what is going on with you today?” Alex asked, hours later, as the four sat at Julie’s kitchen table, pizza for dinner. Their rehearsal that had had been far from great, Luke had barely been responsive half the time, and when Ray called Julie about ordering pizza for the guys and her, ending their rehearsal and sending them back up the street of Julie’s house, their was plenty left to be desired.

“The last time you played that bad was the stomach flu of ’15.” Reggie added, his eyes widening. “Dude you better not be sick.”

“I’m not, I’m fine… It’s…” Luke sighed, taking another bite of his pepperoni slice, his brows furrowed. He didn’t know what was going on with him: if it was because of Y/N and being in her house and knowing she was around, or something else entirely, but the guys were right.

He had never played worse.

“Do you really dislike her that much?” It was just that asked the question, Luke looking across the table at his bandmate, perhaps his closest friend, only to see her looking back at him with sad eyes and a deep frown herself.

“Jules-” Luke started, but she cut him off.

“I know she can be stubborn and I know she can be a little overbearing at times, but I just thought if you guys spent more time together, got to know each other, you might get along?” Julie began, setting down her pizza and beginning to pace the kitchen floor like she often did when stressed out. She took a deep breath, her voice shaky as she started up again. “She can be an asshole sometimes, sure, but she got us the Christmas Concert gig, she suggests us to play every school event, she’s my cousin Luke! And I know you two don’t always see eye to eye on stuff because you’re competitive, or whatever, but can’t you just try and be-”

“I’m in love with her.”

Julie stopped pacing then, turning to look over at Luke as he sat at the end of the table, his head hung low as his hands rake through his hair.

“That’s not funny, Luke.”

“Good. It’s not a joke.” He responded, looking up at his friends with a pained smile, letting out a short, cold laugh. “I’m in love with Y/N, I’ve been in love with her for six years… Give or take.” He confessed to it, finally, and was greeted by the most confused expressions on his friends’ faces.

“But you hate each other!” Reggie exclaimed; of the opinion he was stating the obvious. “You fight with Y/N more than Flynn fights with Carrie, you compete against her at everything, you spend more time complaining about her than anyone else you know and you know me. And Carrie! This has to be some sort of joke, man, I mean-”

“You’ve proven to the entire world you’re incompatible, both of you. Like, if ever there were two people who despised each other more, who made the effort to despise each other more…” Alex trailed off, baffled, her and Reggie both so shocked that they turned to Julie for answers.

She stood at the end of the table, arms folded just like Y/N did, her eyes narrow as she examined Luke, watching his reactions to his friends’ words. How he screwed up his nose at the mention of their shared rival of Carrie Wilson, the way he smiled like Reggie’s ranting invoked fond memories, the shift to a frown when Alex mentioned ‘incompatibility’.

“He’s telling the truth.” Julie decided, Luke’s eyes locking with hers, her face softening as his was painted by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to back him up, but then again he hadn’t expected to tell them about his dilemma either.

“He is?” Reggie whispered, and Julie nodded, confirming her statement. “But… But how? When?”

“She beat me in the school talent show… Sixth grade.” Luke said softly, the memory one he held dear, at least that was what his smile told his friends. “I fucked up and messed up my chord progressions at the end of my guitar piece… And she came on stage and just sang her heart out.”

“If I remember correctly, that happened and then you put pudding into her gym shoes as revenge.” Alex added, still not totally convinced.

“I just took credit for that one… It was actually Dorothy Matthews.”

“That makes sense, she was a mean kid.” Reggie agreed with a nod of the head and an accompanying shiver. “And five inches taller than me for all of middle school.”

“She was really tall, wasn’t she?” Luke agreed, the pair sharing a laugh as Julie and Alex watched on.

“Of topic, guys!” Alex snapped after a moment, the room falling silent as the blonde though over his next words. “So, you’re in love with Y/N, have been for years… And why haven’t you just asked her out?” The question had the conversation back on topic, all eyes on the brown haired boy as he chuckled to himself.

“I have. Multiple times. But it always went wrong or she misunderstood and thought I was joking, and at some point I just gave up trying.” He shrugged, letting out a sigh of defeat that had Julie rolling her eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Patterson.” She said with a smirk. “A complete and absolute fucking idiot.”

“That’s not very nice.” Luke pouted. “Can’t you all just feel sorry about my unrequited love life and forgive me for sucking today?”

“Alex, who do we often refer to as ‘Luke’s female equivalent’?”

“Uh… Y/N?”

“And Reggie, if we know how Luke reacts when he likes someone, would it be safe to assume that Y/N might react in the same way?”

“You mean how Luke has no idea how to ask a girl out and instead teased her for half a decade? Oh, definitely.”

“So… Maybe, Luke, you’ve been so blinded by your assumed rejection that you haven’t noticed that maybe, just maybe, my cousin is also in love with you?” Julie posed the suggestion, and Luke sat up straight.

“That’s insane.”

“Is it though? Alex already said you both were so persistent in showing you despised each other. Maybe, I dunno, she loves you too and doesn’t think you even like her because you do shit like put pudding in her gym shoes!”

“That was Dorothy Matthews!”

“Y/N doesn’t know that!” Julie exclaimed, and Luke fell silent.

It was minutely plausible, the line of reasoning Julie gave, but a part of him couldn’t believe it even though he wanted to. Y/N was perfect; she always had been perfect, and Luke was a musician really considering dropping out of high school before the year was out. How would someone like her… Why would someone like her even think to care about someone like him?

“You know, I feel like now is where we make the big plan, get those lovebirds together, then celebrate by playing the best show ever at the concert, right?” Reggie spoke up through a mouthful of pizza, the four sharing glances.

“It won’t work.” Luke insisted.

“And what if it does?” Julie countered, smiling over at him. “Luke, if you’re so insistent then let me and the guys handle it. You just need to show up somewhere the night before the concert, ok?” She proposed, with an eagerly nodding Reggie on her right and a still perplexed Alex to her left. “Worse comes to worst, we can perform a Mariah Carey cover without you and say you’re sick or something.”

It was the last thing Y/N needed, really it was. Julie’s name flashing up on her phone the night before the Christmas Concert, the voice urgent down the phone as she begged her to head home, that Julie would meet her there. It wasn’t like she could say no to her baby cousin in distress, far from it: she would be more than willing to punch the daylight out of whoever had hurt her Jules.

