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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Trying

Warnings: allusions to fertility issues, unwanted touching, and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: I got carried away with Blind Offer but here is another Corrupt a Wish! Ft. our boys Steve and Ransom!

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Ransom would be a simp for me despite the fact that I’m Steve’s girl 😏 by @stargazingfangirl18

“He’s in his office, writing again,” you keep on hand on the door as you speak to the man on your stoop. “Something about a book deal…”

You grin and Ransom’s cheek dimples. Nothing more. Sometimes it feels like he only tolerates you because you're attached to Steve. You try to give them their space, to stay out of the way. You’d hate to spoil this for your husband.

“Right, so..” Ransom tucks his hands into his russet jacket and looks over his shoulder, “you sending me back out in that?”

“Not at all,” you step back, “come on in.”

He looks back to you with that expression you can’t read. His eyes speak more than his features but they are cryptic. There’s a light behind them you can’t quite place. He steps inside, rivulets on his jacket and a few sparkling droplets caught in his dark hair.

“Can I get you a tea? Coffee?” You offer, balling your hands to keep from wringing them.

He unbuttons his jacket and hangs it from a hook. He smooths his hands over his hair, the rain seeping into the strands. He faces you and tilts his head.

“Got anything stronger?” He asks.

You try not to show your surprise at the request. It’s three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday. Your liquor cabinet is rarely opened even on the weekends. It’s more decorative than practical.

“You like gin, right?” You venture.

His lash flick and he narrows his eyes at you, a ripple in his forehead. He plants a hand on the wall and bends as he thumbs off his wet shoes. He keeps his gaze pointed at you, “you remember?”

“Lucky guess,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he looks around the entryway, “I’d say so.”

You try not to betray your doubt. It’s hard to tell with him what is meant as a compliment or shade. He speaks in riddles. You almost want to suggest he takes up writing himself. It is in his blood.

“I’ll go see what we got,” you say and spin on your heel.

You’re quick to flee the stolid pressure of his persistent gaze. It’s as if he’s weighing you, judging your worth each time he sets sight on you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought you weren’t good enough for Steve. And how could you be? How do you live up to the Captain America?

You go to the cabinet in the dining room and unclasp the door. You peruse the bottle and find a tall bottle of gin. You slip it out over the tops of the other bottle and gently close the cupboard. You bring it to the kitchen and search for a suitable glass among the crystal.

“You got club soda?” Ransom frightens you as you pull down a tumbler.

You turn your head, looking at him from your peripheral. You sidle over to the fridge, “might…”

He crosses the tile as you search and you feel the door shift. As you close it, his hand follows, staying flat to the metal as he peruses the calendar stuck to it with a magnet. The squares are crowded with clusters of your and Steve’s writing. You highly doubt he has any concern for your doctor appointments.

“Busy,” he comments.

“Yep,” you agree as you open the can of soda, “sorry, I don’t have any citrus.”

“It’s fine,” he comes closer as you pour the soda over the gin and the clear mix bubbles to the rim. “Thanks, doll.”

He reaches and slides the glass towards him. For a moment, looming so you can smell the bergamot in his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his ivory knit. He backs away as he brings the glass to his lips.

“I should go find the old man,” he declares.

“Right,” you move the half-empty can and cap the gin, trying to contain yourself.

You listen to him retreat. His steps are lazy and carry no urgency. You glance over to make sure the kitchen is empty and you lean on the counter.

Doll… only Steve calls you that.

💕

Ransom stays for dinner. It’s not unusual. You don’t even have to ask as two hours pass without a peep from the office. That’s how your husband spends his days lately; burrowed away, writing, grumbling over his laptop, and occasionally calling for help. You smile each time he tells you typewriters were so much simpler.

As you bring out the serving dishes to the table, Ransom chats about some editor’s meeting, Steve looks over as you place the roasted potatoes down, he lets his hand wander to your lower back and smiles up at you. He’s in a better mood than usual.

You touch his shoulder, too shy to kiss him in front of Ransom. You just hate how he’s always watching. The last time to gave your husband a peck on the cheek, it resulted in a snort and a mean joke about PDA.

You go back to the kitchen and grab the pan of drumsticks. You stop as you pass the fridge, staring at your writing, the highlighter over the letters. A few more days… The specialist will be able to figure it out. They have to.

You shrug away that thought and continue into the dining room. You place the last piece of the meal and claim your seat. You sit and wait to take a serving of potatoes until Ransom and Steve get some, then scoop up some grilled asparagus, and a single drumstick.

“Sorry, could I trouble you for another drink?” Ransom asks before you can lift your fork.

“Oh, of course, I forgot,” you push your chair out and grasp the arms as you stand, “Steve?”

“Just water for me.”

You nod and hurry back to the kitchen. Your stomach is roaring with hunger. You pour the rest of the soda in a new glass with the gin. Then you fill a glass with water from the filter on the fridge. You return and give each man their drink.

“Thought you were cutting back,” Steve remarks as Ransom swigs his drink greedily.

Ransom pops his lips and lets out and ‘aah’, “well, I’m only on number two. Usually I’d be at the bottom of the bottle.”

“Fair,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t drink, even if he did, it doesn’t have any effect for him. You stopped drinking months ago so you could… Well, it hasn’t helped, has it.

“So, first draft when?” Ransom chortles as Steve answers with a growl. “I’m teasing. You’ve made good progress. I mean, the whole world just can’t wait to hear the story of good ole Cap from the man himself… and my grandfather is especially looking forward to it.”

“Mm,” Steve chews, jaw tight with irritation. No, how quickly his good mood flies away. “Deadlines… I am very aware.”

“He’s been working hard,” you offer, “he’s in his office everyday. I think you’re the first guest we’ve had in a few weeks.”

Steve nods but doesn’t comment. Ransom takes another drink. “Must be hard for you,” he remarks, “lonely.”

“I told her to invite Wanda over,” Steve snips, “if she’s lonely, she’s free to solve that problem.”

“Yikes, sorry I said anything,” Ransom cringes, “lighten up, old man.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Steve huffs, “it’s not funny.”

“Well… you’re what…a hundred or something now? Pretty damn ancient if you ask me–”

“Hugh,” Steve snarls.

Ransom’s grin disappears in an instant. He puts his glass down heavily and leans forward. The men glare at each other. Then suddenly, they’re laughing at each other. You don’t get it. You can’t figure out if they actually like each other or not. It does your head in.

“Mathematically speaking, you’re old, but I’m sure the wife will say you’re spry and youthful in spirit, huh?” Ransom winks in your direction.

Steve sucks back his last laugh and rolls his eyes, “don’t be gross.”

“What? It’s a compliment.”

"It's none of your business," Steve warns.

Ransom laughs again. Steve doesn't and you keep your head down. You can't wait for him to finish this book, hopefully that will be the end of this relationship; professionally and otherwise.

💕

Ransom leans heavily on Steve. The supersoldier shoulders the man with ease as he drsgs him up the stairs. The upstart heir to a bookhouse empire babbles drunkenly.

"So, I get out of this meeting and see my fucker uncle–"

"Language," Steve girds, swiftly ignored as the story continues with similar profanity.

You follow behind, clasping your hands together anxiously. This isn't how you thought the night would end and you know the change in plans will upend Steve. You swallow a dread-filled sigh as your husband angles the houseguest into the spare room.

He as good as tosses Ransom onto the bed. You can tell he's annoyed.

"What were you doing feeding him drink all night?" Steve accuses as he faces you, hands going to his hips. That posture, great, now you're in trouble.

"It was only two," you sputter, "really– you can check the bottle."

Ransom giggles and lets put a belch, "I dropped a few xanny after that idiot uncle of mine got in my face."

"Really?" Steve twists to sneer at the sprawled man. Ransom is so pathetic it's almost impossible to hate him.

"What? Taking the edge off. You should try a few, old man."

"Go to sleep," Steve points at him and turns, marching towards you.

"I'll get some water…" you offer softly.

You precede him out, ready to scurry away from his roiling wrath. He catches your arm as he pulls shut the door. He tugs you back to him, lowering his voice.

"Are you…" he stares at you, his meaning in the angle of his jaw.

"First day," you know he checked the calendar.

"Good," he lets you go and exhales deeply, "I need it."

You nod. He used to be romantic about. Now it's just another chore. Almost mechanical.

"I'll just grab that water and–"

"I'll be waiting," he grits as his throat constricts.

You touch his chest and kiss his lips, "then I'll hurry."

His chest rises and he swallows loudly. He turns away first and you flit away. You know better than to keep him waiting.

You go downstairs and find a fresh glass from the cupboard. You watch the clear water flow into the crystal and balance it carefully to keep it from sloshing over the edges. You come back upstairs and gently tap on the spare room door.

With no answer, you let yourself in, assuming that Ransom's succumbed to his Xanax cocktail.

He's on the bed, just as you left him, eyes closed as he breath subtly under his sweater. You near the night table and set down the water. As you do, you feel a pinch on your ass.

You squeak and recoil. Before you can retract completely, Ransom catches your wrist and yanks you towards the bed. You hold firm, teetering but not succumbing.

"What are you doing?" You touch his thick fingers.

"You're too good for himmmm," he drawls out, "you know that?"

"Ransom--"

"No, it's true. You're so sweet, dolllllll."

"Don't call me that."

He snarls and you're suddenly flung forward with his strength. He pulls you so you collapse onto the bed, against him. You whimper, but not loud enough to be overheard.

"And pretty and..." He caresses your cheek as you turn your face away, squirming as he wraps you up in his other arm, "and perfect. The way you make my dick hurt..."

He rolls his hips and you shove against his shoulder, "get off."

"Shhh, baby, I know you want it too. He doesn't treat you nice. He can't give a baby, but I will--"

You struggle as he grabs your chin and rolls, pinning you to the mattress as he leans over you. Helpless, you writhe, kicking your legs as he smothers you in a sloppy kiss. He tastes like gin.

