#and trill has a lot of love to give | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juletheghoul · 2 months

Text

Castaways (Part 1)

AN: Before I get into the notes for this - I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who took the time to send me a message / comment on my post, it meant a lot to me. 💜💜💜 As for this story, I started writing it in Sept of 2022, after watching the Harrison Ford movie, Six Days, Seven Nights lol. I had a lot of it down pretty quickly but eventually, I stopped. Now that new ideas aren't as bountiful as they once were, I started combing through all of the half-finished works in my docs and I fell back in love with this one. Hopefully you enjoy it. I have an ending planned out so there will definitely be a part 2! Shout out to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments in this doc. Enjoy xox.

Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader (Princess as a nickname)

Warnings; C o m p e t e n c y - a very brief snake…encounter?-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy with gusto (when doesn't he), creampie, longing, yearning, a helicopter crash (nothing too graphic), reader is spoiled at first and generally kind of snobby- enemies to lovers? Bit of a slow burn! let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

The click of your heels sounded throughout the airy hangar with a purpose, the echoing sound of it heralding your journey to give someone—anyone hell.

A quick flick of your wrist reminds you how late you already were for the retreat booked in your private slice of paradise; the private jet your father paid a fortune for had made an emergency stop in Puerto Rico- some nonsense about a storm.

Unacceptable.

An imperious sigh leaves your mouth -not a single person to lay into anywhere in sight, and it leaves you no choice but to head outside to see if there is a plane you could commandeer.

—

He wipes the grease onto the legs of his well-worn work coveralls, his previous scowl gone and replaced with a triumphant smile - finally got that fucking bolt off-

“Excuse me-” He turns toward the sound and is greeted by a very annoyed-looking woman. “Hi, do you know where I can find a pilot? There’s no one in the hangar.” She drags a very expensive-looking suitcase behind her with one hand, the other holding a ridiculously large hat onto her head.

“Hi, yes I’m a pilot - most of the staff have gone home, a big storm coming soon-”

“Perfect, can I hire you to fly me to this island?” Her fingers flew across the no-doubt latest model of smartphone in her hands - ignoring the shocked expression on his face at being so rudely interrupted. “This one here, I need to be there like three hours ago, and I would be there now if we hadn’t stopped here - you know where this is, right? Can you take me?” She all but shoves the phone into his face.

“No.” He carefully moves her manicured hand away from his face, and a tiny, cruel little part of him enjoys the shock in her expression - he very quickly gets the impression that this girl is not used to hearing the word. “As I was saying - everyone has gone home, a lot of people were grounded here, myself included. There is a big thunderstorm coming. Not safe to fly until it passes. Shouldn’t last too long - a quick squall - come back tomorrow, and I’ll happily fly you there.” He then turns to continue his work.

“Money is no object, but I need to leave now,” she says it through a huffed breath, and his eyebrows raise.

“And yet, my answer is still no.” He’s annoyed now. In truth, it was a fairly quick flight - he knew the island she’d shown him, had made the trip before, and it would be less than an hour, but her attitude was a black mark against her. Her phone trills then, a cheery tone, momentarily snatching her attention from him.

“Hi, Dad, yeah, I know. I’m at the hangar, looking for a ride.” She taps her foot, and it sets his teeth on edge. “There is a pilot here, but he says he won’t fly me.” She narrows her eyes at him when he turns to look at her, listening to the other half of the conversation he wasn’t privy to. “I’ll tell him- Sorry-” She inspects his name tag, “Francisco, my father says if you get me to the island within the hour, he’ll make it worth your while. Name your price.”

“I don’t know what part of it isn’t safe isn’t registering-” She raises her voice and speaks over him.

“He’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.” Her tone is loud but bored. “Besides - the skies are gorgeous - I’m sure we can make it before anything happens.” She waits a moment, “Plus another five grand when you land. And you can have accommodations until tomorrow - room service, the works. Just please - get me there.” Her eyes are hopeful, and for a brief moment, he acknowledges how pretty she is, or - would be, if she wasn’t such an insufferable princess.

He knew he should have said no. Knew he should have turned her down and followed the guidelines, but that kind of money would change his life. Change their lives- it would have been insane for him to turn it down.

“Fine.” He relents, shoving down the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll be your pilot. We’ll be out of here in ten minutes.” She almost jumps with joy, and he can’t hide the annoyed expression on his face.

“Done - okay, I’ll be there soon, Dad! Bye.”

He was covered in grease.

You had to remind yourself not to wrinkle your nose at him. You supposed he could be handsome, in a scruffy, working man way, but that's beside the point. He was your saving grace right now, and that counted for a lot.

He fiddles with the engine of the helicopter for a moment more while he leaves you to wrestle your suitcase in by yourself, thankfully without breaking a nail.

“Alright - just going to perform a couple of checks, and we’ll be in the air.” He got in and began flicking switches, turning knobs, and checking over all manner of gauges while you made yourself as comfortable as was possible in the cramped little aircraft. It was hard, though, with your suitcase practically digging into your back behind you.

It’s fine. I’ll just have to get a massage once I land.

“Okay, we’re off.” He has his headset on, and you are in the air within a few moments. That, unfortunately, seemed to be the end of your good luck.

Whether by some cruel design, by the fates or gods, or whatever entity dictated the events of your life - it didn’t take twenty minutes in the air for the sky to turn a foreboding gray.

“That doesn’t look good,” he says, the words loud enough to be heard over the noise, his eyes quickly scanning the horizon, no doubt taking in the dark clouds flanking either side of the already rickety helicopter.

“It came out of nowhere.” One minute, the sky was blue, and the next, lightning forked the sky in the distance.

“No, it didn’t - I told you a storm was coming. This is too dangerous - I’m going to have to turn around for our safety.” He maneuvers the controls, and you have no choice but to agree despite your annoyance.

It all happened so fast.

Something strikes the aircraft, the sound of it booming in your ears so loud it hurts, and then he’s frantic. Manically pressing buttons and calling through the radio, but from the frustrated and frankly terrified expression, no one is answering.

“Fuck, tighten your seatbelt, we’re going down!” He grits his teeth, and all of a sudden, you are spinning, a scream being ripped from your throat - your heart falling out of your ass. “Impact coming - brace yourself!” he screams before the world goes black.

Someone is making noise, a low groaning noise that pulls him out from the depths of unconsciousness, he’s only mildly surprised to realize it is him.

The helicopter - his helicopter wasn’t making any noise, which was bad.

Under normal circumstances, it would be broadcasting out a signal beacon that would bring in a rescue team, but as it stood right now - without blinking lights or a working radio - it had gone completely silent.

Lighting must have fried it. Fuck.

He took stock of his situation. Luckily, he doesn’t feel any injuries aside from horrible whiplash. No blood, no broken bones. A softer groan comes from the woman beside him; she’s still out, and he couldn’t see any injuries- he’d know when she woke up.

I could kill you right now.

He thought the words, sighing loudly to himself before finding a way out of the cockpit. He’d managed to move most of what he had in the helicopter out onto the sand by the time she woke.

“Jesus Christ - what the hell happened?” She stumbles out, barely managing to stop herself from eating shit in the process, unfortunately.

“What happened is the storm I warned you about many times caught us in the air and grounded us here.” He’s laying out his supplies, lengths of rope, his toolbox, and empty water jugs. He has a small case with a flare gun, an emergency kit filled with first aid supplies, and a massive tarp. There are a few more things to go through, but it is important they find a source of freshwater soon, or they won’t last two days, especially with the heat making his clothes stick to his body.

She sighs loudly, struggling to make her way through the sand in those ridiculous heels she’s wearing

“And now we’re stuck here, on an island when, where I should be, is home with my-“

“Can’t you call mayday or something? My father is expecting me. I’m sure he’ll have an army looking for us.” She’s digging through her purse frantically, ignoring the scathing look he’s giving her.

Spoiled little brat, you only care about yourself, huh?

“Wow. You know what? That’s a great idea! Why the hell didn’t I think of that?” He can’t hold back. “Oh! I know, it’s because we were struck by lightning, and it fried everything, so whatever army your father sends won’t find us -there is no signal to hone in on.” He scowls at her, annoyed that she isn’t paying attention to him even now. “Doesn’t help that a lot of these islands that are usually full of tourists are uninhabited after the hurricane that hit a few months ago.”

“So we’re stuck here???” Her eyes are wild as they look past him, to the beach just beyond, and then to the thick greenery behind them. “This cannot be happening right now,” she spoke to herself.

“Where the fuck is my phone??” She moves and makes her way back into the cockpit, all but ripping the aircraft apart before- “Fuck! You have got to be fucking kidding me! Don’t you have some kind of satellite phone or something??” She’s tapping at the deeply damaged screen, it completely destroyed.

He couldn’t help but bark out cruel laughter.

“I don’t know what planet you’re on. People - regular people don’t just have satellite phones, sweetheart.” He got up from his place in the sand, making sure to put the flares back in the helicopter.

“Great. Just great.” She sighs loudly, “So we’re stuck here. Do you even know where here is?” She fishes into her bag once more, pulling out a bottle of what looks to be sunscreen, and squeezing out some to spread over her exposed skin.

“No. I don’t, but the heat is going to kill us if we don’t find water soon. Grab one of those jugs, and let’s go find water. You might want to change your shoes.” He pushes her suitcase at her, ignoring the shocked look on her face. “Chop chop, princess, let’s move.”

This couldn’t be happening, this could not be happening!

Right now, you should have been mingling with Louis, the gorgeous, billionaire bachelor your father invited to your private resort. You could almost picture it, the classy yet sexy outfit you’d be wearing while you flirted over a drink by the infinity pool. Broadening your horizons and nailing down the rich husband you deserve.

Instead, you’re here - stuck in the sand with the world's grumpiest pilot, trying desperately to get your phone to work, but it’s no use.

You can almost see the frantic look on your mother's face now that it was obvious that you hadn’t made it at the scheduled time, she and your father were probably coordinating with the military right this second, with the Navy.

What the fuck am I going to do-

The jug hits your lap, scaring you half to death.

“Come on, princess, let’s get moving. We have to find fresh water before we die of dehydration out here.” He’s standing a few feet away, staring at you with his perpetual scowl. “Change your shoes, and let’s go.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” They were pretty sensible as far as your sandals went, respectable heels, and relatively comfortable. His scowl deepens.

“You cannot stumble around the island in those, you’ll break an ankle, and I am not fucking dealing with that.” His eyes narrow. “Tell me you brought a pair of runners in that giant trunk.”

“Of course I did,” your tone is icy as you get up with a huff. You quickly changed into them, and then you were off.

The terrain got more and more treacherous the further you got from the powdery white sand of the beach. Dirt and bramble gave way to thick, almost jungle-like vegetation, making the trek harder and harder as time slogged by.

The sound of running water greets the two of you like a siren song, spurring your tired, sweat-soaked body to move quicker, and the sight that meets you once you break the dense treeline could've made you moan. You jump into the water to cool your heated skin, ignoring the warning from Francisco.

“You should get out of there.” He’s at the edge of the clearish water, filling the jugs quickly.

He seems to be determined to infuse his sour attitude into everything, your mouth opened to tell him to relax when something brushes past your leg. At first, you think it might be a piece of underwater flora, but it becomes apparent very quickly that it’s something far worse.

“Francisco.” His eyes met yours, “Francisco, something just swam into my shorts, I-I think it’s a snake.” Your voice trembles slightly, hands itching to pull whatever it was out, but his voice cuts through the urge.

“Don’t move- are you sure it’s a snake?” He put the jugs down beside him, moving closer to you, descending slowly into the water.

“Yes, It’s coiling around my thigh, moving up - I need it out right now, I wanna just grab it-“ Your head tilts down, but he stops you.

“Don’t move! It could be venomous.” He wades into the water towards you slowly, too slowly. Your heart’s racing, hands shaking as you wait for him to reach you.

“Help me, get it out, get it out!” your voice is almost manic, desperation colouring every single inch of you.

“Okay, okay, calm - deep breath.” You followed his example as best you could, trying yet failing to ignore the slithering against your skin. “Slowly pull your waistband away from your body, and I’ll see if I can grab it,” his tone had lowered, a soothing timbre reminding you for a moment of how a teacher would speak to a student.

It helps.

You did as he asked, pulling at the waistband of your shorts, all thoughts of propriety forgotten, and within a moment, his hand was shoved down deep - a rather large hand fighting with whatever it was that had made camp in your pants.

He bit his lip in concentration, bodily pulling you towards him as he struggled. A moment later, he was raising it up triumphantly.

A huge shiver went down your spine at the sight of it, spurring you to get out of the water as fast as humanly possible.

“Jesus Christ, it’s just one fucking thing after another,” you spoke as you made it out without incident, ignoring the huge sigh he let out behind you. “Thank you for that.” He was following closely behind you, not interested, it seemed, in having a similar experience.

“Don’t mention it. Let's fill these and get back to the beach.” He hands you a couple of empty jugs, and you reluctantly got to work.

All things considered, they were lucky. Frankie knew that. His helicopter - albeit small - was surprisingly well-equipped to handle being stranded. He had an emergency survival kit, purchased partly under the insistence of his mother but mostly so he never had to relive what had happened to him a few years ago. He’d tried not to think about it, but walking through the foliage back to the crash site had brought it all back. Vividly.

He pushed it away, shoved it down deep where he kept the rest of his issues - instead choosing to focus on what they needed to do. They needed some form of shelter, and soon.

“I am sweltering,” her voice was low behind him, whiny with the distinct tone of someone who had never truly been uncomfortable a day in her life. “Fucking starving.”

“Most likely, you’re dehydrated. Once we get back to the beach, we can figure out the water,” he spoke over his shoulder. “Have to make camp if we’re going to be here for a while.” They broke through the treeline, seeing his helicopter on the beach like a pile of old bones broke his heart a little - his only connection to home, to his little girl. He pushes it all away again.

“So how do we get this water drinkable?” she huffs out the words, dropping the jugs next to his laid-out supplies with great effort.

“We have to set up a purifying system, filter it, and then boil it.” He crouches down towards his supplies, looking for something clean he could use as a sieve. Luckily, he always kept an overnight bag with him, in case of being grounded somewhere, but he only had three shirts in there, he couldn’t burn one since he didn’t know exactly how long they’d be stuck there.

“I don’t have much in terms of clothes - you got anything we could use?” He looks up at her, “Something simple, a cotton t-shirt? Something we could use to strain the water.” He walks towards her trunk, waiting for her to open it up.

She opens it reluctantly, rifling through her things for a moment before handing over a simple white shirt. “Any chance I’ll be able to wear that again?” her voice is vaguely annoyed.

“I’m sure Daddy won’t mind buying you a new one.” She gives him an expression that could curdle milk. He ignores it. Instead, he busies himself, setting the jugs of water somewhere relatively level. He felt her eyes on him, and it compelled him to explain what he did as he worked. “We have to let the water settle for about an hour, let the sediment sink to the bottom, then strain it, then boil it.” Not for the first time in his life, he was happy to have his military gear within reach.

He works fast - you have to give him that.

As much as he grumbles and looks at you like you are the devil incarnate - you couldn’t deny that he was incredibly intelligent. Within a few hours of getting back to the camp, he had built an impressive fire, filtered the jugs of water, and had boiled most of it.

“Tomorrow, we’ll get to work building some sort of shelter,” he spoke after he finally sat down, the first break he’d taken all day. “Have to go about looking for food too, I saw some fruit trees - we’ll grab them on the way back from getting more water.” His eyes are heavy, you can see it in the way he blinked slower and slower.

“We have to make that trek again?” your voice is shrill, he sighs loudly.

“We’ll have to make that trek every single day until we’re rescued. Water is the most important thing. No delivery service here, princess,” his voice is sleepy, the usual bite in his words softened by the need for sleep.

“How will anyone find us?” The worry is evident in your voice.

“I have a flare gun and three flares - we’ll be able to signal someone. Go to bed, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” He gestures to the helicopter–lovely, this will be comfortable.

—

The knock on the helicopter window ripped you out of sleep, your heart racing as you clutched at your chest.

“Wake up, princess.” He taps on the glass and through bleary eyes, you take note of the smile on his face as he wakes you up, “We have work to do.” He taps one last time and then leaves you.

You flash him the middle finger as he turns and laughs, annoying you even more.

You join him on the beach a little later, ignoring the ache in your body from sleeping in a half seated position. God I really need that massage.

“I’m going to make the trek for more water, while I do that you are going to gather palm fronds.” He had a jug in his hand as he moved towards the treeline. For a moment you panicked, the thought of being alone causing your heart to sink.

“Wait, you’re leaving me alone?” You moved a few steps towards him, catching yourself before making it to him. “I mean–um,” You raised your chin at the surprised look on his face, ignoring it. “How many fronds?” There was an abundance of them, both on the ground and in the trees just beyond the sand. He paused, giving you a curious look.

“As many as you can, we’ll need way more than you think.” He turned then, and left you to it.

Time crawled by while you were alone, with only your thoughts and the sound of waves to accompany you. Sweat dripped down your brow as you gathered, gathered and gathered some more. Enough fronds that it made a huge pile beside the fire pit Francisco had made. Your stomach growling almost constantly now–the hunger so intense it was making you light headed.

Branches snapped, drawing your gaze towards his form. He had the jug in one hand and a stalk of bananas in the other. It was enough to make you moan.

“This is good, but it’s not enough. We have to gather more - have to cut down a bunch of bamboo too.” He put the jug next to the others before joining you where you sat. “Here, you must be starving.” He ripped off a handful of the glorious fruit and tossed them into your lap.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

“Jesus Christ, I thought I would pass out.” You knew you had fruit on your face, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. “Thank you.” You peeled another, eating it just as quickly as the first.

“Don’t mention it. Okay, let's get to work.”

Your fingers were sore, your back was sore, every single part of you was sore. Hours crawled by with the sun beating down on you both as you weaved fronds together. He had you create sheets and sheets of it, had you help him cut down enough bamboo to build a house. He did the heavy lifting and made what looked like a crude rope tying together the bamboo in layers strong enough to hold both of you.

