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sainzfilm · 1 year

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charles leclerc x bookstore owner!reader pls? :)

pairing: charles leclerc x bookstore owner!reader

a/n: god….this trope is just the cutest thing and idk i love it and it’s such an adorable meet cute 🤭 hope you like this, lovely!! :)

taglist: @svechyaho @squderia @idkiwantchocolatee @koufaxx @melonunicornbby @myescapefromthislife @leclerclvr @slut-era @pachiibatt @nicolesainz @cosmicleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @barzysreputation

join my taglist here!

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Charles took a sip of his coffee, waiting for his change from the cashier at the café he decided to spend his afternoon in. Breezy afternoon, kids and teenagers roaming around Monaco, the smell of pastries at the nearby bakery – it was a pretty perfect day.

Although, curiosity sparked inside Charles as he looked out the window to see children running across the street to what looked like a quaint little bookstore.

“Hey, uh,” Charles looked at the cashier momentarily before pointing at that store, “La librairie là-bas est-elle neuve?” Is that bookstore over there new?

“Ouais c'est ça,” The cashier nodded, handing the change and receipt to Charles, “Les enfants, les adolescents et les adultes l'adorent. J'ai entendu dire que le propriétaire est une gentille fille.” Yeah it is. Kids, teenagers, and adults love it. I heard the owner is a nice girl.

Charles shoved the change in his pocket, thanking the cashier with a smile and walking out the café and towards the bookstore.

The tiny bell attached above the door softly rang as Charles entered, making his presence known to the not-so-quiet bookstore. Children of different ages were gathered on the floor, seated on pillows, while they listened to what he thought could have been the most soothing voice he’s heard.

“And in the end, Goldilocks made sure that she will user her own chair, bed, and eat her own porridge,” You read to the children, closing the book and smiling at them, “As-tu aimé?” Did you like it?

As the children eagerly expressed their agreement to your question, you looked up to give the Monégasque a small smile before redirecting your attention to the children in front of you.

Charles figured out that you must’ve been the nice girl the cashier was talking about – he would definitely agree from how the children fawned over you. As he walked down the aisle of shelves, he hummed to himself and skimmed his fingers through the spines lined up.

“Bonjour! Tu dois être nouveau,” You smiled as you stood beside him, taking off your storytelling hat, “Vous cherchez un livre en particulier?” Hello! You must be new here, are you looking for a specific book?

It would be an understatement if Charles were to say he was…enamored. Maybe more of like ‘Oh my god, you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and perhaps you’re the most beautiful woman I laid my eyes on.’

“Bonjour, oui, je suis nouveau ici,” Charles chuckled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “No no, I just wanted to see if anything…catches my eye.” Hello, yeah, I’m new here.

“Well, we do have a few books of the month right by the counter,” You replied, pointing towards the table, “Most people would make a beeline for it if they’re undecided.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He nodded with a smile, “So, are you new here? Around Monaco?”

Before you could reply, a little girl ran over and started tugging at your coat, “Mademoiselle Y/N! J'ai choisi ces livres de princesse pour que je les achète aujourd'hui!” Miss Y/N! I picked these princess books out for me to buy today.

“Claire, calme-toi,” You laughed, patting her head gently and turning back to Charles, “Sorry, my favorite customer seems to be eager today. I’ll be at the counter if you need anything.” Claire, calm down.

As Claire held onto your hand and dragged you to the counter, Charles laughed softly before following you to the counter and checking out the books lined up for the month.

“Il semble que vous ayez économisé beaucoup d'argent, Claire,” You grinned, scanning the books and looking down at the little girl, “Have you finished the other books you bought yesterday?” It looks like you saved a lot of money, Claire.

“Bien sur, Mademoiselle! Maman me récompense pour faire des corvées,” Claire giggled and tiptoed over the counter, “All done! Will I get a new bookmark?” Of course, Miss! Mama rewards me for doing chores.

“That’s good to hear, Claire,” You smiled and reached over to ruffle up her hair, “Of course, you will. In fact, get another book, my gift for you.”

Claire squealed in delight before running off back to the aisles, giving Charles an opening for him to approach you once more, “That’s actually real nice of you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Claire’s a delight to have here in the bookstore,” You smiled fondly, putting the bookmarks in between the books, “And to answer you, I moved here a few years back.”

“I guess I don’t end up on this side of the street often,” Charles laughed, “Odd that I’ve missed out on it.”

“Well, I guess things come in your life when you need it,” You shrugged with a smile, leaning over the counter to welcome back a smiling Claire, “What’s that you picked out?”

“It’s about a prince meeting this princess, mademoiselle!” Claire exclaimed, pushing the book up on the counter, “I read the back and it said, après avoir longtemps cherché l'amour, le prince l'a finalement trouvé au moment où il s'y attendait le moins.” After looking for love for the longest time, the prince finally found it when he least expected it.

“Maybe you’ll get your own prince, Claire,” You tapped her nose and packed the remaining book inside the bag, “Before you leave, quel est notre mot du jour?” What’s our word of the day?

“Notre mot du jour est le destin!” The little girl giggled, grabbing the paper bag from you, “See you on Thursday, mademoiselle!” Our word of the day is destiny!

Charles looked up from the book he was reading. Destiny. Would stumbling upon your bookstore and what you had just discussed with Claire be completely coincidental?

“So, what reeled you in here today?” You smiled and turned your attention back to him, “If you’ve said that you never crossed this side of the street.”

“Well, maybe destiny,” He nonchalantly replied with a small smile on his face, “It definitely won’t be the last time I’m crossing this side of the street.”

Leaning over the counter and holding your hand out, you smiled, “My name’s Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Charles smiled, shaking your hand and feeling a bit of butterflies erupting in his stomach, “I’m Charles.”

Who knew that an impulsive decision to visit your bookstore could lead to something magical – such as possible love? Charles mentally thanked himself and whatever Gods existed out there because he definitely believes in destiny now.

bonus scene!

Charles whistled as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands together and checking his watch. 7:48 am. You were supposed to arrive 18 minutes ago.

“I’m here! I’m here,” You exclaimed, panting and leaning over your knees as you caught your breath, “Why are you here so early?”

“The question is why are you late?” Charles chuckled, handing your morning coffee, “I told you, I’m helping out.”

“Overslept. I was looking at books to order online,” You grumbled, unlocking the door and taking off your coat, “Is this your way to get me to say yes?”

“Oh please,” Charles scoffed, flipping the sign to signify the store was open, “I know you already will.”

“Can’t believe I’m dating a guy with a big ego,” You laughed, setting up the register, “What makes you think so?”

Grinning as he leaned over the counter, Charles replied, “No reason. A certain misdial could say so.”

Freezing in your place, your eyes widened as you groaned and covered your face in your hands, “Oh mon dieu. You jerk! You could’ve ended the call!”

“It was cute, you rambling about how you thought I was such a dashing prince,” He chuckled, reaching over to squish your cheeks and kissing your nose, “Nice to hear you call me your boyfriend though.”

Mumbling with a pout, you rolled your eyes and sighed in defeat, “I hate you.”

Charles shrugged, scrunching his nose and grabbing the feather duster to wander off to the aisles, “The more you hate, the more you love!”

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thesunflowerstories · 1 year

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//The kinda love that'll always live in you//

You remember your first crush, that stole your heart when you guys were merely in kindergarten, you remember thinking of him as your best friend, getting excited to meet him at school, though you forget how you felt when you were with your friends, you had stupid dreams of building a building-block castle with him. You were just a kid, so unaware of how love felt in your heart, yet you were just there carrying it everywhere like it's your favorite toy. //

You always knew what he was doing, where he was going, who he was friends with, what he was good at, and what his favorite food was, but the painful knowledge of knowing you were not his favorite person, pained you. And yet your heart won't give up. He was perfect like your spine had a part of his, and you could think of a universe where things just clicked between you both, and in your world, you both defined "happily ever after" and that was all you needed to hold on and hope. You kept refilling hope like it's petrol for your constantly aching heart. It slowly became your drug until something sharp and sturdy hit your head. The rose-tinted glasses cracked and shattered into shards of broken promises you made to yourself, but you slowly picked them up, diligently enough to not hurt yourself this time, and wear them like a charm bracelet, they keep gleaming of hope and love you once saw as if it all happening. You always refused to throw it away, didn't ya? //

The love that was shared and cared for under the name tag of friendship, there was a protective layer of dismissal of the obvious, coz you both thought what you had was too precious to strip off the coating. This person was constantly and consciously living in your brain, their ghost remained in your heart, whispering sweet nothings and the cheesiest of romantic lines. You know you'll cringe at the gestures when you mature up, but you still went for it, coz well it's love and why won't anyone go for it? This love gradually withers and yet when you remember it fondly it takes you back to the age of innocence, that's lost by now.//

On a breezy evening when you randomly end up locking eyes with a guy who was softly petting a stray puppy, you feel some new spark lit in between the glances you stole of him, whoever he was he seemed nice and you'll think of him at very odd times and smile at how simple love can be, living between stolen glances and intimacy of shared smiles between strangers.//

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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LOST IN ITALY.

Where Harry's cute assistant gets lost in city of Italy and the thought of loosing her drives him bullocks.

Flatulent gust of breezy wind kept wiggling through Harry’s coffee lovelocks, sunshine bounces against his soft skin and his pink heart-shaped mouth stays puckered as he takes in the beauty of his surroundings with his cheek smashed over his wrist – which’s resting atop the rooftop of yacht and his head perks up puppy like when tufty giggles maroons in his ears.

He gazes his cute assistant from under his ray bans and skims back a timid smile when her face beams with glee, her cotton puffy sleeved sundress blows away from the breeze giving glimpses of her plump thighs and Harry sucks in a breath snapping his eyes away.

“Harry look s’beautiful!” She squeals taking another picture of landscape with her grandpa's vintage Yoshika camera and Harry just rumbles his lips, shrugs and slumps back, a lazy mumble of “mehhh” elicits past his lips.

She’s just so endearing, and cute and fucking adorable it’s hard for Harry to keep from not babying her.

When he first went to sets of My Policemen he considered her rather unprofessional, as everyone kept on finding her but it seemed like she vanished into thin air, turned out when Harry took a break in his cubby she was lighting up saffron and black scented candles, “Oh! Thought you’d like comin' back to nice smelling room —-- holy fudge .... by the way, me Y/N your new assistant for the meantime.” His all grumpiness defused into bunch of reverence for her.

She'd always beat him to bringing in brekkie and smoothies for him and her fellows, sometimes giving him the velvet muffins before he goes back home --- Harry became such a drooly lovey puppy for her that he decided to keep it stern from then.

He’s trying. He’s prolly gonna fail.

Y/N isn’t very immune to water trips and she was well aware that a sickness is coming – but so soon? She didn’t know that!

So, when she chokes onto nothing and then gags driving Harry into fritz. Harry tries to keep his balls in place and not panic because that’d just spill his secret and expose him.

He quickly facades himself under stoniness, “Christ! Y/N if you die on me —-,” Though, grabs her elbow lightly and walks her to the edge of the deck.

Y/n smacks his hand away. Glares him and grunts pushing her hair away aggressively, “Don’t tell me what to do I’ll die wherever the hell I want!” His pupils resembling to that of clashing waves of sea blows away comically as she huffs and pushes past him.

“Better die and ghost you for life.” She gags into her elbow again and he rushes to grab her hand, when she pulls away with a tut he rolls his eyes brings his glasses to the bridge of his nose and looks at her from under the brown sunnies, “Jeez just holdin' a hand, not gonna slip a ring, ‘s that what yer afraid of.”

“Just admit you’re desperate to hold my hand.” She smirks up at him and he cackles, then dims into nervous chuckles because oh fuck he’s getting caught red handed.

“No.” He mutters.

How much she resists not to pout and turn all fussy over his denial she ends up doing so and it’s his turn to smirk cheekily at her.

“Are you mad? You look mad.” He wiggles his finger at her and she grumbles folding her arms infront of her bosom and cranes her head to side, “I’m not mad.”

“Yer pretty face’s all screwed up, like you’re mad.” He nibbles at her and she glowers him --- sighing at last, the wisp of her hair falling in her eyes, her lips plush and glossy from sick.

“I’m perturbed, not mad.”

Then there’s an overrated pause of silence and heartbeats before Harry pokes her knee.

“You still look mad.” His face splits into a wide cheeky grin – showing his bunny teeth and she stands up hastily wobbling a little.

“’M’not mad! But I’ll be soon Harry Styles!!!!” She goes for smacking him at chest but he jerks back and sneaks his way out squealing annoyingly, “Mommy come save me from this feisty sea-creature.”

“You mean a mermaid?” She giggles.

“No. Frogfish.” He deadpans.

“I’m not talking to you ever again!” She cries out and turns away from him but he barks out a laugh --- riling her up is the most entertaining thing and seeing her make cute fussy faces another.

“’Kay, sorry! Wouldn’t do it again.” He toddles behind her and glides his forearm against her clavicles bringing her to his front, “Says this everytime!” She squirms pushing him away but he’s ten times stronger than her and even if she’s ... she’d want to spend some more time like this.

“Wouldn’t call ye' frogfish —-.. from now on.” She nods. Humming in agreement and he turns her, holding her from shoulders and looks down at her with glinting eyes and wide toothy mouth.

“How ‘bout blobfish? They look more funny.”

“I’m gonna kill you, Harry Styles!”

They were given a loft infront of the shore 10 minutes drive away from the shooting place and after fighting over who'll occupy the bed, bickering and pillow fighting over it and almost making it creaky loose bench Y/N went back to living room telling him that he snores so much, “Sorry but ‘m too sensitive to piggy snorey noises – better sleep outside.” He was fuming and gritty mess, flailing his limbs like a baby because he was “the hair on his directors head” away from sharing the bed with her.

“Whateva! your loss. Don’t come t'me beggin’ to pop your backbones.” He told her in high pitched mimickness and flumped under cool sheets.

His one hour nap turned into two then three. In the meantime, Y/N made a sandwich from the fresh veggies piled in the fridge, sipped onto her matcha drink sitting beside the window and enjoyed he view, even went through her socials.

Realized that she’s missing him around her terribly even if it’s just jokes and giggles and shit, whatever, so she took her camera and went outside to take pictures of shore and the purple sky battling with hue of clouds.

She got so charmed with Italy's beauty that she kept on walking and taking pictures, only to realize when the bustle of crowd dropped into tranquil quietness and she found herself into some unknown street.

She’s fucked.

She’s lost.

She has got nothing,

Not even her phone.

She contemplates to knock on the house doors and ask for locations but she’s petrified of the idea and tries to find some shop, so she could call someone and ask them to pick her up.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumbest decision, she has ever taken in her life.

When she sees no passer by, none tourists no-one in sight and the daylight defusing and darkness laughing and taunting her tears springs in her eyes --- bubbling at the corners and weeping down furiously.

Her heartbeats drops dead when she sees a group of men approaching towards her. She runs away hiding into the dark tunnel and clamps her mouth shut from crying out loud when they walk away -- they weren’t about to do anything to her – it was just her feared instincts.

“Harry ......” She whisper-cries into her wrist, her legs weak and trembly making her tumble down into dusty stoned pavement, her back getting scratched from the bricked wall of tunnel.

Harry woke up to pin-drop silence. Void of the sun that was once glimmering through the window, “Y/N.” He grogs out, knuckling the sleepiness away and trudged out finding the room empty.

It startles him. Waking him up properly now. A sweat flushes down his spine when he couldn’t even find her in the washroom and at the door-steps.

He dials her number and finds it at the coffee table, gruff cruses breathes out from his mouth at that.

FuckFuckFuckFuck.

His heart feels like someone’s squeezing it mercilessly in their grip when he goes outside, but couldn’t spot her and he finds it difficult to breathe, chest heaving as he snaps his head in every direction to look for the face he’s oh so in love with.

Where are you, Y/N?

Maybe, she’s angry with me? Did I hurt her in any way? Oh, fuck. I’m such a bitch.

Now, she’s angry with me and hiding in some corner cursing me out.

I have to bring her back.

So, he calls anyone in connection with Y/N in hopes that she’s with anyone of them and when there were, “no mate --- maybe check in the washroom...” and “last time she texted, said she’s going out to take pictures.”

Harry’s face pales at that. Sick to his stomach. His fists tighten by his sides to keep his calm the world around him spins for a moment and he stables himself with the nearby railing.

Bad thoughts spirals in his mind, how much he avoids them it frightens him like his worst enemy.

What if she’s hurt? It hurts him in heart even to think that.