You bite his lip and he snaps back. You take the opportunity to shove him away and you scramble up off the bed. He reaches for you again but you stay beyond his reach.

"Sleep it off," you hiss and twirl away from him, off kilter as you try not to show how unsettled you are.

You flick the light switch and shut the door, leaning on it as you touch your lips. Hopefully, Steve doesn't taste the gin on you. Not like he really kisses you during anymore.

#ransom drysdale #steve rogers #dark ransom drysdale #dark steve rogers #dark!ransom drysdale #dark!steve rogers #ransom drysdale x reader #steve rogers x reader #drabble #corrupt-a-wish #marvel #knives out #mcu #captain america #avengers

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spacexseven · 1 year

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Okay okay youre on the opposite team as floyd during beanfest right? He gets so distracted from actually capturing the flag that he just wants to capture and squeeze his shrimpy. Aaaaaaaaa

When he finds them he just wont let them leave his side and he'll be triumphantly walking with them in his arms. He wont bean them to get them out or anything, he just wants to show everyone that hes claimed his shrimpy.

(also lowkey imagining him with the shy darling from my last ramble. They just blush so hard that they cover their face with their hands and floyd will chuckle and nibble on their pinky to make them reveal their bashfulness.)

He will return to home base with his shrimpy and everyone will look at him like he's insane as the person in his arms flails to get away so they can capture the flag which is now in their line of vision. If he's questioned floyd will say he's taken a hostage to ransom the other team into giving up the flag.

(⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)🧡

I love floyd so much

-Floyd simp

cw: yandere character (like a hint)

similar to the actual story, floyd doesn't want to bother with joining the game this year at first, but quickly changes his mind once he remembers that you're going to be there too. he's not even upset that you're not in his team—actually, it's quite obvious that he's more than excited about you chasing him around (and, of course, getting to chase you around. there's nothing quite as adorable as the noise of your feet pattering away and your racing heart).

right as the game begins, he's off to find you. are you near the coliseum? are you with a group, or maybe you're lying in wait somewhere? he finds you quickly enough, ignoring the calls from his own team members when they ask him why he's charging towards you like??? he does not catch you to get you out of the game, though, he just wants you by his side! after all, it isn't about winning, it's about having fun—and floyd has the most fun when he's with you, so if you want to win, floyd's going to make sure you win.

he helps you shoot down his own team members (yeah guides you from behind all of that) so you can take the supply for yourself, does not let a single person get near you, crushing them before they can even think about catching you. of course, he makes a note of who exactly thought it'd be a good idea to lay a hand on his shrimpy. when you watch vil throw people around, floyd quickly drags you away, promising to throw you around if you want!! vil's not the only one who can do that!! (he makes a note to learn from vil)

ahhh and if you're wanting to eat some of the food kalim's got, floyd will eagerly guard you while you take your time eating and talking (he'll be over the moon if you want him to feed you). and even when vil and co pleads with him to help win the game, but floyd ignores them in favor of asking you what you wanted to do. if you asked him to help his team, he'll grudgingly go along with their plan (as long as you can stay glued to his side) honestly he won't even try to hide the fact that he only cares about you

don't try to hide from him! he'll just drag you out of your hiding spot and wrap himself around you until you give in to his antics. ALSO...the line he says to riddle in game?? that but to you. if you insist that he lets go and the two of you play properly, 'cos you're strong enough to fight on your own, he's all grinning and, "who's a strong little shrimpy? you are! but the game's more fun if we play it together"

#floyd biting ur pinky is my new favourite thing why is this so cute #yandere twisted wonderland x you #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd #yandere floyd x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #drabble 🐟#ask 🐟#anon 🐟#floyd 🐟#floyd simp 🐟#twst 🐟

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rthko · 3 months

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"Validity" as a concept is antithetical to queerness as an academic or political tendency. If you take validity to mean "let's all be nice to each other" then sure, I'll link arms and frolic around right with you. Instead, validity is shorthand for expertise or speaking authority. It's something ontological to you and your identity, and no amount of learning or life experience is required for your credibility. You might then be drawn to queerness as a tendency because it is open-ended, but the open-endedness of queerness in this view begins and ends with the idea that "LGBT" just doesn't have enough letters. I am not going to debate who formally belongs; that is not the point I want to make, and it's an argument that queerness as a tendency circumvents. Some don't even view it as an identity to begin with! But queerness as a tendency is, almost definitionally, critical of ontology and the reification of identity over behavior. It is very deliberately not a closed identity politics. Some have argued that conceiving, say, homosexuality, as an abstract identity rather than behavior, leads to a politics that is euphemistic and apologetic about the very sex that first defined the concept. Love the sinner, hate the sin.

And so I see a subset both online and off that is both singularly concerned with "validity" and proudly Capital Q Queer. Not gay as in happy but queer as in "has a vague understanding of who Marsha P Johnson was," et cetera. They are unsatisfied with the limitations, real and perceived, of LGBT activism. Yet their solution is to go through the same legitimizing plots for newly minted identities that stifled LGBT activism to begin with! You are valid, you were born this way, your credibility comes with the territory of your identity alone. Everyone is deserving of kindness, and belonging should not be held ransom until you fulfill some expected milestones. I think even cis straight people can belong in queer spaces (whatever we mean by this), if they're respectful. Your local drag performers need the tips anyway. But if you are not reading, if you are not engaging with queer culture, if you are not connected to any scene, then I'm not sure why you would expect to be treated as an expert. People without these perspectives and experiences, even if they belong to a particular identity, will not see a broad picture. Look no further than statements that begin with "as a queer person" and end with some diatribe against kink at pride or whatever the outrage du jour happens to be.

Before the obvious hypocrisy of my statement comes up, I want to acknowledge that I've been there. Like any other Tumblr-riddled individual, I've been obsessed with blogging about queerness for years without living it or learning about it in any meaningful way. To this day I am very uncomfortable with being treated as any kind of expert. But I wonder: was being told I don't need to do this or that to be valid helpful? I'll extend it beyond queerness: "you don't need to read theory to be a leftist," et cetera. We were railing against gatekeepers: not institutions with the power to gatekeep in any meaningful way, but people with no real power of their own. Was I doing myself any favors by not doing anything to broaden my perspectives but still demanding to be taken seriously? So, you don't need to do this, you don't need to do that, but you can, and you might enjoy it. Queer activism and literature defend ways of living, pleasure seeking, and saying yes to life. If you want to do all of this for clout or "validity," start over. Do it because you can.

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xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx · 10 months

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Prisoner!AU

See below for the full page - and for some extra details on this AU!

So this is an angst-riddled AU that I'm hoping to make more content for.

The plot: Luigi, for some godforsaken reason, shows up at Bowser's castle and demands to be taken prisoner. Bowser, confused, isn't going to pass up an opportunity like that. But is wary of his intentions.

He expects Mario to show up and rescue him. But he never shows.

He mails a 'ransom letter' to the Princess. Never gets a response.

Luigi, meanwhile, is argumentive and seemingly self-destructive.

Their relationship develops as Bowser tries to put the pieces together.

#luigi #bowser #bowluigi #bowugi #bowser x luigi #Prisoner!AU #Also the AU where Luigi gives Bowser a million headaches #tw: suggestive

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natskys-w · 2 months

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I'm convinced if someone kidnapped Xander. They'd just end up bringing him back, because it just got to weird.

Xander: Wait! That's it, just a note and a Polaroid picture...no puzzle, no riddle, no decryption code.

Ransomer: what? Does this look like a joke to you littil bo-

Xander: here let me

Ransomer:HEY wtf how- WHO REMOVED your cuffs and rope

Xander: Don't feel bad, l kind of removed them in the van... just felt rude to up and leave you know... Oh this is... umm it could use some work. This is not how you ransom a Hawthorne.

#the inheritance games #the hawthorne brothers #book meme #xander hawthorne #jameson hawthorne

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heliads · 4 months

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Enola Holmes x sibling!reader who isn’t as smart as Enola and feels inadequate because of it; and gets hurt on a case and worries Enola?

'my mind isn't yours' - enola holmes

masterlist

To be a Holmes is to be beyond anything or anyone else. No one in your family would ever say this aloud, of course; it didn’t need to be said, and all of your direct blood relations knew better than to say things that weren’t needed. You have your mind for the long, extensive, impractical thoughts, but spoken words are meant to be heard and pondered over for generations. A Holmes does not need to state their supposed victory over their neighbours. It is simply known and celebrated in the glorious expanse of their own private intellect.

Sometimes, though, again in the quiet confines of your mind, you wonder if this divine knowledge skipped a beat when it came to you. You may be a Holmes in blood and legal right, but that doesn’t mean you think like them. Sometimes, it feels a bit like being an outsider in your own family, watching Sherlock and Enola race off on proverbial puzzles while you sit back and try to pick up the pieces they’ve already put together.

You try not to let it get to you, but it’s hard not to feel some sort of inferior. You’re a clever student in your own right, but clever alone does not a Holmes make. You’re supposed to be a genius like your brother or a prodigy like your sister, but instead you just feel like you. Y/N Holmes, not a screwup in any sense but worse than that to some– completely, utterly normal. Base level. Right in the middle of the pack if a little bit above.

To a Holmes, though, mediocrity is a mortal sin. Sherlock and Enola seem leagues out of your reach. Since Enola is closest to you in age, you feel the sharp stab of that comparison with extra burn. She excels even despite the extra burden of being a young woman in this world of yours, but you could never burst the bubble and go shooting far beyond the stars like her.

You’ve never brought up any of this to either Enola or Sherlock, of course, but there’s no reason to do so. You have no doubt that they both realized your inadequacies compared to them far early on. Why comment on something that’s so obvious? Every time you’re working on a case together and they both figure out the twist in the plot ages before you, you can feel that deep cut slice open afresh. You don’t have to be a complete genius, you were never planning on becoming a mastermind academic anyway, but goodness knows you really want to feel like something compared to them.