Wordlessly, he worked, the sweat dripping down his face, soaking through his shirt like a marathon runner until it was a hindrance and he took it off, used it as a rag that hung limp over his shoulders. This was much worse than a marathon, though, much worse than any workout you’d ever done in your life, and although you’d never say it out loud, you were incredibly thankful he was here.

I probably would have died by now.

It was a terrifying thought that without him, you wouldn’t survive - you shoved it away. It wouldn’t matter soon because your parents would be looking, and they wouldn’t stop until they found you.

“Come lay on this, I want to see if it’ll hold both of us.” He stood over the platform, laying on it as you came closer. It held. “Perfect. We’ll be elevated off the sand, less chance of bugs or crabs biting us, and it’ll be cooler than the helicopter.” He let out a weary, tired sigh.

“You’re expecting us both to sleep on this?” You couldn’t help your tone, and instantly you felt bad. He’d worked very hard on this. His brow furrowed.

“You’re welcome to sleep where you want. I’ll be on this.” He got up, his scowl now back in place, “I’m going to finish here and then go fishing. Keep weaving.”

Quietly, you got back to work.

In all his years, Francisco had never met someone so spoiled and self-serving - even though he’d expected it from her, it still hurt. He didn’t know why - why it would matter that some spoiled rich brat was acting like a spoiled rich brat; maybe it was the lack of gratitude. He was useful, he was smart and he had skills that he knew for a fact she’d die without.

He stewed over it as he swam towards a large boulder protruding out of the water near the shore. A perfect spot to catch the fish that swam around in the reef below the surface.

I should let her starve. Find her own food and her own water.

He wouldn’t, though, he couldn’t. All his life, he’d been taught to be a good person, to help where he could and after what had happened in that jungle - he shook it off, pushed it down. Ignored the cruel, petty voice in his head and set about catching something to eat. All the while keeping an eye on the horizon for a boat - for any sign that people were looking for him. That his people were looking for him.

He let himself think about them, really think about them for the first time since the crash. His parents, his little girl, let himself feel the emptiness of being without them. He let the waves of it crash over him just as the ocean around him crashed into the shore, and then he put it away.

She was still working when he came back with his catch, her face scrunched up in concentration - ignoring her, he went about doing what needed to be done.

“Is this enough?” Her voice cut through his concentration, and he nodded noncommittally - leaving the prepped fish on a relatively clean piece of driftwood he’d found.

“Hold this.” He stood at the corner of the raised bed and had her hold a tall, sturdy piece of bamboo. His plan was to make a small frame around the base, use the tarp in order to waterproof it, and lay the fronds all around to protect them from the winds that blew through here in bad weather.

She watched him work in silence, standing where he told her to stand, holding what he told her to hold and eventually, finally - they finished. It was as solid a structure as he could manage without planks of wood or nails, strong enough to survive against a moderate storm and to keep them off the sand.

He’d used the tarp to cover the roof and three sides, leaving one open for them - him to enter. On top were rows of fronds to catch rainwater and prevent it from pooling in the tarp, the rest of the unused woven sheets she’d made laid inside to use as bedding. With the emergency blanket and his military bedroll this would make a decent bed.

All in all, he was proud of himself, he took the raw materials he’d found on this island, and fashioned himself – themselves a shelter.

His stomach growled. It was time to start that fire.

Your stomach was screaming out in hunger. The bananas had been wonderful, but they weren’t enough.

“Are you sure that’s safe to eat?” You watched him wrap the fish in banana leaves and put it into red hot embers; you couldn’t help but be slightly dubious about eating something he’d just pulled out of the ocean. He sighed loudly before answering.

“You don’t have to eat it,” he sounded tired, and you supposed he must have been with how hard he’d worked. “It’s edible. I’ve caught this fish before.” He wiped at his brow with the shirt around his shoulders, his skin slightly pink from the sun.

You didn’t say anything, still unsure, but when the time came for him to unwrap the blackened leaves, your stomach growled loudly. It looked very good.

He didn’t offer any, instead, he snatched a piece of the steaming, flaky fish and popped it into his mouth, relishing the taste with a loud groan and a big smile. A nice smile, in truth.

“Maybe I’ll try a little bit.” You scooted closer to where he sat in the sand, unable to resist it.

“Here, careful - it’s very hot.” He tore a piece of a fresh banana leaf and gave you a decently sized filet, and with singed fingers and zero patience, you took a bite.

It was, without a doubt, the most delicious thing you’d ever eaten.

“Good?” He ate quickly, his expression amused at your very obvious enjoyment of the ‘dubious’ fish.

“It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever had.” You meant every word, and licked every last morsel off your fingers.

It was incredibly dark by the time the food was eaten, and the fire had died out. Francisco was attaching a piece of netting to the open side, and once he was done, he climbed in without another word.

The helicopter felt safe, enclosed and a space you could lock, but the shelter would have airflow. It would be infinitely cooler to sleep in. You knew that, eventually that helicopter would turn into a greenhouse that felt more like an oven. Not to mention how horrible it was to sleep sitting up.

Every second that passed made the shelter look more and more appealing, and after quickly changing into clean clothes, you slipped in silently, but it didn’t even matter, he was already asleep.

—

He woke to the feeling of soft breath on his back, the air was significantly cooler than it had been during midday, and now, in the early dawn of the morning she was seeking him out for warmth. It was in him to pull away, to deny her, but instead, he stayed motionless. Let her even breath comfort him for a few moments before he eventually rose to bathe in the ocean. Her hand was draped around his middle, pressing herself flat to him while she slept, completely oblivious.

He thought about how scandalized she’d be to know she was being so intimate with him; it almost made him laugh, but soon, that internalized mirth shifted to something bitter, something close to anger. He was only too aware that when she looked at him, she saw ‘the help’; someone like her could never see him as anything other than someone else to pay off, the person hired to do things below her. She shifted in her sleep, burrowing closer, her soft puffs of air ruffling the hair curling at the base of his skull.

Why does that bother me? I don’t even care about this person.

He sighed, confused with himself over these baffling feelings of inadequacy, frustrated that being close to another person felt good. Annoyed that he didn’t want to pull away - no matter how much of a brat she was. If she woke now and saw them tangled, she’d be embarrassed, perhaps even disgusted, he knew this for a certainty. So he left her.

Dawn found you almost frustratingly well-rested, as well as alone. All doubts that may have lingered about the craftsmanship of the shelter evaporated like the morning dew. A long, much-needed stretch is the catalyst that moves you out of the shelter, making sure to close the netting on your way to grab your toiletry bag when he catches your eye from his place in the water. The early morning sun lit up the surface like diamonds. He was running his hands through his hair, wringing out the shirt he’d been wearing the day before. His skin was golden, the high planes of his face kissed by the sun's rays, his shoulders too. You watched him for a time, unable to ignore the breadth of his shoulders - the pleasant sight of his thighs and it was hard not to stare at him when he rose out of the water, the droplets from his golden skin casting a sort of spell on their way back down to earth.

His hands were something else altogether, weaving their own magic the closer he came to shore, from the way they wrung out the shirt easily to the way they adjusted his considerable bulge as he walked, and you looked away quickly, ignoring the curious heat crawling up your chest.

He found you brushing your teeth, pointedly looking away.

“I’m going to go look for more fruit.” He spoke as he put the wrung-out shirt to dry next to some of the other things he’d washed before changing out of his wet boxers behind the cover of the helicopter. “You should gather more firewood, things to burn for tonight.” When he came back around, he was dressed in a clean white tee and a pair of shorts. Looking for all the world like a man on vacation.

“I’m coming with you.” You rose from your place in the sand quickly, shuffling to reach him before he left you. “I’d rather not wait around.”

“Fine, come on then.” With that, you both set off into the trees.

The morning was full of birdsong and sunlight, bright buttery shafts of it cutting through the trees while the former echoed around you.

“This would be a gorgeous place to vacation.” He echoed your thoughts as you followed a faint path in the brush.

“I guess, would need a vast improvement.” Like a hotel, and an actual landing strip maybe. He laughed low, his eyes looking high into the trees.

“I don’t know, I don’t mind it being a bit rustic.” He pointed ahead, a few coconut trees catching his attention.

“This is more than a bit rustic I’d say. God I can’t wait until my parents find me. I should be by the pool right now, mingling with Louis.” Your palm smacks against the first of surely many bites rising on your skin.

“That your boyfriend?” He’s serious now, scooping a couple of coconuts from the floor and dropping them into your arms.

“No, but he should be. He’s an insanely wealthy man my father invited to our private island, where I should be right now.” You sighed loudly, annoyed at the situation all over again. “Soon. Soon, I will be back where I belong. God, my mother is probably worried sick, you know?” You stood there, holding onto the coconuts he stacked in your arms before moving on to find more fruit.

“Sure.” He all but grunts, moving carefully through the brush. “I get it-“

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the military is out searching for me right now.” An image of handsome Louis frantically joining the search with your parents makes your stomach flip.

I wonder if he is worried about me?

“Focus.” His voice rips you out of your daydream. “Let’s grab some more bananas, and head back.” He seems annoyed - he’s always annoyed.

“I hate this.” Your arms ache from holding the heavy coconuts. “Shouldn’t we be building a signal fire or something?” You can hear the whining tone, but you can’t stop it. Must everything be so hard?

“And just what are we meant to signal? Seen a bunch of planes, have you?” His tone is icy, his expression angry. “Cruise ships sailing by us every hour?” He finds a banana tree and cuts down a stalk, his movements aggressive.

“Well no-“

“Exactly. We’re on our own, which means until the military or whoever is looking for you finds this island- we have to work.” He props the bananas against his shoulder and turns back towards the camp, pointedly ignoring the way you struggle to keep up with him.

You’re already covered in sweat by the time you make it back to camp, breathing hard and soaking through your clothes.

“Jesus Christ, I cannot with these things.” You dump the coconuts next to the water jugs, shaking out your aching limbs. He sets the bananas next to them before moving to grab some firewood from the tree line. Your eyes scan the beach, the waves gently lapping at the shore; it would be pretty enough without the eye sore that is the helicopter.

“I cannot wait to be away from this hunk of junk.” His movements stop at your words.

“That hunk of junk was my entire fucking livelihood. I don’t have a rich daddy to just buy me a new one.” He tosses the wood pieces angrily into the pit, ignoring the recoil his tone inspired. “Not everyone has it so easy, princess.”

“No, I guess they don’t, sorry-“ he spoke over you.

“Forget it.” He let out a sigh. “Let’s just do what we can to survive until someone finds us.” His expression was cold, and you can’t help the guilt that blooms in the pit of your stomach.

“Sounds good.” The rest of the day passed by in silence.

—

The days both fly, and crawl by and Frankie works each and every one of them. He works to find them food, he works to reinforce their shelter - to make them as comfortable as he possibly can, all while trying his hardest not to lose his mind. The picture of his little girl burned a hole in his heart when he looked at it each night. He only hoped she knew he’d come back to her.

Being stuck on an island by himself would have been bad enough; the loneliness, the isolation would no doubt be detrimental to his mental health, to his hopes of being found, but this? This had to be worse.

She helped, but only because he pushed her to. He knew that if it were up to her - they would have long since starved. He watched her as he braided more palm fronds to pad the sleeping platform, she was washing some of the clothes she’d worn as best she could, and he couldn’t help but admit that she was pretty. Her face was pleasant to look at when her nose wasn’t turned up. He can’t help but like the shape of her, imagining her skin would be soft and silky - he’d definitely been on this island too long.

Doesn’t matter how attractive she is, she doesn’t want you, and you don’t want her.

He didn’t know if he was reminding himself, or convincing himself.

A noise in the treeline behind him stops him mid-braid and for a moment, he thinks there might be someone else on the island, but he realizes what it is and grabs his knife. If he plays this right, tonight they’d eat like kings.

A new appreciation was born of having to wash your own clothes, for electricity, for washing machines and dryers, for Tide pods. For the maids who did your laundry and for the people who did your drycleaning, for the neat drawers full of clean clothes waiting at home.

For now, these would have to do. They wouldn’t smell like your favourite fabric softener, but they’d be clean enough to wear here at least. Francisco had set up a makeshift laundry line from the helicopter to a leaning palm tree, his things hanging as you added your own, and you briefly considered folding his things for him when his absence caught your attention.

“Francisco?” you called out to him, ignoring the way your heart raced. Usually, when he went off to get water or fruit, he let you know; it was unlike him to leave without a word. There had to be a reason. He wouldn’t just abandon you, would he?

Grab a hold of yourself, where the hell would he even go?

He crashed through the trees, triumphant and laughing, and you shoved away the altogether too-big feeling of relief that washed over you to see him.

“Good news, Princess, there’s wild boar on the island.” It was the happiest you’d seen him, well, ever. “It’ll be hard, but I think I can catch one.” He was making his way towards his supplies, and very quickly, the relief turned to dread. “We’re going to feast-”

“You’re going to kill a wild pig?” It was very hard to keep the worry out of your tone, or off your face.

“What’s the matter, never had pork chops?” He frowned now, his hands on his hips facing you.

“I mean, yeah, but this is a little different than going to a butcher and grabbing a few chops. You’re going to hunt down the animal and kill it? I’m not into that. I don’t know if I could eat it.” He narrowed his eyes at you, no doubt preparing to rip you a new one. “It’s also incredibly dangerous - they have a tendency to gore people.” His expression changed at that, real consequences seemed to get through to him.

“I mean, it’s not that different, but fine.” The wind had gone out of his sails, “I’ll see if I can catch something in the water - you okay with that?” He grabbed his fishing gear, raising an eyebrow, and you nodded before he made his way towards the water. You knew he was probably cursing you for ruining whatever he imagined cooking, but still, you couldn’t help but consider it a victory.

Babe, the pig wouldn’t be dying on your watch, and neither would he. Instead, he returned to the camp a few hours later with a fish, a few crabs, and a look that said you better not have any complaints. You didn’t. None that you’d say out loud anyway.

Dinner was a quiet affair, tasty and filling with the fish and the added protein; you both went to sleep full, and ungored.

Something loud dragged you up and out of the haze of sleep. It was still dark, and the sun had not risen yet. The sound was definitely something loud - probably just a plane. You shot up, scrambling out of the shelter to see if what you were hearing was real, Francisco barely moved.

It was high up, but it was definitely a plane.

“Francisco! There’s a plane. Where are the flares?” You all but barrelled into the shelter to shake him out of his dreams.

“Hmmm, tired baby.” He was out of it but strong when he pulled you closer - you ignored the way your stomach flipped on its ass at his pet name.

“Francisco, let me go, there’s a plane!” You smacked at his face lightly, just enough to wake him up.

“Huh? A plane?” your words broke through his sleep-addled brain, and he shot up. “What kind of plane?” He was out and grabbing at his bag momentarily before he swore loudly, a sigh filling the quiet of the dawn. “You called me for a commercial plane? You didn’t actually fire a flare, did you?” The blood drained from his face momentarily.

“No, I would have, but I didn’t know where you put the flare gun.” You frowned at him, annoyed. “I thought they’d see it.”

“Thank Christ.” He took a deep breath, his hands on his hips, “That Is a commercial flight, and if you’d fired the flare, it would have not only been a waste of a flare, but you could have burned the shelter down, could have ruined our supplies.” He seemed angry, and that, in turn, pissed you off.

“I didn’t think about that, I was trying to help-“ You crossed your arms, ignoring the annoyed look on his face.

“With the altitude that plane has, it wouldn’t matter if we had a thousand flares; come to me before you try to signal anyone, got it Princess?” He didn’t wait for a response, instead, he got back into bed and didn’t mention the incident again.

You got back into the shelter, laying in the pre-dawn glow - conflicting feelings fighting for dominance within you. You stared at his back, at the soft curl of hair he wore like a halo, and the fluttering of your stomach won out for just a moment. The solid press of him holding you close while still asleep was strangely welcome, although you’d never admit it. His condescending tone came to mind then, he had a habit of speaking down to you, and while you could admit you weren’t the most knowledgeable in survival, you still deserved to be spoken to like an adult.

You fell asleep fighting the urge to both press yourself close, and smack him upside the head.

When morning well and truly came, it found you both in a terrible mood.

He was quiet, much like he always was when he was annoyed, so you left him with his thoughts and set off to find more fruit through the path you’d both taken to traveling every few days. Luckily, the island was bountiful, and there were plenty of bananas, coconuts, and even some mangoes, but there was only so much you could take and you decided to venture out a bit further, keeping your eyes peeled for something different.

After a while, you found a berry bush, a small variety you didn’t recognize at once, but they were a very gorgeous, deep purple colour. Thinking he might appreciate a change as much as you, you picked a few handfuls and wrapped them up in a banana leaf before continuing your scavenging.

This was where your luck ran out, however, and if there were other varieties of fruit, they weren’t for you to find. Instead, you picked up a few mangoes and a coconut on your way back.

You found him looking through his things from the helicopter, a scowl on his face.

“Hey, I found some berries-” He looked up at the sound of your voice, his brow furrowed at the smile on your face. “I figured you were probably getting sick of the same fruit we’d been eating. I was hoping to find something else, but no luck.” You set them down in front of him.

“You didn’t eat this, did you?” his voice was curt and you frowned.

“No, I thought we could share them-”

“These are toxic.” He tossed them into the sand, burying them with a heavy sigh. “Do me a favour and don’t grab shit you don’t know for sure is edible. You could have made us really sick.” He turned then and continued with his inventory. Embarrassment and annoyance burned through your veins.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole about it, you know.” The words came on almost by themselves, bubbling up in your throat at the sanctimonious look on his face.

“What?” He paused and turned to look you in the face.

“You don’t have to be so fucking mean to me all the time.” You crossed your arms, holding in the frustration that seemed to expand in your lungs like a horrible balloon. “All you do is talk down to me. I said I was sorry about almost using the flare-” He huffed out an almost amused laugh and it boiled your blood. “It’s not funny! I’m stuck out here with you and all you do is yell, or talk to me like I’m stupid. I’m a person, and I deserve basic human decency-”

“What’s my last name?” He crossed his arms, his voice calm, but his question stole the words right out of your mouth.