That was what Julie had been betting on, of course, and Y/N arrived home from the mall that evening to find her front door open and a note on her porch.

She rushed over, her brain scrambling to figure out just how to tell her Uncle Ray that Julie had been kidnapped, grabbing the note from the floor and tearing it open:

I’m fine, you’ll thank me later.

Julie xx

“Dios mio…” Y/N muttered: her relief integrated with annoyance. Of course her cousin had planned something to get her away from her responsibilities. A glance at her watch, and Y/N realised getting back to the mall in time that night before it closed wouldn’t be a possibility.

That’s when music started to play from inside the house.

“Is this some kind of joke?” She called into her house, noticing for the first time that candles that lit up the hallway in a trail towards her kitchen. They bathed her home in a warm glow, one far more welcoming than the chilly breeze from outside. And with nothing better to do, and curiosity peaked, Y/N stepped inside, closed the front door behind her and followed the trail.

“No joke, I’m afraid… I was just as shocked as you were.” The voice that greeted wasn’t the one Y/N expected: but then, no-one really expected Luke Patterson of all people to be standing in their kitchen, beside what seemed to be a candlelit dinner for two sat on the dining table. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You hungry?” Luke asked with a nervous chuckle, one that Y/N reciprocated. She was safe to say slightly confused, but she had no intention to refuse.

“Starving.” She smiled in response, one of those genuine smiles Luke always liked to see on her face, and Luke pulled out a chair for her to sit down. She accepted, taking a seat and quickly taking her hair out of it’s ponytail when Luke turned around to fetch a bottle of grape soda from the counter.

“Clearly none of our friends have fake IDs, so please pretend it’s alcoholic.” Luke apologised, but the words had Y/N giggling as he poured her ‘wine’ to accompany the pasta dishes that sat before the pair.

“I’m assuming Julie devised some sort of elaborate scheme to make us friends or something?” Y/N asked, and Luke scratched at the back of his neck, the dread already building in his stomach.

“Sort of, yeah.”

“Sort of?” Y/N asked, her brows furrowing as she waited on Luke’s explanation. He quickly picked up the bottle again with a shaky hand, clearly not the best of ideas, since the pouring of red grape soda into his wine glass soon turned to the toppling of said glass and the liquid spreading across the table.

“Shit!” Luke exclaimed, jumping up and surveying the mess he had made, opting to pull of his shirt in a split second decision to try and mop up the juice before it hit the grey carpets below. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I swear to God I’m not usually this uncoordinated.” He rambled, managing to mop up the juice without getting any on the carpet. His eyes moved up, to check in on the silent Y/N, who sat with clasped hands and wide eyes. “Fuck…”

“You’re shirtless…” She muttered, doing her best to look anywhere but Luke’s naked chest and abdomen.

“I am.” Luke agreed, watching the reaction with interest. H wondered for a moment, trying to assess whether she was being respectful of his body and not looking out of simple decency, or if she was embarrassed by the situation for him, or something else. “Y/N?

“Uh huh?”

“Want to tell me where the laundry room is?” He asked, holding back a laugh when she darted up and rushed towards the utility room at the back of the house, beckoning him to follow, grape soda soaked shirt in hand.

Y/N was quick to turn on the light and busy herself setting up the washing machine, seeming glad to have something to do from Luke’s perspective. When she held out a hand for the shirt, he passed it over, crossing to the sink to wash the stick of the soda from his digits as Y/N messed with wash settings.

“It’s uh… It’s just me and mom… I don’t really have clothes you could change into.” Y/N muttered, coming over to the sink to wash her hands free of grape soda too.

“That’s fine.” Luke responded, and physically felt Y/N tense beside him for a moment. “I mean, the wash will take an hour, drying another… Two hours isn’t so long.”

“Two hours is long enough.” Y/N retorted drying her hands and making a quick beeline for the door. A hand caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Why so edgy, Princess?” Luke asked, unable to find it in himself not to tease the clearly wound up Y/N.

“None of your business.” She responded, looking him in the eye before wrenching her arm free and starting from the main floor of the house.

“I mean, I just want to know what I did wrong, Y/N.” He pleaded, sarcastic in tone, watching Y/N march and efficiently blow out the candles that lit up the kitchen and hallway. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from just being around her, or that fact he was just dumb enough to try it, but when Y/N finished blowing the candles out at the front door, Luke took his chance and pinned her in when she stood up.

“Let me go.” She demanded, keeping her chin high and a level head, here eyes locked with his. Had Luke not been more interested in answers, he would have lost himself in those eyes.

“Not until you answer my question. We’ll call it my Christmas present, since I know you got Reggie and Alex something.” Luke replied with a shit-eating grin, one hand coming to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, why so edgy, Princess?”

“Like I’d tell you, asshole.”

“Was it the food? The candles? You don’t like grape juice!” The incorrect guesses, the implied teasing, there was only so much Y/N could handle before she lost her temper.

“I don’t like you! I don’t like you appearing out of nowhere in my house and making dinner and having fire hazards everywhere! I don’t like you mopping up soda with your shirt and acting like you being shirtless is no big deal when it is! It really is…” She trailed off for a second, snapping back from whatever memory flashed before her eyes. “I don’t like you so close to me either! I should have you arrested for trespassing and indecent exposure, Patterson.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Because if you really didn’t want me this close to you, you would have punched me in the face by now.” Luke chuckled. “Everyone knows after Bradley Jacobs in sophomore year that you have a mean left hook.” He reminded her of the time she punched the kids making sexist comments: she had charmed her way out of suspension.

“You’re meant to be performing in my Christmas show tomorrow, I’d prefer you not to have a black eye.” The excuse was weak, they both knew it. A silence filled the air as they stood close, somewhere between fear and tension, of what kind Y/N didn’t want to admit. “Stop being an asshole, Luke. It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” He teased further.

“To do this when you don’t even like me.” She whispered, her eyes closing as she let out a shaky breath, only for them to open in surprise when a set of lips met hers. Luke took the chance, of course he did, and he was glad he did. The taste of her strawberry chapstick was like heaven, the kiss sweet and gentle and chaste. He moved himself back, adding to the space between them as Y/N leant back against the door, her pupils blown.