It aches away, but what can you do? With your mother off doing who knows what, Sherlock and Enola are the closest you have to family. You have your friends, of course, but they don’t understand what it is to be a Holmes, even if you don’t entirely feel like one all the time either. To put it simply, it’s your siblings or nothing sometimes, and goodness knows there’s an awful lot of aching in nothingness even when the only alternative makes you feel terrible about yourself too.

And thus you find a way to sit on the outskirts of the case discussion and puzzle solving sessions anyway. Maybe you can’t always be the first to untangle the riddles, but you can be the first to offer up a cup of tea, and sometimes there’s something they’ve overlooked in their grand hurry to get to the finish line that you can point out and feel useful for along the way. It’s not awful, no, not in the slightest. You just wish it could be a little better as well.

You’re reminded of this little agony whenever they stumble upon a new case, which, as luck would have it, happened recently. Mysterious ransom notes are popping up all over town. Some group of strangers is threatening the top businesses around, demanding cash and gold in exchange for being left alone. No one was really taking the notes seriously until a small bank ignored the messages and had their establishment robbed before being burnt to the ground.

Now, the case has been turned over to the Holmes’ possession. Well, it’s been given to Sherlock and Enola, to be precise. They’ve been kind enough to allow you to join their inner circle while they try to puzzle the whole thing out, but you swear there’s this unspoken agreement that they’ll be the ones finding the solution, not you. It’s not like they’d ever bar you from speaking, they just know that you won’t have anything new to say that they hadn’t already come up with.

You sit silently, watching them go back and forth. Sherlock and Enola get lost in their own world at times like this, forgetting there’s even a country or universe outside of their feverish planning. At the end of an hour’s time, though, they’ve decided that the criminals must be hidden somewhere near an abandoned railway station near the southern end of the city, and that their main modus operandi involves bribing secretaries in each building to anonymously drop off the notes, then clue them into easy ways to get into the businesses without getting caught.

More importantly, this group of thieves has managed to get their hands on a master ring of keys to the city through bribing an overworked and embittered assistant of the chief inspector. So long as these crooks have that key ring, they’ll be able to let themselves into whatever building they please, and the demands will just keep worsening until the entire city has been wrung dry.

An idea is occurring to you. You may not have been able to figure out the clues quite as easily as Sherlock and Enola, but you can still be helpful. While they’re haggling over how exactly to move forward, an idea is already occurring to you. You take after your mother in one important manner: you are a person of action. When you are given direction, you follow it exactly. And, when you come across a situation in need of a physical solution, you take charge and get the job down. Adrenaline is your best friend, followed quickly by good balance and good coordination. This, at last, is where you can step in.

Sherlock and Enola are too busy with their plotting to notice when you sneak out of Sherlock’s flat and creep into the city. You’ve got an hour or two until nightfall, which means it’s the perfect time to strike. These robbers will have day jobs and places to be. There’s a reason all of the attacks happened at night, it’s because these people had to keep up pretenses until they could break into the businesses under the cover of darkness.

That means you’ll have a very short window of time in which to find their hideout and grab the master key ring before they come back. You don’t doubt that the key ring will be in their foxhole near the abandoned railway station; they can’t exactly risk bringing it back to any of their respective flats and having it found out by the maids or neighbours.

You stealthily make your way over to the abandoned railway station. The sun is setting much faster than you’d like, so much for taking your time to thoroughly scout out the place. Then again, that doesn’t much matter. What’s most important is getting that key ring and getting out, then seeing the looks on Sherlock and Enola’s faces when they realize you’ve saved the day.

It is this thought of victory that propels you into the station house. You stalk down the dusty corridors, checking in rooms and peering in the drawers of desks. Most everything here seems long abandoned, but there’s one room at the far end of the hall that seems most frequently used, at least judging by the smears of fresh mud outside the door.

After pausing to listen carefully in case of approaching footsteps, you quickly try the doorknob and are surprised to find it opens easily. These guys were so sure of themselves that they didn’t even bother to lock the door. You try a few drawers in the desk in the center of the room, and you grin in silent victory when you find the key ring sitting in one of them, covered halfway by a stack of folders labeled with the names of various buildings in the city.

You grab the key ring and the folders as well, just in case extra evidence is needed. Just as you’re straightening up, though, you hear sounds echoing through the dusty hallways. You panic, quickly closing the desk drawers and heading for the door. You won’t have time to run, though; you can see a silhouette in the corridor, right outside the door.

Instead, you flatten yourself to the wall right next to the door. Moments after you get into position, the door flies open and a man steps inside. Brow furrowed, he calls out a name, likely one of his compatriots.

“Miller? Was that you I heard?”

The second he’s clear of the door, you immediately scurry back outside. You do your best to be quiet, but the man whips around.

“Hey! Get back here!”

You’re not all that inclined to follow instructions, especially when doing so would likely bring great danger onto yourself, so you hurl yourself out into the corridor, dashing down the dusty floor in a mad sprint. The man immediately gives chase. He almost catches up to you by the end of the hallway, but a series of quick turns give you a chance to put more distance between the two of you again.

All that’s left between you and the freedom of the outside air is a wide, rickety staircase. You go up the stairs as quickly as you can. Risking a glance behind you so you can tell how close the man is behind you, your eyes widen when you realize he’s pulled out a knife. You’re almost to the top, so close, but the man lunges at you in an attempt to slow you down and you feel a hot pain as the knife cuts through your sleeve and slices your arm. It’s not a deep cut, or you don’t think so, at least, but it’s the extra incentive you need to push yourself to the top of the staircase and out into the open.

Immediately, you’re greeted with loud shouting. For a moment, you panic, and then you realize it’s the inspector with his men. “You’re alright,” one of them tells you, “Stand aside so we can put the thief under arrest.”

You nod, taking a hasty sidestep so you won’t get in their way. The robber comes up just seconds after you, but upon seeing the police, he immediately starts sprinting down the abandoned railway. The inspector and his men give chase, and you watch them go shouting down into the gloomy distance.

You’re not alone for long. Sherlock comes up to you, shaking his head. “That was an absurd move to pull. Give me the key ring and folders, I’ve got to get this to the inspector as soon as possible.”

You want to protest that you should be the one handing over the evidence since you went to so much trouble to get it, but one firm look from Sherlock reminds you of how much trouble you’re probably in for pulling a stunt like this and you quickly hand over the materials. He starts walking back towards the city proper, trading out his spot by your side with your sister.

Enola. Great. She looks furious. “Just what were you thinking?” She asks incredulously. “That was ridiculously stupid. And look, you’re bleeding. This is awful.”

You frown. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“I’m not calling you stupid, just the idea to break into the robbers’ hideaway,” she clarifies. “I mean, why on Earth would you feel compelled to do this?”

Looking at the tortured expression on her face makes the last of your confidence bleed away. The whole point of retrieving the key ring was so your siblings would finally feel like you might be one of their equals, but now they’re even more convinced of your bad decision-making skills. This was precisely the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

“Well, that’s the thing,” you say desperately. “If I can’t be the smart one, if I can’t be the one making all the clever plans and figuring out the loopholes like you and Sherlock, at least I can be the brave one. At least that’s something right I can do.”

Enola’s face slackens. “What are you talking about?”

You laugh bitterly. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now. Come on, you can crack cases and solve puzzles in your sleep but you can’t understand your own sibling? I’m not like you two. I’m not as smart as you and Sherlock, and I hate that.”

Enola shakes her head. “I’ve never thought that in my entire life. We’re both chatterboxes, obviously, but just because you weren’t talking as much as either of us didn’t mean I thought you weren’t as smart. I just assumed you were doing your thinking in your head instead of out loud, which was what I was supposed to be doing, anyway.”

You look at her cautiously. “Really?”

“Really,” she promises. “Y/N, the thought had never so much as occurred to me. I’m so sorry, I wish I had realized you felt this way sooner. You’re my sibling. Of course I hold you in the greatest regards. I mean, I never would have been brave enough to march into the thieves’ hideout like that on my own, not without several hours of planning to make myself better about it. You up and decided it just like that. I was so impressed with the whole affair, only I was so worried about you that I forgot to tell you.”

You smile at her. “I’m glad you think so, Enola.”

“Well, of course I do,” she says exasperatedly. “What else would I think about? Now come on, we’ve got to get that arm of yours bandaged. Maybe I’ll see about getting the paper to put something in about you being a local hero while I’m at it, too. It would be quite deserved.”

You laugh. “That’s more than I was expecting, to be sure. I’ll settle for knowing that you’re proud.”

“That, of course, is already decided,” Enola declares, and starts to lead you back into town. Watching the sun set overhead, you think that this little rescue mission of yours went quite according to plan indeed. Perhaps you’ll have to stage another one fairly soon.

enola tag list: @mayfieldss

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#enola holmes #enola holmes imagines #enola holmes x reader #enola holmes oneshot #platonic enola holmes #enola holmes x sister reader #enola #enola imagines #enola x reader #enola oneshot

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goggles-mcgee · 2 years

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Look I am weak for AU's

WEAK

One AU I love for Steddie is Pirate AU and all I can think about is Eddie, captain of the ship Hellfire boarding a royal boat looking for treasures maybe a captive. He gets both!

He finds Prince Steve.

Eddie the Banished (who used to be a Prince who was accused of false crimes thus banished from his own kingdom) is just like: "You'll do Big Boy."

The crew is totally expecting Steve to start pleading for his life or to maybe try and convince them to take someone in his place but he just gets up and starts to get dressed with an excited smile because this was the first time he was allowed out of the kingdom and now he gets more adventure!

Steve: "Okay! Can I pack a bag? Is that allowed? How long do you think I'll be with you because I have to be honest, I will need to take my bathing supplies if you think it's going to be long."