“What?”

“You heard me - what is my last name? What do you know about me? Aside from the fact that my first name is Francisco, and that I’m a pilot.” He stood, knocking the sand off his shorts.

“I don’t think you told me-”

“No, I haven’t - do you know anything about who might be looking for me? Do you have any idea if I have anyone waiting for me to get home?” Your stomach sank, the anger slowly bleeding away and being replaced with shame. “Any idea if I’m married, or if I have kids?” He’s angry now, the scowl bigger than ever before.

“No, I-I don’t know.” You took a step back.

“No. No, you don’t. You don’t know that I’m divorced, that my parents are probably worried sick. You don’t know that I have a daughter, that her name is Tatiana, and that she’s probably thinking her dad abandoned her, or worse - that he’s dead.” You recoiled at that.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.” Your voice feels small, and the shame in your belly grows, vines of guilt wrapping themselves around your throat.

“How could you? You’ve never fucking asked me a single thing about who I am as a person! All you’ve done is complain. Complain and talk to me endlessly about how much money your parents have, how you should be on a private island, and how much of a fucking eyesore my livelihood is, and any time I’ve opened my mouth to respond or explain how we’re both stuck here, you’ve spoken over me.” His words cut at you - you don’t know this man at all, and you never ever cared to ask. You don’t respond.

He was well and truly angry now, kicking sand away from himself in his frustration.

“I’m sorry-” He put his hands up.

“Don’t. I don’t need you to apologize. I need you to pull your weight, and maybe realize that I’m also a person, and that all your money means jackshit to me. I need you to treat me like a human being, not just a sounding board.” He walked away, leaving you with your guilt - a sad balloon deflating alone.

They were both quiet that night. With Francisco, it was mostly out of anger. The feelings of inadequacy and frustration he’d been bottling up had finally been spoken aloud, and now he was processing them, all while still being stuck on this godforsaken island.

For her, he could see it was pure guilt. From the subdued expression, from her quiet words and general withdrawal, he knew no one had ever been so honest with her before. He would have almost felt guilty, if he hadn’t been so annoyed and hurt at the way she’d treated him. Instead, they both avoided each other for the rest of the night - a silent shared meal before wordlessly falling asleep in the shelter.

He woke the next morning to the feeling of her pressed against him again.

Her deep, even breaths against the back of his neck were embarrassingly welcome, and he ignored the way his body responded. He let out a low, deep sigh, grateful that he was facing away, a shudder passing through his body at the thought of having to explain why he was as hard as a rock.

His hand traveled down to where her leg was draped over his hip, unable to resist feeling her skin for just a moment before he slowly untangled their limbs, and made his way towards the water.

—

Days passed, and they passed without much conversation. This particular morning was somehow even more quiet despite the constant sound of waves lapping at the shore. The anger had fizzled out, and what was left was more akin to silent resignation. The two of you danced around each other, performing what were now everyday tasks without uttering a single word. The hours slipping by wordlessly, that is, until your scream cut through the silence.

“What is it?” He was at your side quickly, his eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like worry.

“I think I stepped on a shell-” The sand around your foot was turning pink, your eyes widening at the sight.

“Okay, take a deep breath and sit here-” He guided you with surprisingly soft hands towards one of the logs around the burned-out fire. “Don’t move - try to keep your foot out of the sand.” He stood then, walking away.

“Where are you going?” Your voice sounded strange, almost whiny, and you ignored the little pang of despair.

Get a hold of yourself.

“Just going to get the first aid kit.” The cut throbbed as you waited, and soon he returned with one of the water bottles and a big red case. He walked with purpose, the look on his face shamed you to have been so clueless. This was a man that had obviously dealt with many a scraped knee. “Okay, let's see what we’re dealing with.”

He kneeled on the sand before you, taking your foot into his hands. You hissed when he softly brushed the sand away.

“Tsk, come on now Princess. I know you can be braver for me than that.” His hands were soft, and so was his tone, and it filled you with something, comfort amongst other, less wholesome thoughts. You shook them away, chewing on your bottom lip, watching as he played nurse. “Nothing too crazy, just a little cut.”

He rinsed the sand carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Okay, this might sting a little.” He rifled through the open case beside him, grabbing a little pack of what looked to be antiseptic. “Deep breath for me.” He watched you then, waiting until you let the breath go before wiping the wound clean. The sting almost slapped you across the face, every instinct screaming to pull your foot away from the mean man.

“Okay, okay - you’re okay.” his hands engulfed your ankle, holding you firmly in place. “Good job, we’re almost done.” he spoke low, opening up a waterproof bandaid and carefully covering the tiny wound. “There we go. All done.” He pressed a small kiss to the top of your foot, his eyes widening after. “Sorry- force of habit.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Thank you. It feels much better.” You felt the heat in your chest and in your ears and ignored it, ignored the whole mess of feelings blooming in your gut for him.

“Yeah, sure.” He collected his things before scratching at the back of his neck and it thrilled you to realize that he looked as flushed as you felt. “I’m going to go catch something.” He got up quickly, moving with purpose away from where you sat, curtailing any further discussion.

He hadn’t expected it, but she’d taken his words to heart. He’d felt terrible after going off on her. The embarrassment on her face at how she’d treated him, although completely warranted, pulled at his heartstrings. He couldn’t exactly say why - it wasn’t something he could explain, not something he wanted to delve into. Whether that was for his benefit or hers, he couldn’t be sure.

She no longer had to be told to fetch fruit, or water. She did her best to keep the camp organized, she no longer spoke about her wealth, or Louis. She was quiet most of the time, in fact, and he wasn’t sure if it was better, or worse.

Where she mostly avoided his annoyance throughout the day, she still clung to him at night. He never told her, convincing himself it was to spare her further embarrassment, ignoring the little part of him that knew it was because he was terrified that if she knew, she’d stop.

Things were different, that was for sure. The days passed and you had to admit to yourself that you’d been such an ungrateful, horrid little - well, Princess. He’d been completely right about you, and he’d had the patience of a saint. You saw him with different eyes now. You saw a competent, strong, intelligent man who up until now, was the only reason you’d survived on this godforsaken island as long as you had. It was well and truly humbling.

Instead of complaining, now you did your best to pull your weight. The goal was to show him that you were grateful, that you weren’t just some spoiled rich girl, that you could be something other than that, anyway. You wanted - needed to prove to him that you weren’t a burden.

It had been a particularly hot day, the sun beating down on the both of you with a vengeance. Sunset couldn’t come fast enough, and once it did, you cherished it like never before.

He dug around in the helicopter while you sat on the log, enjoying the tiny, but very welcome breeze coming off the water.

“Oh wow, I forgot about this,” You heard the smile in his voice, “How would you feel about a drink?” He held a bottle in his hand, making his way over to your place in the sand.

“I’d feel great actually, if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Bottle’s almost full, more than enough for both of us.” He sat next to you, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid before handing it to you. It was warmer than you would have liked, but the burn was pleasant enough that you didn’t care. “Good, right?” His smile is as breezy as the ocean, and just as welcome.

“Very good,” you couldn't help but admit before taking another long sip, “I can already feel it.” You smiled, handing it back to him.

“We’ll be cheap drunks tonight, that’s for sure.” He took another long swallow, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his throat worked. You watched the fire instead, focusing on the embers as the drink settled in your stomach. The heat spreads through your limbs, making you feel heavy where you sit beside him.

You both sat in silence for a time, passing the bottle back and forth until most of it was gone, and your head felt like a balloon barely tethered to your body.

“This would be such a beautiful place…without the whole ‘being stranded’ thing.” He held the bottle loosely, his eyes no doubt taking in the gorgeous sunset.

“You mean you don’t love being stuck out here with me?” You bumped his shoulder, and it vaguely registers how much you missed physical touch. He laughed, full-throated.

“Oh yeah, this is definitely heaven.” His expression is exaggerated, “You know what I mean.” He gestures to where the water laps at the shore. “This is a paradise, just needs a resort, and an airport.” He sighed, his mood is the friendliest you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, it would definitely make a difference.” You leaned back and listened to the water. “Happy you’re here though, woulda died without you.” You didn’t mean to say it, but it’s absolutely true.

“Oh, I don’t know-” He shrugged, modest and much kinder than you deserved.

“Yes, you do-” You shoved at his arm softly, “You’re the only reason we’re still alive, super nice to me despite the fact that I can be a spoiled little brat.” You laughed.

“Can’t argue with that.” He laughed, “I like brats, though.” He smiled, and something that feels very much like butterflies fluttered around in your stomach. He didn't say anything else, and neither did you, the butterflies lingered, though, well into the night, and they only seemed to get stronger whenever his eyes found yours.

“It’s getting late-” He puts the bottle down, “-we should get some rest.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, instead, you just followed him towards the shelter.

It’s a strange, unfamiliar dance you’re both doing - the polar opposite of how things have been between you. Shy smiles replace cold stares, and a curious longing takes hold of you. It would embarrass you to fall prey to your baser instincts - there’s something in the way his eyes tracked you that says you weren’t alone in your feelings.

Something has shifted, he can feel it in the tense energy between them. A pleasant buzz flowed through his veins, danced along his nerves like a current, beat through his heart, and into his loins. She was so close, he could practically feel her warmth.

She sighed beside him, her legs rubbing together like a cricket and he knew in his gut, she felt the same energy.

“Good night, Frankie.” She whispered the words, as though someone might overhear. His eyes clenched shut at the feel of her breath ruffling through his hair, closer than she’d ever let herself get, awake anyway.

“Night-” Everything in him wanted to turn over, to feel her fingers ruffle through his hair, but something held him back. He stayed still, his body tense despite how relaxed the alcohol had made him.

“It’s a bit cold–” Her voice is a bit closer, so close he felt it in the shell of his ear, “-okay if I scoot closer?” Her hands pressed against his back, her legs tangled with his, and he knows in his bones, it’s just a ploy, but he stayed still nonetheless.

“Sure-get close.” He took her hand and wrapped it around his middle, holding it well above his waist, letting out a deep breath.

“Oh-okay.” She pressed her face into his shoulder, and every cell in his body screamed at him to turn around, to kiss her, bury his tongue in her mouth, and then trail it down, bury it between her legs, but he shook his head, convincing himself she just wants this.

“Night.” His voice cracked, but he said nothing more. He felt her staring at him, letting out a little sigh of her own.

“Night, Frankie.”

—

The days following your drunken night passed by in mostly silence, with a polite avoidance from him, and an annoyed quiet from you.

It was no secret that you had the power to annoy the hell out of him, but you’d thought there’d been something else. The look in his eye when he’d told you he liked brats, the sound of his voice when he’d held you close, the considerable boner pressing against your ass when you’d woken up to him wrapped around you that next morning.

Maybe you’d misread him, maybe it wasn’t flirting, maybe he’d just been stroking your ego, being nice to you, and you’d practically thrown yourself at him only to be.. What? Ignored?

The wind whipped around as you both ate dinner a few quiet days later, the sky dark and pregnant with the promise of a heavy rain, filling you with worry. The shelter was sturdy, you knew that, but you didn’t think it would hold up against a storm like the one that had blown you both onto the island to begin with.

“I don’t think we’ll be enjoying a fire tonight,” His eyes stared at the sky, same as you, “we should bring the clothes into the shelter; it’s going to pour soon.” He got up, tossing his banana peels into the fire pit just as the first few drops of water sprinkled down on top of you.

A nervous current flowed through your body as you made yourself comfortable within the shelter, making you acutely aware of his closeness.

The rain came down in sheets as you both lay there, filling the silence with its rhythmic pattering against the tarp. Lightning flashed, illuminating the space between you. A shiver ran through you at the look on his face.

“You okay?” His hand shot out, landing softly on your arm, raising goosebumps as it slid down towards your elbow.

“I’m fine.” You shudder, but all at once, annoyance springs up at his rejection the other night - you turn to give him your back.

“Are you… angry at me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Why would I be angry at you? It’s not like I threw myself at you or anything.”

“What?” His voice sounded incredulous, “You mean, when we were drinking?”

“Yes!” You sighed, “I was all over you. I guess I was wrong.” All at once, you’re embarrassed, and desperate to get away from his incredulous expression. The storm, however, holds you both hostage.

“Hm.” He sounded almost amused, and your stomach dropped, “Well, if I’d known that all you needed was to be fucked, things would have been different.”

Your stomach did a backflip onto its ass, shock, and pure adrenaline coursing through your body at his words. You turned slowly to face him.

“Sorry?” It came out almost stupidly, and he smiled a very self-satisfied smile.

“I said, if I’d known, that in order for you to stop being such a brat,” He moved in closer, forcing you to lay back and make space for him between your legs. “All you needed was for me to fuck you, I would have done it sooner.” He hovered above you, close enough that he must’ve surely felt your heart pounding where his chest met yours. It’s with Herculean strength, that you composed yourself, albeit nervously.

“Well, I guess I just thought you were more perceptive.” The bold words were completely at odds with the tremor in your voice; he laughed, full-throated, and it sent a current across every inch of you.

“Or maybe, I thought you’d open that pretty mouth of yours, and say what it is you wanted.” He pressed forward, dragging his lips across your jaw before capturing your mouth in a kiss. It started soft, and for a moment, the storm disappeared, your hands finding themselves tangled up in his messy waves, and then his tongue pressed forward, and it pulled a moan from somewhere deep inside you.

There was no more talking. Only the feeling of your heart racing, your cunt aching, and his comforting weight pressing you into the shelter, that is, before he shifted his hips and the considerable heft of him was slotted perfectly against where you needed him most.

The slip of his warm palm from the trembling skin of your belly raised goosebumps in its wake, and pulled a gasp from your mouth into his when it glided under your shit and landed on your breast. Those deft fingers you’d seen working away on all manner of things on this island, now plucked deliciously at your nipple.

It was almost violent, both the storm outside, and your haste to divest him of his clothes. The need to feel that golden skin on yours was a hunger pang, both terrible and euphoric, that burned as brightly as the flashes of lightning that lit up the shelter. His eyes shone with the same intensity you felt, and instantly, he moved away to help you, too, the two of you scrambling with a ferocity that bordered on anger.

“God, you’re so fucking hot–” He hissed the words onto your face before kissing you again, and any softness was gone, his teeth clicked against yours before his tongue took yours and laid down the law. Your skin burned with want, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back before you moved your hand down between you to finally grasp his cock. He pulled away from your mouth to stare down where you held onto him, drunk with the sight of just how big he looked in your grip.

“Is this what you’ve been wanting?” He held himself above you, watching as you stroked him slowly.

“God, yes, I wanted this - I want you to fuck me–” you swiped your thumb over the head, fat pearly drops of his own arousal making it slippery, “I want you to come inside me, make me feel good-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before his mouth claimed yours once more and pulled your hand away in order to slip himself between the lips of your sex, coating himself in you for a moment before he finally slipped inside.

“Jesus Christ, man.” You breathed the words onto his face at the stretch, at the way he seemed to have taken up every inch of space inside you, making you overflow with him. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, his hips snapping in a toe-curling rhythm. For a few minutes, there were no more words left, the only thing you can manage is to whimper, then moan in earnest when he ducked his head down to capture a nipple in his mouth. Your fingers like talons in his hair, keeping him close to your breast while your cunt soaked him in your want.

He let go of the perky bud with a pop, his eyes glazed.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna come so fast,” he almost slurred his words, pussy drunk, “your tight little cunt is gonna make me fucking come–” He sped up, his cock punching into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make a lewd noise where you’re joined and you desperately wanted him to slow down so you can catch up.

“Wait–” Your legs squeezed where they’d hitched up high on his hips, “Frankie–” His rhythm stuttered for a moment before he thrust again, deep, filling you with his come, and you almost cried at the thought that he might be done so soon.

“Fuck-” He ground himself as deep as he could, milking himself inside you for a moment before pulling away abruptly, hissing through the oversensitivity to look at his handiwork, “that’s so fucking pretty baby, look at me dripping out-” He smiled at you, almost laughing at the look of anguish on your face at the emptiness, “what’s wrong?” His hand rubbed at your belly for a moment before it slipped down, and two big fingers filled you back up. “I know you didn’t come, but you don’t think I’m just going to leave you like this, right?” He pumped slowly, making you keen when he pressed against something holy inside of you. “No, I got you, baby.”

One moment he was kneeling between your legs, and the next, he was flat on his belly, his face pressed up against your pussy, tongue right on the button of your clit.

The moan you let out was obscene. His tongue circled your clit with devastating precision, over and over again, until you were staring down at him with your mouth open, begging and praying incoherently for him to keep going just like that. His eyes were bright, laser-focused on you just like his tongue, and his free hand came up to hold onto your breast, pinching at your nipple, and all of a sudden, the sting snapped, the wave crested, and you practically folded in half, swearing loudly as you gushed around his fingers.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, but the storm got a little stronger, and louder as you both lay in the shelter, quiet and content to hold each other. Lightning turned the darkened skies into day for a moment before the boom of thunder shook you to your core.

“It’s okay, just loud.” He said it softly into your ear with the same patience he’d had when he bandaged your foot, the comforting words dads usually used for their children.

“I know, it just startled me.”

“Force of habit.”

“Your daughter, is she scared of thunderstorms?” You turned towards him, making yourself comfortable in his embrace.

“Only at first.” His smile was wistful, “She always jumps from the first big boom but then laughs,” his eyes crinkled, and it was hard not to notice just how handsome he is, the care and love he has for his daughter shining out through his eyes. “Sorry, I just miss her a lot.” It faltered, that handsome smile, and it made you sad for him.

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t imagine how hard all this must be for you.” Guilt swirled in your chest at the way you’d treated him before, at your general attitude towards everyone up until getting stranded. “I’m sorry about how I was–” He shook his head no, much too kind, kinder than you deserved, and you pushed through.