Got into an accident and they took her?

Fuck.

What if some mafia has kidnapped her.

Obviously, Italy is famous for mafias ..... No!No!No! Harry shut up, shut up, shut uppppp!!

He screams internally to pause everything and think rationally.

He searches for her everywhere. In every street. His feet hurting until now and he chokes onto a sob, not even wanting to think of getting police involved and still not able to have her back.

He shouts for her name. Halting past anyone looking like her, that mini dress she flaunted infront of him with a gorgeous smile –-- asked him how it looked on her and he wasn’t very interested to give a response.

If he could take all of it back and praised her like his life depended on it, only if he’d told her how much he loves her, her making sure he’s comfortable in his cubby, her bringing cold milk drinks for him, dividing her oreos with him.

His hands shakes by his side, his lip twitching constantly and his legs trembles pathetically with each step he takes.

He stops. Narrows his eyes to squint through the darkness and he feels like someone blew oxygen back in his lungs, his knees weakening at the sight of some girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders slump and her head downwards as she clutches the edge of bench, rocking on it with quite sniffles.

He prays that it’s her.

Upon, hearing the footsteps Y/N looks up and those sweet eyes are enough for him to recognize her in between many people.

“Harry?” Her voice feeble and scared.

“Oh baby .....” He mumbles. Rushing towards her, stumbling back a bit when she flies in his arms and latches to him like the missing piece of her body.

His palms curves into her ribs, her face smashed into the crook of her neck – her tears wetting his skin instantly and his cheek squished atop her sweaty hair, he hugs her for dear life making her legs dangle in the air, she sobs nuzzling deeper into his throat and he caresses her shoulders to soothe her cries down. Kisses the side of her temple with tender affection and sighs in relief.

“Shhh. Shh baby, ‘s okay. I’ve found y’now ..... ‘m here sweetheart ‘s alright.” He doesn’t stop splodging soft pecks to her forehead – scared that if he’ll she’ll get lost from his arms again.

Her hiccups painful not letting her take a breather and Harry puts her down on her feet gently, taking her face in his clammy hands and hooks his thumb into her hair gazing into her glassy eyes intensely, “Hey look at me lovie’ just .. focus on me alright?” She nods at his plea grabbing his wrists and follows his breathing pattern.

He glances back at the bench and goes to grab her camera but she cries out fisting the hem of his corduroy shirt in her tiny hands, “No!” could barely choke out from her dry throat and he turns his attention back down onto her, strokes the rosy apple of her cheeks and pets her head.

“Not leavin’ yer side baby .. was bout to get your camera fo’ you. Could come with me if you don’t like stayin' away.” He assures her softly and trots towards the bench with his arms still around her as she keeps on hiding her face into his bicep.

They walk down the street like that, she has calmed down letting a sniffle slip here and there --- this kind of scenario has never happened to her before – she has never been outside of her home city before too.

He feels her tummy screech for food so asks her, chin butted atop her head, “You’re hungry, petal. Let’s get pizza.” She doesn’t feel like eating though. When she shakes her head – squeezing him more. He takes her from shoulders looking down at her with gentleness and brushes a strand of hair behind.

“Just a tad, darlin'. I know a delicious take away round the corner ... could eat it sittin' by shore.” He offers her with a smile and punches the air happily, whistling when she agrees.

When she giggles softly, defrosting back from numbness Harry spins them a little overly gleeful.

“Got me sweet girl back.” He exclaims ducking down to kiss her cheek and now when she’s less wobblish, her lungs fills with bunches of butterflies.

Blush splatters on her features. As Harry aligns his tanned arm with her delicate one and locks their fingers together lulling it backs and forth between them lovingly.

He keeps her tucked under his chin and snuggled in his arms all the time, even while waiting in the line for the take away.

“Ow!” Squeaks, “Ow. Ow.” Jumps on his tippy toes upon balancing the hot pizza on his palm.

Grins like a mad man when succeeds in making her laugh, takes her hand and helps her climb down slippery stones.

Goosebumps arises on her skin from shyness when he coils his strong arm around her to pick her up, with pizza in his other hand and giggles breathily in her ear upon hearing her squeals.

She sits in between his knees. Leans against his chest and inhales his woodsy vanilla scent, nibbles onto the crust while hearing his heartbeat.

“You scared the living hell out of me, lovie’ ... thought —-... thought I’d never be able to have you back again ... proper vanished.” He croaks out. Runs his nose up and down the sweet curve of her neck.

“Made me realise ... that I don’t want to be away from you, ever.” Y/n's breath hitches at that and she turns in his embrace. Looks at him with surprised doe eyes and coos when his eyes gloss over with wetness, that he’s forcing to keep at waterline.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“You do?” She gasps.

He bobs his head giddily, “Can you picture it? You and I together?” He murmurs mellow street light dancing between them.

“’Us'? I like the sound of that....” She smiles searching for his hand and he grasps it eagerly like he was yearning for it.

“Kay then, when could I take you on a date?” He grins. Dimples mauving deep and pretty.

“This isn’t a date?”

“We’re in Italy. The sky's so romantic and I’ve got you, seems like a date to me....” She peppers kisses to each rosy gap of his knuckles and his inside bursts like they never did before.

“Kay then. It’s memorable too, you got lost on our first day –--”

“Harryyyy....” She whines nudging him in belly with her elbow. “’Kay we could change that.” He laughs. Showering her in kisses and her laughs whirls loudly into quite air, trying to squirm away from his tickles.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Special Order

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, fingering, breeding and mentions of forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Lee Bodecker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Lee Bodecker + “Why are you crying?” + breeding/forced pregnancy + y/n is a waitress and the sheriff is obsessed with her, and what better way to make her his 4ever than put some babies on her.

“He’s here again,” Mandy said as you loaded up your tray.

You didn’t need to ask who, you heard his gruff response as he came in and was seated in his usual booth. He was always alone but insisted on a whole family-sized table to himself. You sighed and gave Mandy a look.

“I’ll just get this taken care of then see to him,” you promised as you turned carefully.

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t dealin’ with him no more and he won’t deal with no one but you,” she whined and put a ticket in the window.

“Yeah, I know,” you made yourself smile, “stubborn man that one.”

“I ain’t know why he prefers you,” Selma said as she loaded the coffee machine, “probably ‘cause none of us got the patience for that.”

“Patience,” you scoffed, “not what I would call it.”

You swept over to the family of five and set out the plates one at a time. You finished up at the table and replaced your tray on the stack. You looked at the sheriff and he stared back expectantly. He did that, just watched until you came over.

You went over with a sickly sweet smile and took out your notepad. You tapped your stubby pencil on the paper.

“And what are we gettin’ today, sheriff?” you asked in your sugary tone.

“Ah, now don’t be usin’ that voice with me, honey,” Sheriff Bodecker said as he fiddled with the menu.

“You need to start treatin’ the other girls nice,” you retorted.

“I don’t like the other girls,” he read his menu and frowned, “I never tried the… onion dip.”

“Uh huh,” you said unimpressed, “well, I’ll just warn you, sheriff, I can’t and I won’t stop Mandy from spitting in between the bread.”

He frowned at you and put the menu down. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m tryna be rude, honey--”

“What did I tell you about callin’ me that? I’ll overlook it once or twice but I’m not one to put up with your gull, you know that,” you lowered your brows at him.

“I’m not tryna be rude, miss,” he corrected himself, “I’m only… I only prefer you is all.”

“Sure, sure, is it my sunny smile or my breezy demeanour,” you teased, “the onion dip then?”

“Club sandwich, extra bacon… miss,” he folded up the menu, “please and thank you.”

“I’ll have Mandy bring it right over,” you said, “now you don’t make me come back, I got other customers.”

👮

When the diner closed, you took your usual route home. Your tips were tucked deep in your old purse and your scuffed soles padded on the pavement, then the dirt path that trailed off to the old country house. You lived with your ma on her father’s ancient farm, your pops long dead.

As you turned up the hill that led to the long drive, a flash of lights stopped you in your tracks. You looked up at the distant house, a single window lit by the old oil lamp your ma still used. You sighed and turned to face the cruiser parked in the shadows of the beech tree.

You recognized the silhouette as he stood straight behind the driver’s door. The sheriff fixed his hat as he came around and looked you over in the early twilight. He didn’t spend much time in town, often riding around the county and only stopping by to sit down at Sal’s and terrorise the waitresses.

“Sheriff,” you greeted, “whatcha doin’ around here?”

“Whatcha think?” Bodecker asked as he leaned against the hood, his large stomach sticking out from his open leather jacket.

“My ma’s waiting on me, I brought her leftovers from the diner,” you waved the paper bag.

“They already cold,” he lit a smoke and flicked it, “I wanna see ya.”

“Now, sheriff, we had our time--”

“I always thought I tip you well considerin’ the mouth on ya,” he took a long draw on the cigarette, “ain’t you?”

“Of course, sheriff, but I’m not on the clock right now and ma be expectin’ me,” you said.

He took another drag and threw the half-smoked stick away. He stood straight and reached to his holster. He unsnapped the small strap but made no move to free the pistol. You took a step back, terrified, and swallowed.

“Sheriff,” you said cautiously.

“Honey, please, you know I don’t be wantin’ to hurt you now,” he ran his thumb along the butt of the gun, “so you come put down those scraps and let me get a good look.”

You stared at his hand on his pistol. You took a deep breath and stepped closer. You set paper bag on the hood of his car and he slid your purse from your other arm. He tossed it beside the leftovers and trailed his fingers down your arm.

“I always thought that was a nice colour on ya,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you against him, your ankles twisted and you collided with his round stomach.

“Thank you,” you looked past him as you smelled the bacon still on his breath.

“Look real nice, honey,” he undid the top button of your dress and you flinched, biting down as you stared at the beech bark. He groped your chest and you closed your eyes. When you opened them, they were wet. “Why are you crying?”

“Can I go now?” your voice wobbled despite your effort to hide your distress.

“We ain’t even started, honey,” he undid another button, and another, and exposed your cleavage above your brassiere “Look at you.”

“Please, sheriff, I want to go home,” you caught his hand and he grabbed your jaw. You choked on your fear as he turned you and pushed you against the bumper.

“You’ll be home soon enough,” he snarled, “you put your hand down my pants and make me let you go.”

You shook your head in disgust. You looked him in the face, all the light drained from his eyes as his jowls lined with malice. He squeezed your jaw and you cried out in pain. You reached to his belt blindly and fumbled to undo the buckle. You felt how hard he was through his pants as you pushed down his fly.

“You’re hurtin’ me,” you whispered as you pushed beneath his briefs.

“I could do a lot worse,” he threatened, “ah that’s it, honey.”

You wrapped your fingers around his dick. He was thick and hard against your palm. You stroked him and he shuddered as he leaned against you. His hand slipped down to play with your chest again. He had you pinned to the car as you kept your wrist moving in the confines of his pants.

He groaned and trembled as he urged you faster and you obeyed, turning your head to look at the farmhouse just up the rise. He grabbed your face again and leaned in. His hot breath grazed your lips and he pressed his mouth to your cheek.

He edged you back onto the car and stepped between your knees. Your skirt rode up as he forced your legs wide around him. You pushed on his chest with your free hand and he flung you onto your back with a vicious shove.

You sprawled across the hood, your bags falling to the ground as he grabbed your hips. He ripped your hand from inside his pants and rolled his briefs under his dick. You kicked out as he reached under your skirt and wrestled off your underwear. You cried out as he ripped them free of one ankle.

“No, please, don’t do this. Sheriff, please--”

“You can keep callin’ me sheriff,” he purred as he bent over you again and searched for your entrance with his fingers.

“How long’s it been?” he asked as he caught his tip and poked it along your hole, “Two years, you think I’ll wait forever.”

“I don’t-- Get off of me,” you sank your nails into his leather jacket desperately, “get--”

You gulped as he sank into you all at once. It hurt and sent a pang up your spine. Your wet eyes began to leak as you realised you couldn’t stop him. He thrust and sent another agonizing bolt through you.

“Two years, honey, you think we got time left?” he rutted between ragged pants, “‘bout time you get a baby on ya.”

“Wha-- oh, please--” you gasped as he kept you pinned to the cold hood of the car.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of ya,” he rasped, “you ain’t gotta keep pourin’ coffee.”

“Stop,” you whispered and closed your eyes, “please..”

Your pleas fizzled and you let him get on, praying it would end. He fucked you harder with each thrust, fueled by your pathetic cries and the sound of him inside of you. He cradled your head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath singed your skin as he spasmed and spilled inside of you.

When he stopped, you couldn’t move. He pulled out of you with a grunt and his cum dripped from your cunt. You nearly slipped down the hood and barely got your feet under you before you could crumple. You rubbed your fingers through the sticky cum on your thigh and refused to look at him.

“Look at the mess you made of me, honey,” he purred, “the mess I made of you.”

You wiped his cum on your skirt, revolted by the cooling slickness. You pulled your dress straight and left your underwear in the dirt. You glanced at him but he didn’t make a move, only watched you with delight as his hands rested on his open belt.

Numb and unsure, you turned and grabbed up your purse and grease-stained paper bag from the ground. He chuckled and you heard his belt clink. You stumbled through the dirt as he let you go.

“I be seein’ you tomorrow,” he called after you, “I’ll make sure to take a long lunch.”

👮👮👮

Please reblog and like! Let me know what you think.

#dark lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #The Devil All The Time #request #drabble #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #dark drabble

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beigehearts · 3 years

Text

All right it is time- drabbles about the yandere adult trio and how they kidnap you

I reblogged something about this- yandere content is not really reader friendly- it is fun to read for some people but for some people it is triggering- please don’t read if it’s not suited for you: each part will have it’s own word count This is a fem!reader- if you would like me to write a different one please let me know

CW: kidnap, alcohol consumption, drugs, physical abuse, needles, language

Hisoka 1,172 words

It’s a quiet night in your small town. Here, everyone knows everyone and there are no such things as secrets. There’s the lightest of drizzles on this cloudy, chilly night. The bar is almost barren except for you and a group of your friends. Even the bar tenders are your friends. Everyone is emptying glasses and telling lame funny stories that you’ve all heard before but still enjoy listening to.

Your body is warm, alcohol running through your veins. You shrug off your jacket, and place it on the coat rack at the entrance. Before you can even turn around someone latches onto your arm. A smile greets your face when you see your friend holding your arm.

“Come on y/n! Danny and Vanessa are making jello shots!” Danny and Vanesa are the bar tenders, they brought jello packets with them knowing it would just be this group of friends here tonight. Your friend clinging to you, Ashley, drags you back to the bar as if you had been protesting, which you definitely were not. The jello shots are poorly made and are more like water with jello packet flakes in it. Though none of you seem to care, taste is not the goal here.

It’s a long night, the clock strikes 1:30 am and Vanessa waves her arm in the air, “Alright kiddos, it’s time to close shop. Get out of here- be safe!”

All of your friends call out and thank her, and everyone puts on their coat and does as Vanessa says. The slight breeze and cold droplets sends a shiver down your spine and you hold your coat closer to you. You can barely make out the moon through the clouds, but your attention is taken by a large breeze and your friend yelps out.

“Let’s go! I’m cold! Who’s house?” Ashley asks. Usually all of you sleepover at each other’s houses after a night of drinking, the group collectively decides on going to the closest person’s home. Tido groans when hearing this, knowing that it’ll be his house.

The group all huddles and scampers towards his house, trying to conserve warmth. A blast of hot air hits you when you step inside, and everyone sighs with relief at the warmth.

Tido turns towards everyone and points at you all, “It’s bed time dumbasses. No more drinking, I’m tired. If a single one of you wakes me up there will be hell to pay.”

You chuckle and nod, “Just go to bed Tido, we’ll be quiet.” Tido trusts you the most out of the group so he doesn’t protest, he sends you a spiteful look and stomps away to his room. He can be such a handful. Though you managed to get your friends to quiet down and speak quietly before they passed out.

The house is quiet. The only sounds are the quiet snores and shuffling of your friends. You’ve been laying at the couch staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Eventually you get up and go to the kitchen. When with your friends you find it hard to sleep, some motherly instinct coming over you and making you alert.

You know where Tido keeps his stash, you’re the only one of your friends who knows where it is. He told you where it is for nights like these. You open the cabinet, and grab a sugar jar from the back of it. When you open it the smell assaults your senses, you grab the ziploc bag and put the jar back. Once you’re sitting outside on his back porch, you roll it nice and neatly, and you can’t help but smile at your handy work.