Eddie who had been checking out the royal "assets": "Hm? Oh uh...yes? Yes you can bring a bag. Whatever you want Your Highness "

The crew is just staring at Eddie like, you useless gay, really now? As we're doing the job? But they know once Eddie's interests are piqued it's a done deal. Eddie's, and maybe some of the crew's hearts melt when Steve asks them for a favor.

Steve: "Can we please also bring my Personal Attendant? He is young and not like the other men in the castle. I fear if I were to leave him, the others would not be as kind to him as they are with me here, which if you ask me is not as kind as they could be. His name is Dustin, he should be in the quarters down below. Oh and also Robin, she is a Minstrel and I know if I were to leave her she would not make it back to the castle."

And like...how can they refuse? Like they are pirates but that does not make them bad people and the Prince seemed desperate and sincere so what the heck? They also kidnap Dustin and Robin along with Steve.

Steve when he sees Robin and Dustin on the Hellfire: "My friends!!"

Robin: "You had us kidnapped."

Steve: "Yes."

Dustin: "You are unbelievable!"

Steve: "Would you have preferred to stay on the ship with Thomas and all the others?"

Dustin and Robin grumbling but shaking their heads.

Steve: "Besides! Look at it this way, we get to go on a better adventure than visiting Prince Jason and convincing his father that continued trade with our kingdom is beneficial to us all."

Steve, Dustin and Robin really bond with the crew and Captain Eddie keeps "forgetting" to send out the ransom note everytime they port and pillage if that's what they decide. Eddie literally is head over heels for his little prince so fast it's not even funny, like he let's him sleep in his quarters, he makes sure he and his friends are well fed. He does not tie any of them up or put them in cells. He'll when he and Gareth were trying to make sense of a new treasure map they had gotten their hands on, that Dustin kid was the one who solved the first riddle for them. Now he, Robin and Steve were basically helping Eddie and his inner ring solve the map. Steve always said he had nothing to tribute to the group but it was his little thoughts and comments that really helped from time to time and he solved one of the riddles all on his own.

Basically Steve, Robin and Dustin get adopted by a pirate crew and just become pirates!

#stranger things hc #stranger things au #stranger things the party #stranger things gareth #stranger things jared #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie headcanon #steve harrington x eddie munson fluff #robin buckley #dustin henderson #pirates au #oh to fall in love on the sea #except i read about it because i have a fear of ships on the sea

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cerebralinvasion · 1 year

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yandere february event day 2

“Please be good for me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

you sucked in your chest, trying to push yourself further into the wall of the alleyway behind you. inching away from the blade to the best of your abilities. there’s a knife at your neck. you haven’t said anything, going as far as to bite down on your lip to prevent any stray noises from escaping you. you’ve never been in a situation like this. in a situation where you genuinely feared for your life like this.

“i don’t- i don’t have any money on me.”

you gathered the strength to speak after you had enough confidence that you wouldn’t try to scream. nonetheless, you cursed yourself for it. maybe if you’d just carried a twenty or something on you, you’d be able to slip out of this situation overall unscathed. but it’s too late, no amount of regret would undo this random decisions you’d made earlier that day. no amount of blaming yourself for not predicting the future would summon money on your person or teleport you onto the main street and back into the eyes of the public. not like it mattered anyways, but you didn’t know that. you weren’t aware of the fact that you’d be in this situation regardless of whatever choices you had made that day. any amount of changib and undoing the past would only end up delaying the inevitable, he was determined like that.

“i don’t want any money. listen i- i need you to come with me. don’t make a scene.”

the man before you spoke, and you noticed how the knife trembled in his grasp. and the look on his face was filled with almost as much terror as was on yours. it was a mixture of fear, disgust and desperation. the look of a man so far into his desires he was willing to do anything for them, even overstep his own morals. as you took the moment to observe his face, you got to see other details about him as well. lily-white hair with angled bangs and two-toned eyes. everything about him was eerily familiar. you’ve seen him before, but you don’t know where. you couldn’t put a name to the face and it scared you. why did you feel like you recognized him? perhaps it was because you’ve passed by him. maybe more often than a stranger should pass you by in a city as big as yokohama.

“hey. did you hear me? i said i need you to come with me.” his voice was almost pathetic, riddled with it’s own misery and pushed through a raw throat.

and those words snapped you out of your train of thought. this man, who you (possibly) only recognize through running into him a suspicious number of times was now threatening you at knifepoint to go with him. this wasn’t just some thug attempting to mug you for all you’re worth. this was a full blown kidnapping. your heart dropped, suddenly far more afraid than you were before.

“i- er i- no thank you?” you stuttered out, stumbling over your words. you’d never been in a situation like this. you didn’t know how to combat the armed man physically, all you could do was at least try to get out of this situation before he hurt you. he took in a deep breath a frustrated look crossing his face before he tried again.

“i’m not asking you, i need you to come with me.” as he spoke the blade inched slightly closer to your throat, you tried to flinch back but you were already pressed hard against the brick. you let out a small gasp, not once drawing your eyes from the weapon.

“don’t- i don't want to- please don’t hurt me…” your voice trembled as you came to the realization you likely only had two options here. let yourself be taken away or die right here.

“please just be good for me. i don’t want to hurt you. so just make this easy and come with me now… please.”

two options. when he spoke up the two options were all that was on your mind. at least with one you would eventually get out of. whether you're ransomed or rescued you’d eventually be able to go back to your normal life… right?

#bsd x reader #yandere bsd #yandere bsd x reader #atsushi x reader #yandere atsushi nakajima #yandere atsushi #yandere atsushi x reader

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mangoisms · 9 months

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i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter eleven: atlas: heart | read chapter ten

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: this is the final chapter! thank you guys for reading <3

In the morning, you feel a little bit better.

Still shaky, still weak, the back of your head achy and sensitive with the knot there, but better.

Probably because Tim is there.

Curled around you, breathing slow and deep in his sleep. Relaxed, not weary from the weight of the world for once. Once again, you find yourself thinking you’ll do anything you can to carve out this space for him. Anything.

You two get up eventually, though.

You have questions, questions about the men, about whether anyone else found out you’d been kidnapped.

To your relief, you find that no, the news did not make it to anyone other than him and the Bats. The men who kidnapped you had preexisting charges, too, so they were taken away.

It makes sense, you learn. All the times Tim or anyone else got kidnapped for ransom, only occasionally did the news break to the public. But most of the time, no. Because by kidnapping anyone in the family… well, you learn, for one, they’re all vigilantes, and two, it cuts out the middleman because the kidnappers are trying to ransom money from the Waynes, not knowing that the Waynes are, well, vigilantes, so the chances of them getting that money are astoundingly low and the chances of them getting found out by Batman and the others are exponentially higher.

For the most part.

Depending on the skill level.

Your kidnappers, like Tim said, were stupid about it. Risky. They did it in the daytime and they did it in a fairly public area. You learn that Oracle, not another vigilante but a helping hand to them nonetheless, was able to find the CCTV footage of the moment it happened and track everything else.

You ask if you can send her a fruit basket or something in thanks. He says you don’t have to. You disagree, quite frankly.

He (and the others) may be used to it but the fact remains — Oracle is one of the main reasons you are curled up under your blankets with your boyfriend’s arms around you. He knows you appreciate what she did and you want to make sure she knows, too.

Sensing you refuse to budge on this, faintly amused, he agrees.

You sadly lost your phone, too, but that can be replaced. Your stuff from the school and the bike was taken care of as well.

So, really, nothing has changed in the outside world.

You are glad. You wrestled with it a bit, but… you don’t think you can tell your family about this. Not unless you wanted them to freak the hell out. Tim doesn’t have much of an opinion on it. Just says he’ll support whatever you do.

But you think telling them will reset all the progress you’ve made, for as little as it seems.

You’ll recover from this, physically, and he says he can get you connected to a therapist who you can be honest with. Someone local he and the others know, or someone employed to the Titans or to the League.

That’s enough.

Of course, it’s only the first day, so who really knows, but right now, you don’t want to tell them.

There is, obviously, the other thing you’ve learned.

That is, that Bruce Wayne is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Cassandra Wayne is Black Bat, Duke Thomas is Signal, and Stephanie Brown is Spoiler. Oh, and Dick Grayson is Nightwing.

It’s the kind of thing that seems hilarious, the thought of it, that is. Like if you’re conspiring on their identities, it’s a joke to say Bruce Wayne is Batman.

Then you think about it a little longer, piecing in the knowledge you’ve gleaned about them from Tim and, oh, yeah, that… that kind of makes a lot of sense.

It just takes billionaire eccentricity to a whole other level.

But it’s not that easy, isn’t it? Why Bruce Wayne does what he does? The thing that turned Park Row, a previously ‘nice’ neighborhood into one riddled with crime?

The death of his parents. At the shy age of eight-years-old.

It’s… certainly a way to handle your grief.

You stew about it in the shower. Then after, when Tim is showering. You’re curled up on the couch, Ice Age: Meltdown playing on your TV. You checked on the boys when you stepped out. Tim said he fed them when you two got back last night. You feed them again, their breakfast this time. Then you sit down and try to compartmentalize everything you just learned.

Hopefully you’ll have it handled by the time you meet them.

Almost as if on cue, someone knocks on your door.

You jump at the sound, staring at it, your heart starting to pound faster and faster and faster because you are not expecting anyone and neither is he but what do you have to panic about it’s not like potential kidnappers or killers are going to knock on your door —

You hear your name. “It’s Steph! Don’t worry, Cass and Duke are with me, too! We’ll be quick, promise!”

Relaxing and shoving away other anxious thoughts about whether you’re being tricked, you stand, hesitantly opening the door.

Attackers do not ambush you.

Instead, you get three apologetic smiles.

Steph lifts two heavy-looking reusable grocery bags. “I come bearing gifts?”

You give her a small smile. “Thanks. Come on in. Just, if you don’t mind, take your shoes off.”

They agree easily, shuffling in one by one.