“No, let me say it. I’m sorry about how I treated you - I was horrible.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, I was, so spoiled and insensitive, I didn’t even give your situation a second thought. All I cared about was myself and I can’t even believe it now. I’m sorry. I’m really lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, one of his palms rubbing your back soothingly, “you’ve definitely had a big turnaround.” He laughed, and you smacked his arm playfully. “I’m lucky you’re here too. I would have been miserable by myself.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but sigh at the simple comfort human touch could bring. “Not sure you would have ever agreed to go out with me had we not been stuck here together.”

His words were light, and for a moment, you wanted to protest, but you didn’t think you could, and it shamed you further.

“Oh god, what a moron I was.” You groaned, pressing your face into the warm skin of his neck.

“You weren’t a moron, maybe a little oblivious, and I don’t mean that in a cruel way. You and I are in very different circles. I doubt our paths would have even crossed, but I’m glad they did because as much as you have the power to drive me nuts, I really like you.” His hands continued their comforting sweep across your skin, lulling you into the most relaxed state you could remember being in, in a long time.

“I would have been an idiot to not give you a chance. You’re so sweet and smart, and so strong, so fucking handsome, too. You take care of me and make me laugh, and you have done your best to keep us both safe and sound and I’m just - I’m ashamed that maybe in the past I would have been too shallow and stuck up to notice.” The storm abates as you confess some feelings you’d been harboring.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. I think I probably would have dismissed you just as quickly for similarly shallow reasons. As gorgeous as you are, I most likely would have written you off as some rich trust fund-baby.” He half-shrugged.

“I’m still sorry. It’s because of me that we’re here.”

“I could have said no.”

“I pressured you with money. I pushed even though you’d said it was unsafe.”

“I still could have said no. Let’s just forget it all, everything that happened before we got here. Point is we’re here, and we have to keep it together until someone finds us.” His hand kept its rhythm, sweeping over any and all skin, casting its spell of comfort until both it and the storm lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-----

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @txtattoostark @its-nebuleuse

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie morales #triple frontier au #frankie x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales

300 notes · View notes

thebearer · 10 months

Note

I’m obsessed with your whole account! 🫶🏻

Imagine the first family you go to when you’re newly dating. You sneak into the kitchen and when he sees you he lights up and I know that Ritchie would give him such shit lol

thank you thank you!! this is so cute ahhh!! hope you enjoy!!

Carmen’s text told you to come to the back- but not the left alley, just park next to him in the back, you won’t get towed there. You rang the buzzer, finger jabbing in the tiny button, a shrill ringing from the inside that had you stepping back at the rise in voices.

“I got it! I got it, Chef! Fuck.” You heard Carmen before you saw him, white shirt, blue apron, bluer eyes.

“Oh, h-hey.” Carmen’s eyes lit, dazzling even in the gloomy Chicago day.

“Hi.” You grinned.

This relationship was new between you and Carmen, still exciting, still learning about each other. He felt bad for not getting to see you as much as he wanted, inviting you to ‘family’.

“Uh, shit, sorry, my brain is all over the fuckin’ place. Come in.” Carmen pushed the heavy back door open so you could slip in, taking in the back of the kitchen. Newly renovated and still dazzling.

“You find it ok?” Carmen asked, immediately flinching. “I-I mean, obviously you did. Was- It wasn’t hard to find, right?” He’s blushing already, babbling in that nervous trill he always did around you.

“Yeah, you have perfect directions.” You hummed. “My GPS made it easy too.”

Carmen was burning to his ears. “Right.” He nodded, hands on his hips when Marcus whizzed at him.

“Chef, where is the basil paste- oh, hello.” Marcus stopped, eyes meeting yours. “Are you the new hostess? I’m Marcus-“

“-No, no, she’s not… She’s not a hostess.” Carmen’s cheeks burned more, if that was even possible. Did he say girlfriend? He hadn’t asked, and fuck, he didn’t want a repeat of last time, but this was different. You were different.

“Oh. Right.” Marcus caught Carmen’s eye, grinning knowingly. “Well, uh, it’s nice to meet you. Carmen’s talked a lot about you.”

“Has he?” You giggled, eyes flicking to Carmen’s, amused by his discomfort. “Good things, right?”

“Of course.” Carmen laughed, nervous and breathy.

“Yeah, only the best things.” Marcus nodded. “Uh, Chef, basil paste? For the cannolis?”

“Right, right, uh, in the walk-in top left.” Carmen nodded, Marcus waving at you before walking away.

“So you’ve been talking about me?” You lifted a brow playfully.

Carmen felt like he could melt into the floor. “Yeah, of course.” He muttered, boyish and sweet. “Uh, we should be done soon, if-if you want to look at the front or sit in my office. Or whatever you want to.”

“Wherever you want me, Chef.” You quipped playfully. Carmen could feel his zipper tightening behind his jeans.

“Uh, why don’t you look at the front. I, uh, I hung that painting we got.” Carmen put s hand on your back, hesitantly, leading you through the kitchen. It was so minimal, so sweet, how he was hesitant to touch you still so respectful and a little scared- like you hadn’t spent the better part of last night and early this morning with him between your legs.

“Oh? You actually liked it?” You giggled. “Weren’t just lying to me to impress me?”

“Never.” Carmen grinned sweetly.

You looked at the dimming lights, so elegant and classy. It was a far cry from The Beef, but you loved it. It was so Carmen, inside and out.

“I’m going to go check on everyone, but, uh, I’ll be back, ok? Just-Just yell if you need anythin’, alright?” Carmen nodded, hand rubbing down your arm gently.

“I’ll be alright, Carmy.” You grin. “Go on, Chef. I’ll roll silverware if you need me to. Keep myself busy.”

“No, I- that’d be a pretty shitty date askin’ you to work.” Carmen laughed lightly.

“Had worse. Promise.” You shrugged playfully. “I don’t mind, Carmy.”

“No, we got it covered, but thank you.” Carmen hesitated for a moment, faltering before he let his lips brush over your cheek. “I’ll be back.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Cousin.” The swinging doors flung open, Richie waltzing in with a wide smirk. “I’ll keep her company. How you doin’, sweetheart? Good to see you again.”

You laughed at Carmen’s horrified face. You’d met Richie once, briefly, very briefly. When he’d bust through the door of Carmen’s apartment unannounced and caught a glimpse of you bent over the counter before Carmen screeched at him to leave. Carmen had been mortified, sure you would leave him because of his stupid not even cousin. You had just laughed, hiding your face in your hands, before you were introduced.

“Oh, fuck, not this.” Carmen groaned. “Cousin, please, don’t-don’t fuck this up f’me.” He muttered lowly, passing Richie in the door.

“C’mon, cousin. Are you serious? It’s me.” Richie rolled his eyes, a statement that did not make Carmen feel any better. “I got it. I won’t embarrass you, Chef.”

Carmen hesitated, the loud clattering of a pot falling the only thing that brought his attention away, turning back into the kitchen.

During family, Carmen made your plate for you, telling you about the dish with so much excitement and care it made you swoon. You couldn’t care less about the ingredients or the history truly, but the way Carmen’s eyes lit up, rambling about every fact he knew made your heart swell.

Tina’s eyes cut, lips rolling in smug satisfaction. “Richard,” She called, catching his attention. She nodded lightly towards the two of you, huddled together and giggling lightly between soft whispers. “She a good one?”

“The best, T.” Richie nodded proudly. He believed it too, he loved how good you were with Carm- for Carmen.

Tina nodded. “Good.” She smiled, beaming at the two of you. “Jeff needs it. Needs somethin’ besides this place.”

Richie snorted lightly. “Yeah? You have no idea.” He muttered, looking down at the two of you. You were good, both of you, good for each other. Richie had a feeling that this wouldn’t be your last family- he had a feeling you’d stick around.

987 notes · View notes

tangledinink · 1 year

Text

Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? Donnie typically switches from contacts and headphones to glasses and earrings when he’s at home! source material lol. if you’re not following @pinetreevillain already, then you should (maybe even check out their patreon) love everything they make. had to give donnie lil earrings in his honor,,, i had a really good time drawing donnie go swing swing swing so then i draw a bunch of the hamatos stimming (very stimmy household) and babbled abt it under the cut

raph: loves to fucking chomp, dude. had a biting problem as a child (gee i wonder why), gets chewy necklaces for every christmas/birthday/holiday. will put almost anything he finds in his mouth. second most tactile hamato-- he's not as inclined to seek out physical contact as mikey is, but enjoys it very much when hes got it!

donnie: second biggest chomper, has a chewy jewelry collection. loves to flap, fidget, and, yes, to swing his earrings. plays with his hair a lot as well. also does a lot of verbal stims-- the most inclined of the bunch to chirp or make other noises. whenever he chirps, trills, or cheeps at leo, leo will always reply in kind. they used to do this WAY more often when they were little, but still occasionally do it now. the even more popular stim of choice is speaking to each other in vine quotes.

leo: mostly verbal stims. enjoys making noises at donnie, esp when they were little, stim of choice is (repeatedly) repeating quotes from tv shows, movies, vines, etc. will just start saying shit out of no where and gets excited when someone else jumps in. he'll do it at anyone in the family, but donnie is the most active participant. if you start a quote leo will finish it. (donnie absently mumbling to himself in his room: michael with a b..... | leo, screaming from down the hall: THER R E S A BE E E EE ?)

mikey: fidget fidget fidget fidget. arguably the stimmiest boy. cannot fuCKING stay still. bounces his leg, rocks in his chair, taps his fingers, paces, jumps, swings his legs back and forth, plays with the beads in his hair, clicks pens, etc etc. he also dances as a stim and paints as a stim when he's feeling restless. by far the most tactile hamato-- loves textures and touch, huge fans of hugs and snuggles and deep pressure. he often seeks raph out for these things. when he was little would use his family as jungle gyms. now that he's older and bigger, however, he only uses raph as a jungle gym :)

#fidgetwing #sorrywhatnowau #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt human au #rottmnt human au #rise leo #rise mikey #rise donnie #rise raph #donatello hamato #rottmnt donnie #disaster twins #i just adore timothy #im never gonna write him into the fic or anything #coz hes not mine and i could never do him justice #but y'all can just imagine hes like #somewhere out there being his funky lil self #god bless

2K notes · View notes

andy-888 · 6 months

Text

You know, seeing the Marvel situation in which they cut a quote where they confirmed Carol and Valkyrie used to date, made me think that the day where studios and big franchises realize, just for their own greedy interests, that the ppl that create most engagement are queer folk, they'll have to put more care in canonically queer characters and in queer stories.

Queer folks are the ones who: make fanart, make edits, write fanfiction, make blogs about it, make fandoms out of it, or just simply tweet or engage with official accounts. They are the ones who give you free publicity and you mistreat that public so much. You know how many shows/movies I decided to watch, how many videogames I decided to play, just bc I saw 1 cute gay fanart? Edit? And then I loved the product as a whole? A LOT.

Why do they think good omens s2 had such a good engagement? And it was so fun for the public? I need these franchises to wake tf up. This also comes bc these days I see a lot of transphobia in the Star Trek fandom bc of a trans trill. A TRILL. I'm not trans, but that scene in DS9 where Jadzia meets a long last klingon friend who knew her as Curzon and then called her Jadzia with the same love made me so happy, bc I have trans friends and i saw how hard it is. Star Trek has ALWAYS been woke and having to see those comments made my blood boil.

Stop making content for cis straight men, make content for the girls and queer ppl bc they are the ones who carry the weight of lifting your bland ass product.

Edit: I want to also add neurodivergent ppl to the sack. God if hyperfixations don't move mountains. I hope you don't get more autism powers doctors as representation

364 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day.

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin…

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander.

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you.

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile.

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails. Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile.

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly.

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak.

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

413 notes · View notes

hyperfixat · 4 months

Note

HELLO NOT A REQUEST BUT ID LIKE TO DROP A BRAINROT THOUGHT I HAD!

Just read through your "how the brothers show affection" hcs and I sat there and thought "man I'd probably do that back no questions asked"

>Attempting to mimic Levi's Purrs/Trilling (and completely mutilating it but oh my demons he is FLUSTERED. Ask him to teach you and bro passes away)

>Softly biting Mammon (open mouth and slobbering on his jacket lmao) or straight up doing bird-style contact calling (I chirp and whistle at my pet bird she loves it and demands pets)

>Headbutting Satan in the arm (and then maybe doing some face nuzzles like cat becuase I think he'd melt)

>Nibbling at Beel, like if he feeds you a food just nip softly at his fingers (or like absent-mindedly chew on his forearm)

>Brat vs Brat Violence with Belphie waking up to find his whole face has been licked (smug bastard about it because he kinda smells like you now)

Idk it kinda just clicked in my head bc I do these things a lot and I wanted to share my brain juice

HELLO thank u for the ask and your comments on the rb and I LOVE THIS!!

post they’re referring to here

- i think levi would pass away then and there if while you guys are just hanging out, you start trying to make those noises. i imagine mild confusion anf then it clicks and he goes red in the face and falls backwards.. its like u suddenly reminded him he likes u and thats so embarrassing on his end >_< silly little otaku

- the mammon point you have made the slobber part really resonates with me <3 i would love to get his jacket covered in drool no reason other than to be a menace, and its more than fair!! you probably have bite marks and assorted demon afflicted marks on your clothes!!

- with satan i can see a headbutt compitition brewing. he does it, you do it (but harder), he goes slightly harder, and the good thing is u can almost always win!! he knows at some point if you dont give up he’ll end up hurting you.. its all in good fun, so the only way u lose is if you get interrupted by someone

- biting beel.. i like to think the demons in general have thicker skin if u know what i mean… hilarious to think that he doesn’t even know what youre doing or that it happened the first couple of times you went in for a bite 😭

like beel nibbles u a little and goes back to whatever he was doing idk, then in the back of his mind he thinks ‘hm something touched my arm’ completely not registering that was u going ham trying to dent his thick skin

- personally im not a licker, but i can also see compitition between you and belphie where at the end you both have to take a shower and change clothes becasue your licking went too far ☹️

#verified hyperfixat post #hyperfixat answers #obey me #obey me x reader #silly hyperfixat post #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me silly #om hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #mammon x mc #obey me leviathan x reader #beel x reader #obey me satan x mc #obey me belphie headcanons

233 notes · View notes

centaurianthropology · 3 months

Text

Oh man, I think the Circle of the Crimson Mirror might just be MY Candela circle. I enjoyed the goofy schlock horror with the Circle of the Vassal and the Veil, and really enjoyed the amping up of horror in The Circle of Needle and Thread (though the horrors of war theming was not specifically for me, it was still well done). I haven’t gotten to watch the Circle of Tide and Bone because life happened, but from what I’ve heard it was very good.

But I was laughing out loud with glee for the first episode of the Circle of the Crimson Mirror. All these characters are delightful. The setting is fascinating (starting out OUTSIDE of Newfaire and expanding the world was really fun), the theming of Irish folklore horror gives a folk horror mixed with cosmic horror vibe that I’m really excited for. And Liam is just the sort of ruthless DM that is perfect for a horror game. Because for me, keeping your players wrapped up in the horror, making them at least a little genuinely afraid (after talking through Lines and Veils of course) in a fun and contained way IS the heart of playing a horror game. It’s the same as watching a horror movie, in that you WANT to be scared, that’s part of the enjoyment, but in a horror game the fun is having it happen to you.

And both folk horror and cosmic horror are some of my favorite subgenres, so this is hitting all my favorite sorts of horror. And because it’s me, see below for my much longer thoughts about this first episode and the characters. Because I’ve never found a topic I enjoy that I can’t write an essay about.

Liam comes for everyone straight out of the gate, doesn’t he? While I found the train cold open in chapter 2 exciting, I found this even more harrowing. With NPCs we barely know constantly imperiled, all the investigators are really sketched so clearly right off the bat with their actions rather than their more open explanations later. I love that all of them lean heavily into being out of their depth, even sometimes making poor choices because of it. The players are aware they are in a horror game. The characters are not.

So let’s talk about those characters:

MALCOLM TRILLS

Imari Williams was the player at the table I had no prior experience with, and I love what he’s doing here. He puts his whole body into acting out the scene, even at the table. Even before we know he was a Sole Survivor of a massacre during the war (and I found it deeply entertaining that Imari couldn’t help but dump his backstory all over the floor. Liam’s gently encouraging everyone to hold it back for dramatic moments, and Imari is just so excited he’s like “NO! HERE IT IS!” not once but twice in the very first episode), we knew that. Because Imari is clearly dedicated to acting that out through what Malcolm chooses to do. He believes in saving others, especially after losing his entire squad. He has to do it, even (or maybe especially) for those civilians he doesn’t know. His entire point in being in Candela is saving people. So when Liam dunks two unnamed sailors in the ocean, Malcolm goes in. His friends are horrified. They love and value him, and they value him more than two randos. But to him, the randos are the point. Saving people is the point. So no matter how many disappointed dad-lectures he gets from Leo (and this is clearly not the first one he’s gotten), Malcolm is always going to be this way. He’s always going to try to play the hero in a horror setting, which is such a delicious choice for a horror player to make. Everyone at that table knows how perilous it is, but Imari is fully committed, and I love it.

We already know a lot of his background, but there are things we don’t know. We don’t know his relationship with his family, or why Leo is so disdainful of the Trills as a group. There seems to be an implication that the Trills are old money in Newfaire, perhaps, or at least a legendary family for other reasons. And apparently reckless heroism is a family trait. But what does Malcolm do in his day-to-day? He’s the one we don’t have a career or life for back in Newfaire yet, and I am interested to see who he is when he’s not playing the hero for Candela.

LEO AMICUS

I love the description of “I’m going to lie a little and say ‘early forties’” as an explanation for Leo’s age. It tells me a lot about his character right off the bat. We know he’s older (but not how much) and that he doesn’t want to admit he’s older. There’s just a touch of vanity already there, and given that he’s also a man in a dressing gown on a ship in a severe storm, who thinks that his presence is deeply inappropriate? Who asks if there’s a bar on a tramp steamer? We know so much about Leo already, and I love it all. Taliesin plays a dandy so well, his table reactions are so expressive, and it’s so clear that a setting like this is NOT where Leo shines. He shines in social situations, in parties and bars and places where his charms mean something beyond keeping a crewmember calm long enough that she can be knocked unconscious. But he’s so great in being totally overwhelmed and being useless in an action sequence.