It hits your drunk body quite quickly, and you move to the rocking chair and cover up with a blanket. You turn your head when you hear the back door open, and see Tido’s head pop outside. “I thought I smelled something.” He says and closes the door behind him. There’s a swing on the porch and he plops down on it, and the beckons for the joint. You hand it over and he takes a deep inhale, holding it for a while before exhaling.

He pats the seat next to him and you sit next to him, pulling your knees up into your chest.

The next hour or so is spent philosophizing and staring out into the woods of his backyard. Your head feels like a fishbowl, the fish being your brain. Eventually it goes quiet. Tido throws his arms back, wrapping one around your shoulders.

“Y/n.” He points into the forest, “I can’t look at those trees anymore, they’re just staring back at me.” He huffs and looks at you, his eyes finding your lips and slowly moving up to your eyes. “I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”

You nod and he stands up, “Just remember to lock the door before you go to sleep.” He adds. He seems somewhat awkward standing there and you can’t help but laugh, his usual confident personality façade always disappears when he’s around you.

A cough escapes his throat and he mumbles, “Goodnight y/n, go to bed soon okay?” He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You hum and return it, these small nights you spend with him always end like this. You’re just waiting for him to actually take you out somewhere else than his back porch.

He shuffles inside and you watch until the door closes. You aren’t quite sure about your feelings for Tido, but it’s not too concerning at the moment. You enjoy your time with him, and enjoy your kisses, that’s enough for you.

Maybe you should go home... You can always fall asleep in your own bed. Yeah that sounds good. Usually Tido walks you home at this time of the night but he’s already gone to bed and you don’t want to disturb his beauty sleep. Even though he probably wouldn’t mind much.

You grab all of your things and put on your coat and shoes, you take one last glance at your friends and smile. They would understand, you’ve done this before.

It’s only colder, the breeze only blowing harder. When you check your phone it’s 4:17 am. Good thing you don’t have work or classes tomorrow. There’s no way you’ll be able to wake up until 2 pm. Even though it’s cold and breezy, it’s a nice walk, you walk into the town and look around at the shops. You’ve passed them millions of times but they always look different when you’re high. Though you’re not that high anymore. The only light illuminating the streets are the street lamps, well the ones that actually still work. You don’t bother avoiding the puddles, stepping in them and your feet become wet. It’s no longer raining but you can still smell it in the air.

The town is always so nice when it’s quiet, it’s so serene and surreal. Your steps come to slow halt when you see someone standing on the sidewalk a few yards ahead of you. You can’t make out their face, but they’re tall, really tall. You squint and try to see if it’s someone you know. After all, everyone knows each other here. Is that... Tasha? No, Jordan? Your guessing is cut short when he begins walking towards you.

Soon enough you come face to face, you tilt your head up and can barely make out his features in this light. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Your voice echoes around the street.

He’s chuckling, and it turns into a full out maniacal laugh. Once he gathers himself he wipes a tear from his eye. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk to strangers?” His hand lays heavily on your shoulder, “It’s not safe to be intoxicated in public you know.” He brings his head towards your neck, pressing his nose against your bare skin, “It seems my pet has been smoking too.”

You push him away with all your strength, your slow head still processing what’s happening. He frowns and you have no time to react when a hand wraps around your neck, and pushes you against the brick wall of the store. You groan, your head pounding now and when you try to gasp in air you can’t the wind has been knocked out of you.

His lips meet your ear and you can’t fight back, as you’re still fighting for air. “You’ve been playing around with other boys. Are you trying to make me jealous?” He breathes in you scent, and a hand grabs your hip. Finally you manage to breathe in some air but by the time you’re ready to fight back he tightens his grip on your throat, making it hard to breathe again. “Don’t you think it’s mean to mess with a man’s emotions?”

Gasps, that’s all you can manage, you’re gasping but can’t catch your breath. Your vision begins going black, becoming fuzzy and blurry. Your eyes start to roll back in your head, but right before you lose consciousness, you fall to the ground.

“Oh pet, what ever am I going to do with you?”

Your throat aches and your lungs burn, you’re left on the ground in fetal position, sucking in as much air as possible. But you don’t get a break, your hand that lays against the concrete of the sidewalk take away all the pain of your lungs. His shoe digs into your hand, and he moves his foot side to side, rubbing your hand against the ground, until you see tracks of blood following your hand. You scream out but it only gets worse. He lifts his foot and before you can retract your hand, stomps on your fingers. Your screeches can be heard by no one but this man and to him they mean nothing.

You bring your hand to your chest and cradle it, 3 of 4 fingers are broken, and most of the skin has been rubbed raw, and blood makes it hard to see your wounds.

“See what happens when you’re not a good girl?” You don’t answer, more focused on your hand. The pain is so intense, it burns it stings it aches it’s so painful.

A hand grabs your hair, and you yelp when he holds you up by it. His face gets close to yours and he whispers, “But it’s okay, I’ll help you.” He lets go of your hair and your head falls, slamming against the concrete. Your vision goes dark and the last thing your hear is,

“Oh you’re so pitiful y/n.”

Illumi 1,133 words

You’re lucky to be surrounded by friends who give you hours and hours of laughter every day. Each day with your friends is a blessing, and each moment is a miracle. Life is good, you go to work everyday, working at a local daycare in the busiest part of town. The children all love you, and some even cry when they have to leave. You spend your days reading books to kids, and giving bottles to babies. Though the diaper part of the job isn’t the best.

It’s 6 pm, and the last girl to be picked up is sitting on your lap as you have an insightful conversation.

“So that’s how I know,” She throws her arms into the air and giggles, “that zebras are white and black!”

Her logic may be flawed but she makes a good point, “I had no idea!” You exclaim.

The familiar ring of the door opening sounds out and the little girl jumps from your lap and to the gate separating the children from the front desk area. She shakes the gate and yells, “Mommy!”

A tired looking woman who you see every day gives you a weak smile and picks up her daughter from the other side of the gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow y/n.” You wave at the little girl who waves back as her mother carries her out of the building.

As much as you enjoy your job, it gets really tiring. You let out a sigh and stand up, all that’s left is to clean up and lock up. Your co worker who was spending her time cleaning a mess in the bathroom looks more than disgusted when she comes out with gloves on and a bucket.

“Did you even know that kids can produce that much?!” You laugh at her comment and she shoots you an evil look.

The toys are put back into bins and the plastic chairs are tucked back into the plastic table of the kid’s room. You put away bottles and lost binkys from the baby room, and lock up all the first aid stuff in a cabinet. Looks like that’s the day. Your co worker already left, you thought you might as well give her a break since she did have to clean the bathroom.

It’s 8 pm by the time you’re turning off the lights and locking the front doors. The last mother actually picked up her daughter much earlier than usual, the town is still bustling. Why not do a little window shopping?

You walk around the streets, looking at clothing and other things, occasionally going in and touching things. Now that you think about it though, you have been wanting to get a dress. Your birthday is coming up and your friends are taking you somewhere nice, they won’t tell you where.

There’s a nice shop only a block away that has really cute dresses that aren’t too expensive. You step inside and look around. They have summer dresses, daily dresses, prom dresses, and formal dresses. If you had to guess, getting a formal but cute dress is probably what your friends expect. Eventually you find the dress you want, a black open back dress that hangs loosely at your waist and stops a little above your knees. You pay for the dress, owing a grand total of $68, cheap for a dress in this town.

Eventually you make your way home, you kick off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You’re exhausted but you really should eat something before you go to bed. You grab a hot pocket, not really feeling like making a home cooked meal. Before you put it in the microwave, you turn on the tv and put on a show you’ve been watching.

Once the hot pocket is in the microwave, you press a few buttons and listen to its mechanical whir. What a day, you lean against your fridge and close your eyes, you could fall asleep right here quite honestly. You peel your eyes open when you hear your tv turn off.

Huh? You look around your unlit apartment and don’t see anything, maybe it just glitched out. You couldn’t really care less at the mom-

Something whizzes past your face, and strikes your microwave. The microwave turns off and quickly you jump up from your leaning position and look at it. There’s a needle lodged in the door of the microwave. You turn around and go wide eyed when you see someone standing in your living room.

“Ah, I missed.” He says in a nonchalant tone. You look around for a weapon, going to reach for a knife but stop when a hand grabs your wrist. “Don’t bother y/n. It’s futile.” How did he move so quickly, how did he get around the counter so quickly?!

“What do you want? You can take my wallet, take what you want.” You try to keep a cool tone but your voice still shakes and cracks.

His grip tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You can make this easier for yourself and just give up.”

You shake your head and try to kick him, but he grabs your knee and pushes you against the counter. He’s holding one of your legs to your chest and using the other to hold your wrist. “Will you go willingly or not?”

You struggle against his grip and with your free hand try to look around to grab something on the counter behind you. “What do you want?!” You yell out.

You find a glass and swing your arm to break it against his head but he drops your knee and grabs your forearm so tightly that you screech and drop the glass, it shattering on the floor.

“If I tell you will you calm down?” He presses his body against yours, holding both of your wrists so you can’t attack him. “You are the perfect subject to be my wife and future mother of my kids.”

Tears stream down your face and you shake your head violently, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not going to be your wife!”

He sighs and tilts his head backwards some. You notice just how long his hair is when he does so.

“I tried to make this easier for you y/n.” He moves both of your wrists to one hand and uses his other hand to grab something from his jacket. He pulls a needle out of his shoulder and sobs begin to rack your body. Who is he? Why is he doing this? What the hell is going on?

He puts the point of the needle against your forehead and you begin to feel woozy, “You’ll learn in time.” Are the last words you hear before everything goes black.

Chrollo 945 words

After your upsetting break up with your ex a few months ago, your friends decided they had enough of your complaining and signed you up for online dating. You’ve talked to so many people on these apps and yet all of them just don’t do it for you.

But you began talking to one man and it just clicked. He was so kind and respectful and knew when to say what. The both of you had many text conversations, and he finally asked you out on a date. You are going to meet at a very nice restaurant on the outskirts of town. All of your friends were ecstatic to hear that you would finally go on another date.

They really don’t want you to fuck it up, so a few of your friends came over to help you get ready. It was like clockwork, the put you in one outfit and then rip it off to put on another one. The process is more exhausting than the date will be. Eventually the three of you decide on an outfit. Skin tight pleather pants and a frilly blouse that looks Victorian almost, and some nice short boots with a big heel. After the hour of finding the right outfit, they sit you down on your bed and do your makeup. Quite honestly they did a good job- but you wouldn’t admit it to their egotistical asses.

“You’re gorgeous!” Rose says. You roll your eyes and give yourself one last look in the mirror, admiring yourself for a moment. Shannon hugs you from behind and giggles, “Our girl is finally dating again!” You have to pry her off of you just so you can get out of your room, knowing you’ll be late if you stick around with these two.

As you get in the car Shannon and Rose wave at you from the front door and Rose yells, “Our girl is growing up!” Shannon follows up with, “Don’t fuck it up y/n!” How very helpful

The taxi driver confirms your destination and then you’re off. You look through your most recent texts one more time, just because.

Him 9 PM at the Cavern on the south side of town

Me Alright! See you soon

Him I can’t wait

After the twenty minute drive, you step out of the taxi and stretch your arms in the air. You look down at your phone and see that you’re two minutes late. Oh no, late on your first date? That definitely doesn’t give off a good impression. You rush inside and give the name of your date to the woman at the front and she leads you to a table in the back.

He stands up from his seat, and he’s much more handsome than you were expecting. His black hair is slicked back and he’s wearing a suit and tie. There’s a cloth wrapped around his forehead but you aren’t given much time to think about it when he approaches you. He kisses your cheek and then pulls out your chair.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I feel so bad. Did you wait long?” You voice and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be, I didn’t wait long.” You let out a small sigh at his words and sit down, thanking him. He pushes in your chair and returns to his own.

You smile as he pours you a glass of wine, “It’s so nice to finally meet you Chrollo.”

“Same here. I was worried I might be catfished.” He chuckles and his eyes meet yours as he hands you a glass. He’s just so captivating, you can’t take your eyes off of him. You’re left gazing at his face when he clears his throat, “So tell me, how did you get here?”

You snap out of it and shake your head a little, “Oh, I took a taxi. I wasn’t sure if we would be drinking or not.”

He sips his wine and you copy his action. His smile is just absolutely captivating. “I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a little anxious about tonight.”

“Oh why?” You ask.

“You just seemed so wonderful on text that you seemed too good to be true.” He looks down at his wine, “But I guess it is true.”

Dinner is quite nice, you’re just so relaxed with him and he is fascinating. He knows so much and he could talk for hours and you would listen without saying anything.

After the both of you finish the bottle of wine, you decide it’s time to go home. You wrap your arm around his and the both of you walk outside, and the alcohol seems to be catching up with you. Though you really didn’t drink much.

The both of you walk to his car and talk there for a while.

“I’m gonna call a cab. Do you mind waiting with me?” You ask him.

He smiles sweetly, “Of course not.” You call for a cab and they tell you that they will be there in five minutes.

The alcohol is really catching up to you. He asks you if you’re okay but your lips feel numb and you can only mutter what resembles words. Your knees start to feel weak until the buckle underneath you, and he catches you. You try to say something, move, anything, but your head is swimming and you can’t form any words.

He shushes you, and pets your hair while holding you up. “You’re alright.” He kisses your forehead and opens up his back door, laying you gently on the seat. Before he closes the door he says,

“Come on honey, let’s go home.”

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thechangeling · 3 years

Text

But you like her better: Part 2

Sorry it's been a minute! I hope you like it.

Cw: Some brief ableism, mentions of internalized biphobia, and self injurious stimming.

2013

It was raining when 16 year old María Machado Sotomayor first met Kit Herondale.

Marí had always loved the sound of the rain. It was peaceful and rhythmic, creating a nice tingly feeling in her skull running straight down her spine. It also good for the plants. Which meant that Marí arrived (on time for once) at her favorite class in a pretty good mood.

Marine biology was their one of their three special interests, the other two being lacrosse and Base guitar. So Bio was usually pretty fun for them. However this time was different.

Her mood was instantly dampened when she walked into class and saw someone new sitting in her usually seat. A blond, short and white kid who looked far too pretty for his own good. A new kid most likely.

A new kid who didn't realize that Marí always sat by the window every single day. It was their spot. Still Marí was determined not to overreact. They marched over to the new kid and approached him with their best masking smile.

Remember eye contact. She told herself. Keep your tone light and breezy but not too lifeless. Smile. Appear friendly and non threatening. Try not to sweat. Try not to scream.

"Hi excuse me," Marí began in a sickly sweet tone. "That's actually my seat! Sorry!"

The boy instantly looked embarrassed and apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry!" He blushed. "I didn't realize there was assigned seating." He had an American accent, California maybe?

Wonderful. A white American boy. Just what they needed.

Marí chewed their lip and fought the urge to rock or tap. "There isn't actually," they admitted. "I just usually sit there. So can you please move?"

Now the new kid looked a little offended. A cold look settled over his face. "Well why should I?" He bristled. "This seat isn't really yours. It's not like it has your name on it."

Marí rolled her eyes in frustration. "I tried that already but then I got in trouble."

He stared at them curiously for a moment. Marí took the opportunity to break eye contact finally and scuff their heel against the floor. They were wearing the new black suede chunky heels with the gem stones that Marí had gotten when they went thrifting with their friends.

"María!" The harsh voice of her teacher snapped her back into reality. Everyone had arrived and taken their seats while she was arguing with the American and now everyone was staring at her. "Could you please explain why you are not seated young lady?" She snapped in her extra pretentious sounding posh English accent.

The one that said, "I'm better than you."

Marí tried not to growl at being called a young lady. They weren't feeling particularly female today. Not that Marí was going to bother explaining that to some old British hag.

"He won't get out of my seat!" Marí protested. Instantly laughter broke out around the classroom. Cruel mocking laughter that made Marí feel like her skin was crawling.

"It's ok!" The new kid cried out, practically jumping out of Marí's seat. "I'll move! I'll go sit over here." He grabbed his bag and moved to the back of the room as quickly as possible.

Marí smiled in spite of themself. His random act of kindness was surprising, but they were grateful. They took their seat near the window and sighed in relief.

Marí would always look back on that day with fondness no matter what. It may not have seemed like much to him, but it meant the world to her. After Bio class she had asked Kit to come eat with her and her friends. They had made their introductions and the rest was history.

They became close friends very quickly, bonding over movies and music. They sent each other playlists of their favorite songs and songs that reminded them of each other. Marí made Kit a queer playlist with songs by queer artists and told Kit that they were bisexual and a demigirl. They hadn't even told their friends that last part yet at that point.