Duke is the tallest of them, lean and muscled, with dark brown skin and short black hair and warm dark brown eyes. Cass is the second tallest, lean and muscled, too, with short black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes.

Duke extends a hand, shooting you a small smile. “You already heard but I’m Duke. It’s nice to finally meet you. Though the circumstances could probably be better…”

“It’s alright. It’s nice to finally meet you guys, too,” you say, shaking his hand. His hands are calloused in a similar way to Tim’s and when you shake Cassandra’s next — Cass, she tells you, gently but firmly — hers are the same, too. You imagine if you felt Steph’s, they’d be like that as well.

The one in question drops the bags onto the small table in the kitchen. “This is all from Alfred. Meal prepped, so it can just go in the freezer and be taken out when you want it. Have you eaten?”

“Ah, no…” You don’t have much of an appetite.

“That’s okay,” she says easily. “Maybe in a little while. Do you mind if I put it away?”

“Not at all. Thank you. Please tell Alfred I said thanks, too.”

“We’ll pass on the message,” Duke promises.

You sit back down on the couch and gesture for him and Cass to do the same if they’d like. In the kitchen, Steph hums under her breath, moving gracefully as she puts things away. She’ll have to play Tetris with the contents of your unfortunately small freezer.

“We just wanted to come by and introduce ourselves,” Duke says after a moment. “I have class in a little while, at two. But until then —”

“I’ll be here,” Cass says, nodding. “In the area. The danger is gone but…”

“Can’t be too safe,” Duke finishes.

You frown. “Am I… gonna have to move?”

“Maybe,” Cass says. “Maybe not. We’ll have to see. We’ll watch around here for a while.”

“If things seem good, most likely not. If not…” Duke trails off and you understand.

Yes, you would have to move.

“Would Tim have to as well?”

Amusement flickers over Cass’s face. “Probably not. But he’ll do it, anyway. Just to stay with you.”

“And it would be safer, too,” Duke adds. “He’s your first line of defense, so to speak. We’re more of the preventives.”

You snort. Something about it is funny to you.

Duke glances around and his eyes land on your tank. “Oh, hey, he mentioned you had pets.”

“Hermit crabs,” Cass says, looking, too, curious.

“Take a look if you’d like.”

They do, bending to peer inside.

“Wow,” Duke says, appearing fascinated. Cass looks the same. “What are their names?”

You get up. Steph, somehow managing to fit everything in the freezer, joins you, shooting you a smile as all of you come around the tank.

You point out each of them, giving their names. “Manny, Diego, and Sid.”

Duke’s smile turns incredulous. “Wait, are those —”

Steph cackles. “From Ice Age?”

Your cheeks warm and you shrug, smiling, simply gesturing at the TV where the second movie is still playing very lowly.

Cass’s eyebrows furrow. Duke catches it.

“Cassie, don’t tell me you haven’t seen Ice Age.”

“It was never on the list.”

You can’t help yourself. “Have you seen Mamma Mia?”

“Great movie,” Steph says emphatically, Duke nodding in agreement.

“I just saw it,” Cass tells you. “Tim told me to watch it.”

Steph grins. “I wonder why…”

She and Duke grin pointedly at you. Cass snorts.

You just flush, laughing nervously. “He liked it enough. I’m not sure it’s ‘cause of me entirely…”

“No, it is,” Cass says in a matter-of-fact way that you don’t know how to deal with.

In the bathroom, the shower shuts off. Tim’ll be out soon.

Steph waves you back to the couch. You go gladly, limbs still shaky and weak. She drags over a chair from the table, while Duke and Cass take one side of the couch and you curl up on the other.

“It’s true,” she says, bringing a leg underneath her. Her socks are mismatched. So are Duke’s. Cass’s, matching, have the Batman symbol patterned on them.

“He was pretty concerned,” Duke says lightly. “Last night.”

Cass makes a noise of agreement.

Steph huffs a laugh. “Well, not just concerned. More than a little pissed off, too.”

You pause. The fuzzy memory of last night, when he came in, plays in your head.

You wonder… No. Do you want to know that?

“What is it?” Cass asks, head tilted, dark eyes on your face.

“How many… how many guys were there?”

“A fair few outside,” Duke says, glancing at the others. “But inside with you? Five of ‘em.”

“And…”

“It was just him,” Cass informs you, already knowing your next question. “He ran in before any of us could.”

“Totally ignored our basic safety protocols,” Duke interjects. “Most likely this one’s influence.” He jabs a thumb at Cass, who simply smiles and shrugs.

“All we had to do was make sure he didn’t get hit doing it,” she says. “We did. We usually do.”

“Because you like to do the same,” he points out, amused.

“You do it, too.”

“Not as often as you do.”

Another shrug. Another smile. Duke rolls his eyes fondly.

“And all five of those guys are in the hospital,” Steph says next, looking at the TV, almost bored. “In the ICU, I heard. Broken ribs, a few collapsed lungs, shattered bones. He did a number on them. I would, too, if it was my girlfriend in there.”

Duke and Cass look like they agree.

You just nod and murmur your thanks, grabbing the remote and raising the volume.

While the three of them watch the movie, your mind is elsewhere. But before you can get too deep in your thoughts, the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, hair damp, cheeks flushed, dressed in a new t-shirt and sweats.

“There he is,” Steph says teasingly. Cass waves.

Duke grins over at him. “Running up your girl’s water bill right after she gets kidnapped? That’s just messed up.”

You snort.

Tim grins, too, shrugging. “She owes me.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. A weak attempt, since he catches it as he nears you, bending down to kiss your head.

The other three make gagging noises.

He straightens, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he wedges himself beside you on the couch. “Alright, children. Thank you.”

You laugh and he smiles, tugging you closer.

The other thing bothers you a bit, but you push it away as Steph teasingly asks him how he’s going to make up for your missed first date and he tells her to mind her own business.

You can think about the fact that Tim put five men in the ICU for you later.

Much later.

For now, you’re just… honestly happy to be alive.

Your rescheduled date comes two weeks later.

There is no rush. Mostly because you are… tetchy about going outside. About walking around.

After all, you had been unceremoniously snatched while walking outside. There is little anyone, even Tim, can do to alleviate that fear, short of teaching you to fight. Not self-defense, but actual hand-to-hand combat skills.

For you, it’s too much too soon.

Maybe later, you can revisit the issue.

But for now, you slowly get acclimated to it. Tim helps. What with being a vigilante and all. The others hang around, too.

It’s not always going to be like that, though, and you know that. You’ll handle that, however, another time.

For now, two weeks later on a Saturday, you and Tim have your first date.

It helps take your mind off things. Injects a certain normalcy as you fret about what to wear, what to do, the bundle of nerves in your belly refusing to go away even though you’ve faced far worse circumstances.

But it’s that fact that you are worrying — nervous — over something normal that helps.

And of course, you have nothing to be truly nervous about.

Tim’s initial plans were dinner and a trip to the botanical gardens. He asks if you want to change them.

You don’t.

For one, like you said, it won’t always be like this. It can’t.

If there is anyone you want to cross that bridge with, it’s him.

So, that’s what you do.

He brings his camera and snaps pictures of the blooming flowers and thriving trees. He sneaks a few of you, too, despite your embarrassment at it, but you get him back when he lets you steal it from him and take some pictures of him, too (and make him promise not to delete them or critique your photography skills).

But the highlight of it is the white flowering dogwood tree, white flowers in full bloom, healthy and beautiful, where you stand beneath it and share a kiss and think to yourself that you want this, him, forever.

The revelation follows you to dessert. Compounded, actually, by the thoughts that have niggled at you for the past two weeks, about what he did at the warehouse (that’s where you were found, you learn; you didn’t ask that for a while, it never occurred to you, honestly).

“You look like you have something on your mind,” he says, scooping mint chocolate chip ice cream into his mouth.

The two of you hang out on the patio outside the ice cream place, in a corner away from the others, leaning against the brick of the building. The sun has already set but he told you that Cass — Black Bat — was just a block away, hanging out.

You swirl your melting chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Mid-June weather calls for brutal heat and humidity. That’s why you two did this later in the day, to avoid the brunt of it.

“The others told me what happened,” you say hesitantly.

Tim blinks, confused. “About?”

“Sorry. The, um, warehouse. The… guys.”

That you put all five of them in the ICU.

He composes his expression carefully. Not a blank mask but just as good as one.

“I see.”

Quiet for a moment. He shifts, tossing his cup and spoon into the trash several feet away. They both make it in perfectly.

He leans back on the wall, like you, hands tucked into his pockets. A slow breeze ruffles his dark hair. The light from inside the parlor casts shadows over his face. Cornflower blue eyes are intent on your face.

You easily guess what he must be thinking and in the next second, when he speaks, you know you are right.

“Do I scare you?”

You can’t help it.

You scoff.

He tilts his head and you turn away, finishing your ice cream, then going over to the trash to toss it. You aren’t him. You couldn’t make that throw. When you were in high school, maybe, but your softball skills are basic these days. Enough for a game of catch. When you finally played a match of tennis with him, you were pitifully bad at it.

Tim, you are starting to realize, is also pitifully bad at realizing how much you love him.

But you can’t blame him for that. Not with the life he has had.

Tim is frowning as you return to him, leaning your shoulder against the wall with a sigh.

“You don’t scare me, Timmy,” you say quietly. “Nothing about you scares me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since and… I know you’ve scaled it back. I know that. But you’ll always have a responsibility to Gotham. I accept that. I do.”

“But?”

You shrug and smile. “But despite that, the truth is, I’m jealous. Not in a way that I want you to put a complete stop to it, because I don’t. I know this city will need you sometimes. I know the others will need you sometimes. I know that. But I still feel what I feel and believe me, you haven’t made me feel second best or anything, I just… I guess in some horrible roundabout way, the fact that you put all five of those guys in the ICU helps it. A little bit.”

A lot.