And once the storm is over? We find out that Leo is very much the mother hen of the group (probably the oldest member). He knows Malcolm well, and treats Grimoria like a beloved niece. We haven’t gotten a lot of interactions between him and Edgar, but I’m excited to see what their relationship is like, as the two more cautious members of the group.

It was in his interactions with the other members of the circle that I realized how much like family this circle is. They are VERY close, despite ostensibly just being coworkers. There is such a deep care and concern for one another here and I love knowing how dangerous that also is in a horror game. And Leo is the one most open about his attachments here. We know he doesn’t have much blood family, and doesn’t talk to them. We know he looks at these people as his family.

And I love that, for that family, we see a REALLY different side of Leo. While he was overwhelmed and trying not to look at the blood on the boat, the second the Murphy girls (or whatever was masquerading as them) tried to murder Malcolm and the others, Leo was grabbing kitchen knives and trying to kill them. His perspective from his talk with Malcolm also remains consistent: you put your family first. When his family is threatened, meek Leo melts away and we have a man who will do whatever is necessary, kill whoever is necessary, or let anyone die to protect them. He seems to have few moral convictions, but an enormous amount of love, and that excites me for this character.

And I love that we actually know very little about him right now. We know he lives in Red Lamp (because of course he does) and that his apartment doubles as their chapterhouse. So he can be Team Dad at every meeting.

Also congrats to him for getting laid in the very first episode. Hot sailor dude propositions him, and Leo is all about that life. This Professional Man of Leisure is clearly gay catnip.

DR. EDGAR LYCORIS

I was so excited that Alex was finally going to be in a filmed Candela game (he was apparently one of the play-testers during its development, and it’s so clear he knows the rules). Dr. Lycoris is cool, calm, almost robotic in his presentation. He’s definitely a classic Alex character with his calm and his normal-guy-in-a-group-of-weirdos vibe (while secretly being very much a weirdo himself), and filled with casual competence and rudeness. But at the same time there are hints of how much he cares about this circle too. Him quietly calling Grimoria ‘Grim’ when she’s unconscious and he’s tending to her, telling her, “You can’t sleep forever, Grim,” in such a fond tone. The two of them clearly have some quiet history together, and there is a real softness between them that I’m excited to see them dig into as they get deeper into the game. There’s clearly a long-standing connection with Malcolm too, with both of them extremely aware of one another’s skills and weaknesses, working together seamlessly, especially in moments of extreme stress. I want to see more of these soft moments, these personal moments when his icy demeanor cracks, and I imagine we’re going to get plenty of them, given that THIS is how intense the first episode was.

He and Leo are the two characters we know the least about at this point. We know that Edgar is a surgeon working in the main hospital in Newfaire. We know that he is cool under pressure, and that he is both used to fighting (his immediate shift into using his scalpel as a precision weapon to go after arteries and tendons is such a nice touch for the character), but also can really be shocked by sudden violence (I love that he totally freezes after THAT happened to Declan’s mother). He states that he wears nice and fashionable clothing, but the clothing is almost wearing him rather than the other way around, like someone picked them out for him. I want to know who that other person is (is it Leo???). I want to know who he is when he’s not trying to wear what other people expect of him.

I am so excited to get to know Dr. Lycoris.

GRIMORIA

Likely a stage name, and I do wonder if we'll get her birth name, or if that even matters to her at this point. Mechanically, I am thrilled to see a Candela player try to homebrew a multiclass in this system. She’s essentially gone for a Medium/Magician hybrid. We know she works as a procurer of esoteric artifacts. She performs shows with smoke bombs, so likely is a stage magician, and that she has been able to channel spirits since she was a small child.

And we know that she’s 18. In a group in which consists of a man who is at least in his mid-forties, a man who is 32, and a man who is a surgeon (so has at least obtained advanced training, and is probably in his late twenties at minimum, and is likely in his thirties given the hints that he served as a battlefield surgeon during the war), Grimoria is YOUNG. Absurdly so. The guys care about her in a different way than they do one another. They look out for her in subtle ways, though are all very careful not to treat her as a child. The softness between her and Edgar is reflected in the overtly familial way that Leo talks to her, treating her like a very clever niece, but also the person he finds the most calming in the group. It’s fun to see that, even though he treats her as his relative, he doesn’t treat her as a child. She’s the one he goes to when he needs to clear his head. He just wants to listen to her read aloud. He finds talking with her soothing, and it’s clear why. She has a good head on her shoulders, and is rising to the occasion, so while he is caring for her, he also intrinsically understands her need to care for him as well. And Aimee really sells that in-between nature of being 18. It’s such a great portrayal of someone on the verge of being an adult, but not quite there yet. Someone her friends want to care for, but also want to treat like an adult and like any other member of the group. There is a tension in those relationships purely because of her age.

I also like that she’s the most pure investigator of the group. She’s the one who pushes for information, who has a burning desire to KNOW. And that’s a great flaw and danger for a character in a horror setting. The desire for knowledge in cosmic horror is so dangerous. Her willingness to channel spirits right off the bat is dangerous. She is, in her own quieter way, just as reckless as Malcolm and I love to see it. Aimee is throwing herself into this, playing a character who doesn’t know she has limits let, and is eager to push every boundary. I can’t wait to get to know her even more.

CONCLUSIONS

I love that we have two cautious characters and two reckless characters. I love that we have a balance, and we have a group that instantly portrays exactly how close they all are to one another. We’re not sure how these bonds were forged, but they are so well portrayed and so clear. These people love one another. They would do terrible things for one another, and I can’t wait to see what they go through together.

Count me very excited and very eager for next month’s addition to their story (and count me already sad we only get three episodes with them).

#candela obscura #circle of the crimson mirror #I love them all so much already #Malcolm Trills #Leo Amicus #Edgar Lycoris #Grimoria #Imari Williams #Taliesin Jaffe #Alex Ward #Aimee Carrero

105 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 8 months

Text

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ɪ - ʜᴀɴᴅᴊᴏʙ

pairing: Neteyam x avatar!reader

a/n: hi and welcome to kinktober x if this first work seems familiar, that's bc it is lol. i have been so so busy and so i have decided that for prompts that fit some of my previous work, i'd give myself a little grace and use those instead. now, i think this works great because there's a lot of new besties here, so this way people get to read some of my earlier work and (hopefully) enjoy it for the first time!! i can't wait to go on this journey with you 🎃🧡 smooches x

words: 1,3k

warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: oral - male receiving, inexperienced Neteyam.

taglist (x)

Being a human had its perks, and being an avatar, well, that goes without saying. One of the perks, turns out, was the wealth of information available to you at the touch of the button. Say what you want about the Sky People, but they were informed in things you could barely even conceive, and well, you've always loved to learn. You spent your whole life learning everything you could get your hands on, from more useful things, like how to patch a wound or how to treat an infection to... less useful things for day to day endeavours, but definitely intriguing to you.

There was a lot in Hell's Gate that the Na'vi and the scientists that were granted leave to stay were unaware of, and you were glad. Your research led you to unearth some... unsightly discoveries, that you were more than happy to have to put to good use right now, after a relaxing swim in the nearby lake, with your best friend that... has some questions. Well, you were nothing if not a good friend, and a dutiful teacher.

His eyes were wide as you smile and push him until he falls to the ground with a small thud. It was quiet in the forest, only the small chirps and trills of the animals living peacefully could be heard over the sounds of both your laboured breaths. He was anxious, you noted, based on his fluttering ears and his erratic tail wags.

"Are you nervous, Tay?" you couldn't help the teasing tone of your voice, as you traced your fingers down his body, from his collarbone, to his chest, down his defined abs, until you hooked your fingers in the band of his loincloth, tugging at it gently.

"Let me make you feel good, Tay. Let me show you what it feels like to be human for a little while."

With that, you untied his tewng and let it fall to the floor, and you gasped a little at his size. He was bigger than you expected, and the sight aroused you beyond belief, beyond words and comprehension, because if before this was just supposed to be a learning experience, now you knew that while he would get his, you would definitely get yours, too.

Almost inquisitively, with a tinge of wonder and awe, you run your fingers over the patterned stars of his length, from the base to the cotton candy pink tip, marvelling at his beauty and how nothing you've ever seen before in movies or magazines could ever compare to it. You tighten your grip and smirk when a sudden inhale broke through the silence and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes, that were tightly shut as his head was pushed back, and you knew then you wanted to see this face, see how he reacts to you, to your lessons, every day of your life.

"...f-fuck!"

You slowly start pumping him, taking your time, analysing each contraction of his facial muscles, thrilled at how he's falling apart around you and you haven't even properly started yet. When the tip becomes covered in pre-cum, you can't resist the need anymore, and you slowly inch your lips towards it, a little startled when Neteyam gets up suddenly, concern deeply embedded in his features.

"W-what are you doing?"

A hand still pumping him, you placed the other on his chest, pushing him back, willing him back in the same position he was in before.

"Shh, relax, tay. you wanted to learn, right?"

With that, you placed a small, gentle kiss on the tip, licking every drop of pre-cum, and you were shocked at how sweet it was, how you wouldn't mind having it coat your tongue, and your mouth, and your throat, until it was all you could taste. You shuffled uncomfortably at the ache that took over you, and how good you knew his cock would feel filling you, how just the stretch itself would bring you to the brink of orgasm. Maybe next lesson.

You couldn't help taking more of him in, your tongue pushed flat against his length as it went further down your throat until you gagged slightly around it. The groan that escaped Neteyam, low and uninhibited, emboldened you as you started a steady bob of your head up and down his length, one hand continuing to pump what you couldn't reach otherwise, while the other rubbed circles into his thigh, hoping this way he wouldn't overthink this and just relax. After all, what were friends for if not to help each other... learn and unwind?

His hand finds your hair and you purr against his cock when he starts petting you, the little gesture enough to make you excited for when he'd be experienced enough to take charge, the way you knew he had it in him.

"You feel so good. S-so good, fuck."

His hips buck against you and you moan as he slips further down your throat, as he starts thrusting in your mouth, and you let him, impressed about how quickly he seems to catch on and turned on about how his first instinct was to immediately take control. This would be easier than you thought.

"I'm gonna, i'm cu-"

Ropes of cum shoot down your throat as his cock throbs in your mouth, and the noises he makes, carnal and primal, make you slowly start grinding against the ground to find some of your own release. You make sure to suck him dry as he pulls out with a small pop, and you smirk as you lick your lips, watching him trying to catch his breath, watching him panting and slowly regaining him composure.

"Enjoy yourself, friend?"

"So... when's the next lesson?"

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @

330 notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 11 months

Text

miguel o'hara: love alphabet

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

“What?” he murmured, glancing down to your hand. Your pinky slid over his knuckle, drawing his hand closer. His eyebrow cocked, glancing up from your tentative grip to your eyes. He might have sighed, intertwined your fingers, and kept moving.

The first time your fingers wrapped around his, he didn't know what to say. His words were a bolus in his throat, debating what-- or rather how-- to respond. He caresses his fingertips over your skin, the easiest way to say it was okay.

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“Quieres un bebé?” Miguel crossed his hands one over the other. He chews on his thoughts, a fine line of stress passing through his brow and into his fearful eyes. It was possible that he could ruin it again— his voice, a breathy shake. “Está bien. Let’s… try.”

He’s terrified.

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

He might do it if you’re in bed, your eyes lidded heavy by sleep, drawing you closer and closer as if you were his only favourite stuffed teddy. But he prefers it when you initiate, winding your small arms around his tapered waist and refusing to let go. “Hm? You want me to come to bed?”

D = Darling (Pet names)

"They're for you, hermosa." It could have been the flowers, but Miguel was more certain that it was the trill of your pet name off his lips, the way your lips pursed delightfully, propping up on your tippy toes to kiss him.

Pet names are important to him-- because they're important to you. The slight glimmer in your eye, a giggle when he calls for you, or the ear-to-ear smile that you sported the first time he did. He loves the effect they have on you.

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

“You like her, don’t you?” Jess notices first. He’s caught. He hates being caught.

He doesn’t want to show it. His eyes might linger, tracking your little fingers waving him goodbye. His cheeks might flush warm under his tan with a blown kiss. He falls hard, but denies it harder.

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

He didn’t mean to shout. He knows about your past— about the man in your past, the damage to your body that came with a bad relationship. After that first, blow out fight, he doesn’t stay away long before he slinks back into your shared bedroom, his hand on your shoulder. A kiss on your shoulder. “Perdón.”

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

Miguel wants to be the first thought on your mind when you wake up. You wake to the feeling of his tiny bites. The blossoming feeling of his lips dragging across your thigh, kissing higher, and higher. You lift the sheets, cheeks flushed. "Miggy."

He wakes you up with a kiss. Miguel will wake you with a small kiss on your shoulder or between your legs depending on the time he has to spare. Ideally, that's best spent between your legs.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

Hugs aren't his favorite public display of affection. But he tolerates it, his hand coursing over your back, holding you firm, tight, and safe against his body. If it makes you feel better, he'd do a lot of things.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

He paces. Paces. And paces. Everything has to go according to plan and that plan includes the safe delivery of his daughter and perhaps, a little bit of bullying of the medical staff to calm his nerves. Your face contorted in pain is not one he ever likes to see. Directionless. Useless. He doesn't like being in situations he cannot readily fix. He trusts your words-- this will pass. And at the end of it, he'll finally have his hands on his daughter.

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he might say, arms crossed, eyes hard. You might throw him a tricky smile. "Then you should probably snap me up first."

The space between dating and not dating was annoying. Miguel doesn't have time for indecisiveness or inaction and the constant uncertainty that arose with his jealousy was but another loose end to tie up.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

“Me voy. Dame un beso.” Miggy likes to say before he leaves your bedroom. Miggy doesn’t ask for a lot of things. He does, however, ask for kisses. Soft kisses, small kisses. Long kisses, hard kisses. It’s an excuse for closeness, to cop a feel, be reminded of how much you love him.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

“Her?” he might gesture to another woman. A harmless tease triggered something deeper— some terrible fears bubbling to the surface. Insecurity, Miguel would say. A mean, mincing little laugh out of his lips. “Hermosa, are you jealous?”

In his youth, it might have been an issue— sleeping around. He’s settled now, too old to be bothered with chasing every pretty thing that he runs across. At the end of the day, your angelic little smile makes his heart race.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

Blissed out. That moment of complete rapture and resolved delight. It doesn’t matter how he achieved it. A night alone in bed or the first look at your— and his— daughter. It’s the delight that he longs for. For that, he lives a dozen favourite memories every time he wakes up beside you.

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

Disloyalty.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

His palms on your tense shoulders are the first indication of Miguel’s apology. His fingers roll along your shoulders, shifting down to your shoulder blades. In its place, one of Miguel’s chase kisses. “Okay, Miguel.”

Miggy scarcely apologizes to anyone else. When it’s you, though, he has to. It eats at him long after the fight, the thought of you being upset with him over his typical snap. Maybe his servitude is the best apology.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

“You look so good, Miggy.” Miggy likes the way you look at him. Your eyes glazed in what he could only say was lust, half lidded and dark. He could smell you— your need, your excitement. Even if he could easily tear the webbing around his body. Miggy is a giver— he works, he gives a lot. Sometimes, he admits, it’s nice to lose control and have you take it. To receive pleasure as much as he gives it.

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

“Miggy, please, come here.”

“I’m busy,” he murmured, walking from one part of his desk to another. Your body, flush against his back, is the only thing that gives him pause. Maybe it could wait.

Miggy doesn’t wind down well. You have to plead with him to rest— that it can wait, that there isn’t more he could do, that you have needs. Maybe you can convince him anyway.

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t make him as happy— as proud as it does. The way Peter looks at you when your stomach begins to show, the slight round curve of your pregnancy. “Good job, Miguel!” he says, as if he did anything but bend you—

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

You were new to Spider Society when he saw it, underneath your bracelet, the hot red curl of his name.

“You can’t be serious.” Even if your name is plastered on his wrist, the world’s cruelest tattoo, he will deny it. Miguel doesn’t need one more thing to lose. A daughter, and now a soulmate? Something’s are better left unsaid. It will keep you safe.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

“You’ll love the butterfly festival, Miggy. Just give it a chance. Umm, right here!”

He glances at the ground. The flutter of too many butterflies, one landing on his broad nose, is aggravating. Still he settles down your picnic blanket, the basket, lays down in scratchy jeans and a t-shirt that feel misplaced on his large body to— what was it— “appreciate nature”. What he appreciates is the way you snuggle up to him, cheek and hand on his chest, the warm sun on his head. Behind his sunglasses, he grunts.

“Maybe it is nice.”

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

He handles them himself. Enough said.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

If he has a measurable goal that can be obtained through vulnerability, he’ll use it. But on the daily, he often finds himself avoiding that vulnerability— being strong for everyone, everywhere, neglecting his own necessities. You’ll just have to locate the cracks.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

“It’s not going to fit,” Miguel folded his massive arms one over the other, watching as you held up tie after tie against his warm skin. “Mi vida.”

“It’ll fit if you don’t make a fuss. Even body builders fit.” He sighs, long and hard. Guess he’s stuck.

He rather not deal with all the huff over his wedding. Slap a ring on it, let’s go. But of course, you need the fairy tale wedding. At least he’ll indulge you— and maybe enjoy himself a little along the way.

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

Critically. Miguel likes to think he treats all his exes with the same amount of care that he does others, but he may just be a little more sassy— or critical of what they say or do, if he can be bothered with them to begin with.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

“Lyla, show me—“

“Your girlfriend, yeah, got it!”

Creep. He’s not spying because he necessarily suspects anything— but he is creeping because he’s lonely. Because sometimes it isn’t feasible to waste what time he has. A little look can be harmless, can’t it?

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

His sleeping is patchy. The nightmares of failure, the resonant loss of his young family. Sometimes, you just have to be there for him, to soothe the pain in his chest, and convince him it will all be okay.