“Y/N?” He asked, checking in, trying to figure out if he’d be getting the same reward as Bradley Jacobs for his actions. Her name being said shook off the daze she was in, Y/N looking up at Luke, rather apprehensive, stood shirtless in her hallway after he had just kissed her out of nowhere.

“Why… Why didn’t you do that sooner?” She asked, quietly, a smile and giggle coming to her lips as they looked at one another, catching Luke by pleasant surprise.

“I didn’t think you liked me.”

“Didn’t think- Luke I asked you out two weeks ago and you said no!” She exclaimed through her laughter, another wave of giggles hitting her when Luke’s mouth formed into an ‘o’.

“The library trip…” He realised, letting himself laugh too. “I mean, you really weren’t specific, and you’ve rejected me too you know.” He replied, the smile settling on his face one that wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

Especially not when Y/N closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his.

With the realisation of their stupidity, a sudden desperation added itself to the equation. There was time to make up, actions to apologise for, tension to finally put to use, and neither were planning on stopping until they had won. The kissed turned hungry, tongues clashing as Luke’s hands came down to Y/N’s thighs and lifted her into his arms, starting the climb up the stairway to the top floor of the house.

Y/N wasn’t sure how Luke knew where her room was, she wasn’t sure if what she was doing would backfire on her in some way, but frankly, she didn’t care. As Luke’s hands melted against her body, pulling off her shirt as they fell to the bed, all she wanted was him. His lips moved from hers to her neck, nipping at the skin softly as he hands worked off her skirt, and Y/N’s worked on unbuckling his belt.

They were both in their underwear in a few moments, breathing heavy and looking at one another: Y/N laid back on the bed, Luke sat back on his heels at the end of the bed.

“Do you-”

“Yes.” Y/N replied before Luke had a chance to finish the question. “Do you?”

“God yes.” He agreed, moving up her body and pressing kisses against her skin, goosebumps forming wherever his cold lips hit. When his kisses reached her underwear, his hands wrapped around the flimsy lace material and pulled them off, the kisses continuing on the insides of her thighs.

“Jesus Luke, haven’t we teased each other enough?” Y/N cursed, the words coming out as a moan. It was a sound Luke had wanted to hear her make for so long, he had to put effort into not losing himself right then and there.

“Fair enough.” He conceded, taking no further hesitation in pressing his fingers against her damp core and his tongue to her clit.

Y/N found it hard to control the noises that left her mouth as Luke got to work pleasuring her, his fingers moving at a rapid and steady pace as his tongue teased her sensitivity, the curl of his fingers to her sweet spot only added on by the pressured of his tongue. She did her best to hold back, to quieten down, but in response Luke’s touch disappeared.

“I want to hear you, Princess.” He grinned, moving up the bed and taking her hands into one of his, placing them above her head. “Keep them there.” He ordered, and while Y/N was far from someone who took orders from anyone ever, if it meant Luke’s tongue would be back on her heat, she was happy to do just about anything he said.

As his tongue went back to her core, Y/N didn’t hold back on her moans. She’d thought about the exact event happening at least twice before, but had never pictured Luke at being so good with his mouth. It made sense logically, as a singer his mouth was his weapon, and… Her brain wiped clean as another moan escaped her, pressure building in the pit of her stomach.

“Fuck, Luke…” She whimpered, her back arching, her head falling back into the pillows.

“Cum for me.” Luke spoke in a low voice; his smirk ever present as his fingers took Y/N over the edge into euphoria. It was waves, the feeling a pure pleasure falling over her body, sending her legs trembling as Luke helped her ride out the high. He only moved once he was certain she had completed, slipping his fingers from her core as he leant over the bed, lifting up his jeans to find Y/N resting on her elbows, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” Luke asked as he retrieved the condom from his jean pocket. “A man’s got to be prepared.”

“You really thought I was that easy?” Y/N asked with a grin and she took the package from him and tore it open, taking her time to pump his shaft before rolling on the protection.

“Not that easy in general, no… But I can be…” Luke spoke and Y/N’s lay back and he lined himself up with her entrance, a twinkle in his eye as he pushed himself inside her and spoke. “Persuasive.” The moan elicited from Y/N seemed to prove his theory.

His movements were slow and gentle at first, both of them taking the time to get accustomed to one another, but with a nod from Y/N for Luke to continue, he took control. The pace became fast, thrusts powerful and deep, Luke making sure Y/N wouldn’t be forgetting the feeling of him inside her any time soon. His hands pinned down hers, pressing Y/N down into the bed as he pounded into her, relentless, both chasing their highs.

Y/N rolled her hips in time with Luke, earning groans from the man on top of her, taking the moment of weakness to flip them over, her hands now pining down Luke’s as he lay back on the bed, his face clearly stunned by the move she had pulled, though it didn’t last long. His eyes screwed shut as he let out a groan, his head rolling back at the feeling of Y/N riding his cock, each roll of the hips casting moans from their mouths.

“I’m close…” Luke muttered, looking up to see Y/N somewhere near completion as well. Her hands on his did little to combat his strength, taking control once more to grabbed Y/N’s thighs, thrusting upwards into her a rapid speed for them both to reach their highs through a strings of curses and cries of pleasure.

Y/N let herself fall limp on top of Luke as they both caught their breath, their chests rising and falling in time with one another.

“Well…” Y/N spoke first, biting her lip as she lifted herself off of Luke, giving him a chance to bin the condom. “That was…”

“The best Christmas present ever.” Luke whispered as they lay side by side on Y/N’s bed, the words sending them both into fits of laughter, ones Luke quelled by kissing Y/N gently.

“Yeah. Agreed.”