Marí also told Kit that they liked to use she/they pronouns, but so far was only using them online. Kit asked Marí a lot of questions then confessed to Marí that he was also bisexual but he was still kinda getting used to it.

"I grew up in a shitty situation," Kit had told them. "I guess I still have a lot of shame."

Marí didn't hold it against him. She bought him queer literature and resources for queer history including "Bisexuality and Queer Theory" and her printed copy of the article published in the 90s called "The Bisexual Manifesto." She gave him advice on websites and people to follow online.

They also just talked. Talked about life and their experiences. Their feelings and their relationships with their sexualities. Bonding with another queer person was always special but spending time with Kit always made Marí feel so...light.

Despite how close they were getting, Marí didn't always want to touch him. They were touch averse in most cases unless they were very comfortable with someone. Sometimes it just depended on the day. On the days where Marí found they could not hug Kit they had invented their own way to show affection.

They would place a hand over their hearts and tap it, as if to say "I care about you" or "I love you." Sometimes Kit would say "tap my heart" as a substitute for actually doing it.

He introduced her to his close friend Janessa, the wayward vampire who was incredibly hot and kind of made Marí all nervous and tounge twisty at first. But as they got to know her, Marí realized that she was also incredibly kind, passionate and clearly cared at great deal about Kit. Janessa was a gamer who had named herself after a video game character. She drank cups of warm blood in novelty mugs with giant swirly sparkly straws and was pretty good at making people laugh.

Janessa, or Nessie as Kit had affectionately nicknamed her, was flirtatious and charismatic, but also brutal and deadly in a fight. She was full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe Marì was a little bit into that.

However as much as Marí didn't want to admit it, they were also were starting to realize that they were way more into someone else. Someone with perfect golden curls that Marí wanted to curl their fingers into.

Eventually Kit came out to Marí as genderfluid and requested that she use alternating he/they pronouns for them. They both made the decision to collectively tell their friends their pronouns. Marí, Kit and Nessie sat around her gorgeous leather couch and talked for hours about gender, identity and transness. Kit pointed put that they may never be able to fully explain their gender to the other two, just like Kit might have a hard time fully understanding Janessa's relationship with gender, or Marí's because everyone was different.

"It's personal Nessie," he had said. "Everyone has their own unique perspective on gender and every trans person has their own complicated feelings about gender and what their own gender identity means to them, and those feelings might not completely match up with another trans person's. But that's ok. You don't have to understand the other person but you do have to respect them."

Janessa's understanding of gender came from being a trans women. It was about a strict binary with clear lines and rules. Rules that Kit was starting to make a habit of fingerpainting all over and Marí could tell that it was stressing her out.

And Marí had no idea where the hell they fit in these rules. They had stopped playing the game.

But those two loved each other more than anything, and Marí knew they could work anything out. And sure enough approximately seven hours and four margaritas later (only two for Marí,) they had come to an understanding.

2014

She kissed Kit for the first time a month into the new year.

They had been trying on clothes in Marí's room and Kit was wearing one of their old dresses that Marí thought they looked amazing in, but Kit wanted to give it away. It was dark navy blue and sparkly with spaghetti straps, coming to about mid thigh. There were cut outs on the sides, filled in with black sheer fabric, and it had a low v cut at the neckline which was also filled in with black sheer.

Kit had been infodumping about one of the Marvel movies again, Marí couldn't remember which one, and she had kept getting distracted by his tan smooth skin peaking through the sheer fabric and fullness of Kit's moving lips. He smiled excitedly and Marí had stepped forward and kissed him.

Their first thought was that Kit tasted like chocolate. Their second was that they should have done this months ago.

Kit had melted into the kiss, smiling slightly against her mouth and pulling her closer. They kissed her feverishly, sliding their tounge inside Marí's mouth and moaning when she deepened the kiss eagerly. They moved against each other with almost lazy, comfortable precision, kissing each other for what could have been hours or days or maybe only seconds.

Marí couldn't have said.

When Kit finally broke the kiss and pulled away from Marí, his eyes were practically gleaming with joy and love. And that was when they knew.

I love him.

2015

I love him.

Ty's words ran in her ears. Repeating over and over again, maddenly bouncing around inside of her skull until she was forced to utter out loud,

"I love him".

They whispered it under their breath but Marí could tell that both Alyssa and Ty had heard them. It was so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop.

But of course. Of course he does. It was obvious. This whole time Marí had noticed there was something wrong with Ty. Just like there was something wrong with Kit. The way they stared after each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking. The loving and worshipful glances mixed with the bitter glares.

Marí had already known that Kit was in love with Ty of course. But the way they had told the story made it seem like they were positive that Ty couldn't be in love with them.

But then again maybe that made sense. Given Kit's history and who he was. But then Marí couldn't help but think of Ty and how confused he must have been. God it was a giant mess.

Speaking of...

The room was still silent. Marí found that she couldn't read Ty's expression as he stared back at her flatly. But his body was shaking, his fingers fluttered at his sides. She wanted to soothe him.

They stepped forward carefully. "I'm not mad at you," Marí assured him. "I was hoping we could talk?"

Ty's left eye twitched. "We are talking," he pointed out. Alyssa snorted.

"Ty, they mean about the proverbial bomb you just dropped a few seconds ago," Alyssa said with a laugh. Marí smirked to themself slightly.

It wasn't really a bomb. More like a flare.

She really needed to talk to Ty. The only problem was Alyssa had an annoying tendency to never leave his side. It wasn't like she had a problem with the girl. Of course not. But her presence meant that Marí hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Ty one on one.

They cleared their throat. "Alyssa could you please give Ty and I some space to talk?" They asked. Marí hoped they didn't sound too rude. Alyssa looked to Ty and he nodded slightly, signaling that he was ok with her leaving.

That was so strange to Marí. Their relationship. The way Alyssa, a werewolf who hated shadowhunters even more then Marí did, essentially took orders from him and clearly trusted him more than anyone else. But perhaps she wasn't one to judge.

After all, she loved Kit.

Alyssa left the room with a pat on Ty's back and a quick, "call if you need me." Marí shifted their weight back and forth as they rocked slightly from side to side as they waited for Ty to speak.

He stared back at her silently, most likely doing the same. Marí blew out a loud breath and forced herself to stay still, crossing her arms.

"Are you going to say something or should I?" Ty asked expectantly. Marí bit their lip and shrugged.

"I'm still thinking of what I wanna say," she admitted.

Ty smiled at her softly. "So am I."

There we go. Cracks in the armour.

"I'm sorry," Ty whispered suddenly. "I never meant to-"

"You don't have to apologize!" Marí blurted out. Whoops they had interrupted him. "Oh shit sorry you were still talking!" They reached for their hair nervously and realized that they were wearing that Morticia wig for their costume.

Great. Marí moved on to chewing on her knuckles.

"It's ok," Ty reassured her. "I don't really know where I was going with that sentence. And you shouldn't do that." He pointed to her hand.

Marí scoffed, "yeah well you shouldn't dig your nails into your palms." He glared at them and they laughed.

"Not so fun playing a game of Mirror Image is it?" They teased. Ty didn't respond, just stared at Marí solemnly.

"You know I really admire you," he said, aiming his gaze close enough to hers to create the illusion of eye contact. "I always have. I never wanted to hurt or upset you."

Marí wished for a brief moment that they could touch him and then shrugged the impulse off. "I know love," they cooed. "Me too."

Without really understanding why, she pressed her hand to her chest directly above her heart and tapped, just like how she did with Kit. Ty studied Marí for a moment and then followed suite.

Marí in spite of themself, actually felt bad for him. They could clearly see the toll the last three years had taken on him, specifically the last few weeks. Maybe his family couldn't see it, and they definitely knew that Kit couldn't, but Marí could.

Marí of all people could see past the mask because they knew what masking looked like. It wasn't just about appearing normal, whatever that word meant. It was about hiding your feelings. Taking that heart you wore on your sleeve and locking it up tight. But everytime Marí looked at Ty, they could see it. And it was bleeding.

Ripped and bloody and broken, just like her own and yet they both still had the sheer audacity to keep breathing. Marí was proud of them both.

"You need to talk to him," Marí prompted. "You both need to be honest with each other."

Ty furrowed his brow. "Honest? About what? He doesn't feel the same way." He had gone back to flicking his fingers as he stared at her, looking puzzled.

Bloody hell between the two of them, Kit and Ty were giving Marí the mother of all headaches.

They took a deep breath. "Yes they do Ty," Marí tried not to sound exasperated. "Kit is in love with you, believe me. They told me."

It hurt Marí's heart to have to say it, but it was true and Ty deserved to know the truth. And they knew deep down that Kit wouldn't really be happy, he wouldn't be Kit until he had Ty. And Marí had to make their peace with that.

Ty looked understandably confused. He ran a frantic hand through his hair. "But why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?" He asked. "Don't you love them?"

She fought the urge to cry as tears gathered in her eyes. She found herself digging her nails into her palms despite chastising Ty for doing it a few minutes ago.

"I'm telling you all of this because I love them" she cried desperately. "Because Kit cries out your name in his sleep Ty! Because everytime he sees you, he stares at you like you are the moon the sun and the stars! Because everytime you speak they hang onto absolutely every word, and when you laugh-" Marí cut herself off.

They squeezed their eyes shut and took deep long breaths. Ty said nothing. Marí opened their eyes to see Ty staring at them in dismay. He looked like he was trying to think of what to say to help.

Marí shook their head. "I know Kit loves me. And they probably always will. We were close friends even before we started dating." Marí groaned and shook out their entire body this time, jumping up and down a few times as well to get rid of the tension. If Ty thought this was weird he didn't comment on it.

Marí wiped her eyes carefully trying not to smudge her mascara. "But you Ty?" His eyes refocused on her again at the sound of his name. Marí chuckled humourlessly. "Fucking hell, he is in love with you. And right now he is thinking that you hate him and I know it's tearing him up inside."

Ty stared at Marí hopelessly, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. "So what do I do then? What am I supposed to say?"

Marí shrugged. "I can't help you with that I'm sorry. It has to come from you." Ty looked even more panicked.

They gave him what they hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be scared Ty," they murmered. "It's Kit remember. They're not scary. You have nothing to worry about."

Ty didn't answer her. He had wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing tightly. "Marí do you remember those dead moon jellyfish we buried on the beach?" He asked.

She was a little confused as to why he was bringing this up now. "Yeah? Why?"

"That's what I feel like right now," Ty admitted. "Like I've washed up on the beach and now I'm just waiting for someone to come along and step on me."

Marí's heart sank. "Oh Ty," they breathed. "I promise that won't happen with Kit. I can't make any promises for anyone else, but I do know that Kit has absolutely no intention of hurting you again love."

Ty looked pensive. Marí could only hope that Ty would make the decision to trust them.

With a sudden jolt Marí remembered the party.

"Hey we still have the Halloween party to go to," she said, shaking Ty out of his stupor. "Do you still wanna go?"

To their surprise, Ty nodded. "Sure. I think Alyssa might kill me if I back out now."

Marí snorted. Alyssa Reyes could be pretty terrifying at times.

With surprise Marí found that their spirts were lighter having cleared the air with Ty and with the prospect of a party being renewed.

She smiled. "All right then let's head out!" Marí smoothed down the long black wig over her shoulders and quickly smoothed out the long skirt of her black slinky dress before turning and exiting the training room.

She knew that she would have to talk to Kit at some point and that conversation would be brutal. But at least they could have one last night together.

It's better this way. Marí told themself as they walked back towards the main living room where everyone was gathered. At least now Kit can be happy.

It's for the best.

It has to be.

So I'm actually planning on writing a part 3 from Kit's pov because the drama isn't over yet! 😏

Tag list: lmk if you wanna be added/removed.

@playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @hardlymatters @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @tired-vin @phoenix-and-dragon @the-blackdale @adoravel-fenomeno @the-wckd-powers

#tsc #twp #kit x ty #marí the werewolf #the wicked powers #maría machado sotomayor #we stan autistic bonding #we stan queer bonding

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19gumi · 3 years

Text

WHEN THE SUN SETS | KUROO TETSUROU

Summary: Kuroo hates the way he can never tell what’s on your mind (and also, you eat your cherries ridiculously slowly)

Genre: Fluff (childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining)

Word count: 1.8k

Porcelain plates now stained with chocolate are neatly tossed to the side, bearing the remnants of the croissants Kuroo treated the two of you with. Secluded in your favorite part of the park, you try to get one last whiff of the sweet pastry that you ate a little too quickly for your liking, making a mental note to pay that bakery another visit soon.

The final beams of sunlight graze your face as you observe the birds above you, hurrying to find a shelter before the rosy sky hues turn dark blue. You’ve missed their renowned song – the winter fell into a silence after their departure, sometimes too deafening when paired up with the freezing December cold.

Your field of vision is obstructed by a muscular arm reaching for the cherries in the bowl placed beside your head. You observe his Adam’s apple move as he swallows the fruit, eyes focused on the horizon sprawled in front of him. And then they suddenly shift to your figure, your head soundly placed in his lap.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb rubbing circles in your shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You seemed lost in thought.”

You’re about to respond when his body abruptly shifts under yours, the motion prompting you to sit up straight. Kuroo’s hand flies to the back of his head, and you assume he’s received a hit to it.

That is shortly proven to be true when a distressed mother shouts after her son who you don’t even notice at first, standing a foot away from the two of you. His arms are folded behind his back, lips pouting as his eyes search for the ball he had previously been playing with.

Kuroo’s furrowed brows shift back to their original shape, face muscles relaxing as he takes in the sight of the kindergartener. The mother pants as she approaches the two of you, crouching down next to the child that you assumed wasn’t more than 5 years old.

“Hi, I’m very sorry to have caused-“

Kuroo swats his arms in the air. “It’s not a big deal really, didn’t even hurt.” He then smiles at the kid, extending his hand towards him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo.”

The kid buries his head in the crook of his mother’s neck as a response, refusing Kuroo’s handshake. She spots the ball and sends him off to pick it up, sighing deeply.

“He gets shy sometimes,” she chuckles, scratching her forehead.

Couple of more apologies and one goodbye later, the sun now long hidden and the moon greeting you (this time only one half of it), Kuroo wishes he could take a peek at your mind.

He knows that’s not possible, though, leaving him with the only option of staring at the side of your face, alluringly illuminated under the evening sky. Admiring the faint glint in your eyes, he sighs when he realizes he is about to go to bed with the same unanswered questions another night in a row.

Kuroo is too lost in the way his fingertips itch to sink themselves in your cheeks, his body starving for that addicting warmth of yours – the one he sensed once for the first time many years ago and never wanted to let go of again.

You turn your head around unreasonably quickly – he’s unprepared and so, so exposed. The look in his eyes is soft, way too soft for you to have a full view of it. He hasn’t said a word, but the faint burning in the pit of his stomach convinces him he’s spilled the most tender secrets of his.

“You know,” you begin, reaching for the bowl with cherries behind you. You chew painfully slow, he thinks, the time that it takes for you to swallow the cherry seeming like an eternity.

“That child from earlier,” you continue at last, fiddling with your hands in your lap. “He reminded me of myself when I was his age.”

Kuroo doesn’t know what he was hoping for, but your words do cause a change in his stance. “How so?”

And there you are, flashing him your signature smile one more time. The enigmatic one, the exact one that he’s been trying to decipher unceasingly.

The same one that causes him to miss serves in practice.

The one that keeps him from entering the world of his dreams at night, but also the one that makes him feel like he’s living the sweetest fantasies of his when he gets to see it up close.

“Just like the birds we watched earlier, the pink sky alerts everyone that it’s time to find a shelter for the night,” you glance at him, to which he nods, prompting you to continue. “My mom would always tell me to go straight home once the sky changed colors, and you know I always followed that rule.”

“Yeah, I remember going home and sulking during dinner because I didn’t get to spend more time with you.”

He mouths an ‘ouch!’ when you poke him in the ribs, clutching at his chest. “Dramatic much?” you chuckle, rubbing circles in his back.

“Anyway,” you continue, retracting your hand. “Sometimes I’d lose my toys just like that child from earlier did, but I wouldn’t have enough time to look for them. The street lights would already be turned on and I didn’t want the monsters to catch me.”

Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh. “Monsters? What monsters?”

You shift your eyes towards your hands, which he sees as a chance to inch closer, just enough for him to feel your shoulder against his.