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #spider 2099 x reader #spider 2099 imagines #spider 2099 headcanons #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine

358 notes · View notes

kedreeva · 6 months

Note

I went through the earlier baby pictures of Bug and the tiny tail feathers being displayed were so cute. What causes peafowl to display like that? I know for males part of it is for reproduction and stuff but do peahens also do it as a threat display as well?

Both sexes do it for lots of reasons. They both really love to display when the sun is shining on them, or when they're overly excited, or when they're playing.

They can use fanning as a threat display, but it's usually more of a "warning" than a threat. Their "threat" is a lot quieter, they make a soft trilling noise. Several people who visited while Beep was still around (and Beep HATED most other people) mistook it for a friendly noise, calling it "purring" and had to be told to watch themselves because that "purring noise" means "I'm about to kick your ass." They also tend to turn so that their side is to you, not their chest, which puts them at the ideal angle to a) wing buffet you with a VERY hefty wing and b) flog you with their ankles, which have keratin spikes growing out of them. Depending on the situation, they may also pick up small items on the ground and "throw" them back down again, and/or shake their head.

Here's a video of Aris threatening Stan (who is too stupid to notice)

youtube

You can also see the kicking a little more clearly in this video, where Helios is giving warning kicks nowhere near actually connecting to Aris. At the start, she is growling and tries to get a bite on his head. Unlike Stan, Helios knew he was in trouble and he's "bowing" to her, trying to apologize/court her. You can tell his lowered head isn't a threat because of the "bump" of feathers on the back of his neck, the peacock "love bump" that typically starts appearing in spring as another courting ritual. But, Aris has babies, and he's some young punk she barely knows, so she's having none of it:

youtube

#peafowl #peahens #peacocks #asks #peafowl masterlist

113 notes · View notes

mediocreanomaly · 10 months

Note

Mermaid vash with s/o human reader

I feel like Vash would court the reader by giving them random "lost" stuff that he found from people that dropped things in the ocean, like bottles, broken camera, jewelry, a random knive. Anything shiny and cool looking ends up in the reader's hands from Vash. He'd be very happy if the reader accepts the gifts but if the reader gives him something? Any thoughts gone, Vash is malfunctioning.

Just thought this would be a cute idea

Authors Note: Guys please I'm a creature lover at heart don't get me started on these prompts- (joking please get me started on these prompts mer!Vash makes me happy)

Mer!Vash x Reader HC's

•Vash is extremely interested in humans. Think...Ariel lmao. Although humans are known for trying to poach merfolk (their scales and fins are extremely valuable) he can't help but love them!

•He does his best to stay hidden as he follows along boats from afar to watch the crew work during the day or play cards and drink at night. He sits on far away rocks on beaches to watch the humans splash in the water and sunbathe on the beach. Basically if he can watch humans somewhere he'll be there

•Which is why when you became the newest light house keeper for the port, you were the perfect human for Vash to watch

•It was perfect, the light house was far enough from the actual port that he could lay on the rocks with out being seen, he'd watch you through the light house windows, he'd watch when you'd leave to dip your feet in the water or sit on the rocks to watch the horizon. It became Vash's new favorite pass time so it was only a matter of time before you noticed your fishy companion

•When you first see him his lower body is in the water, only his head sits out watching you, you blink and begin approaching him thinking it's someone who's swam too close to the rocks

"Hey! This might not be the best place to swim there's lots of rocks and the actual swimmers beach is-" you pause caught off guard when, a couple steps in, you see a long red and orange tail gleaming in the water. You lose your balance and fall in the shallow water screaming-

"ahhh!" "ahhh!" the merman mimics back in your voice, which only concerns you more and...leads you to scream again, "ahhh!!!" "ahhh!!!"

•This whole mimicking thing seems to go back and forth for about two more screams before you settle. You catch your breath as you stare at the merman who just watches you curiously not making a move to leave

•You had heard of merfolk, everyone had but it was rare to see them unless you were a poacher and even then merfolk were famous for sinking the ships that were after them. You had met a cocky sailor once who had tried to boast by showing off a few mermaid scales he has sliced off some mermaid he was tracking but it had only disgusted you thinking about how terrified the poor girl must've been

•Although as you carfully look over the merman in front of you it doesn't look like this one has had any better luck, winding scars paint his chest and it seems he's missing an arm...you wearily glance up to the blue eyes watching you, you're pretty sure merfolks were supposed to have silted iris but this merman's pupils are blown wide with curiosity

"...so...can you copy anything I say?" you ask, "...so...can you copy anything I say?" He repeats in your voice, which...is admittedly a bit creepy but he makes a pleased trill noise after he shows off

"Right...so you uh, have a name?" you ask, the merman nods eagerly then pauses looking a little sad before smiling and saying "Vash!" in a woman's voice you've never heard before

•You come to realize that Vash can mimic pretty much any sound as long as he's heard it before. You assume it's some sort of hunting tactic which scared you a bit until you realized he mostly used it to mimic the noises of other sea animals to bring them closer, so it seemed humans were not on the merfolk menu

•Vash comes around pretty much everyday, trying to communicate through half phrases he had heard and various chirps and trills you often had to decode the message of. Luckily he was very expressive so it helped with the context

•You find Vash loves human things, you even started bringing him foods after he snatched a bag of donuts from your hand one morning. So you eat most your meals out by the rocks now, not that you mind. The life of a light house keeper was a lonely one, so you were glad for the company as unconventional as it may be

•The two of you actually become close, or...as close as a human and merman can get you guess? Only issue for you is you don't seem to realize how close you actually are

•Vash has decided. You'd be the perfect mate. You're a good swimmer (for a human), you provide food (donuts), and it only confirms it in his head when one day he makes and happy chirp noise and you jokingly try to mimic it back the same way he does, not realizing it's a show of affection in the merfolk world

•So Vash takes it upon himself to begin courting you. You know how I said think Ariel when you think about Vash? Yeah he has a little cave in the ocean that he just collects trinkets in. Pennies, jewelry, screws, knives, if it shimmers he's picked it up and stashed it away. Which is why he's sure he'll be very good at scavenging to show you how good of a mate he would make!

•It starts off slow, when you're sitting on the rocks with Vash and he hands you a small shiny quarter. You glance up at him as he watches you eagerly waiting for a response. You smile and run your hand through his wet hair

"For me?" you hum, he makes an affirmative trill, tail slapping against the rock excitedly

"Well thank you, it's very nice Vash"

•Then the next day he brings you a necklace he found which you please him by wearing, something that just confirms his courting is working. Then he brings you and old camera, then a bottle, then a whole sword which you go wide eyed at when your smiling blonde companion pulls it out of the water

•You aren't 100% sure why Vash feels the need to bring you things but you enjoy the collection of shells, sand dollars, and shiny objects he leaves you. Although you feel a little bad that, besides the snacks you offer him, you haven't ever given him a gift

•So you go to the market the next day trying to find something. You didn't really know if Vash had a home to keep anything big in...where did merfolk live anyways? You'd have to ask Vash next time you saw him- and you're getting distracted.

•You sigh almost giving up when a stall that glimmers in the sun catches your eye. Perfect! Vash loved shiny things! You run over to the stall to see what they have when your gaze lands on a gold ear ring. The whole "one ear ring" look was becoming popular among sailors but...Vash liked mimicking humans, maybe he'd like this?

•You quickly buy it (in part thanks to all the spare change Vash leaves in your hands every morning) and head back out to the light house

•When you get there Vash has already pushed himself up on the rocks waiting for you. He makes a pleased trill noise and greets you with a "Good morning!" in your own voice. You chuckle and carfully climb your way over to his spot and sit down

"Good morning to you too! Hold out your hand!" You urge as you dig in your bag for your gift, Vash gives a curious look and tilts his head letting out a questioning "vrr?"

"please? c'mon it's good surprise promise" you say, he nods not one to deny you and holds out his hand. You press the gold ear ring into his palm and smile at him.

"so? do you like it? ...Vash? uh...Vash?" You try to wave your hand in front of his face but his eyes are locked on the trinket, as if completely shocked. His face is...also going a very bright shade of red the longer he looks at it- did you break him?

"Vash if you don't like it-" before you can finish that thought he quickly makes a panicked chirp when you go to grab it out of his hand and dives into the water leaving you wondering what just happened

•Vash meanwhile is running his fingers over the metal of the ear ring over and over again. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected a courting gift from you! This was so embarrassing! To accept courting advances was one thing but to be so bold as to court back? He never expected you to be so forward! Well...that just confirmed you wanted to be his mate...and that he'd have to up his courting tactics to really impress you

•After about a half hour of sitting bewildered at the mermans reaction you finally spot him as he peaks his head out of the water and- oh! he's wearing the gold ear ring, the hoop hanging from his right ear

"Vash! I almost thought you left for the day" you sigh padding into the water after him, he shakes his head and makes a cooing noise before repeating "Hold out your hand!" just as you had earlier

"hmm? oh you didn't have to get me something too but okay" You relent holding out your hand, expecting more change or something shiny-

"ahhhh!" you scream as a a live fish about as big as your arm is dropped into your hands. You fumble and drop it, the fish flops around before darting away as soon as it hits the water. Vash frowns, this...was going to be harder than he thought.

#vash x reader #vash x you #trigun x reader #mer!vash #Trimaid?#Mergun?#Yeah that doesn't sound right #mer!vash x reader

277 notes · View notes

blackreaderfics · 9 months

Text

Checking In | Dick Grayson x Black!BatsisReader

↳ Pairing : Dick Grayson x Black!AFAB!BatsisReader

↳ Rating : E (18+ minors dni‼️)

↳ Summary : After your brother Jason’s death, Dick Grayson keeps “checking in” on you. But as far as you’re concerned, he no longer has any right to be a part your life.

↳ W.C : ~5.2k

↳ Tags+Warnings : faux incest - step siblings (direct mentions), mild angst, hate(?)to love, sexual tension, not Titans DC!verse I just like the actor lol, canon divergence: set after Jason Todd’s death and before Red Hood, reader is a model (body type unspecified), referenced stalking, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, degradation (slut, whore), implied daddy kink, porn with plot!, special guest appearance by Booster Gold

“Hot date tonight?”

You felt your eyes roll back into your head at the sound of the male voice that trilled like a mosquito in your ear. Fucking hell, you muttered a curse under your breath. After your shift of late-night vigilante duties, you always seemed to forget to take out your in-ear receiver.

What was that thing Alfred always told you about breathing exercises? You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to quell your irritation. In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

“No action tonight, dick?” You rebutted.

“I can hear when it’s a lowercase ‘D’, Y/N. ” Unlike yours, his voice betrayed no hostility, rather, he sounded quite amused.

You and Dick Grayson had never been close. In fact, you thought of him as more a stranger than a stepbrother. Bruce Wayne had adopted you into the family after Dick had already packed his bags and moved out of the manor to Blüdhaven. The only times you saw Dick was when somebody died and you had to attend the funeral.

You didn’t grow up with him like you had Jason. And now that Jason was gone, it was suddenly like the golden “boy wonder” had been trying to squeeze himself into your life to make up for it. Ever since the detective had arrived in Gotham last week on “private business”— whatever, you didn’t want or care to know—he’d been “checking in” on you a bit too often.

“Are you making small talk ‘cuz you’re bored or are you just being annoying?”

“I’m in the middle of something actually.”

You stilled to listen closely, and now that he mentioned it, it did sound like he was in the middle of a fight.

“Well, I would offer to help you but— ”you paused, wincing at what sounded like a man being punched in the gut. “—seems like you got it covered.”

“More than covered, sweetheart. Unlike what you’re wearing.” He made it sound like he was joking; though, the remark itself had bite.

“What?” What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“That dress. Seems a little much for a first date don’t you think?”

You heard a yelp of pain in the background. Dick probably had some guy’s arm twisted around.

“How the fuck would you know what I’m wearing? Or that I’m going on a date?”

You eyed the room while putting on the other half of your earrings. The idea of privacy wasn’t exactly a thing at Wayne Manor. That was the whole reason you moved out and into your penthouse apartment in the city.

If for some reason he had seen you, he would’ve seen your figure in a slinky black mini-dress. A tasteful, but still unapologetic show of legs, cocoa skin, and cleavage all in one.

“That guy plastered you on a billboard in the middle of Gotham. So, y’know, doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. And relax, your comms was on. You ever notice that you talk to yourself? Like a lot.”

He was about to be talking to himself if he didn’t shut the fuck up soon.

Ok, breathe. In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You were violently broken out of your breathing exercise when a screaming welp and cracking of bones sounded through the earpiece.

Dick spoke again, slightly winded. “Bruce say you could wear that?”

“Yes, Dick. Actually, he’s the one that bought it for me,” You deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. Besides the fact that the old man would not give a flying fuck about your wardrobe, you were way too old to be slutshamed or worse, babysat.

“Now I know you’re fucking with me. He has way better taste than that.” You could hear the mirth in his voice; he was clearly just trying to banter with you.

“Oh like you would know anything about taste, Discowing.”

“…”

You got him there.

“Just make sure—”

“Good night, Richard.” You closed the line before he could give you another lecture and pocketed the listening device into your purse.

You regarded yourself in the mirror one last time. It was a certified banger of an outfit, went quadruple platinum in all the clubs in Gotham’s nightlife scene. But that’s not where you were going tonight.

Feeling a little paranoid, you quickly scanned your apartment for any sign that you’d been bugged. Finding nothing, you shut the lights and locked the door behind you. Tonight you did have a date, with one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors at that. So you were going to look hot and that annoying buzzing in your ear was just going to have to deal with it.

A sleek Tesla was waiting for you at the curb in front of your apartment building. You gave a small wave to a handsome blonde-haired man leaning against the sports car.

Your date was Michael Carter, some hotshot tech CEO you’d never heard of before until his company, Goldstar Inc. blew up out of nowhere. From what you knew of him he wasn’t as famous or rich as your billionaire adoptive father, but what he lacked in influence, he made up for in boundless persistence.

For the past month and a half, he’d been courting you with bouquets of roses, designer shoes and handbags, and more recently a billboard of you in the middle of Times Square asking you out. The billboard was what made you finally go out with him, not particularly because you liked grandiose gestures from douchebags, but mostly so he could leave you alone.

When you approached Michael he let out an appreciative whistle, and you let him wrap his arms around you in greeting. He looked down at you, appraising you and probably getting an eyeful of your tits at the same time.

“You are an absolute knockout. Who’s the lucky guy?” He quipped, eliciting an eye roll from you.

Yes, he was also very corny but you decided you liked that about him. You’d dated too many men before that reminded you of the men in your family, and this Michael character was a blonde spark of life, a welcomed change from all the brooding and the fucking bats.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting. Got a lot of time on my hands.”

You smiled up at him, steadying yourself on his arms and feeling the muscle underneath your fingertips. You had to admit, even though he was corny he was complete eye candy. Built like a football player, dimples, pretty face…Yep, you were definitely going to fuck him tonight.

Your eye caught sight of something from over Michael’s shoulder. You shuddered; not because of the temperature—It was a warm enough summer night— but because you could feel that you were being watched. There was… a shadow… lurking on a nearby building.

Michael followed your line of sight to peer over at the dark, confused at where you were staring.

“Something the matter, princess? You cold?” He rubbed some heat into the goosebumps pebbling your arm.

“N-no. It’s nothing. Sorry,” You shook your head, breaking away from him to climb into the passenger seat, swiftly shutting your door before he could offer to close it for you. He scrambled back to the driver’s seat, clearly caught off guard from your sudden change in demeanor.

“How about we—” Michael turned toward you, mouth open in mid-sentence.

“Drive.” You cut him off.

“Excuse me, what?” He blinked in confusion.

“Now.”

“A-alright.” He paused, perplexed, then quietly obeyed, gripping the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb.

You fished into your purse, opening your messaging app to type out DON’T FOLLOW before hitting send. You didn’t need to see the reply to confirm your suspicions you were being stalked, and you knew Dick Grayson well enough to know he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t.

You frowned at the empty seat in front of you. You had already arrived at the restaurant and taken your orders, but your date had been taking a “business call” in the bathroom for over 20 minutes now. You were starting to think you had been ditched.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up but instead of your date you were greeted by the sight of Dick Grayson in a crisp navy button-down rolled up at the sleeves. He looked like he could be a CEO in his own right, like the kind of CEOs people read in romance novels.

His forearms looked extremely capable, courtesy of his rigorous training; Broad shoulders and dense muscle made his shirt fit slightly too small. He cleaned up nice, a bit too nice since other women kept sneaking glances at your table.

Dick was an undeniably handsome man, but you would never admit that to him. Instead you gave him a withering glare.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing but whatever it is, I didn’t ask.”

“So a guy can’t catch up with family after work now?” He sat down in front of you with a look feigning offense until it melted into a playful grin. He looked a bit too smug taking the spot of where your date would’ve been.

“You’re really shameless y’know that? You showing up and expecting me to just welcome you with open arms does not make you family.” You leaned back and crossed your arms. “What the hell did you do with Michael, Dick?”

“What did I do? What, you think I killed him? Like on some mobster Falcone shit?”

“No, like on some Bruce Wayne shit. Real chip off the old block.” You scoffed. “I know you paid him off. It’s the same story with every other guy I’ve dated.”

He was silent as if mulling over whether or not to own up to the accusation.“I gave them an option and they took it,” he said simply as if there wasn't anything wrong with what he just confessed.

“And here I thought I was the problem.”

“Might be. If you keep choosing guys that’ll walk out on you at the whiff of a few bucks.”

“Fuck you, Dick.” You shot him two middle fingers and gathered your things to go. You weren’t gonna stay and hear this shit.

“They were all full of shit and you know it.”

“D-did anyone order the steak?”

Dick broke his serious gaze from you and flashed a dimpled smile to ease the nervous waiter.

“We’ll take it to-go, thanks.”

You watched your 5th Uber request get denied and sighed. You really didn’t want to have to resort to getting the Wayne driver, but these were incredibly desperate times. Maybe if you faked being in danger, they could get to you fast enough to escape from Dick.