You shouldn’t let yourself think this way, because it was horribly, horribly violent, but… you are selfish and it means something to you, what he did.

What he would do for you.

He understands, then, in an instant.

Tim straightens from the wall, reaching for you, hands cupping your cheeks. His gaze is a shade darker. Your stomach flutters.

He brings you close, nose brushing yours, lips only a scant few inches apart. He whispers your name in a way that has your knees weak.

“If you want a list of things I would do for you, just ask. Because that was just the tip of it. Whatever you want me to do, it’s yours and I would do what I did that day a thousand times over with double — triple — the men. I don’t care.”

Maybe it should scare you.

Maybe it should disgust you.

Maybe you aren’t as good a person as you like to think you are.

You don’t care.

All you know is that the thought pleases you. All you know is… you would do the same for him.

And you know he knows by the way he kisses you, slow but wanting in a way that has heat searing up your spine, in a way that is decidedly not appropriate for this public space you two are in.

“I love you,” you breathe against his lips.

Tim kisses you harder, taking the breath in your lungs, until it burns, but you don’t care, because he doesn’t ever ask for much and if that’s what he wants, then he can have it.

He pulls away in the next second, clearly restraining himself, forehead leaned against yours.

“I love you,” he says and it’s not just a declaration of feelings, it’s a promise, it’s a vow.

It’s one you whole-heartedly believe in.

“You’re kidding, right?”

The red that settles high in Tim’s cheeks tells you he is very much not kidding.

“Timmy.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, okay!”

You can’t help the laughter that rises out of you, even in spite of the embarrassed groan he lets out, burying his face in his hands.

Your breakfast plates sit stacked to the side. Crepes, courtesy of you. Only the best for the birthday boy, after all.

In between you, the unwrapped figurine of the duck you made, accompanied with what you’re sure will be a core memory of Tim, thoroughly embarrassed, telling you how he once went by ‘Drake.’

No, really.

Drake.

There, you suppose, is the true story behind the few times Steph called him Duckboy. You just thought it was his last name but no. It’s not just that.

You laugh for a little while at that.

He gets fed up eventually, dragging your chair closer to his and unceremoniously lifting you into his lap, grumbling all the while as he presses his face to your shoulder.

You press your nose to his hair, trying to hold in your giggles.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… my god, Tim. Maybe I should change your contact name to Duckie.”

“If you do that, I will never talk to you again.”

“Liar.”

“You stink.”

“I love you.”

He sighs and you can hear a smile. “Unfortunately, I love you, too.”

“Alright,” you say, clearing your throat, throwing an arm around his shoulders and squeezing. “Come on. There’s one more.”

“Is it also going to embarrass me?”

“I don’t imagine you have any embarrassing stories connected to this one. Unless you do. I don’t know. You’re not exactly a normal boyfriend.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, pretending to be put out, lifting his head and reaching for the final box. Bigger, this time.

You help him, since he refuses to pull his arm from around your waist.

Opening the flaps, just one piece of wrapping paper lays over the top, with more stuffed around the sides. He pulls it away, eyebrows furrowing as he leans forward to get a look inside.

You hold the box steady while he pulls it out; you try to calm your racing heart, nerves rearing their head once more as you gauge his reaction.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. All his grouching about imperfections while making your mug. The one you are currently using, last dregs of OJ still in there, sitting near your plates. Its iridescent glaze winks at you from the light above.

But perfection isn’t everything.

That’s what inspired you here.

The pearly blue glaze, the closest approximation that you got to the color of his eyes, gleams under the light. Along with it, the gold that spiders through the surface.

“This is…”

“Kintsugi. It’s not completely authentic, since I broke it on purpose, but I don’t know. I thought it was close enough to the real thing.”

The awed look on his face makes your chest squeeze. Even more so when he pulls his arm from your waist to grasp the mug with both hands, fingers smoothing over the surface.

He murmurs your name, eyes meeting yours, the warmth there making your breath catch.

“I guess you don’t hate it?” you try to joke, mostly to cover for yourself.

He sets it down carefully. Too carefully. You’ll have to tell him it’s as durable as yours. No need to be gentle. After all, if it does accidentally break, well, then you’d have some authentic kintsugi to show for.

“I love it,” he tells you earnestly, arms sliding around you. “Thank you, honey.”

Ooh. Double-whammy. You kiss him just to try and regain your composure. A girl can only take so much love.

(And by the way he smiles against your lips, you know he can tell.)

An indeterminate amount of time later

“No running, boys! Be careful!”

“Sorry!” come the excited voices of the boys, no doubt already halfway down the hall and doing exactly what you told them not to do.

The rest of your kids file out in a much more calm fashion under your careful eye.

Well, you don’t blame them. It is Halloween after all. Gotham is only safe enough for it during the day and with it being fall, the days grow shorter and shorter. Not much time left to trick-or-treat.

You bid goodbye to your ninth period, telling them to be safe. They respond affirmatively.

You easily notice Riley lingering behind. She’s dressed as a ladybug.

You send her a smile as the last kids step out, halls now bursting at the seams with costumed kids, all of them vying to get out and get home.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

She seems a tad embarrassed about something as she digs through her Spoiler themed backpack. It was the first thing you ever spoke to her about — second week of school, most of your kids had warmed up to you but she remained quiet, though you knew from her assignments she had a lot to say. You complimented it at the end of class and that warmed her up to you pretty quickly.

This is your first batch of kids on your own after the previous seventh grade social studies teacher retired. You were a little scared. Seventh graders aren’t as easy to sway as six graders, but at the same time, they aren’t quite as impenetrable as the eighth graders can be. And by now, by the end of October, you love your kids dearly and you think they love you, too.

(Though they annoy the hell out of you sometimes.)

“Parker wanted me to give you this.”

“Oh?”

She hands you a folded piece of thick orange cardstock.

Opening it, you can’t stop the big smile that spreads across your lips.

It’s you, to be sure, with Red Robin. Drawn with all the fine motor skills of a four-year-old but no less of a treasure to you.

You remember little Parker easily.

Teacher-student conferences were last week. Riley had come accompanied with her father and little brother, four-year-old Parker who was particularly cranky that day. You had managed to turn his mood around by engaging him in conversation about the Batman symbol on his t-shirt. Only after gauging his father’s reaction, of course. Some parents are disapproving of it and would not like the thought of their kids’ teacher being approving of them.

Even if the Bats are technically recognized figures. After all, Batman was one of the founders of the Justice League. It didn’t get more official than that, did it?

In any case, while ascertaining that Batman was his favorite of them, you easily divulged that while Batman is very cool, you prefer Red Robin yourself. He took that to heart. What a cute kid.

“This is great, Riley.”

She shrugs, scuffing a shoe on the tiled floor. “I think he’s got a crush on you. I tried to tell him you were married but he was not having it.”

You carefully set the drawing on your desk, then send her a conspiratorial wink. “Mr. D won’t mind, I promise.”

She laughs.

“Tell Parker I said thank you very much. It’ll go up on the fridge as soon as I get home.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. D. Thanks for putting up with him last week.”

“No thanks necessary. Get home safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye.” She waves, then steps out, joining the last trickle of students in the hall.

Smiling, you tuck the drawing into your binder of assignments to be graded tonight, then start packing up. Much like the kids want to get home and get their trick-or-treating out of the way before the sun sets, you, too, would like to be in the safety of your shared apartment with your husband before it gets dark.

Half an hour later, you are there, unlocking the door and stepping in. Dinner is already cooking, by the savory smell that hits you, along with a few pangs of hunger.

Tim is closer to you, though, at the washer and dryer next to the storage closet. He tosses a smile over his shoulder as he dumps clothes into the washer.

“Hey, honey. How was your day?”

“Excellent. I know you and the others usually have your work cut out for you on Halloween but today was great for me. I even got a gift,” you say, shucking off your flats, then bending down to pull out your binder from your bag.

Orange cardstock in hand, you pad over to him as he sets aside the laundry basket, reaching for the container of pods. Your arms slide around his waist as he tosses one in, shuts the lid, and starts the cycle.

The washer and dryer were wedding gifts from Dick, who found your story of how you met far too hilarious. The apartment — penthouse, really — was from Bruce. Paid off in full, furnished, along with the most expensive security system known to man. Seriously, like some Justice League level shit; like, actually Justice League, specialized security systems designed by them for members and for friends of the members (which is Bruce here; Tim could have a place in the League but he is too loyal to the Titans).

He once told you the names of the tech protecting you — Thanagarian, Martian, Apokoliptan, and Kryptonian — and you only recognized half of those. That doesn’t include the other more unnerving kinds of security protocols Bruce and Tim came up with.

But the security isn’t all that. The apartment is also only a mile from the school.

You drive there now these days, though. Just to be safe.

You pass him the cardstock. “Remember Parker from the conferences last week? I got this today from Riley after school.”

Tim lets out a delighted laugh as he sees the drawing. “Well, that just has to go on the fridge.”

“We’re in agreement there, Mr. Drake.”

He turns around, arms sliding around you, too, raising an eyebrow as you smile mischievously.

“I was also told that he has a crush on me.”

He sniffs. “Well, he can get in line.”

You sputter a laugh, partially ruining the kiss as he leans down but he just smiles, too.

“Though, from where I stand, I have much better prospects.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really, Mrs. Drake.”

And that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #dc comics x reader

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imaginedreamwrite · 10 months

Note

How about actor!Ransom coming home to Reader and their baby after he was away for a work project for a couple of months where he couldn't bring them with him?

He had bags under his eyes that couldn’t be covered, his whole body seemed to be raked with exhaustion and weariness from the constant travel. If it hadn’t been the endless questions from media about his latest projects, his co-stars or the life he was ‘clearly trying to flee at home’ than it was accusations from the paparazzi that hounded him.