“Dunno,” you say. “But I knew once I’d reach my mom’s arms that I was safe. She’d always nag at me for forgetting to wash my hands – when in reality I didn’t, I always remembered to do it. But I guess I craved that noise which served as an additional proof that I was secure between the four walls of my room, when the silence of the night was the loudest.”

“Well aren’t you a poetic one [name],” he teases, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

A hush descends between the two of you. Kuroo can feel his lips bruising as he chews on them, unsure whether to verbalize the words that could possibly hint at the desires he held close to his heart.

In the end he does it anyway. “It’s way past sunset now, though. So why,” his voice cracks, before he swiftly disguises it as a cough. Or at least he tries to. “Why aren’t you rushing to get home? What if as we speak, the monsters are actually coming to get you?”

It’s your turn to stare at his side profile now, your pulse forming an unsteady rhythm in your throat as you study the slope of his nose, unsure of what was about to come next.

A confession? Were you really ready to ruin a decade long friendship just because rather than playing catch with him you wanted to kiss his lips instead?

His question is silly, you aren’t that eight year old child anymore – the one who’d run away and leave their friends in the street the same instant the clock stroke seven-thirty.

It’s way past seven now, air breezy and short of any sunrays piercing through it, but not even the scariest monster in this world could make you budge from the tranquility surrounding you in this very moment.

It’s almost as if the thought of a life without Kuroo Tetsurou horrifies you more than anything else that’s out in the wild, waiting for you.

“That’s what I was wondering too”, you sigh. “It might be because you’re here.”

And just like that, your secret is disclosed; it’s a simple statement that makes your lungs feel lighter, the burden of having to bear it within your chest for so long now easing with every exhale you take.

He gulps. The arm around your shoulders seems to have become stiffer, too. He’s already close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek and all you wish for is to lean into his embrace, all of this talk turning your eyelids heavy.

“But I was there all those years ago as well. What changed?”

“Well, for starters, I was what, eight years old?” you scoff, meeting his eyes momentarily before you let your head fall on his chest, inhaling deeply. You have yearned for the scent of the fresh new leaves ever since they wilted last October. “I guess I wasn’t in love with you back then, Tetsu.”

It’s silent. You think it’s unfair – everything you’ve built over the years rapidly slipping through your fingers, just because of one sentence full of longing, anticipation. But then his arm travels down to wrap itself around your waist, the other one finding its way to the nape of your neck.

It’s not the first time he’s heard those words leave your mouth - his imagination has deceived him multiple times already. He’d wake up only to find himself clinging onto his pillow, providing enough heat to trick him into thinking it belonged to you.

However, your scent is way too real for everything to be fake this time around; it simply can’t be. The words he’s been longing to hear are there, the confession lingering in the air only for him and the trees around you to know.

All it takes now is for you to learn his answer, even though the way he’s pulling you into his body gives you an idea of what it might be.

“Do you know why I never went home before you did?” he asks.

“Mm. Why?” your voice is muffled by his hoodie, the vibration sending chills down his spine. He’s convinced now. This is truly his reality he’d always been wishing for.

“Because you were there,” he tilts his head, moving your chin so you can look up at him. He’s grinning, and if he didn’t just admit he was in love with you, you’d probably be now telling him how lame you thought he was. “I couldn’t understand it then, the way your presence made me feel at peace. I realized what it was only when we started high school. I didn’t want to say anything, though.”

“So?”

“So,” he says, his hand leaving your waist to join his other one on your face, lightly squishing your cheeks. “I’m very much in love with you, too.”

His gaze momentarily shifts to your lips, before it’s back on your eyes. “I really want to kiss you, [name].”

The entirety of your body heat accumulates in your face, and his fingers effortlessly melt against it, your body sinking into the grassy earth as if it’s sand.

“Do you?” you ask, your thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“Yes. Can I?”

You nod, and Kuroo swears his heart skips a beat. Hypnotized, he allows his eyes to flutter shut, ready to memorize all the various flavors you have to offer.

When finally he gets to savor your bare, delicate skin - sweeter than anything he has ever tasted before, it’s like the world stops for the both of you.

Or maybe you only drift to your own, each swipe of his tongue guiding you through a new route, the destination of which has yet to be discovered.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff

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parkeraul · 4 years

Note

Pleaseeee a quick write about reader sitting on Toms face and getting eaten out while also fingered

ann’s note — i’m assuming you requested this during the mob!tom week i suggested. if you didn’t, i’m sorry but i made it slightly mobster–styled. it’s filth so i hope you enjoy though.

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: dirty talk, swearing, smut (fingering, oral — female receiving) & mobster–related stuff.

masterlist ┊add yourself to my taglists ┊give me feedbacks.

→ IT’S A MOB!TOM WEEK.

The wind is chilly and she feels the temperature of the house contrasting with the warmth of her body, trying to get used to the feeling of not being under the comfy blankets anymore.

Her middle is still snug under the cotton baby–pink blouse she’s wearing, but her legs are mostly bare, her long socks covering all the way up from her feet to the beginning of her knees being the only thing hiding her lower half — besides her black underwear hidden by the hem of the blouse.

When she reaches the slightly–open door of Tom’s office, she can feel a hotter atmosphere due to the heater that must have been on ever since the day has begun. The sight in front of her eyes is his meeting table, excellently cleaned and empty; to the right, she can catch the view of him editing worksheets with one hand and taking packets of money from an enormous plastic bag to put on a black briefcase beside the laptop with the other hand. His hair is brushed back impeccably, suit open and tie resting around his shoulders as his jaw clenches and relaxes.

She steps inside, as silent as possible not to disturb him but Tom doesn’t need to look back to know his baby is there. Her scent is stuck in his memories in a way he recognises her just by the way she smells, the unmistakable fragrance of her shampoo combined with her favourite hot drink she drinks every morning invading his nostrils, making him drop his tensed shoulders immediately and chill unconsciously.

“You up, pretty girl?” He asks, eyes still glued on the screen as she tiptoes to stand behind him, arms embracing his chest and bringing his body closer to hers. Tom cocks his cheek to the side, knowing that her next action is to leave a sweet kiss on his skin — and so she does, bringing them both to smile simultaneously. “Did I wake ya?”

After the kiss, she gives him a warm and quick head–rub as she speaks, “No, baby. I just wanted to see you before you go downtown.”

Tom softens, quitting his current responsibility to give her some attention back. He takes his hands off the stuff to turn around in his chair and move his slender fingers to hold the sides of her thighs, meeting the cold flesh and studying the way her body lacks clothes in such a breezy day.

“Your thighs are clenching like this because you’re cold?” Knowing the answer, Tom asks keeping back his smirk. Then he looks her in the eyes, finding in those pleading irises the neediest request for relief. He swears his heart grows three sizes while she blushes and tucks the front strands of her hair back behind her ears, legs rubbing together harder as his hands start to knead her skin provocatively.

She shakes her head in denial, chewing on her bottom lip and lowering to straddle him, “Mm-mm.”

Tom stops her, travelling his palms to grab handfuls of her ass and slide his fingers under the fabric of her tight underwear, feeling all the extension of her icy flesh starting to burn because of his slow touch and the eventual scratch of his small nails. One of his hands comes to the front and slides her blouse further up, lips wetly kissing her stomach and taking his sweet time to work her up — tongue licking his lips before each smooch, mouth dragging along the skin exposed and the very edge of his tongue leaving soaking and tempting trails wherever he goes. She gulps, closing her eyes and resting her hands on top of his head, his gelled hair being the only cold thing matching the temperature of her hands.

While Tom keeps planting wonderful kisses along her body and giving all the possible sensations to her skin (grabbing, scratching, caressing up and down, pulling towards him), she closes her eyes and feels her clit throbbing, her core clenching around nothing and craving everything.

“No, baby?” He whispers in a raspy tone against her silhouette, looking up as his mouth goes down and his fingers start to wander along her inner thighs. The tip of his index finger traces her clothed slit, noticing how the wet spot down below her entrance was increasing rapidly by the way it soaked all the way up to her clit. “You looked out for me because you want me to play with you a little bit, hm? Want me to fix this little mess you’ve made in here, don’t you?”

He looks down to see the black fabric turning even darker because of her wetness, feeling his mouth watering to look up at her then, and watch her tortured expression nodding affirmatively like she would die if he denied such thing to her.

Tom stands up from his chair, discarding his tie and taking her gently by the legs, making her tiptoe and then wrap her legs around his body as he ends lifting her frame up.

Tom walks to the white and giant sofa of his office and sits down, having her hands cupping his face and kissing him deeply, grinding on him as his tongue slides against hers lazily. Their lips lock and unlock, making the kiss wetter and louder, needier. Tom grips her ass mightly, dragging her sensitive core against his growing bulge and landing a sharp slap onto her cheek, making her jump lightly and groan against his mouth. His index pulls the elastic band of her panties and releases it, making the material spring back as he breaks the kiss with a bite on her lower lip, “Up on your feet. Take this off.”

She instantly complies, taking her panties off and holding it in her hand while she straddles him back again. Tom helps her get down on him once more and his fingers search for her bare pussy as they map her spine, going to the small of her back, ass and then her slit, playing with her from behind, “Bloody hell, darlin’, you’re drenched.”

Of course she squirms and moans into Tom’s mouth when he adds pressure to his movements. His two fingers go up and down deliberately, stimulating her aching clit down to her entrance and then back up again in a loop. When on her clit, his skilled fingers draw circles right in the middle of her bundle of nerves to make her pant desperately, looking him in the eyes while his jaw falls shortly — it’s priceless to watch her unraveling under his control, the perfect way to please her that only he knows best; when on her entrance, he threatens to insert his digits after circling the region temptly, causing her to cry lowly with her lips pressed together and forehead dropped onto his.

He grabs one of her cheeks to make some space and finally thrust two fingers inside, “Shh... Take it, little thing, take it. Nice and slow.”She plants both palms on his chest and moans, closing her eyes and trying to take like a good girl the indescribable feeling of Tom pumping his long fingers inside her pussy, turning her on impossibly harder. Her legs go numb and she drives her hips against his movements — and Tom helps her, still moving his fingers in and out and pulling her down onto his digits by the firm grasp he still has on her ass, guiding her. As he starts to pump faster with short thrusts, she gradually becomes a whining mess. Tom loves every single second of it, watching her face contorting due to the amount of pleasure she’s receiving. The coil in her stomach is growing and making her nerves sparkle, attempting to savour the multiple sensations travelling all around her sweetest spots. “Eyes on me, babygirl, hey,” He calls out, making her look at him once more with her lips parted and swollen, so close to his and blowing gracefully the filthiest sounds into his mouth. “Eyes on me. Look at who’s fucking you this good, princess... That’s a good girl.”

Her walls clench around him as he hits her g–spot and the first wet sound echoes throughout his office loudly, “It’s here, right?”

“Yes,” She breathes out faintly, gasping and clutching onto his dress shirt for life. “Yes, yes, yes...”

Tom then begins to massage her spot quickly, hand bouncing up and down as her soaked pussy turns into a squelching mess. She would have screamed for the entire mansion to listen if Tom hadn’t glued his mouth on hers, muffling her now broken groans and sobs as his fingers bring her to a state of bliss. She can’t stop moaning and that’s how he knows she’s close — when she’s a noisy and dripping mess, gulping repetitively so she won’t drool all over herself as the soaked sound of his digits rubbing all of her sensible spots and grinding up and down becomes too much.He waits until she suddenly goes quiet, knowing that this is how she does when she’s about to cum to remove his fingers gently. She displays a confused face, cheeks flushed and hairline wet while Tom manages to lay down with her on top of him.

“On my face now, doll,” He says as she climbs further up, still unsure. “Want your taste on my tongue, c’mon,” While she reaches his mouth, Tom holds her by the waist with sight switching from her wet pussy to her teary eyes. “Just drop down real slow, I got you.”

She complies and lowers her hips, Tom kissing every possible inch of her inner thigh before his lips are busy on her clit, “Like this, baby. Just relax, come down a little bit more. You won’t hurt me, you’re okay.”

Before she can notice, his tongue slides along her slit and rubs her nub, lips enveloping it in a gentle suction. She sighs almost deafeningly, trembling on top of him while he pulls her down, mouth totally immersed on her pussy. Her pleasure multiplies infinitely from the good minutes being worked up, her whole body giving into the delicious way that Tom’s tongue laps up her juices and traps her pulsating clit for a mind–spinning time, suckling and licking devotedly. All of a sudden, his hand makes the same way it did before along her back and his digits find her entrance once again, breaking into her pussy and finding her spot again, rubbing it mercilessly as he sucks her clit repeatedly. Smack sounds from his wet action fly around the office along with her desperate cries, the quick pace of it all becoming too much for her to handle.

“I’m gonna c—”

She can’t even finish the sentence, shivering in a way she’s never done before while her orgasm bursts out and gives her chills. Her clit now throbs in the most delicious way against his tender and wet tongue, flat under her nub and moving in circles. Her entrance pulsates, feeling her high taking a longer time than usual to bring her back down to Earth and she swears that her blurry sight makes the dizziness grow more. Down in there, Tom is watching her with a boyish glance, upper lip perfectly molding the beginning of her lower lips and the tip of his crooked nose bumping into her soft skin. He closes his chocolate eyes to focus on the taste she’s left on his tongue, using it to lick a last long trail on her pussy and finish it with slow and breathtaking suctions. That’s the way he reminds her that a good girl gets whatever she wants if she asks nicely.

TAGLIST: @outlandishnerd — @jilanaholland — @space-holland — @hollandraul — @tomhollandseverything — @mcuspidey — @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory — @peterspideysense — @fanficscuziranout — @parkernerd.

TAGGING MUTUALS AND BLOGS: @madmadmilk — @angelic-holland — @fallinharry — @keepingupwiththeparkers.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #mob!tom #mob!tom x reader #mobweek #mine #ficsofmine #DUDE I AM #EMBARASSED #NEVER WROTE THIS ABSURD AMOUNT OF CRAPPY FILTH BEFORE

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown.

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?”

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself.

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask?

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut?

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school.

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark.

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning.

Your ears are buzzing.

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace.

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x black!reader #soulmate au #marvel fanfic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker angst #post endgame #post infinity war #peter parker soulmate au #pre far from home #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker slow burn #slow burn #black!reader

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flwrpotts · 4 years

Text

hands down

or: seven times jughead didn’t confess he loved betty and one time he did. some tooth rotting fluff to get us thru quarantine. the structure and concept of this fic is inspired by this. enjoy!

He knew that Archie’s bachelor party was going to end badly for him. It had started with Archie pressing a tequila shot into his hand before they had even gone to dinner, c’mon, Jug, it’s the only bachelor party I’m ever going to have! while Reggie and Moose had cheered in the background. He took the shot, lukewarm citrus and a rubbing alcohol bite. They drank steadily through dinner, boisterous and loud, and now they’re in a packed strip club, sweaty and bright with flashing lights.

He hasn’t been this drunk since college, five years at least, and he can feel himself slurring as he talks to Archie, everything hysterically funny all of a sudden. Betty texts him, a selfie of her and Veronica in a sleek looking bar, holding up their glasses of wine. Hope you’re having fun! she sends, and Jughead tries to formulate a text back, si goood i miss yoi so mughc, followed by a truly horrendous string of emojis.

Betty’s contact info lights up on the screen with an incoming call, and Jughead stumbles outside, away from the boiling music of the club. The night air is sharp with cold, and he sucks in an inhale, trying to clear the spinning in his brain.

“Hello?” he slurs into the phone, leaning heavily against the brick wall. Betty laughs, amused, and he misses her terribly, misses her even though he saw her that morning.

“Hi, Juggie,” she says. “Having fun?”

“I’m never doing tequila shots again,” he says, vowels blurry around the edge. “Not even for Archie.”

She laughs again, tinkling and amused, Veronica’s tipsy bright voice in the background. “You’re going to be okay getting home?” she asks, the faintest slip of concern in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and suddenly the last round of shots catches up with him, any facade of sobriety gone. “I miss you so much,” he whispers into the phone, the words mushy and almost indiscernible. “Love you.”

There’s a quick, sharp intake of breath Jughead is almost too inebriated to catch.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says before the call clicks off. They don’t discuss it.

Jughead hauls Betty up onto the counter, his teeth already against her collarbone. This is something they indulge in rarely, when neither of them are seeing someone, or when work gets particularly stressful. Betty moans, and he gets a hand up to cup the back of her head, keeping her from knocking her head against the kitchen cabinets.