You were in the middle of dialing the number up when you felt something heavy across your back; The smell of leather, wood, and spice interrupted your thoughts. You didn’t refuse the warmth; it was welcome. Somehow it had gotten colder than you had originally accounted for.

“Really good thing I was here. Looks like someone needs a ride,” you felt Dick whisper into your ear. He gave your shoulders a playful squeeze and walked ahead of you to his car. You looked up just in time to see him, head turned and smirking back at you.

“Shut. Up. Just take me home,” You gritted out.

“Your chariot awaits.” He tipped an invisible top hat your direction, bowing theatrically as he opened the passenger door to his car. God he was annoying. You slipped past him, and kicked off your heels as soon as you hit the plush leather seat.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet. You weren’t surprised that he seemed to know exactly where you lived. Which, due to the nature of your job was to be expected. Bruce probably had you all chipped anyway, but you appreciated the illusion of privacy at the very least.

You turned your head to stare thoughtfully at his side profile as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the shift. It was oddly intimate to watch him from this perspective. Gotham City’s lights waxed and waned across his face as you passed through the night streets.

“What?” He seemed uncharacteristically conscious under your gaze.

“So…you’re saying I need to date some sort of incorruptible and righteous superhero. That would be good enough for you, right? Someone that can’t be bought or bribed?”

He glanced at you brow furrowed before returning his attention to the road. “Wasn't saying that.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it Hal Jordan’s kinda cute.”

“Real classy, Y/N,” He said, visibly irritated now.

“What? What’s wrong with Hal?” You pressed, knowing you’d struck a nerve. Dick was terribly predictable and fun to annoy when he wasn’t busy annoying you.

“Uh I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s Bruce’s friend?”

“Please, they’re barely friends. Coworkers at best.” Since when was that an issue for the dude who hooked up with the commissioner’s daughter anyway? The hypocrisy was truly baffling.

“No.”

“Fine,” You pouted at him. “Everyone cares about money, Dick. It’s Gotham. And you don’t even live here anymore, so who else does that leave that money won’t sway? Alfred?”

He gave you a pointed silence, not in any more mood for the topic of conversation. “We’re here.”

You blinked, surprised. Sure enough, you were in the familiar surroundings of your parking garage. Maybe you’d been too busy staring at the cut of the older man’s jaw to notice you were already home.

“You’re not gonna walk me up? ‘Cuz If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were my personal bodyguard.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Cockblocker.” You muttered under your breath as you scuffed your heels back on. You shrugged out of his jacket and exited the car.

“Hey, wait! Keep the jacket on, it’s cold,” He called after you, but you only waved him off dismissively. You heard his car door slam shut and in a few strides, he was next to you again, draping the jacket over your shoulders.

He wordlessly joined you in the elevator, pushing the button to your floor like he'd been there before. At the door of your apartment, he passed along the plastic bag filled with restaurant takeout.

You briefly considered the raven haired man and then the takeout bag in your hand. “I’m probably gonna regret this, but…you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Dick shrugged, following after you into your apartment.

You kicked off your heels and made a beeline to the kitchen. “Bathroom’s on the right. Just make yourself at home. I would give you a tour but, you probably already know your way around.”

“Thanks, but it’s the first time I’ve been in here, Y/N.” He replied drily, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I wouldn’t do that, ok?”

You only hummed, not really believing him. Dick Grayson wasn’t the type to lie, he was the type to withhold.

You set down your bag on the kitchen table, reaching into the cupboard. “Wine?”

He jingled his car keys as an answer.

“Ah. Right. ‘Protect and serve’ not ‘drink and drive’, got it.”

Dick seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the knickknacks on your shelf. You watched him pick up a few photo frames, inspect them closely for a bit and then carefully set them back In their places.

“You’re making my living room look like a crime scene, officer.” You chided strolling in closer. “What, are you gonna need a baggie for that evidence too?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, humored. “I didn’t know you liked photography is all.”

“Yea well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I know enough.”

“Like what?”

He looked around the room and then settled on the books and magazines stacked on your coffee table. “You’re into fashion.”

“Well yea, I’m a model, Dick. Not exactly breaking news,” You scoffed. “You sure you’re a detective?”

He broke into a grin, the kind of grin that made the dimples in his cheeks deepen. It was like he genuinely liked when you made fun of him. “Well, I also know you also have terrible taste in men so…”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to get laid?”

“No, and I hope that never crosses my mind." He made a face like the very thought disturbed him. "Besides, you don’t want that.”

You chose to ignore the blatant patronizing. “Not a want; It’s a need. A biological one. Girls have those too y’know.”

“Ugh alright, can we change the subject now, please?” He wrinkled his nose, cheeks faintly flushed. It would’ve been so easy to tease him about how cute he looked blushing.

“You’re the one that brought it up.”

“I did not bring that up. I’m…just saying that I know you’re not that type of girl.”

“Not that type of—And what would that be?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“The one-night stand type. That’s not you.”

“How would you know what I am and what I’m not?” You retorted, agitation building. Getting date-ditched was one thing but getting mansplained to about your sex life was just the cherry on top of a shitty Saturday night.

“I know you,” He spoke slowly with an edge that confirmed your suspicions; The tone in his voice was backed by knowledge of your history—who you were before Bruce rescued you out of that hell and scrubbed your background clean.

“More like you’ve been stalking me. That’s not fair, Dick. You can look up all the data you want on me on that supercomputer but you don’t get to know me. It’s—it’s too late for that.”

You thought about Jason and how he was ripped away from you too soon. Tears fell faster than you could stop them. One second you were ok and the next, Dick had crossed the room to bring you into his arms. You fisted his shirt as you cried into his shoulder.

“You weren’t here. You left. You left us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He comforted softly, tightening his arms around you.

“That’s not fair, Dick. It’s not fair.” You can’t remember the last time you cried this pathetically. He was rocking you gently now, whispering apologies in your ear.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m gonna make it right.”

He gazed at you now, a sadness in his eyes. You wondered what exactly he meant by that. The only way to make it right was to bring Jason back.

He gently held your face in his hands, thumbs swiping away stray tears. Years of training had calloused his fingers and you could feel them now against your cheeks.

“Let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

His soothing voice released flutters in your stomach—a bubbling concoction of fear, anticipation, and…something more.

Inhale. 1. 2. 3.

Your breathing became shallow as he brought his head down, lips hesitant before yours. When you didn’t move away he brushed against you, softly first, waiting for permission until your eyes fluttered closed and you finally let him in.

Your cheeks burned. Something about kissing him made you embarrassed or maybe you were ashamed, like you knew you were doing something you shouldn’t.

You fumbled out of his jacket, now too hot, and pawed frantically at the buttons on his shirt. He kissed you with more passion, swallowing your moans as his hands shamelessly roamed your body, groping and grabbing handfuls of your ass.

“Bedroom. My bedroom.” You said quickly between fraught kisses. If you hadn’t, he would’ve probably taken you right there on the sofa.

He nodded in agreement, picking you up with ease and swiftly treading to your room with you in tow. He set you on the bed and resumed where he left off until you were lying under him. That’s when you could feel him, all of him, pressing against you.

“‘m gonna make you feel good.”

Ripples of abs and lean muscle ground against you as he kissed down your neck. You gasped softly when his hand moved to rub you over the cloth of your panties.

“Wanna see you. Please, let me see you.”

He tugged the top of your dress down, undoing the clasp of your bra and revealing to him the peaks of your tawny nipples. You inhaled sharply, watching him take your breast into his mouth, eyes on you, as he licked and sucked.

You writhed under him, already overwhelmed by everything he was doing to you. He snaked his hand back into the front of your now-soaked panties, rubbing at first and then inserting a finger, then two until you were stretching around him.

“So wet for me, my pretty girl. Look at you milking my fingers in this slutty little dress. You were gonna let him do this to you, right? You were gonna let him finger your pussy too huh, baby?”

You whimpered his name, eyes wide as he continued to speak with his fingers squelching in and out of you. Normal, everyday Dick Grayson had the image of being a “nice guy”. He was probably that neighbor you’d ask to borrow sugar from; You would never expect to hear such dirty words coming from his mouth.

He hiked up the skirt of your dress some more and brought your hips to his face.

“Let me take care of you, huh? Let me take care of this pretty little cunt.”

You cursed softly, as he began to kiss and suck around your clit as he fingered you.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “You taste so good, baby.”

He lapped at your cunt, making lewd slurps and noises. When he removed his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue and the sensation made you squirm.

“Quit moving so much. Didn’t you say you wanted to get laid? Don’t you want me to eat you out?”

“Y-yes. I want—Mmhfuck.” You nodded, finally finding some semblance of language. The way he spoke down to you was so agonizingly frustrating. It reminded you how patronizing he'd been earlier that night, telling you to cover up and dictating your life for you.

“You haven’t been fucked in a while, huh?” He mocked. “That’s why you were gonna let some guy you met today fuck you—Such a fucking slut that’s why you wore that, right?”

You whined at his words, bucking to earn some more friction from him.

“Holy shit, you like that? You like when I call you a slut.” His smile grew as if he just made a huge discovery. “Yea, ‘course you like it. Should’ve spread your legs on that billboard that guy bought. Let Gotham see how much of a fucking whore you are.”

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. You felt betrayed by the physical reaction you gave with how crudely he was speaking. He'd figured you out; You liked being treated like a cockdumb slut.

He planted a few more kisses on your thigh, unbuckling his pants with a free hand.

“Wait for me, babe. Touch yourself and wait for me like a good girl.”

You obeyed, rubbing at your throbbing mound to no avail. Your fingers didn’t feel as good as his did.

He freed his cock from his underwear and you could see it now, leaking beads of precum from the tip, swollen and bobbing up against his well-defined stomach. Your mouth watered, you wanted to feel all of him on your tongue. But when you reached for him, he brought your fingers up to his mouth instead, sucking the pussy juices off your fingertips. He kissed your knuckles and returned your hand to you.

“Keep those pretty fingers busy, sweetheart.”

He stroked slowly, watching you tentatively squeeze one of your breasts, your other hand rubbing and dipping between your folds.

“Fuck you’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned before he kneeled to position himself between your legs, aligning himself at your entrance.

“You just need a cock to fill you up, doesn’t matter which one, huh? That’s what you wanted, right?”

He rubbed himself against you, tip occasionally catching on a soft divot, but not fully being inserted inside.

“You’d even let your stepbrother fuck you, huh? That’s how much of a dirty little slut you are.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and desire. How could your body like it so much when he was being so vulgar, so mean?

“Please, I need—“ You panted, trying to push yourself onto his cock for release.

“Mmh? Speak up, princess. What do you need?”

“F-fill me up. I need you to fill me up.”

“Only good girls get filled up Y/N. But you’ve been talking back to me all day like a fucking brat. You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?

You nodded dumbly in agreement. He pushed inside you a little deeper, only to take it out again.

“P—lease, I’ll be good. Just—need you inside.”

If only the patients at Arkham Asylum could see you now. They’d probably grab front-row seats to see you pathetically begging for some cock.

“You could barely take my fingers, princess. You sure it’ll fit?”

He was right. It was a tighter fit than you anticipated, but you could feel him now hot and pulsating as he stretched you out.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. C’mon you can take it.” He cooed, muttering curses to himself until he finally bottomed out, fully seated inside you.

You moaned, holding onto his forearms as he rutted in and out of you. You could see his length disappear and reappear with every thrust, gathering a ring of your cream around his base.

“How do you feel princess?” He grunted out, pace quickening. “How does it feel to have me balls deep inside that tight little cunt?”

“It. Feels. So. Goo—Ahmmhfuck.” You clenched around him, voice vibrating with every thrust.

“Fuck, you’re milking me, sweetheart.” He laughed, voice smug. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you. Fuck, you’re so fucking dirty. You been thinking about my cock filling you up huh? Being my personal fleshlight? It’s everything you ever dreamed of right?”

You could tell he was enjoying this, enjoying degrading you as you laid helpless underneath him, your release depending entirely on him. It was infuriating that he had this much power over you, but the amount of pleasure he was currently giving you superseded your pride.

He pushed your thighs back as he went deeper into an unforgiving mating press, knees by your ears, not caring that you weren’t as flexible as he was.

“Such a good girl taking my cock so well. Wanted this for so long. You’re so pretty. You’re so fucking pretty. You feel so good; so good for me.”

He moaned into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your mouth and jaw.

“This pussy’s made for me. You’re made for me. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

You felt his balls smack heavily against your ass as he continued to pound his fat cock into your sensitive cunt, reaching your G-spot.

“Whose is it, baby? Whose pussy is it? Please, baby. Say it’s mine. Just for me.”

“I-it’s yours. O-only. Yours.” You gasped out, feeling a warmth blooming at the apex of your thighs as you came unraveled underneath him.

His length twitched as he unloaded thick ropes of cum inside you, some of it leaking out and down your ass as he thrusted deeper.

"That's right, take my cum. Take it, it's yours. It's all yours."

He continued to fuck his cum into you until your walls squeezed around him, coaxing out every last drop.

It was morning now and sunlight peeked out from between the gaps in your curtains. You grounded yourself back into your senses. Your satin pillowcase cooled your cheek, but there was an unfamiliar warmth pinning you down—an arm wrapped around your waist.

He was half-hard now, erection resting lightly against the plump of your ass. You could feel his chest rising and falling, warm against your back as he slept. Deep breaths in. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You liked the way you fit together, your soft curves snug against his hardened body.

You turned a little to try and meet his eyes but your stirring only prompted soft kisses at your shoulder, and a strong arm pulling you ever closer, willing you not to leave the bed.

“Good morning.” He said between nips and kisses, intertwining fingers in yours. “What do you want for breakfast, beautiful?”

“Hmm? You’re still here.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“‘m still here.” He mumbled against your neck. His morning voice became noticeably deeper when sleep still clung to it.

“Not a one night stand type of guy?”

He chuckled softly, the contented sound losing itself in the groove of your shoulder.

“Nope. More like one night and one morning stand.”

You smiled at the terrible joke but willed it away quickly before he could see it.

“I saw that smile,” He accused.

“No, you didn’t.” You tried to smother the corners of your mouth downward again. “You know for someone so smart you say a lot of stupid shit.”

“Aww, you think I’m smart, babe?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he probably had the dumbest smile plastered on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “You also realize you talk way too much right?”

“You weren’t saying that last night.” He palmed your breast, kneading it softly. “Got so turned on you were literally begging me to fuck you. You were all like ‘Please daddy, please fuck me.’”

“I did not say that shit, weirdo.”

“It was implied.” He simpered.

You couldn’t help it; you were giggling now too. “You are such a dumbass.”

“First I’m smart, now I’m a dumbass. Which one is it, hm?”

“Hmm, let me see…Which one is the quiet one, again?”

“You wouldn’t like it if I was quiet, though.” His voice had a hint of challenge in it.

You pursed your lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“See? I know that filthy shit gets you going. Wanna test that theory, baby?” He murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. “See if you’ll call me daddy?"

Evidently he wasn’t the only one who got off to dirty talk. His cock was now fully hard and pressing against your ass.

He rolled on his stomach, pulling you closer to him by the thighs. Your eyes fluttered closed as he nuzzled into your sex, laving and sucking, deep blue eyes locked on you. His lips curled into a smile against you when you moaned and sighed with pleasure.

Dick pulled up briefly, pussy drunk, wearing his spit and your essence on his face like a badge of honor. He peppered a languid trail of drowsy kisses from your mouth and up your jaw as you spoke.

“Wha-what happened to breakfast?” Your question spilled out breathlessly from the way his mouth worked, a futile attempt at remaining coherent. Losing face now meant inflating his ego, especially if you proved his little “theory” a bit too quickly.

“How about I eat you out first, then you let me fuck my cum down your throat later, yea?”

His suggestive whisper sent a heavy wave of arousal straight to your heat.

Fuck.

Your bodies became a desperate tangle of limbs; your legs wrapped around his hips as you bucked up to grind against him, wanting—no, needing— him back inside you. Breakfast was definitely going to have to wait.

#dick grayson x black reader #dick grayson x reader #x black reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x batsis #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #it’s my birthday month so! longer fic than usual #also I hit 100+ followers already 🫣#thanks for reading y’all #brfwrites

267 notes · View notes

angel-of-the-moons · 3 months

Note

How would Poe react if you sewed something for him? 👉👈 idk what, something nice or something silly. I think he'd appreciate it and I feel like he might be someone who's always giving gifts to ppl and no one thinks to get him anything.

Made With Love

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: None! Fluff!

A/N: As someone who sews a lot (sometimes by hand when I need to calm down) this is something I'd totally do askbdlsh

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You cursed as the needle slipped and pricked your finger, bright blood welling up in a tiny pinprick before you squeezed what your boyfriend designated your "blood-sponge".

It was just a spare chunk of fabric you sterilized every time you began sewing, because stabbing yourself with the thin little metal slivers was always inevitable. You had more callouses from hand-stitching and embroidering than you did working on fixing consoles and electronics.

You were an analyst, not just the person who repaired the much-needed tech for the Resistance.

A battle analyst, statistical analyst, a "tech jockey" some called you--but many simply knew you as Poe's "partner in crime" as you oversaw many of his flight missions and dogfights.

You tied off the last stitch and held the fabric up to the light.

Poe's last scarf had gotten torn to tatters in a cantina brawl; so, the next time you were planetside, you hit a local market and scored some nice fabric to knit him a new one. It was a wonderful pass-time for you, especially if you were stressed out. The repetitive motion of seeing and embroidering soothed your mind enough to relax. Once, Poe had even caught you passed out with a half-patched shirt clutched in your hands, your head lolled back on your chair, the angle making you snore loudly.

Poe actually had BB-8 snap a holo of it. He still says it's his favorite holo he has of you--completely relaxed and at peace. (Although the pain in your neck was awful when he picked you up and laid you in his bunk.)

The scarf you had made Poe this time had the Resistance emblem embroidered in bright colors to match his flight suit, as well as a tiny BB-8 next to it.