Tags: @reggiesleatherjacket @parkeret @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @delicatelukepatterson @lukespatterson @kcd15 @siennanoelle01 @eries45 @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @reggieandthereggies @writerinlearning @mjflower @uhmitstori @walkingonshunshine @kristencoontz @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @ritz-hell-hotel @mishappend @dovegranger @dmcfarland1 @cherrymaybank @oswinsleaf @only-here-for-jatp @jatpfan99 @n0wornever @bookdealer5 @epikskool @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @emotionalbruv @korydickson @uglypeachh @rogersangel @independentgirl @mon-charmante @writingforphantoms @musicconversedance @heimdoodle @-episkey- @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @simp4madi @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @blueyed-one @ghostlyb1tch @leahstypewriter @parkeret @lukereggies @hologramband @all-in-fangirl @daisiesforlacey @valntynegillespie @lukespaterson @dovesgrangers @sunsetswerve @sorryimricki @dani27297 @talksoprettyjjx @imsydneywalker @katie-navarro @aydoubleu @kaitieskidmore1 @magnet-girl @axen-gers @dpaccione @mjrsposts @starswereherspotlight @g7aesthetic

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Note

For your suddenly omegaverse au what exactly happened? Like I think obiwan and Anakin hop over from cannon verse to omegaverse but I am unclear on if there already existed obiwan and Anakin in omegaverse. Did they die early or do they just not exist or are they just not force sensitive and therefore not a part of the order? Is there still a sith conspiracy around Anakin?

Context: Original Post, Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom, Soap Operas

So, from the original post:

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse

Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don’t exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood.

To clarify: There has never been an Anakin Skywalker in this AU. There has never been an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

They don't know this for sure when they land in the AU, though. All they know is that the Jedi have no record of either of them. They figure, well, maybe they just got lost in the shuffle. Anakin wasn't found until he was nine, after all, and that was only by great coincidence.

The rest of this post has almost no mention of the omegaverse elements, FYI.

Warning: References to the Tusken massacre, explicit sedation and isolation of a mentally unstable individual threatening violence.

I don’t want to make light of institutionalization and involuntary holds, but Anakin is a character with a history of violence talking about repeating such an act, and that’s... a bit of an extreme case.

------

It's not that hard to convince the Temple to let them run a mission that lets them stop by Tatooine or Stewjon. Anakin cares a lot more, so Tatooine it is! Obi-Wan can tell there's something sketchy going on with Anakin's particular anxiety about this, but he rolls with it. Anakin was very specific about the timing for some reasons, and at this point, it's easier to just let it all play through.

They go well after the whole “congrats, you’re omegas... somehow,” thing has happened, a month or so before Geonosis would have happened. Obi-Wan has managed to help the council sabotage and delay the Separatist side of the war enough that they’ve gained... maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. Just a little more time to keep a few more people alive. Nobody’s reached out to Kamino yet, and Jango isn’t staging a failed assassination to draw someone in, either. They’ve bought enough time for Anakin to spend his vacation time checking in on his mom seeing if he exists here, and Obi-Wan can go with him.

They get to Tatooine. They wander about, and Anakin doesn't actually explain where they're going, but takes them straight to where the Lars farm is. Obi-Wan lets Anakin tell him that it was the Force that led him to the right area. Anakin can sense that his mom is in there, and Obi-Wan chalks up the relief from his former padawan to 'she's here and we don't have to look for her.'

Anakin is... panicking. Just a bit. What if he shows up and it turns out this reality's Anakin is off doing something completely unrelated and she realizes he's the wrong person? Or what if she doesn't recognize him and he calls her Mom anyway? What if he fucks up and says something stupid or just starts crying on her? She'll think he's insane.

Obi-Wan... takes over.

Anakin stays hidden, listening. Obi-Wan knocks on the door, and asks if there's a 'Shmi Skywalker' in residence. Someone in town mentioned her. He explains that he has a young friend of about twenty years--they're not sure, exactly, because the friend doesn't know his own birthday, but it's about there--who happens to be a Skywalker, and they're trying to see if they can reconnect him with a parent. They don't have much to go off of other than the surname... the Shmi that lives here wouldn't happen to have ever had any children about that age?

No. She hasn't had any children of her own blood, actually, her only child is her stepson, but she'd be happy to meet this other Skywalker, if he's in the area. It's always nice to find family, and connecting with those that were separated from you is a big deal on Tatooine. She's not going to look a gift bantha in the mouth.

(Cliegg, dear, put down the rifle.)

Obi-Wan promises to let his friend know, bids them goodbye, and goes to find Anakin.

Anakin is having a bit of a breakdown.

As one does.

Anakin insists that they stick around for a bit, that they do what they can to protect the farm, because that's his mom, even if she's not really his mom, and Obi-Wan can tell there's a Lot Going On here. He assumes it's because Anakin's upset his mom doesn't know him, which is a little irrational on account of their two options being "Anakin doesn't exist (and so Shmi doesn't know him)" and "Anakin does exist (but Shmi doesn't know this Anakin, so she still doesn't know him)," but Anakin's not a very rational person.

Obi-Wan thinks tamping down the current crisis is probably a little more important than chastising Anakin's attachment issues, mostly because Anakin's hands are shaking, and he's looking a little wild-eyed, and like. Obi-Wan's not great at dealing with Anakin's many and varied emotions, but he's learned at some point when it's best to just... roll with it Until There's Less Risk of Stab or Sobbing Laughter.

He helps figure out some minor fuckery with the Force to hide the family in the homestead behind them from visitors, and to warn them to hide when someone comes by. It’s not a lot--mostly just meditating and asking the Force for a helping hand--but it’s nice.

Except, well, Anakin keeps fidgeting. He keeps panicking. He has them coming back almost daily for a week, always too scared to talk to his mom but insistent on protecting her, and always looking at the calendar. Obi-Wan wants to get back to the Temple, but whatever the actual hell is going on with Anakin is too big to just ignored.

A specific day comes and goes. Anakin is a mess of jitters and nerves, and finally Obi-Wan asks just the wrong (right?) question, and... they visit Shmi.

Anakin says they can talk later, he just wants to see his mom One Last Time.

(Obi-Wan is getting more and more worried, but he sits through the incredibly awkward meeting between Anakin and his alt-universe mom, watches as Anakin has no idea what to say and almost cries, and Shmi just kind of lets him do that and Beru--a sweet girl, Obi-Wan thinks, and very practical--tells him that this is all very normal for reunited slaves.)

(Obi-Wan wonders if maybe there’s some stuff Anakin never told him about how being a slave affected him.)

(Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past most of this, but..)

The meeting ends. There’s hugging.

They get back to the ship, and Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin fall apart. Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin cry and scream into a pillow, hyperventilate and nearly punch a hole in the wall as he rages about how it was all for nothing! Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin break into a million pieces in a way he’s never seen before.

Obi-Wan gets a confession.

Anakin tells him about the Tuskens.