“Jug, Jug,” she says into his mouth, yanking up his shirt and getting her hands onto his stomach, nails sweeping low over his waistband. He has goosebumps running down his spine, and his blood rushes hot through his head, leaving no room for intellectual thought. He undoes the button and zipper of her jeans, his fingers clumsy with anticipation.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hard, and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his brain is detached from the rest of his body. He hikes up her legs around his waist, pulling her even closer, and his vision is blurred with the flyaways of blonde hair and the sound of his name in her mouth. Her heel is pressed into the small of his back, keeping him pressed hard against her.

Betty moans again, louder this time, and Jughead’s hand flies to her mouth, remembering too late the thin walls of their apartment. Her breath is hot against his wrist, and his thumb dips against her bottom lip, mouth open. Her eyes open, a clear bright green, and it’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his pulse wired to hers.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his palm. He wants to yank on her ponytail, wants to lick the cherry chapstick off of her mouth, wants to stay inside this moment forever, suspended by the longing.

He presses his mouth to the fragile, ivory skin of her neck as he fumbles to unhook her bra, and he exhales iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, fervent and sticky hot, like a prayer, lost in the press of their mouths against one another.

Jughead waits for Valentine’s Day to arrive with the dread of a condemned man facing an executioner. The days of February tick by, and he waits patiently for Betty to mention a new romance, a guy she’s been seeing or a surprise hot date for the most romantic night of the year, waits for the Jones luck to really kick in. Finally, it’s the morning of, and she pads into the kitchen, startlingly beautiful in an oversized t-shirt and socks, glasses perched on her face, no mention of any plans.

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, all casual, heart in his throat, and Betty hums her agreement, absentminded and pouring coffee.

“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I get out of class at six, so six thirty?”

He makes reservations at a nice restaurant, dresses up in a nice shirt and yanks at the collar, feels awkward and out of place as the hostess guides him to the table, watching the elegantly paired up couples around him. The menu is definitely out of his price range, but he figures if he’s going to tell her he might as well make the grand gesture, give her the sort of romance she deserves.

Betty walks into the restaurant and for a single second everything in his head goes blank. It’s a secret phenomenon Jughead wouldn’t even know how to explain, the way she numbs everything out, makes everything better.

She folds herself into the seat in front of him, wearing a breezy, careless lavender dress and that familiar smile, ponytail falling in a perfect twist.

“God,” she says, picking up the menu and flicking through it mindlessly. “You won’t believe what happened in the coffee shop today. Is there anything more cliche than confessing your love on Valentine’s Day?”

He freezes.

Jughead gets home to the apartment late, cranky after being stuck in a social for the MFA students in his program. He yanks at his ill-fitting tie as he walks in the door, feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.

“Betts?” he calls, taking in the warm yellow glow of the hallway, light left on despite the lateness of the hour. Remnants of Betty’s evening are scattered through the apartment- dishes in the sink, a neat plate of leftovers in the fridge with a post-it note stuck on top, bolognese if you’re hungry <3

He steps into the living room, and Betty is passed out on the couch, surrounded by a stack of freshly graded papers, the sharp elegance of her handwriting crawling across the pages in bright red. She’s slumped at what must be an uncomfortable angle, legs tucked up underneath her and her head propped on her shoulder. The fondness pangs in Jughead’s ribs, sharp with longing. He just stares at her for a moment, the fine curl of the baby hairs at her temple, her mouth just a little bit open with sleep, all the lines in her face smoothed.

She’s so relaxed that Jughead doesn’t want to wake her, potentially kickstart the insomnia he knows gets to her when she’s stressed. So he picks up an old quilted afghan off of the other edge of the couch, tucks it up around her shoulders. Betty sighs in her sleep, shifting into the blanket and kicking one leg out.

I love you, Jughead mouths. I love you. Betty turns in her sleep, eyelids fluttering, and Jughead shuts the light off behind her, head full of the things he wishes he could tell her.

It’s Friday night, and the two of them are tipsy from the shared bottle of red wine, sprawled out on the living room floor with a Scrabble board between them. Betty sits cross-legged, flushed high in her cheeks from the wine and her hair loose around his shoulders. Jughead is raggedy in an old pair of plaid pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt.

It’s his favorite kind of evening, Chinese takeout for dinner and easy conversation, laughing as Betty struggles with the wine bottle opener.

Now Betty is staring at her Scrabble tiles with intense concentration, a line between her eyebrows that he wants to smooth out with his finger.

“If you try to pass off a word that you made up again-” he warns, only half joking. Betty gasps in mock outrage, one hand to her chest. “I would expect someone getting their Masters in Psychology to have a more refined sense of ethics.”

“I would neve cheat at Scrabble,” she says imperiously, laying out her tiles and spinning the board back over to him. Zale reads the word in front of him. Betty, for her part, tries to look impartial and doesn’t quite manage it, the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jughead feels the warmth burn inside of his chest.

“I love it when we do this,” he blurts out suddenly, awkward and out of place. Betty smiles at him, presses her hand to his from across the board.

“Me too,” she says. “And that will be twelve points for me, if you please.”

He loves her, but not enough to let her get away with such a stunningly illegal move. The night goes on.

Dear Betty,

I am writing to you now because I’m too terrified to tell you in person but I also can’t keep going on this way. Maybe a letter is the coward’s way out, but I prefer to think about it as romantic. To quote the genius herself (Jane Austen)- if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more. And I do love you.

I don’t know if it was at first sight, but do I know that the first time I saw you in that terrible freshman English lecture, it felt like something was beginning. Like some part of me knew that I was going to fall in love with you, my brain just hadn’t quite caught up yet. In some ways it still hasn’t. The way I feel about you has nothing to do with logic.

You’re my roommate and my best friend and my fellow true crime obsessee and the best fucking person I know. Having you in my life is one of the things I’m most proud of, and I’ve been so scared to ruin what we have, because in a lot of ways I think you’re the best part of me. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t there anymore. But I also can’t keep swallowing it down anymore. I guess I just have to trust that we’ll find a way to be in one another’s lives, no matter the capacity. Even if you don’t feel the same way.

Well, now you know. I love you. The ball is in your court, and it’ll really be okay if you don’t feel that way. I just need to know. So- come find me?

Yours,

Jughead

He sighs at the piece of paper, and balls it up with a groan, tossing it into the trash can with a faint thud.

It happens so fast Jughead barely has time to react.

They’re crossing the street of their apartment to get to their favorite overpriced but delicious coffee shop, chatting idly about Betty’s thesis advisor and her obsession with Lorrie Moore, and then the taxi comes out of nowhere against the light, inches away and Betty a step in front of him.

Jughead grabs her by the elbow and yanks her back in the nick of time, all adrenaline, moving before he even has time to process the danger, clumsy and fast. The taxi swerves past, a flurry of horns from the surrounding cars, and they stumble in an awkward, half time waltz back onto the sidewalk. Betty’s eyes are huge when she looks at him, shocked, his hand still fisted in the material of her coat.

“Holy fucking shit,” he swears, tongue a jumble. “Are you alright?” He begins to pat her down over her wool jacket, searching for potential injuries.

Betty laughs, still in shock at the suddenness of it all. “I’m fine,” she says, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I’m totally fine. You grabbed me in time.”

Jughead sighs out a shuddery, terrified exhale. The closeness of the encounter is still racketing through him, fear and relief pulsing through the veins in his wrist. His hands are shaking, and Betty squeezes one tightly in hers, reassuring.

“That was scary,” she remarks, and Jughead nods, for once beyond words. “The drivers in this city are ridiculous.”

“No kidding. I’m- I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, squeezing before he releases her hand. Betty smiles at him, easy and fond. It’ll take twenty minutes and two cups of decaf for his heartbeat to slow down.

They’re brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom, seeped with the laziness of Saturday morning. There’s coffee percolating in the kitchen, and Jughead knows without asking that Betty will scramble the eggs so long as he makes waffles, that they’ll sit at the tiny kitchen counter for an hour, sipping at their lukewarm coffee and talking about nothing. It strikes him, quite suddenly, that this is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life.

Betty is wearing just one of his t-shirts, her hair knotted into a bun at the top of her head, talking to him through the foam. Jughead, blue toothbrush in hand, turns to her, deliberate and suddenly unafraid. “Betty,” he says, and she turns to him, gaze curious, and he looks for a moment at their reflection in the bathroom mirror, a portrait of exactly where he wants to be. “I love you.”

“What?” Betty asks, and there’s toothpaste smudged on her cheek, eyes wide.

“I love you,” he says, heart in his stomach again. Betty grins at him, slow and wide and perfect,

“I love you,” she says, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He ducks down to kiss her, and her mouth is chapped and minty, and their teeth click together in his haste, and it’s pretty much the best moment of his life.

#mine #quarantine prompts #bughead #bughead fanfiction #Betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #this shit is so sappy I'm-

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Note

I'm obsessed with the famous singer with Calum universe and imagine your about to realease your first album and you ask them to come into the studio and listen to it and they all just give there genuine opinion on it while your head is on Calum's shoulder and your just break all the songs down for them and what they mean to you. But what if it was like Clairo's album bc that shit just SLAPS ok gn

Thanks for the suggestion! I tweaked it just a little bit. I hope you enjoy.

Here are parts one, two, three, four, five and six. This is the Distance series on my masterlist!

If you have any other suggestions for this series, please send them to me! I’ll use as many as I can while still progressing this story along!

_______________________________

The flight is no doubt long for Calum and he sleeps like a log on her couch, cuddled up with her dog. He’ll admit to missing Duke, but it’s nice to have another furry body around to curl up with. She manages to him wake up for food. Watching him sit at her tiny dining room table, with his eyes constantly blinking from sleep lingering, she can barely keep a grip on his plate. She wants to hate what Calum is doing to her. But for a fleeting moment she lets herself linger on the thought that maybe she can have this one day. As the plate settles with a soft thud, Calum smiles up at her. “Thanks,” he says, voice thick and deeper than normal. Her spine shivers, toes curling. It’s not like she hasn’t experienced this before while she stayed with him. But this--this just feels different between them now.

“No problem. I still can’t believe you just hopped onto a plan for me? That’s so insane.”

“Of course. I just wanted to help. I’d do it again too if I had to.”

“I have to go into the studio the rest of the week. I’m sorry about that.”

Calum takes her hand, across the coffee table, fingers gently grazing her skin. “You say that like I don’t understand.” They laugh, gently only cut across by the sound of her dog’s paw across her hardwood floors. “You gotta work. I’m just here to help out.”

The jetlag isn't as major as Calum thought it would be. It helps that he managed to sleep on the flight and his nap definitely aided. Her apartment is unmistakably small, but it’s cozy with the hanging plants and the sunlight that she lets come even once the sun has settled and night has fallen thickly over the city. “Only one bed, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we can figure something out. I can take the couch.”

Calum, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple, steps through the threshold of her bedroom door, keeping her in toe. “You are not sleeping on your own couch. If anything, I would. But I’m comfortable sharing a bed if you are.”

She nods. “I’m okay with that.”

And she is, but she can’t help her heart from fluttering when Calum returns from his shower, no shirt and just sleeping shorts. She peels back her covers, patting the empty space next to her. When he settles, albeit with a lump in his throat, he turns onto his stomach, clutching the pillows into his arms. “This is the point where we tell each other ghost stories,” he teases. He’s hoping his laughter doesn’t shake. He hopes she can’t detect how his body is shivering as the scent of her detergent and the mixture of hair products and lotions climbs into his nostrils.

She slips down under her covers, the lights in the room clicking off as she finds the switch for the bedside lamp. “I don’t have many of those. Generally, I try not to mess with ghosts.”

“Understandable.”

Turning onto her side, she goes to reach out and hesitates. She can’t believe it. He’s really here, across the globe for her. “I’m pretty sure you might be a ghost right now.”

Calum shakes his head. “Nope, I’m very much real.” He reaches out and takes her hand. He noticed it, how she retreated. Their fingers glide over, before she threads her fingers. He tugs her hand close and kisses over each of her knuckles. “I’m very much real,” he whispers into her skin.

Her morning routine starts earlier than usual, but only by a half an hour, as a phone goes off at 5:55 in the morning. “Fuck, sorry,” Calum straightens up, reaching across her to turn off his phone alarm. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs, wiping at the corner of her eyes. “It’s alright.” She hums as she stretches.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He falls back into the sheets, welcoming the warmth it brings. “It’s just--it’s a thing I do.” He’s trying to remember for a moment where he put his wallet.

One hand on his chest, she kisses his cheek. “Whatever you need, just let me know.”

“My pants,” he grumbles, wiping at his face.

She nods, and slips out of bed, finding his pants laying across his duffle bag. “Incoming.” Calum sits up and catches his pants, patting the pocket, and there in the back pocket is his wallet. He fishes out the wallet and photo, his mother’s grin making him smile in return. She spies something small that he pulls out and the warm smile. She wonders what it is, but she doesn’t push it before walking out into the hallway.

Their morning is quiet, Calum joining her to make a quick breakfast after taking her dog for a walk. The morning’s a bit breezy, though not overly so. Calum watches from the passenger side of the car as she rolls down the streets. “Sorry again about my alarm.”

She waves it off. “I’m an early riser anyway, Calum. Really, it’s fine.”

“It’s just a thing I do. I have this picture of my Mum and I. Makes my whole day better starting it out like that.”

Paused at a traffic light, she looks over with a soft smile. “That’s really sweet.”

“So, uh, what’s on your agenda today.”

“Laying vocals for one last song. And god knows, I’ll be laying them for hours.”

Calum remembers her previous rants about needing to get things exactly the way she sees them in her head out on tape. He’s excited to hear more music from her. The two singles are amazing, a bit more bluesy alternative than what he was creating, but the way her vocals reminded him of melting chocolate and she managed to teleport the listener, like sitting in a dark room with an old record playing in the background. It’s awe inspiring and a thing he always went back to when he felt like he was missing a home that he had never really been to.

The studio is cozy. It’s really just her, the producer and a couple other people. It’s close and intimate. As Calum settles onto the couch outside the recording booth, he keeps to himself but is polite as he’s introduced. “I didn’t expect a partner in crime for today, but uh, this is the famous Calum I probably don’t shut up about.”

She admits it so freely and Calum can’t help but gape. He’s not sure his ears are working. “She really don’t shut up about you, mate,” the guy introduced as Paul laughs. She steps away and lower, Paul adds on, “I’m not attempting to be big brother here. But that girl’s basically a sister to me. And she hasn’t smiled nearly as hard in about a year than she smiles about you.”

Calum watches the door, waiting for her to be just around the corner. When she’s not there, he turns back around. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a goner. But it’s, hard. The living situation right now.”

Paul nods, pulling his hair back into a bun. “I get it. I do. Shit’s not easy right now. But, I’m happy she’s happy. And I’m rooting for this. You seem decent. Literally flown across continents for her. That’s mad, but also, really genuine.”

Giggles signal of her arrival, that she’s just down the hallway but Calum chews over what Paul says, as he settles into the seat in front of the mixer and she slides into the booth. This thing went deeper that he realized. Through the speakers, everyone catches her vocal warmups, and Calum sneaks a cheeky video of her, making faces. “I see you, Calum!” She signals him out through the glass. They can only laugh before she returns to her work at hand.

Halfway through the day, they take a break and as the group leaves to gather lunches, she waves for Calum to join her at the desk. He slips into the second rolling chair. “Hopefully it’s not too boring?”

“No, it’s really not. It’s amazing to see you work.” He can feel the emotion anytime she does a take and it’s always more and more each time she goes. He worried for a second she’d loose her voice but Paul’s always there to reel her in.

“I wanna play you something.” He watches her click around and soon through the speakers, Calum hears the crooning guitar, wailing and setting the tone before her voice accompanies it. Her voice swells in his chest and he thinks for a second, he might be crying. But he can’t be. Not until she gently takes his chin, guiding him to look at her and her thumb comes up to wipe away gently at the corner of his eye.

“God, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Maybe if you stopped singing like an angel, I wouldn’t.”

She laughs, fingers dragging down his cheek, across his moles. “Don’t know what I can do about that.” And her voice is still singing around them, she’s still wailing along with her guitar. Calum just listens, part of him wishing he was listening through headphones to catch every tsk of the drums and listening to the creaks and breathes.