Just then, the voice of one of the air traffic monitors buzzes through your comm; "Hey, tech jockey. Your boyfriend's squad is back. If you high-tail it now, you'll be able to make it to the hangar before they land."

You grin and jump to your feet, folding the scarf and stuffing it in one of your deep back pockets as you made a mad scamper, scrambling to lace your boots back up to make your way to the hangar.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

"Poe!" You giggle excitedly, shouting across the hangar as the mechanics carefully extract BB-8 from Poe's X-Wing.

Poe turns to you with a grin, spreading his arms wide as you throw yourself into them; his thick limbs wrapping around you in a tight hug, picking you up and spinning you around with a very nice welcome-home kiss. May have had a bit too much tongue on his part, but you were just happy to have him back and be in his arms once more.

BB-8 trills at you as he sets you down nudging your leg affectionately, and you reach down to pat the little mech's cranium. "Awww, hey lil buddy! I missed you too!"

Poe grins again and slips an arm around your waist, his dark eyes glimmering mischievously. "So... How's the best analyst in the Resistance been doing since your handsome boyfriend has been doing suuuuper important scout work, eh?"

You roll your eyes and snort. "The usual, you goof. I've actually had a bit more downtime, lately. General Organa actually smacked me on the head and told me to go and get some rest when I overworked myself."

"Oooh, not surprised there. She's scary when you don't do what she says." He snickers, kissing your cheek again. "Anything else?"

You gasp, remembering your present, and fish it out of your fatigues. Poe tilts his head curiously at you, then, as you pull out the scarf.

"Here! I finished it today!" You chirp proudly.

Poe takes the scarf with his eyebrows raised high, holding it up to examine it. He grins when he spots the little bits of embroidery you did for him; BB-8 beeping happily and bumping into your shins affectionately when he spots his likeness in the fabric.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" He says, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing tightly. At his expression, you feel a lump of anxiety well up in your throat.

It is quickly quashed when he grins once more, his eyes lighting up as he slips the scarf over his head and hangs it from his neck, flicking the edge over his shoulder and striking a dramatic pose.

"How's it look? C'mon, tell me. Does it bring out my eyes?" He said, waggling his eyebrows. "I bet I can use it as a disguise!"

You clap your hands and laugh, "Poe... How would that even work?! People can still see your face!"

He pulls up the edge of the scarf and covers up the lower half of his face and nose, but you can still see his lips peek out from the fringe.

"Not if I hold it like this!" He says.

You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder playfully, "You're not funny, Flyboy."

"Heyyy! I'm adorable." He argues humorously, wagging his eyebrows once again. "And handsome, and talented, and--"

BB-8 cuts him off with a dismissive trill, tweeting as his antennae bob.

"You're right." You nod at the little astromech. "He is full of himself, too."

Poe clutched his proverbial pearls, gasping in offense at the two of you.

"Ow! Whose side are you on?!"

#🌙 answered #poe dameron #poe dameron star wars #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader

99 notes · View notes

fairuzfan · 4 months

Note

I saw your post about the Henna Night, hope it's ok for this comment from a Palestinian living in Diaspora who spent her child/teen/young lady years living in Palestine. Every village/city/family in Palestine of course does things a little different than others, this is my own experiences from going to like 100 weddings, lmao. Imo there is simply no Wedding like a Palestinian Wedding, it's the cultural backbone of our society gatherings. I personally hate when people compare a Henna Night to a Bridal Shower bc it's not interchangeable at all, but I acknowledge that westernization as well as accommodation's of Palestinians living in Diaspora has lead to people comparing Henna Night/Bridal Showers and have interjected Bridal Shower stuff into our tradition. Imo Henna Night is way more fun than the actual Wedding, I always loved going to those more. So the Bride's side of the family prepares for the Henna Night by inviting close family, friends, and usually women from the Groom's side as well. The Bride's family spends the day before or the day of the Henna Night preparing Henna Platters. As well as small bags of candy & small bags/cones of Henna paste as things to give to guests. Depending on the wealth of the family sometimes there more stuff but those are the main things, but usually there is always something to give the guests like tea, coffee, sodas, and sweets. During the Henna everyone wears Thobes, it's so beautiful to see the different styles of our Thobes. The Bride looks so beautiful in a Thobe/Headdress, I love it. The Bride's family also prepare platters of Henna decorated with flowers that (usually) the old woman/matriarchs will have the honor of carrying it on their heads (some dance without holding onto the platters with their hands! so iconic) as the women dance in a circle around the Bride. The grandmothers, or whichever woman with a good strong voice who Zagreet (idk how to do transliteration) but its singing where the lead singer will call out lines like "Heeyee this girl is the most beautiful in the world! Heeyeee we have come to celebrate her happiness! Heeyyeee may Allah's blessings fall upon this most gracious girl!" the lines are always made up on the spot so the singer has to have a sharp mind, the singer will also make up lines singing about the Bride, her smarts, beauty, personality, her generosity, or the generosity of her family, compliments to the Bride's mother, etc. These are always ended with the Ululation (trilling sound) that all women make at the end. During the Henna Night there's lots of singing, dancing, music playing, it always takes place at the Bride's Mother's house so its just such a cozy feeling of womanhood/family & bringing in the women of the new groom's family into the circle. Old women sitting on cushions/chairs with their canes, someone has a tubla (hand drum) & is playing, little girls in their thobes running around, teens showing off their thobes, the Bride's family, sisters, cousins, aunts, serving sweets & drinks, the Bride being celebrated. Continued...

omgggg i love reading this so much thank you.

yeah the bridal shower is not a great analogy because bridal showers in like the us are... not at all a celebration i feel like of the women the same way henna night is. you're right weddings are the cultural backbone in a way that i think a lot of nonpalestinians dont realize because of how many traditions they use throughout the whole ordeal.

72 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: this week has been a week!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You steer along to Naomi's directions, hesitant as she has you turn towards the mall. You're pretty sure this isn't the right way but you have no idea. You just assumed they all lived in the same suburbs.

"Um, Nay?" You roll slowly between the rows of cars, "is this a shortcut or something?"

"Pfft, nope! We're going shopping. We need something cute to wear to the party."

"Shopping?" You frown, "I don't... have money."

"I do," she wiggles her phone, "the miracle of technology. I still have all the cards on my cell."

"Oh, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Look, we can't show up looking like this," she whines, "besides, it'll be fun. Girls' day!"

"Mmm, well, I'm fine in what I'm wearing," you shrug as you look for a spot.

Her phone lights up and she quickly reads the screen, blacking it out and rolling her eyes. She flips down the visor and checks herself in the mirror as you strain to see around her. You turn into an empty spot and roll up the windows.

"You have to get something extra cute. It's not about the boys, alright? It's about us."

"Sure," you say, letting your seat belt repel as you stare across the lot.

You still can't believe it. You're effectively homeless and Naomi doesn't seem to care. Well, she's used to the uncertainty by now, you can understand now how it made her so erratic.

You exhale. What else can you do? Wallow in reality. The distraction might do you well. No wonder she's always up to something. Anything. It's not pointless when the important things are so scary.

"Come on," she nudges you, "I wanna dress you up!"

You peek at her and give in with a nod. You grab your purse and fix your glasses. Anything to waste time, not that you're looking forward to anything.

She leads the way down the aisle of cars, almost skipping. You can't decide if she's compartmentalizing well or hopelessly optimistic. You drag your soles up the tarmac as she rushes ahead to the mall doors.

Inside, the crowd makes you want to turn around. Something about seeing the families clustered together and the teenagers hanging off each other makes you feel even more out of place. They all have somewhere to go after this. Ugh, how quickly it all dimmed to gray.

"Alright," Naomi hooks her arm through yours, "let's find the shortest dresses in this damn place."

"Nay," you huff.

"You're gonna rock it. Trust," she giggles, "you always look so sexy." She leans into you, "and tonight, we're gonna get lit."

☀️

Hours spent traversing the mall and your feet thrum. The day is far from over. As you drive down the cul de sac you dread the finish to the long day. A party. You're not a party person and the last one you went to…

Yikes.

Naomi has her seat belt off before you even stop. You shift into park as she reaches over to hit the horn, honking up at the large house. She trills and gets out, grabbing the bags out of the back as she watches the door expectantly.

You climb out on your side, lingering nervously as she heads towards the winding little walkway to the steps. The door opens as she gets to the bottom. Harry greets her with a smirk and a wink, opening his arms.

"Kitty cat," he purrs, "funny seeing you here."

"Whatever, Harry," she chirps, "don't act like you weren't waiting for me."

"Mm," his eyes flit towards you, "didn't tell me you were bringing a friend."

"Two for the price of one," she lets him kiss her lips, "you know how… he is. Fucking nightmare. We need to let loose."

"Bring any goodies?" He looks at the bags in her hand curiously.

"No drinks," she pouts, "sorry, baby."

You slowly make your way up the walkway and hide behind her. You feel like an intruder. You wouldn't have let her bring you if you knew you weren't invited.

"It's fine," Harry says as he backs up, "Peter'll be here. Him and Gwen are on the outs again."

“Boo. So… can we come in or what? We gotta get all thotty for the party.”

He scoffs and waves her inside. You trail a few paces back and give a sheepish smile. He hardly seems concerned with you as he watches Naomi’s ass. Right, you’re not expecting much tonight. Really, you don’t know what to expect.

“Come on, sweetie,” Naomi looks over her shoulder as she struts on, “let’s get you dolled up.”

☀️

The lilac sheath overlaid in indigo and silver sequins is much to scant to your liking. When you tried it on in the store, you swore you'd put it back. Naomi insisted and put it in the basket before you could argue.

The dress is even skimpier than you remember, or maybe it’s Naomi’s insistence that you skip the bra. She didn’t like how the straps peeked out under the narrow purple ones. You’ll be spending most of this occasion with your arms crossed.

You hear voices as you follow her down the hall. You feel ridiculous. She spent too much time prettying you up and it doesn’t feel like long enough. The one thing she couldn’t convince you of is to leave your glasses behind. The last thing you need is to be stumbling into strangers.

“Harry,” she squeals as she takes you through the open sliding door into the backyard. There’s a folding table lined with colourful shot glasses and a cooler underneath. There are several guests already milling about and gabbing noisily. “There you are.”

She saunters forward and you stay stuck to the ground as you watch her sling her arms around Harry. He lets her and puts his hand on her lower back. They kiss, long and sloppy. You knew it wouldn’t be pretty with Naomi sipping vodka while she got dressed.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming,” a voice shakes you from your worry.

You look over as Peter steps up. A reddish curl hangs down his forehead as he grins at you. He wears a striped short-sleeve button up and teal shorts. His muscled chest peeks out the top as he holds a red solo cup.

“How about a drink?” He offers.

“I don’t know–”

“Sort of the whole deal here, to have some fun,” he says, “she sure will be.”

He glances across the yard as Naomi hangs off of Harry, his hand now firmly on her ass. Oh, yeah, you don’t know why you’re disappointed. You cross your arms and turn back to Peter. You catch his eyes flick up from your chest. Great.

“Uh, sure, why not, I’ll have a soda.”

“Soda and…” he tilts his head coyly.

Your furrow your brows, “come on, specs, live a little,” he grabs your hand and you teeter as he tugs on you. You give in if only to keep from tripping over your own toes. He takes you to the long table and grabs two of the shot glasses, presenting the neon jello shots with a devilish grin.

“Let’s start with the appetizer.”

You accept the orange one. You examine it. You’ve never had one before. It jiggles as you move the glass.

“Go on,” he clacks his glass against yours and raises it, swiftly dumping it in his mouth.

You sigh and do the same. One shot won’t hurt. It’s sweet enough and mostly cool. You can taste the alcohol for sure but it’s not awful. You put down the empty cup and gulp down the melting gelatin.

“Mmm,” you hum through your full mouth.

“Alright, so what’s next? You want a cooler? You a beer girl?” He bends and flips open the cooler.

“Really, that’s good for me–”

“Raspberry lemon twist,” he pulls out a bright pink can, “that seems like a you drink.”

He holds it out. You stare at it. He still has his red cup in his other hand. You reluctantly take the can. He looks at you until you crack the tab open.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He winks and takes a drink from his cup, “better catch up,” he pulls the brim back, “oh, and before I get obnoxious, I should tell you how good you look.”

“Uh, thank you,” you take a tentative sip. It’s not bad, stringent but palatable.

“You seem… grim,” his smile falls, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Look, I’m not looking for a therapy session but there’s obviously something going on–”

“Really, it’s nothing,” you crane and look for Naomi as you hear her giggle.

“Ah, yeah, trouble follows her around,” he says, “she can take care of herself. It’s a party. You need to let loose. You’re wound so tight, I’m sure you could use it.”

You turn back to him, “not to be rude but what do you care?”

“Well, I’m going through a break up. Again,” he looks into his cup and swishes around the contents, “and I need to get a little bit loose myself. So, you and me, we’re sticking together. Think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Gwen so, yeah.”

“Ah, got it,” you say dryly.

“No, get it,” he insists as he pokes the bottom of your can, “let’s go, sunshine. Get messy.”

You let your eyes fall back to the top of the can. What is the point in staying sober in a sea of drunk idiots? You’re done being the wallflower and you’re done tiptoeing around. It’s one night and you’re not going to spend it thinking about Steve or your mom.

You lift the can and gulp from the top, stopping before you can choke. You cover your mouth and swallow painfully, holding back a bubbly belch. Peter chuckles and empties his cup.

“There we go,” he encourages you, “I knew you had it in you.”

☀️

The world is slanted. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Your vision is hazy at the corners and each step is uneven. You have your arms slightly out as you make your way across the room.

You fall onto the sofa next to Naomi as Harry talks loudly beside her. As usual, she’s in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the limelight. She looks over as you jostle her and she slumps towards you.

“Heyyyyyyy, you’re here,” she says as if she forgot.

“Mmm,” you withhold a hiccup, “yeah…”

She smiles and reaches up to pet your cheek, “are you drunk?”

“Little,” you admit as she caresses your face.

“She’s blitzed,” Peter perches on the armrest on your other side, “told her not to keep pace with me.”

“Whatever,” you blather, your tongue clumsy as his chirping piques your irritation. “You’re the one… giving me drinks.”

“Aw, babe, you’re silly,” Naomi preens as her hand tickles down your neck, “Pete, Pete,” she hisses as she waves in his direction, leaning over you, “doesn’t she look fucking hot?”

You grab the hem of your dress, remembering how short it is. She flutters her fingers down the strap and gropes your chest. You swat her away and squeal.

“You should see what’s underneath,” Naomi slurs.

“Nay,” you catch her hand as she tries to grab you again.

“What? Why are you being like this?” She snips, “she sleeps in my bed and now she’s acting like a little prude.”

“Naomi,” you exclaim.

“I made her cum, you know? She was whining and whimpering–”

“Naomi, stop,” you beg as her other hand crawls back up along your cheek, “shut up.”

“Why, baby? I’m being nice,” she looks at you with her glassy eyes. She’s so drunk her head wobbles. “You like it when I’m nice, don’t you?”

She leans in as you hear Peter snicker. Before you can stop her, her lips are on yours. You wriggle helplessly and push on her shoulder. She slips her hand behind your head, keeping you pinned between her and the couch as her other hand creeps along your thigh. You hear others oohing and awing at her scene.

You whine and shove her as hard as you can. She recoils with a gasp as she wipes the slobber from her lips. You can’t believe what she just did. You know she’s drunk, and you are too, but you don’t understand why she’d do that.

“Ah, come on, that was fucking hot,” Peter growls.

“Yeah, that was sexy,” Harry agrees, “go on, girls, let’s get the full show–”

You grunt as you shove yourself up to your feet. It’s difficult to get them under you as your head swims dizzily. You feel Naomi try to latch on but you swipe her away. Peter pinches your ass and you yipe as you stumble and hurry away. What’s going on?

You stagger across the room without looking back. Are they following you? Where’s your phone? You have to call your mom. You’re scared.

You find your cell outside and find your mother’s number. You stop from pressing down on the screen. You can’t call her, she hates you.

You clasp your cell tight and wade through the shadows around the house. You sidle through the tight space between the fence and the siding and come out to the front lawn. Your car is blocked in by a bunch of others. It doesn’t even matter, you can’t see straight, let alone drive.

Your phone flashes suddenly and you answer without checking the screen.

“Hello?” You garble as you walk aimlessly along the driveway.

“Hey, sweetie, you okay?”

“Dad?” You utter as the deep voice surprises you.

“No, honey, it’s me. Bucky. I’ve been calling you–”

“Bucky…” you mope, “no. I want… I want my mom. I want my dad, please.”

“Doll, where are you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I know what you did,” you close your eyes and push your lip out.

“Sweetheart, where’s Naomi?”

“Naomi?” You repeat, “she– please help me.”

Your legs fold and you sit in the gravel. You can’t move. You don’t want to. Moving means you need to think and you’re all out of thoughts. You don’t know where to go or what to do. You’re trapped here in this suburban hellscape. Drunk and dumb and desperate.

“Are you with Naomi?” He asks as you hear a jingle on his end.

“She’s here,” you admit as you hang your head.

“Alright, sweetie, stay on the phone,” he says calmly. The even keel of his timbre comforts you, despite everything, despite his lies, his certainty eases the swell of nerves, “how are you feeling? Why don’t you look around and tell me something. Find something red for me.”

“Red?” You sniffle.

“Yeah, like I Spy,” he says, “find something red. Make me guess.”

“Um, uh,” you stutter and look around, “alright…” you hear rustling, a soft click, and footsteps. He’s moving but you don’t know what he’s doing, “I see… something red,” you focus on the lawn gnome’s cap, the round-bellied figurine standing in the garden.

“Alright, is it something… big?” He asks.

You squint and focus on his question. Hm, it’s not very big but compared to the flowers, it is. Ugh, you don’t know. You’re too drunk.

“Doll,” Bucky urges, “stay with me. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #all the good girls go to hell #marvel #mcu #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

351 notes · View notes