It’s not an easy conversation. It’s not a short conversation, either. Anakin’s full of pain and misery and rising guilt, talks about how he’s been asking himself if it would be easier to keep his mother safe if he just killed them all now, except Obi-Wan would know, and be disappointed, and sure the Chancellor had said that they were little more than rabid animals, but Anakin doesn’t think he can kill the younglings again when his mom is still fine, and--

Obi-Wan sedates him.

He wants to say that he’s not proud of this, but... Anakin isn’t well. Anakin isn’t well in a way that is currently, specifically, revolving around doing extreme violence. Anakin is talking about going out and committing a slaughter as preventative maintenance.

Anakin stays sedated until they get back to the Temple, and he’s put in Force-suppressant cuffs--Obi-Wan quietly tells them to use something that can’t be sliced or taken apart by a droid specialist, and to avoid collars because Anakin was a slave for nearly a decade, and has a lot of traumatic associations--and in an isolated room.

It’s not a cell. Not technically.

He can’t just leave, though.

Obi-Wan hates himself for it, just a little. He doesn’t want to be doing this, not to his padawan, his brother, his son, but... a massacre. Even the younglings, he’d said.

(“He said he didn’t think he could do it again,” Obi-Wan mutters, half to himself and half to the mind healer that asks for his rundown of the situation. “I think he knows it was wrong, but...”)

(But he still did it, of course.)

It’s... better than Obi-Wan feared, but worse than he hoped.

Anakin is emotionally unstable. He has been, for a long time, but he’s usually functional. When the mind healer isn’t directly poking at his worst wounds, Anakin can more or less pass for... not okay, necessarily, but no worse than anyone else in the war had. He can say the right words. He can do a joint meditation. He can talk about philosophy the way a Knight that’s taken all the right classes does.

But part of Anakin still holds to the idea that the Tuskens deserved to die.

“This is my fault,” Obi-Wan whispers, more than once, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I should have...”

“He was an adult,” says Mace, who isn’t Mace, not the one that Obi-Wan knows, but a newer friend, one that’s still figuring how to act around him. “Young, but still an adult. He made that choice.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. Things aren’t that simple.

“The timing can’t have been a coincidence,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, later on, but in the same spot, and the same position.

The Quinlan of this universe shrugs. He knows Obi-Wan better than most, right now. Psychometry’s helpful that way, and sharing Obi-Wan’s heat hadn’t hurt. “Seems likely. You said Sith were involved and setting traps, and a kid like yours, with that much power and trauma... ripe for the molding.”

Obi-Wan whines, and then catches the noise and stuffs it back down, locks it up tight with the other ‘instinct’ things he doesn’t like to think about having. The sound already has Quinlan shifting closer, and the smell is... intended to be comforting, he thinks. Reacting to his own distress, which he’s probably just pumping out right now, because he still doesn’t know how to--

“Can I help?” Quinlan asks, and Obi-Wan lets him.

Someone gets through to Anakin, maybe, or he just lets himself be ground down, or Obi-Wan’s entreaties that he can’t teach Ahsoka until he understands his crimes get through. He won’t be trusted around the clones until the Jedi can trust him to do the right thing, they inform him.

“I wouldn’t hurt the clones.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that until you understand your crimes and truly, actually feel remorse for them.”

There wasn’t a crime, technically. Not in this universe. That tribe is still alive, here, unknowing of the fate they escaped by dint of Anakin talking himself down from committing another slaughter.

(He tells the mind healer it’s because Obi-Wan was there.)

(He might have done it, he says, if he hadn’t thought Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him.)

(He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, that Obi-Wan’s opinion is worth more than the horror of what he might become.)

“We’re going to keep an eye on anyone talking to Palpatine,” Shaak tells him one day, after Anakin’s been mental instability hold for two weeks. “We don’t know for sure how far the similarities extend from your universe to ours, but given everything else you’ve been right about...”

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.

Shaak grimaces, fangs glinting in the light. “I want to believe we’d have never allowed a child into such a position, but I can’t know what political leverage may have been used in your dimension... whatever reason was had to put Skywalker in those rooms, we know the consequences now--”

“What did he do to my padawan?” Obi-Wan demands, because Anakin won’t even tell him that. Anakin hasn’t mentioned Palpatine since they left Tatooine. Not to Obi-Wan.

“Nothing physical,” Shaak manages. “But the lies he told and the suggestions he planted... it’s good they haven’t met again yet in this life. We’ll all be keeping them far apart.”

He wants to take solace in that. “Why do you know before I do?”

“Skywalker values your opinion,” she says. “Only yours. He doesn’t want you more disappointed in him than you already are, so much of what is relayed to the council as a matter of security goes no further, but this was deemed necessary to share. He agreed to it, if you worried we’d broken his confidence.”

Anakin’s therapy would normally be entirely private.

Anakin’s therapy would normally not be in response to confessions of mass slaughter.

He hasn’t asked to be let out, which Obi-Wan hopes is a sign that he realizes at least subconsciously that he was in the wrong. The mind healer says he could have been released under watch by a Master probably a day or two after he arrived, but seems to be drawing some kind of comfort in knowing he couldn’t hurt someone even if he tried.

Obi-Wan is Anakin’s emergency contact. His next of kin. His healthcare proxy. Anakin has a right to privacy, minor as it is in such a situation, and everyone recognizes and treats him as an adult, but... Obi-Wan learns as much from the mind-healer as he would have back when Anakin was actually a child.

“He trusts you to make the right decisions,” the mind healer tells him, careful and unassuming. “He has... a lot of conflicting opinions about many things, including the order, the coming war, the nature of human reproductive dynamics, the Code... but he seems keen on the idea that you are his best reference on morality and ethics.”

Oh, good, more horrifying responsibility.

“He’s better,” the mind healer tells him. “I want to get him out of here before he starts going stir crazy while still relying on the perceived safety as a crutch for his mental health. And he--”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Obi-Wan says, heavy as anything. “I know.”

“Well... there’s a war coming,” the mind healer says. She offers a thin smile when he looks at her. “I don’t want him going out, but it makes him feel useful, gives him a direction for the aggression, and... the Council is adamant that we’ll need him as much as we need you.”

It’s true.

“Did he tell you why everyone called him the Hero With No Fear?”

“No.”