As the break comes around, her guitar crying out more and slightly out of the melody established, Calum bops along. His head dipping and shaking with the frets. “God, that sounds so dirty, but somehow so emotional at the same time,” he compliments. And as the tracks play on, he listens to each one, fingers picking out the keys and notes over the wooden desk. The guitar sounds like it was laid all at once, not much fuss what layers around it. Just like it was a moment that was just her and her guitar. He compliments each track, gives small suggestions here and there for production, but overall, he’s blown away by her craftsmanship and the way she’s been able to communicate with her team with what she wanted for each song.

“I want to write like you someday,” Calum teases over his plate. “What’s the secret?” The last twinkling of the bass and piano play out around them. And Calum’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“Being insane,” she returns with a soft laugh. “And having a really great team of course.”

“You’re the mastermind behind it all,” Paul addresses. “We’re just the minions. The pawns in her games of chess.”

She scoffs, working down the last scoop of soup. “Let’s be honest. I’d be lost without you.”

“Nah, you really wouldn’t, babes. You know what you want. I just happen to be able to translate it for you.”

Picking up a napkin from the table, Calum cleans away a little bit of soup that’s dribbled down her chin for her. “And a messy eater, clearly that’s needed in the recipe for creative genius too.”

“Fuck off,” she huffs throwing the plastic her spoon came in at his chest.

The session ends soon and as they all climb out, taking hallways back to civilization, Calum slips his hand into hers. He pulls them to the side, letting the crowd continue on. “You’re really talented, you know?”

“Nah, I’m not that--”

“No, you really are,” he interjects. His fingers come up to her chin, dancing across her skin. “You really, really are.”

Her cheeks are hot. She’s not sure how to hide the smile, if it’s okay to smile and for the moment all she can focus on his him, and the way his exhales are soft and his lips are such a pretty pink. “Thank you,” she breathes.

Calum dips his head, inching and inching closer. “Is-is it okay?” His lips are so close to her and instead of verbally answering, she meets him. They’re lips graze properly and briefly. She pulls away, body flooding with embarrassment and before the words can vomit over her lips, Calum pulls in for another kiss. This one longer, lips actually tasting the other. She thinks she could kiss him forever.

There’s a soft echo as their lips part. Her eyes are still closed, inhaling deeply to still her rapidly beating heart. “Yeah,” she says, then clears her throat. “It’s okay.”

Calum smirks at her answer, laughing as he kisses her again. This time without fear, without hesitation. Her fingers clutch around his shirt, he can feel her pulling at him like she can’t get close enough. But there is nothing, no inches, no centimeters, no millimeters between them hardly besides the cotton of their clothes.

There’s desperation, all the I miss you’s and I really could use a hug from you right now’s and all the almost spoken signs of affection pour themselves out into the kiss. They’re not handsy, not dying to cave into hedonism. Just unsure of how to use words to express the concern, the love, the care for each other. Calum cradles her face, pulling back just a little for air. “I’ve wanted to do that for like, so long. And it’s a shame how giddy I feel doing that.”

“No, never a shame. Because like my guts feel like they’ve been folded over like pastry dough right now.”

Laughing into each other, they linger for just a moment longer in the hallway. They share breaths, trying to find the steady established rhythm that they innately have, but getting so lost in each other’s gaze. She’s never really noticed just how deep the brown goes in Calum’s irises until now. “I have lyrics brewing in my head right now and like, it’s embarrassing,” she confesses.

“No, never embarrassing.”

“You cannot use my own sentiments against me.”

“I think I just have.”

-H

173 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 4 years

Note

Hey :) i kinda miss your prefall Gency fic... Do you think you can write some more ? Take care ♥

I’m still thinking about the canonical existence of Overwatch Propaganda Cartoons that we saw in that preview of Hero of Numbani.

...can you tell I watched old GI Joe opening theme songs specifically for this fic?

Also credit goes to @apocryphist for coming up with “underhand” which really should be the only name for villains in the Overwatch universe.

-----

Genji drummed his fingers on the conference room table as he rested his chin in his other hand. Mercy sat to his left, nonchalantly tapping out some correspondence on her tablet as they waited. On his other side, Tracer was bouncing her knee with her fingers interlaced on the table in front of her, doing her best to at least put forward the semblance of a strike team leader despite her fidgeting. Winston sat stiffly next to her, apparently trying to scroll through lab results on his own tablet but clearly too nervous to stay focused. It was a bright and slightly breezy afternoon in Zurich, and normally Genji would have been gracefully slashing his way through the training grounds at this time, but instead they were all here.

“I can’t stand it when they don’t say what the meetings are about,” mumbled Winston.

“It’s probably a top secret mission!” said Tracer.

“’Secret?’” said Winston, sounding even more nervous, “I’m... I’m not exactly good at ‘secret.’”

“Is it unrealistic to hope we got more intel from Doomfist?” said Genji, glancing at Mercy.

“I wish,” huffed Mercy, “But from what debriefings I could get my hands on, he hasn’t given us anything useful.”

“How is that possible?” said Genji, “After all the internal damage he did to Talon’s internal power structure, shouldn’t they be scrambling without him? Shouldn’t there be a power vacuum?”

“I don’t know any more than you do...” said Winston, readjusting his glasses.

“Honestly I thought you’d know more about it, what with the Blackwatch stuff,” said Tracer.

“Still benched,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Officially,” said Mercy with a slight side-eye.

Genji gave her an amused “Hmph,” before saying, “Either way, Reyes pushed me out of the loop now that I’m on your strike team... not that I paid that much attention to the loop befo---”

The door opened and everyone perked up at the sight of Jack Morrison and Sojourn walking into the room. Jack seemed uneasy, but honestly Mercy couldn’t really recall the last time he seemed at ease.

“Okay, before we start, I want all of you to keep an open mind with this,” he said, looking across all of them.

“...Very encouraging, Strike Commander,” said Sojourn, with slightly sardonic amusement. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face Tracer’s strike team, “As you all know, when you’re recruited into Overwatch, you sign a waiver allowing us to use your image in... all sorts of stuff. Press releases, scientific publications, training videos for new recruits---”

“Posters,” said Mercy, already skeptical.

“Posters, too,” said Sojourn with a smile, “However, back during Omnic Crisis Reconstruction, we were using the images of heroes for a lot more.”

“Heroes?” Genji repeated quietly as Sojourn produced a remote control from the pocket of her jacket and hit a button. The venetian blinds tilted to shut out the sunlight and the lights of the room dimmed as the wallscreen lit up behind Sojourn. The screen lit up in bright colors and red and yellow explosions as a trumpeting fanfare started playing. Tracer’s face lit up as a young cartoon version of Jack Morrison appeared on the screen, pumping his fist in the air.

“The world needs heroes!” said the cartoon Jack Morrison, “Are you with us?”

Genji glanced at Jack who was very clearly cringing at his cartoon self.

“Oh yes!” said Tracer, her eyes bright, “It’s been years since I’ve watched this! You guys know the song, right?” she said looking at her teammates, “..No?”

The theme song was already playing, and Tracer was singing along with it eagerly.

There’s no need to fear

Overwatch is here!

Saving all we hold dear!

Mercy made a ‘I really hope this meeting isn’t going the way I think it’s going,’ face at Genji and Genji suppressed a chuckle, but Tracer seemed absolutely thrilled and even Winston was humming along with the theme song. The theme song kept playing and even introduced different members of the old Overwatch Strike team. One of the animators clearly had fun lavishing a lot of attention on Ana Amari’s hair whipping around from the force of an explosion behind her. A still-blonde cartoon Reinhardt brawled fist-to-fist with some kind of black and neon green robot. Cartoon Morrison jumped a motorcycle off of an aircraft carrier with cartoon Reyes wielding a missile launcher in the sidecar. Torbjörn and Liao were working side by side in a lab before the camera panned out to reveal they were in a bright blue tank-like vehicle Genji safely assumed was entirely made up to sell toys, firing off RPG’s with even more explosions. Sojourn chuckled watching her cartoon self fire two submachine guns at black and neon green helicopters while parachuting out of an exploding jet. There was, all in all, a frankly ridiculous amount of explosions. It finally ended with one last massive explosion and fanfare and cartoon versions of Sojourn and the entire original strike team all pumping their fists in the air with Morrison in the center.

Sojourn hit another button on her remote, the wall screen blipped off, the venetian blinds opened and the lights came on, leaving everyone sitting at the conference table blankly.

“Ahh! Still just as good as when I was a kid!” said Tracer, excitedly.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say--” Morrison started.

“Propaganda,” said Mercy, “You want to put us in propaganda.”

“You’re already in propaganda,” said Sojourn, flatly.

“This is propaganda aimed at children!” said Mercy.

“Do you know how young Talon is recruiting?” said Sojourn.

“That doesn’t mean we should stoop to their level!” said Mercy.

“Wars aren’t just won by strategy and firepower, they’re also won by ideology, by public support,” Winston suggested.

Mercy remembered something Moira said and it sent a shiver down her spine.

The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas.

“Thank you, Winston,” said Jack, “It’s not necessarily about convincing them to join, it’s about convincing people that we have their best interests in mind. Which...” Jack gestured, “We do.”

“Those bad guys didn’t look like Talon,” said Genji.

“Oh, it wasn’t Talon!” said Tracer excitedly, before dropping into a dramatic narrator voice, “Underhand is a Ruthless Criminal Organization determined to rule the world!”

“Uh--Underhand?” said Winston. Jack said nothing but somehow managed to look more dead inside.

“...Overwatch and Underhand...” Mercy repeated incredulously.

“So--we’re going to be in a cartoon?” said Genji. For some reason, his armor seemed to feel tighter, pinching, constricting around him.

“Well, we did some polling after the Doomfist fight and ran some algorithms through a handful of popular forums and social media,” Sojourn explained, “It turns out you’re all very popular with the younger crowd. Winston and Tracer pull the biggest numbers, but you, Genji, are incredibly popular with boys aged 6 to 14.”

“I...I am?” said Genji.

“Shining armor,” said Mercy, smiling at him, and steam vented from his shoulders.

“And Mercy has a death-grip on the ‘Girls aged 3 to 11′ demographic,” said Sojourn.

“So... more girls are getting into STEM?” said Mercy.

“I’m.. not sure about that, but they seem to really like the fact that you’re pretty and you can fly,” said Sojourn, flipping through the report on her own tablet.

Mercy’s face dropped and she shook her head. She pursed her lips and thought for a few moments. “I’m not sure about this...”

“If we’re all over the news already, it could help to put stuff out there that gives us more control over our image,” said Winston, he scratched the side of his head, “It... would be nice to show people I’m more than just a gorilla...”

“Genji?” said Mercy, looking over at him. Genji was running his thumb over the knuckles of his prosthetic hand and he seemed to snap out of some particularly stressful train of thought.

“Oh...um... well... it would give you a chance to talk more about Overwatch as a peacekeeping organization?” said Genji, “And if you’re talking about it to children...”

“They might be less inclined to carry on the conflicts of previous generations!” said Mercy, her eyes brightening.

“Like we said, ideologies,” said Jack.

Mercy inhaled thoughtfully. “If--if we’re going to do this, I want my likeness used responsibly. I don’t want to advocate for violence in any form.”

“...yeah I figured you’d say that,” said Jack.

“And, even if we’re going through fictional conflicts, I don’t want it... glamorized and sensationalized like the old cartoon. We don’t need all those explosions---”

“You did pull Genji out of that explosion a few weeks ago though,” said Tracer.

“Well that’s different--! That’s--!” Mercy huffed, “I think we should push more of Overwatch’s scientific and humanitarian efforts. Show that making the world a better place is more complicated than just.. shooting at bad guys.”

“We could have a science corner!” Winston chimed in, “’Winston’s Science Corner!’”

“Ooh! And maybe I should say something about friendship and teamwork at the end!” said Tracer.

Genji was shrinking a little where he was sitting, unconsciously sliding his wrist plate back and forth.

“What do you think? Edu-tainment?” said Sojourn, glancing back at Jack.

“Could go over easier than a purely fictionalized narrative,” murmured Jack.

“Aw, I wanna fight Underhand, though!” said Tracer.

“Well in any case, you can expect more correspondence from our PR department as we move forward in this project,” said Sojourn.

“You might not be fighting Talon in some far-flung corner of the world, but make no mistake: this is an important part of the fight,” said Jack.

“And who knows,” said Sojourn as an assistant hurried in with a cardboard box and set it on the conference table, “You could end up some kid’s best friend.”

Tracer and her strike team all stood up from their seats to look into the box.

“Oh commander...!” Tracer looked about to burst with excitement as she reached into the box and pulled out an action figure of herself, “I love it!” She turned over the action figure in her hands and saw a button on the back. She pressed it.

“Cheers love! The Cavalry’s here!” said the Tracer action figure.

“That’s my line!” said Tracer, delighted.

“It’s quite a stunning likeness,” said Winston, taking his own action figure out of the box. He pressed a button on the back of his action figure.

“Primal Punch!” declared the Winston action figure and Winston chuckled.

Mercy took both the Genji and the Mercy action figures out of the box and chuckled a little.

“Yours is so pretty, Doc! They even got the wings!” said Tracer as Mercy fiddled around with the action figure’s wings.

“Yes, ‘pretty and flies’ indeed.’ I might be more inclined if she comes with a lab coat accessory,” said Mercy, giving a skeptical glance to her action figure’s bust size. She pressed a button between her action figure’s wings and scoffed a little as the action figure said, “Heroes never die!”

She held Genji’s action figure out to him and he hesitantly took it. “What do you think?”

Genji turned the action figure over in his hand and looked at the button on the back. He pressed it, but the figure said nothing.

“Oh we um... didn’t really have a ‘catchphrase’ for you yet,” said Sojourn as Genji gingerly ran the finger of his prosthetic hand up the blade of the action figure’s sword clasped in his little plastic hand, “We were hoping you could put in a word for it. These are just mock-ups, really.”

You’re incredibly popular with boys age 6 to 14...

Genji moved the arm of the action figure up and down, the figure striking downward with its sword, and he thought of young boys playing with this miniature him. Running with the action figure clutched in little hands with white knuckles, playing out battles, having the action figure swing its sword at all those foes, imitating his own swordsmanship, fighting their brothers with sticks, punching each other, kicking each other---

“No,” Genji said on reflex.

“What?” said Sojourn, glancing up from Tracer chattering about her own action figure.

“I--I said no. I shouldn’t have an action figure. I shouldn’t be in the show,” said Genji. His voice was tight.

“Genji...” Mercy started.

“...is it about how you look?” said Sojourn, “Because Genji, I can tell you, seeing people like us on the screen means the world to kids with prosthetics---”

“No--” Genji was stammering, “It’s not about that, it’s--”

“Genji, you’re a part of the team,” Tracer tried to reassure him, “It wouldn’t be the same without you--”

“Children shouldn’t want to be like me!” Genji blurted out, and there was a small plasticky snap. Genji glanced down and saw that he had unthinkingly broken the arm off of his own action figure. The entire room had gone silent, staring at him. He set both the action figure and its broken-off arm on the table and exhaled. “I’m-- I need to think about it,” he said, pushing up from the table and walking briskly out of the room.

“Genji, wait--” said Mercy, standing up. Her eyes flicked to the broken Genji action figure on the table and she picked it up, tucking both the figure and the broken off arm in the pocket of her lab coat. The door slid shut behind Genji but she quickly walked after him, leaving Morrison, Sojourn, Tracer, and Winston alone in the room. A long quiet pause passed between the four of them.

“Maybe just web shorts?” said Winston, “Just.. um... just the science corner?”

“Winston--” Tracer huffed.

“Right--sorry,” said Winston.

“...well, they did keep an open mind,” said Jack, “Mostly.”

“Don’t make me break out your action figure, Jack,” said Sojourn.

----

It was a known fact that if you broke visual contact on Genji, you had a pretty low probability of finding him again unless he wanted to be found. Still Mercy spent more of the remainder of the afternoon looking for him than she was readily willing to admit. The fact that he was able to disappear from the hallway that quickly made her assume he had taken the window (very mature, by the way, Genji, she thought with an eye roll) but she checked all of his usual spots and even went to his room before finally huffing and returning to her lab.

It was about 11 at night when the door slid open.

“Genji, we’re beholden to the UN. I know that was an uncomfortable situation, but... there are still protocols,” said Mercy, not even looking up from her screen.

“I know,” his cybernetically reverberative voice hummed from the other side of the room.

“I don’t know how... informally Reyes maintained his meetings, but we can’t--” Mercy looked up from her screen and read his posture and expression. Her shoulders slumped. She pushed up from her desk and walked across the lab over to him.