The accusations that he was still sleeping around, that he had wild parties in his hotel rooms that fuelled his need to feel young again, that there was a laundry list of models he fucked on a cycle, was driving him mental. With the weight of his father’s own infidelity hanging above his head, Ransom had felt the egregiousness starting to chip away at him.

He decided the paparazzi could think whatever they wanted about him and his life, they could think whatever they wanted about his stays in hotels and what was going on behind closed doors. The reality of what he was doing in his hotel room was privatized for himself and himself alone.

Truthfully, he was spending his time after working on set talking to you. He would find himself laying in a king size bed listening to you speaking about what you had done that day, or what you’d cleaned and organized. Ransom would lay in bed listening to you and become incredibly eased by your voice.

Ransom didn’t openly admit his dependency on you, he hadn’t even admitted it to himself.

But he needed you.

And when he had returned to his Boston home, tired and exhausted, he had never felt so relieved.

Even as tired as he was, he had been grateful to be home. He dropped his bags in the entrance of his house and slammed the door shut, throwing his keys to the side along with his shoes, and didn’t give a damn where they landed.

Ransom was home, he missed home.

He missed you.

“Baby.” he didn’t dare stop himself from resisting using the affectionate name. He didn’t dare resist, not when he was so exhausted.

“Hey! You’re back!” You appeared around the corner with your hair mussed and a pair of loose pyjama pants on, extravagance was gone and left at the door.

“Fuck,” Ransom stepped forward, one foot after the other, and greeted you with a searing kiss. It was ruled and riddled with possessiveness and hunger, directly planted against your lips as a stark claim.

“Welcome home,” you pulled back and muttered against his lips, unable to really leave his possessive embrace, “how was it?”

“Where’s my girl?” Ransom’s hold on you was constant, his hands securely holding you against his chest.

“She’s sleeping on the floor, she was playing on her mat-“ You had been cut off again by another searing kiss, another deeply emotional moment wherein Ransom had let down every guard he had to fully embrace you.

“Marry me.” He let it slip, complete honesty rolling off his tongue.

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter.” Still as cocky as ever yet brutally open in his statement, Ransom endeared himself to you. “I said marry me.”

“Ransom…do you…” you hesitated and stammered, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest. “You don’t even have a ring-“

His chance to rebut your doubt was overshadowed by the soft whimpers of your baby girl, the sound shifting Ransom’s immediate focus. And as he pulled away from you, he had captured your chin and made you look at him. “I do have a ring, and we will get married.”

“Do i have a say?”

“NO.”

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ladycamillewrites · 1 year

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αмηєѕια 🦋

❍ Will Ransome x f!reader

❍ written for @muddyorbs 14 days of Valentines event

warnings 18+ eventual smut, memory loss - retrograde amnesia, soft foreplay

A strange feeling swirled like a thunderstorm in your brain as you tried to open those heavy lids.

Groaning from the rays of sunshine invading your sensitive eyes, they fluttered open, numerous outlines slowly becoming recognizable.

You didn’t know where you were at first but the nightstand on your left was weirdly familiar, a glass of water waiting on top of the wooden surface. Still overwhelmed by the headache and several hurting limbs you reached out to the glass, took a few sips and placed it back.

Then, for the first time since you woke, you turned to your right.

“Darling! You are awake“ a foreign man said gleefully, a broad smile spreading on his handsome face as his arms quickly extended in your direction.

Why on earth was there a stranger, no two strangers in your bedroom?

Squeaking and prepping yourself on flattened palms, you scooted away from the man whose oceanic gaze dramatically dropped the second you reacted. With the few skittish glances you took, it was unmistakable that the other man on the right was a doctor.

Where you seriously ill?

“Don’t touch me“ it blurted out of you, hands fumbling with the eiderdown to cover your cleavage on full display by a loose nightgown.

The man flinched, however, the reached out hand froze where he held it like a still standing offer. God, who was this pervert thinking he could just come with along with the doctor and call you pet names.

Or perhaps he was a doctor as well?

Somehow, it felt like a fever dream, your thoughts still skittish and intangible while a wondrously handsome man wordlessly begged for your touch.

“Are you still hurt? Dove, please talk to me“ his soothing baritone rung in your ear for the first time, sounding like it could’ve been god himself calling you up to him. Where you to die?

Shaking your head, loose hair flying along, you tried to grip a reasonable reflection on the whole scenario that was all too weird.

Where were you manners, you asked yourself trying to concentrate on reality rather than the puffy irritation in your brain. There must be a simple explanation for those two gentleman to look after you.

Why-ever the handsome brown haired with the ethereal speck of ginger in those loose waves was calling you darling, though, remained a pressing riddle.

“I- apologies doctor. I am just moderately unwell“ you spoke, volume kept low to not overstrain your palpably strained mind. Somehow you just assumed the fine man in his puffy white shirt and the brown vest to be a practitioner as well.

Watching his face twitch and eyebrows slant in what seemed like a last ray of hope, he leaned closer to you, the magical ban of those steel blue orbs keeping you in place. “Y/n Ransome… I beg you. Do not play games on me after yesterday’s accident“.

“Y/n Ransome“ you murmured to yourself, concentrating on the sound of your first name with this certain last. It didn’t fit. It didn’t seem right, no, this wasn’t your correct full name.

The second man sitting farther in the corner just watched you through narrowed eyes, rubbing his chin as if he was analyzing you. Repeating your silent murmur in a deep whisper, the fine man who had called you darling became utterly confused, lips screwing shut.

Perhaps they landed in the wrong room of your parent’s huge farm house. It had -how many rooms were there again, you wondered, brows furrowing in deep confusion.

“You must be mistaken. My name is not Ransome“ you said gaze directed at the two man again.

The one close to you snorted, shooting up from the chair, looking like he was about to get in bed with you. Panicking you pulled the duvet even closer, pivoting to the left.

Away from the man you would have laid with if met differently.

“Will“ the black haired man in the back began, his tone gaining urgency as he continued to talk “Please let me. Just a moment“.

It sounded like a question though.

Will, as you now knew, nodded in defeat, eyes as blue as the north sea water on a sunny day. You could get lost in him. Who was this fine stranger your heart yearned to know?

Boldness from god knows where let you investigate every inch of his face. It was almost rude staring but you couldn't help it.

Oh, there was something about him, something magical and so deeply soothing that it almost excused his intrusive behavior. Perhaps he looked familiar after all? A new inhabitant of Aldwinter?

No…

“Yn?” The second man called out for your attention, your eyes quickly distracted and jumping from Will to the doctor.

“If you’re last name name is not Ransome, what is it then?”

You couldn’t help yourself but giggle at his stupid question. A thing you could ask a preschooler. But your brows twitched for a short moment when you heard the blonde man next to you chuckle lightly.

Was this fun to him? Or was he just happy that whatever accident had allegedly befallen you hadn’t left any serious injury?

Pulling your gaze back to the black haired man, you didn’t spend a single thought on his question. It was ridiculous.

“What kind of medical examination is that?” You started quipping “Of course I know my last name, it’s…”

And then your face dropped, exited hands freezing and sinking back down onto the duvet. His question was simple however, you couldn’t answer.

Slowly your completely derailed expression met Will’s who seemed just as shocked as you, palms pressed against his temples, fingers flowing in line with the creases on his forehead. Those wonderful blue eyes were widened however, the hue of hope was nearly dried out.

“I’m- I’m supposed to know this“ you whispered, rocking back and forth like a disturbed child.

The doctor came closer, one hand resting supportingly on Will’s shoulder before he spoke “I'm afraid my worst misgiving has come true. The accident has caused retrograde amnesia but I don’t yet know how long it will last“.

“Wha- What d you mean how long it will last?“

Two painful weeks of learning things that once had been a matter of course and getting disappointed in your damaged memory were behind you when you made you way to the office room in your spacious house.

To see your husband Will Ransome.

It still sounded like a made up fairytale a drunken fellow began to tell with his tenth mug of beer pivoting in his perilous grip.

The vicar was a dreamy man; calm, collated and blissfully charming. Not to forget the fine way he looked with his white puffy shirts, sleeves rolled up and first top buttons undone. And those eyes…

To your heart it was no wonder your previous you had married him.

However, things always got more complicated when the complexity of a human brain got involved. As it was with you.

People were giving you weird, somehow pitying looks, some even constantly visited you do see whether you would remember names and things now, after the accident. It was surely well, mostly good will thriving in the people of Aldwinter but you desperately needed to be seen as normal again.

Although you still were far from reaching your old, normal state of mind, it didn’t hinder you from craving a bit of the normality an unlucky fate had stolen from you.

And this prior reality, this life you had built up also meant a healthy relationship to your husband.

And there you were wearing a flimsy, silky nightgown with no underwear, fresh out of the bathtub with hair smelling like flowering roses. On your way to seduce your husband. You wanted him to show you what got destroyed, to override your empty memories with something unforgettable.

Candle light was casting sinful shadows on Will’s sharp features as you spotted him sitting on his desk and probably musing for what to talk about in his upcoming Easter Sermon. The beard lit up in a gingerly tone, almost mingling with the flames while his dark blonde hair fell in fluffy waves leading down to one of his notorious white shirts.

Naturally, it hung open and displayed his chiseled chest with a sluttish undertone.

God, you had difficulties restraining yourself around him for the last two weeks. It was a costant fight of mind against heart and body who had traitorously teamed up to pour oil in your newly aflame fire of lust.

Tonight it shall happen you told yourself, feeling that you were ready to enter this reality again.

Sighing, Will propped his chin on his thumbs, palms pressed together in front of his nose. A desperate pose yet he looked like carved marble.

You crept up on him like a silent Jaguar on a mission, slowly hoisting your hands to let them rest on his shoulders.

The vicar flinched from the sudden, unexpected touch until your breathy “shhh“ soothed his strained nerves.

Beginning to apply pressure on the strings of muscle lying underneath white fabric, you could feel him relax again, the low hum escaping his mouth surrounded you like a hord of butterflies fleeing straight in your belly.