“Ask him.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Shmi Skywalker #Mace Windu #Quinlan Vos #Shaak Ti #time travel #omegaverse #SW Suddenly Omegaverse #Phoenix Answers Asks #phoenix posts #Tusken Massacre #death mention #dehumanization mention #institutionalization tw #involuntary hold tw #sedation tw #involuntary sedation tw

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maculatas · 2 years

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CHAPTER 3: blight ; \ ˈblīt / : a thing that spoils or damages something.

Frank doesn’t remember much else that happened that night. It was that fleeting rage and then the immediate action to do something that held no rational thought. An impulsive move led to someone dying. He remembers how it felt when the blade connected to the man’s back, a high pitch ringing in his ear. Maybe it was Julie’s screaming or the man’s. Frank shut his eyes and all he can see is black.

The red spilling from his hands, his hooded face, the single eye from the shadows exposing his widened, thrilled look. This awoke a feeling in him. It was this feeling of an odd, indescribable sense of calm that washes over him. It was all of his years of rage, displacement, and emotional instability blooming in this moment.

His group’s faces were all in distress. Joey had yelled at him. “Frank! Dude–! What did you do?” Frank felt entirely lost. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. His friend’s faces had blurred together. Susie was crying. Julie had her mouth covered in horror. He had to act fast.

He had to.

Frank led himself down a rabbit hole. He made them feel guilty that if they don’t all finish him, this man will suffer a fate worse than just a single stab.

The groans coming from this man were nauseating. Frank felt his mind buzzing like tv static. It was all a mess. It was all a big, bloody fucking mess.

Frank had to do everything. He had to bark out the orders. Frank had to force their hands. It was Frank, who was the king, leading his pawns on the defensive. All the while, this man who was like them was dying. Frank had never felt so terrified and divine all at once. Here he was, holding this man’s metaphorical heart in his bare hands. The decision was ultimately to kill him, to hide his body and then to never speak about it again.

So the realization that Frank would have to return to Mount Ormond made it all the wilder.

That stimulation of the kill, of feeling like the boss in a mafia, never once faded for Frank.

He spent the entire time thinking about the sensations. The way everything felt so overstimulating, but it all fell into the correct place. For him, it was a rebirth; it was an awakening into feeling godly.

Here was this young adult carrying life and death with equal measure into both palms. He was the judge, jury, and executioner. It was retribution for all the shit he had to face.

He found his calling.

When he arrives at the old ski resort, he inhales the sharp air of winter. The wind chill wrapped itself around his body. It was like home.

He could make out the familiar shapes of his old friends inside, their shadows sort of stilling around, and the smoke drifting through the cracks of the wooden building. He really didn’t want to see them. But at some point, they were all going to ‌talk.

They never came back to fix this place up like they were supposed to. That was an old promise they had made.

Finally, he makes his way into the rickety building. The desolate areas of the resort seemed to hold a certain aura of mystery. It looked the same as he had left it.

The last time they were there, they were slightly tipsy and emotions had slipped over. He thinks of the man still buried out there in the snow. No one had found him. There were no missing fliers, nothing made for the body for people to look for him.

The man was a stranger with no family. Nothing.

Just like Frank.

If he were to die, would anyone else possibly care? Clive wouldn’t even notice. He never did. The only thing he did right was give Frank somewhere to stay.

He thinks of his friends. Each one would probably feel free once he’s dead. He’s probably ruined every bit of freedom they had. Every sense of safety they had left was damned to hell because of his poor choices and them being with him by association.

No wonder they held a resentment towards him after the situation.

They all wanted to do things with their lives; except for Frank. Frank wanted to brood. Frank wanted to remain stagnant.

All the faces that took care of him came flickering through like an old movie camera in his brain. These people didn’t love him. They didn’t care. They wanted the government cut on doing the one good thing people should do with lost teens.

And instead, they spend it all on their own fucking selfish reasons.

Then your face comes up in the final film reel. It’s you he sees. You, who have waited for him, who have held an interest in him and have stuck by him for months. He’s a fucking dick to you, and you stay.

His chest feels warm, and in his stomach there’s a pit.

What is there to it? You make it too easy.

You’re just the easiest sort of woman he could have found. His favorite. His— what? It’s not like he’s in love with you, but he holds you close for many reasons.

Soon enough, though, you’ll know.

“What the hell are you doing back here, Frank?” Julie asks. Her blue eyes seem to blaze at the sight of him. Susie seems to hide in the back, and Joey’s crossed his arms in front of him as if tense. They all look on the defensive.

“I’m here to talk is all,” Frank tells them, his arms up to show he’s not a threat. Never to them. He actually does like his friends most of the time.

When they’re not treating him like he’s the only bad guy here.

Julie frowns, looking behind him. “Where’s your pet?”

Susie’s eyes flicker up. “The girl?”

Frank spits off to the side. “You won’t be seeing her.”

Julie snarls. “If she’s going to be another body count for your sick as hell games, we will not be a part of this.”

“She won’t be,” Frank swears.

Joey snorts in the back. “You’re full of shit man, you’ve got something planned.”

Frank laughs dryly. “Well, whatever you all think, it’s none of your business, regardless.”

“It is,” Julie steps in. “You’re a sick bastard. The way you treated us! You manipulated us. We fucking killed for you!” Her voice rises sharply. Julie, still beautiful, still sharp with all her edges. Frank misses her sometimes. He misses them.

“We’re still friends, Julie.”

“We’re not. We never were.”

Frank feels a brief pang. He looks at all three of them. The way they look at him like he’s a stranger. When his friends didn’t even come in and check on him after everything. They had drifted apart. He didn’t want to acknowledge that.

“So, whatever you have planned for that girl–you will not involve us, Frank,” Julie spits. She throws a bottle at his face, and it cracks against his cheek, but he doesn’t even flinch. She’s a little tipsy. Usually, when she is, she becomes a belligerent mess.

Susie comes up to her, trying to soothe her, but Julie looks like she’s on a mission and stalks up to size Frank up.

“You involve us or your little girlfriend in your fucking games. I’ll kill you myself.”

His laugh is hoarse. “I’d like to see you try, Julie. You couldn’t.”

Julie’s gaze is intense, her eyes carrying a promise in the depths. “If I don’t get to you first, that girl of yours will do it herself.”