“I’m sorry, I know. I just shut down,” said Genji as she closed the distance between them, “I don’t even know where it came from, ever since I joined Tracer’s strike team, I thought I’ve been getting better but--” he cut himself off as she hugged him. He stood there for a few seconds before returning the embrace. A part of him wanted to take his faceplate off, breathe in the smell of her hair and the smell of coffee on her, but he tamped that down. They had embraced before, after Gérard Lacroix’s death, and had broken out of it, both of them muttering about it being inappropriate and messy, but after missions together on Tracer’s strike team, there was no such shame in taking comfort in each other like this. She loosened the hug slightly to look at him.

“What you said... about you and children...” she trailed off.

“I...” Genji sighed, “I’m an assassin.”

“You’re an agent,” said Mercy.

“Whose skills all come from the fact that he was raised to be an assassin,” said Genji, “What I went through as a child---I don’t want another child to go through it. And I don’t want children to think that’s what they want because it’s not.”

“They won’t have to,” said Mercy, putting her hands on his shoulders, “The Shimada Clan’s practically collapsed! You get to decide who you are, not them! You get to choose what you do with your skills,” one of her hands trailed down his arm and clasped his organic hand, “And you choose good. You’ve been choosing to do good.”

“...kids shouldn’t want to be like me when I don’t even know what the hell I am,” muttered Genji.

Mercy gave a helpless chuckle, “Join the club. ‘Mercy’ is easier to be than Angela. People listen to ‘Mercy,’ except not really, because she’s just pretty and she flies and at the end of the day, she’s just a bloody idea, so no one actually listens to her because she’s not real---” she caught herself, “God, they’re really going to turn us into cartoon characters, aren’t they?” she said, pushing her bangs back from her face, “As if things weren’t already weird enough.”

“Cyborg ninja. Angel doctor. Time traveler. Gorilla from the moon. It really makes no difference at this point,” said Genji with a shrug, looking over her shoulder, he noticed a small figure on her desk. “Is that---?” he broke out of the embrace and walked over to the desk to see his action figure standing there. The arm had been glued back on, the seam of the break barely visible. He picked up the action figure. “You fixed me? It--It-- I mean it. You fixed it?” he said glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Well I couldn’t just leave you like that,” said Mercy, chuckling a little.

“’You’ve rescued me again, Doctor Ziegler!’” said Genji, making the action figure bob with his words. They both snickered. “Maybe that can be my catchphrase,” said Genji, a smirk in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” said Mercy, giggling.

#gency

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spareisms · 3 years

Text

@princewished hey remember when u said to continue our modern thread ?? big mistake

By 1:00, Anna was starting to sober up.

Maybe not sober up, but she definitely wasn't as drunk as she'd been before. The songs started to make more sense, stopped blurring into one another between trips to the bar with Ariel and trips to the dance floor with Jasmine.

Between drunken adventures, her steps became stronger, her mind focused on Aladdin and their fight. Curling fingers and twisting words swam in her mind, and she chased it down with vodka and redbull. She remembered the pain he'd caused her through his lie. His lie, there wasn't a way around it. He'd snuck into her socialite club, with it's fancy titles and monuments and trust funds. The art gallery full of the elite, of riches, of checks to be signed and lineages to be upheld. Anna and Elsa were representing their parents' buisness, the stocks and companies imposing and overwhelming. At least, that's how Anna felt about it. Elsa was really the one with the answers. But, Anna knew her role, her part to play. And, while she didn't want to be the head of the company by any means, she also didn't want any harm to come to her parents' legacies.

She wouldn't let anything happen to her family, whatever was left of it.

So, with enough people like Hans Westerguard or Dukes Weasleton to worry about, she had more on her plate than she could handle. Even before Aladdin had entered the gallery, th when it came to Aladdin's betrayal.

His lie.

But....even if it was a lie -- wasn't it only because he'd wanted to impress her? To show her he was serious? About them? He'd gone through all that trouble, all that confusion and deceit -- could it all have been for some kind of noble reason? Could it all have been for her?

Anna wasn't sure of anything anymore.

In fact, by 1:30, she realized just how little she understood anything at all.

She'd lost Ariel and Jasmine. Somewhere between the bathroom, the smoking sections, the various bars in the club -- her friends must have found some other guys to hang out with or something, god knows they were beautiful enough. But her thoughts weren't quite connecting to each other. She felt like she was stumbling around the dance floor instead of shimmying -- before she knew it she was off the floor completely.

Outside....outside please.

Some fresh air, away from the loud music and sweaty bodies she didn't know and drinks she couldn't finish (where did she put her last drink? where did she get this one?)

The cold air outside the club washed over her in breezy waves, ruffling her hair around her shoulders and the dress around her knees. It felt really quite nice to be outside and even started digging around in her purse for her phone to tell the girls she'd be out here for a while. After a few moments trying to find the damn thing, though, she gave up, head pounding again. What was she looking for, again?

She walked along the side of SYNDROME'S, the warehouse's brick exterior extended beyond. Leaving behind the crowded front street and beckoning to the darkened alleyways and the side streets, it seemed another world away.

Her fingers scaled the brick wall, she even hummed a little bit. What was she humming? Not sure. Why was she so mad at Aladdin, anyway? She couldn't deny that she missed him, even as mad as she was at him for what he did. For what a fool he made out of her. But, he also had a lop-sided grin. And that ruffled hair that she so loved to touch. And his eyes -- ok, maybe she was allowing herself to miss some parts of him. But that didn't mean she forgave him. It didn't mean she wanted to ever talk to him again. It certainly didn't mean that. As she walked, she got a text, and from the ringtone she knew exactly who'd sent it.

"Speak of the devil," she mumbled, a smile creeping onto her lips. Then, her hand was in her purse, fingers reaching around her unlocking phone. Her feet had just crossed into shadows. Her stride swallowed in black.

"And we appear."

The voices that answered made her freeze in the darkness.

Anna had to muster up a lot of focus before she could muster up anything resembling focus. She had to make sure she'd even heard them correctly. Men. Two of them at least, talking at once. She felt her feet twist around almost on their own, and her head was dangerously close to swimming. Fuck, was all she could think. "Hello?" Was all she could call out. "Hello," answered the considerably much bigger forms from the blackness. Anna's hand tightened around her phone. She wished she could pull it out, but she didn't want it to even be noticed -- it could get slapped away. She wasn't sure that line of thinking made sense, but for now it was all she had. She hoped it was unlocking. She prayed her random thumbing on the screen would be enough to dial someone. Anyone. Even Aladdin, whose ringtone had just gone off moments ago, had just restarted her thumping heart.

She knew she was in deep trouble. Because it was with a sickening feeling that twisted her stomach and chilled her spine, that Anna realized she recognized the voices. The identical voices.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice quite a bit stronger than she thought it would be. Considering how much she was shaking. Could they tell, in the dark? "Or should I ask, what does Westerguard want?" "Now, see -- I told you she'd ruin all the fun, didn't I?" In two steps that seemed to take no time at all, the Stabbington brother with an eyepatch (a literal eyepatch, who was this guy?) was directly in front of Anna. The limiting darkness was less effective when someone was this close. Anna instinctively backed herself up into the wall, startled and scurrying like a frightened rabbit. She was frightened -- she was very frightened.

She knew exactly what Hans was capable of. And sending others in to do his dirty work for him well -- it was just like Hans. Anna's blood was ice.

"He said you'd talk a lot," Brutus went on, his breath warm on Anna's face. "Luckily, you won't have much to say in a bit. I even say you're already feeling a bit less chatty, right?" His tone made Anna hesitate. How did he know her tongue suddenly felt heavy and square? That her brain was layered in a thick fog? Her fingers felt like lead and tingled at the same time. Her eyes had trouble focusing.... Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh no. Ohhno...

Her absolute stupidity rolled over her in waves, much like the heavy blanket of whatever it was she'd taken. Whatever it was they'd given her. "But don't worry, we'll do all the talking anyway." There were hands on her, keeping her upright and against the wall. Her head was lolling, Marcus snapped it back, her bangs and the top of her head balled up in his giant fists.

"We're going to make this fast --" "Title of your sex tape--" Anna wasn't sure what made her say it aloud- probably because she didn't realize she'd said it at all until she was slapped very hard across the face. She also heard quiet laughter, but the fingers wrapped around her arms and ribs were quite a bit stronger from then on. She knew it would bruise.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and listen. We have a message for you." Oh goodie, thought Anna, though she stiffened. "Westerguard knows you're up to something. You and your precious sister have those investments hidden from the public, but we're not fooled. The merger with Southern Isles Trading will continue as scheduled."

There was a pause. Good luck with that, was what she wanted to say, but the words couldn't sort themselves out.

"So -- you think... I --" she couldn't get the words right. Her voice was trembling, her last understandable words (though hilarious) completely useless. She kicked out in frustration, finding one of their knees and landing a blow, hard. Her reward for bravery was her head getting slammed in the wall. Anna saw stars and cried out, a bit more of her resolve escaping.

All this was about money? About the companies? Her disdain for her family businesses, though profitable, though useful and charitable and valuable to her, though she cherished it -- she couldn't help but hate it all the same. Hate the kind of person Hans was. Power-hungry, a monster.

"And, Westerguard wanted us to remind you of something... else," Brutus went on. To Anna's horror, he was able to hold his one arm across her entire torso, his brother holding her hips and head. But with his other hand, Brutus withdrew a long knife from his pocket. Anna felt the cold blade before she really registered what it was, what it could do.

He dragged it up her thighs, across her stomach, held it against her throat. He pressed it down, the blade lay flat against her skin. Anna couldn't breathe. She was trembling now, she whimpered. She couldn't help it. "Don't forget," Marcus murmured in her ear. Her heart was beating so loudly she was amazed she heard him at all. "Your.....arrangement still stands." He cut into her cheek. She screamed, but no sound came out. ----------

It had started to rain. She wasn't really sure when she noticed the rain, or for how long it had been raining. Anna wasn't sure where to go, or what to do, really, but she didn't want to get rain on.

The Stabbingtons had left 20 minutes later. Or, at least, her phone said it was 20 minutes later, since Aladdin had first texted her. Her phone had managed to call him, but she couldn't read what anything said. She could barely keep her eyes open, and her head hadn't stopped spinning like a top. She was glad her dress was red. Even though it was ruined, surely, at least nobody would see all the blood. Just the cuts on her face. And arm. And her knee was pretty banged up, too. But the stuff on her back, from the wall? Maybe that would go mostly unnoticed?

Not that there was anyone around to see her, anyway.

The rain started to pick up, but Anna didn't know where to go. Not back inside the club -- that was too much attention. She didn't know where to walk to -- in her state, she'd probably end up on the highway. And the ground wasn't so bad. She was underneath a lamppost now, after continuing down the alleyway, this time towards FRONT STREET. Nothing felt like it was working right -- how had she even ended up outside? She wanted to cry. This night had been a total disaster from the very start, her own stupidity not included. The terror from the encounter with Hans' bodyguards was rippling through her. She stumbled frequently and had to catch herself on the wall a few times. Your arrangement. Your arrangement. Your arrangement. Your arrangement still stands. Anna leaned back against the side of the alley, lampost's ugly yellow light shining just enough for her to see what a mess she was. She pulled her knees up and rested her burning cheek between her knees, cradling it in her hands. She was shaking heavily now, from the cold, from the blood, from the knife, from the information, from the overwhelming pain. She was trapped. It was useless. She was useless. The lampost flickered twice and went out.

The night swallowed her whole.

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skinks · 4 years

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richie, instantly getting a boner at the sight of ‘drunk with something to prove cowboy’ eddie: who thinks i can get us kicked out in under 5 minutes for being much more horny and gay than allowed in this public bar???

Eddie unbuttons his shirt to the bandit crest of his scar, whips his boring tie in a boleadoras attack at Richie’s head, and Richie’s legs actually give out.

He slumps hobbled against the bullpen fence groaning helpless and salt-cracked. He’s glad the bar is bouncing between dark and rainbow beer-sign neon, and that the bullpen is hiding where he’s hot and stiffening. Eddie’s acting like an idiotic man twenty years his junior, leather-chaps gap between his thighs as he jumps around like a loon. That’s mirage-talk though, dangerous to reach for something Richie never saw and never will—as if Eddie at twenty was ever sleek and wild as this pitching bronco demon with a horseshoe hole in his chest. Richie’s mouth won’t close. His head is a mushroom cloud of Midwest alcohol, but even still. Jesus, his cock is filling out ripe with blood in public with his reclaimed posse of compadres, like he’s sixteen again in gym class or the quarry or the slimy woods, when the tendons carving desert-golden riverbeds down the backs of Eddie’s knees to brace his downy calves formed divots Richie ached to slide his tongue into.

He presses his hips against the fake-wood PVC fence, traps his hard dick there and wants, wants, bandsaws his tight jaw back and forth—hopes. Hopes like an adult hopes, that his fate might not rest in the hands of unknowable hormonal misfires but in the persuasive properties of his own rattlesnake tongue, in the dark corner of a bar in Hemingford Home, Nebraska. Eddie knows about his cowboy thing, he must be doing this on purpose. What other explanation for the way he’s tipping an invisible Stetson right at Richie with a high-noon grin, his whole stripling, rawhide body undulating from sensible boots to narrow shoulders like the whipping wave of a lasso, what the fuck. Where did Eddie “sits in his Chrysler then at a desk for eight hours then his Chrysler again then his couch watching HGTV all evening” Kaspbrak, Richie’s bureaucratic best friend, acquire core strength like that?

Firm ass curves, the bull rears thunderous, Eddie rides it like a cloud. Like it’s nothing. Like he does this all the time. Neon catches shadows in the creases of his slacks around his thighs, his groin. Does he — the way he keeps glancing back like he’s checking on his audience, would he work himself like that til he comes naked on Richie’s secret raging hardon later tonight if Richie begged, no hands and cocky and swiping his pelvis forward and back like a slingshot? Tame me. Shoot me. Break me to ride. Shrike my body to your cactus spike. Wrench the metal bit back against my gums with unforgiving reins wrapped around your knuckles. Kick the spurs of your bony Maine ankles into my fleshy sides while I rage inside you, and draw my blood, please, please, please, I want your gold rush. The crushing prairie heat of the bar sucks sweat from his hairline. Breezy whines roll from Richie’s chest like tumbleweed. Bill pats his back in sympathy and something that feels like good luck, pardner, nice knowing you.

The music plucks and twangs and coils and croons and strangers are screaming for Eddie Kaspbrak, reluctant risk analyst, enthusiastic monster-killer. Kid who giggled at Richie’s upside-down bunk-bed antics, but only Richie Tozier knows that. Richie’s shoulders go weak watching him arch his sunbleached canines in a grin above his ever-evil tongue, licking cornbread honeyglaze sweet from his lip, watching Richie back as he trips the bull’s spine like the rodeo ringmaster. Bev and Patty and Audra are all whooping their heads off while Mike and Ben are busy slotting more coins in the thing to keep it bucking. But Eddie dismounts gracefully to worldwide consternation, swaggers forward all John Wayne by way of Amazon jaguar, like he really has been clenching his juicy little thighs around a mustang for the last six months on the high Sierra trail in his gray-wool slacks. Richie’s dully shocked he didn’t do a somersault, panting grateful he didn’t; saved the undertaker nailing up another wooden box.

Nebraskans are tossing one dollar notes into the ring for an encore, and Richie’s cock is hanging thick between his legs for a riding. Fake PVC wood creaks in his fists as Eddie grabs him by the bolo tie he wore special for the occasion, tugs him down into a greasy onion-batter kiss, their first kiss, yippee-ki-yay, hi-ho silver, I’d give you my heart for a fistful of dollars, my soul for a few dollars more. Richie pushes Eddie’s sweating mouth open with his mouth and Eddie is scrambling over the fence with none of his previous grace, grabbing overflowing tousles into Richie’s dust-devil hair. Stanley is firing handfuls of beer nuts their way like it’s a shotgun wedding already, which it might as well be, given how Richie’s bending Eddie back into the bullpen fence and gasping thank you, Eds, oh thank god, fucking yeehaw, Eddie, holy shit, will you do me like you did that bull, I still love you, I’m sorry but I do, into this never-ending kiss and how Eddie’s licking the salt from his wounds and laughing I know, god, finally, I love your weird cowboy fetish, Rich, I love you, why the fuck else would I do that, and steel-guitar waltzes a slow romance with a fiddle as the bull slows and they all nine of them stumble out through the wafting bald-eagle wings of a saloon door and into the dark, hot, cold, together, alive, and star-spangled

#im still drunk and listening to my dick riding playlist sorry #ficlet

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