It tickled whenever you heard him speak.

“My darling… what you doing down here this late?“ Your husband asked, his reflection in the mirror orange from licking flames, eyes softly shut and mouth curled in a silent smile. Visibly at peace.

A peace that was only to find in a halcyon normalcy; a state you wanted to fully dive in again.

You couldn’t help but blush at the true nature of your late visit, a few seconds of pregnant silence forcing you to say something. “I- well, I simply wanted to look after my husband who is working so hard to please his people“.

Half the truth half secrecy was the path you chose.

It was far too early to simply sneak up on him whispering that you craved his body close to yours, your limbs entangled with his and his cock deep…

“I’m doing fine, y/n. Really. This speech just won’t write itself“ Will’s deep chuckle interrupted your unholy cascade of lust making you focus on the massage again.

Hell, you were nervous. Just as nervous as in the many mornings a dream about your husband got you occupied during breakfast, watching Will greedily licking honey from his dexterous digits.

Your eyes darted back up to meet his reflection, the delighted oceanic gaze melting within yours when he returned the glance. They were full of love and warmth, just like his whole demeanor as you had learned again.

Those emotions consumed you, no, it had swallowed you whole since you knew who he was.

Eventually his eyes let you make a decision in an instant. Almost instinctively when you drank him in.

Dragging your hands up towards the defined apex of his neck, you lowered your head letting it rest right next to Will’s while fingers drew small circles around his Adam’s apple. Muscle and veins popped out when he raked his head, moulding into your touch like you had never experienced before.

Well, technically you did but seeing it now, watching him give in to you and shatter his guard for you to explore his soul was utterly touching. Almost made you cry if there wasn’t the growing arousal pooling in your panties…

“Perhaps a creative pause will do” you cooed right in his ear, eyes catching the soft hair on his skin shooting up like loyal soldiers. Loyal to your touch, your voice.

Those velvety lips you had started kissing again a week ago were slowly curled up in a cunning smirk, the ginger hue of his beard glowing redder than ever.

Feeling him rocking back in the chair, spinning it slowly on one foot you soon found yourself facing him, your husband. It was magical, feeling like a steel blue jinx you would never want to escape.

Humming in gentle approval Will’s lips met yours when you straddles his lap. Feeling his mouth twitch at your sudden boldness you couldn’t suppress a giggle as sweet as honey.

“My beautiful wife, I told you it can wait” the vicar murmured in between loving kisses, his slick tongue invading your mouth, toying with your tongue in a feverish manner.

You snaked your arms around his neck shifting on his lap what drew a coarse moan from your husband’s starved lips. A sinful sound yet so heavenly to hear.

“Will, please... I- I want things to be normal again” you whispered, the plea skittishly peeking out of your low voice.

He knew. You had been fighting for status quo since the day you woke up, working hard and thriving.

But this, this very special request was taking him by surprise.

“Darling, I love you so. But are you sure you're ready to take such a big step?” his soothing baritone rung close to your ear, interrupted by a sharp hiss as you dragged your crotch across his hardening cock. “G-God you temptress. Are you s-sure?”.

“I’ve dreamt of you, Will” you breathed, hips becoming more and more demanding, searching the friction of grinding against his rock hard member.

It felt like salvation even though completely unfamiliar to your wounded mind. A healing balm perhaps.

A quiet squeak left your sealed lips when two strong hands dug in the flesh of your hips, keeping you pressed onto his clothed cock. “I want you to swear that you feel ready, dove. I would never push you to sleep with me”

For a second your breath ran cold, a sugary pill of anxiety swallowed. You had done it before only unbeknownst to your damaged mind.

Of course the blonde man saw your brows slant.

“You are my wife and I have sworn before god to protect and revere you” he began, raising a gentle hand to lovingly tug a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips leaving a sizzling sensation.

Well, you wanted him. There was no waiting.

“Tell me about that dream, sweet woman” Will coaxed more to bubble out of your heating body, your naked feet wrapped around his calves and torso held tight by the vicars strong arms.

Home, as you recognized it.

“At night, w-when I sleep-” you started, voice trembling like a lamb exposed to the wolf and cheeks blushing cherry red. Get a grip, you told yourself, he was your husband for god's sake.

“What exactly are you dreaming of my little angel?”

He was impatient. A lusty vicar waiting for you to finish your lewd prayers.

“Of you... a-and me. How you make love to me in our bedroom and moan my name. How you feel between my thighs and- and deep inside“.

“I see“ Will chuckled, leaning forward to take over your play of seduction. The deep shouldering echo of his voice felt close as his perfect teeth ghosted across your pulse point, lips embracing your soft skin.

The friction became as hot as the fire blazing wildly in your fireplace, a thin layer of sweat making your skin glow.

Humming against your neck, taking in your scent Will's mind replayed the thousands of nights he had been intimate with you. For you it would be like a first so the vicar had to be careful, had to restrain his deepest desires.

“Promise, dove. Promise me that you tell me if something doesn't feel good“.

“I swear“ you panted, hair sliding down your shoulders when you cocked your head and bounced on his bucking hips.

A feeling you had forgotten you craved so bad. A feeling far beyond your most erotic dreams.

“Good girl“ Will's breath felt like a flame licking at your body, igniting and nourishing the fire of lust simmering inside your body.

Then, suddenly, he stood up, hoisting you on your wobbly knees before hasty hands began to shuffle your nightgown. Nodding with a meek smile, the blonde man accepted your consent eventually coaxed the silk off.

You stood naked before him; your fully clothed husband.

“You're heaven sent, y/n. Nothing but god's most beautiful angel“.

The words of praise dripped from his mouth like a heady cocktail of love, admiration and awe. A mixture you would never of no matter how hard it might have been to fight your way back.

One of his big hand was wrapped around the back of your throat, the other caressing and twisting your nipples just right.

A deep sigh ascended your mouth, muscles beginning to relax while the lusty heat crept up on your every cell.

“I will be gentle, dove“ the vicar purred against your cleavage, his body weight pushing you backwards until you sunk down, laying on a fluffy lambskin rug.

Closer to the fire burning right next to you, closer to being burnt by your own fire. A fortuitous metaphor.

“I trust you“ you whimpered when Will's strong hips weaved in between your legs, the soft fabric of his pants brushing your sensitive nud. Gasping, the whirlwind of desire was about to swallow you while your husband purred the sweetest of praises with his right hand traveling down your exposed body.

“I will make you feel so good... Let me worship my dazzling wife just how she deserves“.

And your legs dropped further open without a grain of reluctance. At the newfound access you felt his fingertips caress your slick folds. “Will-“ you didn't even knew what it was you wanted but all your mind knew was him.

Your handsome husband smiling down at you with desire in his oceanic orbs, flames still casting moving shadows on his sharp features and the orange light giving him an ethereal halo.

He was a god himself.

It was perfect. The rosy, harmonic normalcy you craved was wrapping you in a blissful haze far beyond your best imagination.

“Dove?“ the question was low, carefully placed with his fingers resting and circling around your entrance. Your eyes darted up to meet his, the deep blue hues drowning every last speck of insecurity.

“Hm?“ you hummed against his lips, relishing in the feeling of his weight gently pressing against you as he sunk down to kiss you. “Be honest with me b-but... would it be too much to ask if I claimed you right here?“.

Sizzling shivers ran down your spine at his request. But there was no fear nor anxiety like it had been for the past time. Just him and the gleeful renaissance of a familiar passion.

“Make love to me, Will“ you finally breathed in his ear, hands fumbling with a strand of his hair to keep him close, near the exited heart hammering in your rising chest.

Where his soul lied.

It was never lost, you now realized. Maybe you were denied access but the spark, no matter how small it might have been after the accident, was the eternal one, burning with a matter of course you would never fathom.

“As you wish, milady“ your husband smirked, propping himself on one elbow, velvet lips never leaving your face.

“I- I missed this... you“.

But instead of a real answer you heard his belt unbuckle with a promising clink, the hot tip of his cock soon brushing through your folds.

Your breath got caught on your throat, eyes widened and glued on his reassuring smile that brought you to relax again in a ridiculous instant.

“I know this might be all knew to you again, dove“ he began panting in your ear, voice descending in deeper, purely masculine octaves “But you will soon be howling my name again“.

And with that vow of pleasure he lined himself up, your fingers clasping in the white shirt when your husband slowly inched inside of you. His filthy mouth only added to the overwhelming feeling of being filled, stretched out so good by the man you learned to love. Once again.

“W-Will, ohh godd“.

“Shhh... I know, love, I know“ the vicar soothed your agitated mind, eyebrows slanting in pleasure he had missed for so long. A blissful pleasure only you were able to grant him.

When he bottomed out, a strangled moan of his name drowned the cracking fire, echoing through the whole room, each wall perfectly reflecting the cry of ecstasy. Only to harmonize like a poem with his own groans and unholy cusses.

He felt like heaven, like the ultimate salvation he always preached about.

“Good girl“ Will rasped, hosting himself on his palms, ready to fuck you like he knew your body would remember. “I- I will nghh fuck make up for the time we've lost, darling. I don't care if I miss tomorrow's morning mass“.

And of course he did miss the mess, spending the whole night and morning entangled with his wife, gifting her a hundred precious memories life had taken.

thank you for reading my boos :) I hope I did the 14 days event justice with this little piece. Since the event is about 'firsts' -> this is my very first Will Ransome fic 💜

tags / fyi: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger @mochie85 @coldnique @springdandelixn @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @toozmanykids @simplyholl @michelleleewise @sarahscribbles @peaches1958 @joyful-enchantress @thomase1 @vbecker10 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @huntress-artemiss @lunarnights95 @ladymischief11 @smolvenger

#will ransome x reader #will ransome smut #will ransome fic #essex serpent fanfic #will ransome #will ransome x f!reader #smut #ransome x yn #fanfic writing #14 days of valentines

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