A warning, a future promise. It was everything Frank didn’t want to hear. He stomps out into the night, away from the resort, and into the cold.

He feels his fingers flex. He wants to break something.

His fingers ache against the chill, and beg to pick apart flesh.

Frank returns to your house. This time, he comes through the side window with a warning. He texts you a simple: Hey. U up? Can I come in?

The thrill of letting him in combined with the anxious energy about it is enough to dissipate the nerves when you see his current state.

He looks freezing, his cheeks red, his clothes sopping wet, and there’s a few cuts on his face. Where did he even go?

You decide not to grill him, and just let him be for ‌when he browses around your room. He looks like a raven during spring time. Your room is all colors, vibrant and bright. Frank might as well be the antithesis.

The events that led him here and him being able to find you as a safe space. You love to think that you're his anchor. You ground him, you hope; and that’s enough to make you giddy. So, to distract him from whatever is on his mind, you ask him about something else. It’s always been on your mind, this question.

“Did it hurt?” You inquire. You walk up to him and trace the tattoo that’s across Frank’s neck. A skull with flames as its backdrop. You inspect it, wondering when and how he got it. He doesn’t move away from you, but you can feel his tension forming. He’s undecided of what to say, but he shifts.

Frank exhales raggedly and you catch onto that. You peer up at him worriedly, but only smile.

He swallows and shuts his eyes; as you continue to trace his tattoo. Your fingers glide against his skin smoothly. You want to press your lips there so tenderly and move them up to his chin. He’s electrifying, and he smells heady.

“Not so much,” he responds finally, startling you out of your fantasy. His eyes still closed. He seems to want to sleep and you think to yourself that he's like a cat leaning into the warmth of the sun.

“When did you get it?” You’re so fond of him. You think that love couldn’t be any better than this? Despite Frank’s oddball nature and how confusing he may seem, there are moments like these that make everything seem worth it somehow. Just being with him is enough.

Frank cracks open a single eye, peering at you for an exceedingly long time before answering. “I was about sixteen. I was in a shithole down south of here before finally ending up at Ormond.”

You tilt your head. “Shithole? What was wrong with it?”

Frank suddenly moves away from you to stand over by your desk. Sometimes, he thinks, you ask the dumbest fucking questions. “It was fucking everything. It was all the people, even. The place; everything sucked ass.” Frank sucks in his teeth, pulling out a cigarette from one of his pockets.

You don’t know when he was so short with you. His patience is fleeting at random times. You regret even asking anything at this point. Frank’s chaotic emotions have been bringing you through the wringer. Everything with him had been so incredibly complicated. He goes from the most loving, patient partner to a Mr. Hyde incarnate in the flesh.

He casts a glance over at the look on your face. It’s your familiar frown, your pensive eyebrows. Frank adores seeing that on you. It’s hard because the way it happens is deplorable. Frank’s the cause of it. The reason your expression looks so beaten down and confused. How did it come to this? He thinks you must ask yourself. Where did I go wrong? He wants to laugh.

It’s your fault.

The way Frank sees it. He wants you to feel you're spiraling. That everything you could do right is wrong. The image reel pops into his head again. Who will care about you when you’re dead, Frank?

You look at him then. His eyes seemed to have sharpened into knives.

He makes a move to grab your face, his thumb and middle finger pushing your cheeks. “Listen, I’m not mad at you. Don’t make that face.” He’s back to the reassuring boyfriend. It’s always a new one with him.

You move away from him, the stubborn prickling of your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You haven’t at all yet. But you don’t know how else to feel. It’s like nothing you can do is right.

Is it insanity to be with someone who makes you go through the five stages of grief?

“You’re so fucking unpredictable, Frank,” you murmur, wiping your eyes. He looks at you with a glint in his eye. His interest in seeing you angry; it was new and wonderful. He wants to kiss your face, the powerful urge to keep you close always.

He wants to be your last; your forever and always. You would care, wouldn’t you? He says to himself.

Frank has never felt so alive when he’s breaking you down, getting to see every bit of your character you offer him. The ones that were new and old, exhilarating.

He leans forward to press his lips close to your temples. You gasp. “You’re beautiful, you know that,” he mumbles against your skin.

“You just want to be forgiven easily,” you grumble, stubbornly refusing to look at him.

Frank lets out a laugh, a puff of hair tickling the hair behind your neck. “If it’s you, I would do every sinful act just to hear you say my name.”

He nuzzles close to you, cigarette long forgotten as he twines his arms around you. They’re like serpents slithering to hold you down. “I want you to be my forgiveness,” he says.

You try to resist, but with him it was so hard to. He did everything with a calculation. You knew with him it was easy to fall right back into that cycle. There would be a minute of kindness, fondness and then suddenly a switch of anger and resentment towards you. It was all so hard. Although when he holds you like this, his lips grazing against your skin, it makes everything fade to the back.

The brutality of Frank's was his tumultuous emotions.

Frank stays over at your house, which you don’t mind at all. You’d rather him be here than his house since he mentioned to you that his heater had broken down. He said he had moved into a shitty old apartment down on the outskirts of Alberta. He had sent you a picture of what it looks like and it looked to be like something out of a horror movie.

Still though, one of these days you wish he would just invite you over. You let him borrow sweatpants and a t-shirt from your father's drawers.

Frank makes a face when you hand him the clothes to wear.

“What is it?” You laugh, questioning why his face is looking so peculiar at the garments.

“It’s not really my style,” he mentions. The worrying wrinkles on his face seem so comically out of place in his usual moody boy appearance.

He takes them without another word and shuts himself in the bathroom. You knock on the door, reminding him he can take a shower if he needs to. He’s already a step ahead of you when you hear your shower head already turning on.

You relax a bit, happy that someone is there with you at the house. You’re glad it’s Frank. The last time he had come to your house, you thought he was an intruder ready to steal from you, but at that point in time, he had left out of courtesy. Even though his explanation of how he got into your home raised a bit of suspicion for you.

You decided not to think about it anymore.

As you fluttered about your room, getting it cleaned and picking up clothes to be folded away. You wanted to be a little risky, and wear something a lot more loose fitting. A silk camisole and short pajama set you had gotten from a cute boutique back during the summer.

Suddenly, your ears focus on the sound of the shower stopping. The excitement builds up in you as you finish putting away the last bit of your laundry.

He comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his head. The way his hair has grown back, thick at the top, you’ve never seen it so natural. Typically, Frank styles it away from him, or usually it’s a mess. This way, though, he looks so at ease.

His tattoos show through the leanness of his muscles. He’s still unbelievably handsome.

When Frank spots you, he smiles. You just have that emotion welling up inside you of feeling absolutely complete.

“Hey,” you say quietly. Frank moves towards you. He smells fresh.

His hands come up to your arms, and his fingers trail up your back. He hums, pleased with how much skin he can feel. You’re so impossibly warm.

You jolt slightly at the ticklish sensation. It’s unreal, honestly. In your mind, though, you want to believe that this is forever. That Frank and your relationship is a true, honest thing. If he asked more from you, you would give it to him. All of it.

Frank kisses you gently on the lips. When he pulls apart he sees that you’re leaning in close. Your nipples harden through the silk of that camisole, and your eyes flutter.

He licks his lips. It’s too easy. There’s no way you can be this open with him, after everything he does.

You make the move, though, much to his delight. Your arms wrap around him as if you’re molding against him and you kiss his neck. “I’ve been thinking about doing that since you came here,” you admit.

His heart rate skyrockets. Shit.

“Oh, yeah?” He rasps. Frank’s hands lift up the camisole, his fingers going to the dip of your waist, tickling their way up to the wings of your back. You moan quietly.

“Please,” you beg him. Your thighs are quivering. You want more than this. “I want you,” you whisper softly into his chest.

He frees his hands out of your shirt to rest them on your hips. “You sure about that, baby?” You look at him, his eyes are darker than you ever have seen them before. You feel a familiar wetness. The same one you get when you think of Frank late at night in your bed, and you toy with your clit. Your fingers tracing through your labia, making the motions of his hands and how you imagine them.

You want this to be real. You’ve wanted him since you’ve met him. It’s final then, you press your forehead against his, exchanging a few breadths. “Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

It’s all you can really say. You can’t think of any other magical word to get him to show you all of him. The feeling of danger when he groped you roughly, you try to imitate exactly his movements whenever it’s you, your fingers and your imagination.

But it’s never enough.

He’s real.

Frank swallows dryly. A part of him is unsure of what to say.

You huff quietly, pulling away slightly. The resolve in you, the hunger, this desire shows exactly who the hunter should be.

You catch him off guard by kissing him voraciously; all lips and teeth, your fingernails scraping against the back of his head. You try not to let him catch his breath.

The sensations you wanted to be lost in. Frank himself seems completely caught in a snare. You make him entirely lose himself in the feeling of you straddling his lap, kissing him, and making those tiny noises that drive him mad.

This was too much. His senses were in overdrive. He wanted to be lost entirely in the feeling of you.

Your mouth molds into his and he gently slips his tongue around yours, tasting you like you’re the sweetest wine. It dips deeply, trying to morph together, and you feel yourself become lightheaded. How is Frank so? So what? No adjectives. Nothing comes to mind except the delicious numbness he pulls from you and the power of his lips.

He finally breaks apart, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re dangerous,” he mumbles, pressing his face against the crook of your neck.

You laugh breathlessly. “Not as much as you are.”

His hands drift to brush against the waistband of your shorts and your breath hitches.

You feel daring, impossibly bold, so your hand goes to touch the bulge in his sweats. His hand suddenly startles you, gently gripping your wrist.

“Watch yourself,” he warns, a humorous glint in his eyes. “Don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

You bite your lip, trying to make him see you’re more than ready. You want to be with him. In every single way. The rawness of what transpired between the two of you and being in the quiet of your home. You craved the closeness, especially with him.

“Maybe another time,” he finally says. He even doesn’t believe what just came out of his mouth.

You nod, a little disappointed. You have read before that being with someone, men, would be more than willing. But maybe Frank just feels things too intensely. Maybe he wants to make you happy first before going onto the next step.

You really wish he would’ve just done it. Frank leans over and kisses your temple. “Let’s get some rest.”

How could you possibly rest after the most stimulating experience with your boyfriend, but you let it go? You stay close to his arms and he kisses your neck. His fingers trailing against your skin like embers from a flame.

He had told you nothing really about what the next day was going to be like. So really, you were in the complete dark about where you both were even going. He gave vague hints and kept backtracking.

Really, why is it your boyfriend is the biggest walking red flag? Good thing he’s handsome.

He kept waffling on the information, and even when you persisted, he would not relent.

“I could take you to my place, princess. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go there, though.”

Driving around places together was a usual favorite pastime. Frank, though, had damned this evening to hell.

You cross your shoulders with a baleful glance at Frank, who doesn’t seem to notice your displeasure, or could just be ignoring it.

“I’m just saying,” he continues. “You won’t like where I take you.”

You shift in your seat, puffing out a breath. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want to be wherever you are, Frank.” The silence that came along with you saying such a thing was deafening.

Frank seems to study you in a ‘amoeba inside a petri dish,’ type of way. “You say that now, but you’re going to regret it all.”

“I won’t regret being with you ever,” you say. He smirks then. Today he seems more ravenous. He has something planned and you’re unsure of where he’s taking you. You think positively, despite all the red flags. You’re very excited. It was going to be the best weekend away with each other.

He wanted to take you to his special, secret place for the time being.

Frank had described it as somewhere in the mountains at some resort. You tried to look it up the other night, but nothing really had come up in your search. But Frank had quelled your questions with something he had built and created.

So you were very curious what exactly he made as a surprise for the both of you. Only he really knows the location of where you’ll end up.

“So this place, have you stayed before with anyone?”

“I have,” he answers honestly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. But then he smiles, wide and broad. “But it’s going to be different with you.”

“With me?”

His eyes glint mysteriously and he leans in. “Yeah. I can’t wait to show you something big.”

You laugh, albeit a bit nervously. He’s acting a little weird, but nothing you haven’t seen from him before. Maybe the both of you will share something intimate and nice being alone together.

Hopefully this time, you’ll be able to be together with no interruption of emotion.

Maybe this time, he’ll let you in. He’ll be able to open himself up for you to crawl yourself inside the smallest corner of his heart.

#frank morrison x reader #dbd imagines #frank morrison x you #the legion dbd

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