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savannahsdeath · 10 months

Note

As a lil ellie request, would u mind writing smth about reader being mad at ellie bc she was a little reckless on patrol and got hurt, so she dosnt let ellie touch her while she rides her? <33

this is my first request and i absolutely love it so how could i say no 🤭

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

summary: ellie was reckless during her usual patrol so you decided to give her a lesson

warnings: 18+!! smut, strap (r!receiving), wound, mean!reader, begging

writers note: i actually love this idea sm?? also dear anon sorry if its not something you expected but its just how i imagine that:3

You were waiting for your girlfriend to come back from patrol, just like every day. Except today she took her fucking time.

The sun has already set, so instead of waiting in the couch, as usual, you decided to go to your bedroom. You knew you won't fall asleep, not until she comes back. You needed to see she's safe if you want to sleep peacefully.

The door's opened.

You heard her entering the living room, surprised you're not there.

"Babe?" She frowned.

You quickly ran up to her. You were already mad she came home so late but after seeing her you were truly pissed of.

Her jeans were rolled up, exposing her leg covered in messy-bloody bandages.

"What the fuck happened?" You almost yelled, kneeling in front of her and unwrapping it.

"I might get bit." She said with a shrug, like it's a normal thing. "They almost killed Jesse, so I covered him. Ya know, he's not the immune one."

You went to the bathroom to get fresh bandages and alcohol to clean the wound. The bit was small, it (whatever 'it' was) probably barely touched her. You quickly started patching her up.

"So what, just because you're immune makes you think you can risk your life?" You chuckled mockingly.

Her leg stung from the alcohol and it took all of her efforts to not groan out in pain.

It was almost more frustrating that she was so nonchalant about it. Like, you knew she didn't care about herself, she rarely ever did, but her putting herself in harm's way because she's the immune-whatever was just annoying. You wanted to yell at her and drag her into the house and never let her out again, but you also didn't want to sound like a controlling jerk.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" Ellie smirked. You rolled your eyes at her response to your concern. She always liked to push your buttons, and this was only one of times she does it.

You finished cleaning and patching up the small bite on her leg, and the wound looked almost healed. You went back to the bathroom to to throw away the used bandages.

You leaned over the sink, splashing some water in your face and gathering your thoughts.

Maybe you overreacted?

Suddenly, when you looked at the mirror, you saw Ellie standing behind you with her hands wrapped around your waist. Her breath tickled the side of your face as she pressed herself against you.

You felt the bulge in her pants and your eyes widened. There's no way she was wearing it at the patrol, but then again, when did she manage to put it on?

"I can make it up to you." She whispered.

You couldn't completely give in. She deserved a lesson and you doing whatever she wants would have the opposite effect. Still, you couldn't resist her now, could you?

Before you could push her away, she kissed you. Her lips were so possessive, like she's intentionally making you as breathless as possible, so you won't manage to speak - you won't manage to say no. The truth is, you didn't want to say no. Not to her.

She was slowly pushing you towards your bedroom, which was (luckily) opposite the bathroom.

She pulled away to let you catch your breath only when you were sitting on her lap, not able to move because of her strong grip.

After she unbuckled her belt, she lied down as you sat on top of her. She gave you one of those 'you know what to do' looks.

And that was the moment your bratty attitude came back, as you remembered how reckless your girlfriend really is. Of course you craved her strap, but you wanted to somehow make her regret her stupid antics, so you decided to take it your way.

She was the type of person that needed to touch you. Going on a walk? - Her hand is either on your waist, back pocket of your jeans or tangled with yours. And while you're fucking she had to hold you. Even though just the sight of you is enough to make her go insane, she could never keep her hands away from you.

This time wasn't an exception but you wanted it to be.

You spared yourself all the little games and you started riding her instantly. Gripping her hips for balance, rolling your eyes back and moaning her name.

For her, you looked like the most precious thing in the world right at this moment. She just loved seeing you fuck yourself dumb on her cock.

Her hands started desperatly touching your body, as if to make sure this isn't a hallucination. But you quickly pulled them away.

She had no idea what your point was, she narrowed her eyes and frowned. Suddenly she smirked as she remembered your previous 'argument'.

"Don't tell me you're still mad." She chuckled breathlessly.

Usually you'd try to be as quiet as possible, embarrased by how Ellie can make you feel. This day you were anything but quiet, hoping to make her mad.

"I may be." You moaned out.

She closed her eyes, loudly exhaling, as she seemed to think about something.

She tried touching you a few more times, not successfully. You were holding back a laugh at her confusion.

"Don't be like that, I know you love my touch. Just let me... It would be a win-win situation." She tilted her head, staring at you taking the whole strap without her help. At this point, what you did was cruel.

"Are you seriously so mad at me for this little bite that you're going to make me just helplessly watch?" She continued, her each word sounded more and more exaggerated.

"What, can't stand it?" You said mockingly, continuing to whimper.

"Of course I can't fucking stand it!" She covered her face with her hands as looking at you made it worse and she wasn't able to just look away. Her hips were thrusting, just a little, as she hoped you won't notice.

You couldn't hold back your laugh any longer. She was really losing her mind, or at least pretending to. You couldn't tell. But it sure was funny to watch her squirm.

Your smirk grew with each response, knowing her patience was wearing thin and she would soon be begging for you. She was clearly pissed at the situation, but she wanted to play it cool at first. However, that facade melted with your each mocking response.

"Just let me touch you." She whispered, her voice becoming more needy and frustrated. "I need this."

"You know what I need?" You grinned in between your groans. "An responsible girlfriend who doesn't think her immunity is an excuse for... everything."

She scoffed, but she didn't care about the answer. She just needed you. The frustration was building up to the point where she wouldn't be able to take it soon. Her hands started pulling at your shirt as if she wanted to discretely show you she wants it off of you. She had gone mad, and you loved every moment of it.

"Please, I can't take it anymore." She moaned, her voice breaking every word with a new breath.

"There she is, starting to beg." You laughed as you pushed her hands away again, gentler this time.

Of course you didn't feel as good as you did when Ellie was helping you - there's just something about the way she guides your hips on top of her. But you had to keep your cool this time.

Her hands kept reaching for you, but you kept pulling them away. She was frustrated, and her voice was getting angrier.

"Stop playing hard to get."

It was clear she had almost reached her limit. She didn't care about anything anymore, she just wanted you.

You whimpered and teased her some more, which drove her completely mad. She was at her limit and couldn't handle it any longer.

"Please... please... please." She begged desperately, pulling at your shirt. "I'm going crazy, I need you..."

The sound of her voice broke you. You couldn't help but stop and start giggling to yourself, amused by the desperation in her tone.

But you didn't dare push the game any longer.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #wlw smut #smut #strappon #anon #nonnie asks #thank you nonnie #send anons #reqs open #request

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cambrinkownsme · 11 days

Text

*•♡never be like you pt 3 ♡¸.•*'

nika muhl x cheerleader!reader

"I'm falling on my knees. forgive me, I'm a fucking fool "

word count - 2.3k

themes :

-angst if you squint

-smut

warnings :

-public sex

-fingering

a/n - sorry for how long it took me to post this. writers block was biting me in the ass. enjoy the smut!!! ( I did not spell check sooooo sorry)

the days between when I asked Nika to the concert and the actual concert were hell. all I could think about was her. and the occasional thought about what Farah was planning for fucking over Asher but that's for another day.

finally, it was the day of the concert. I had already ordered an outfit from about a million different websites but it came together perfectly. I was going to be basic and just where a purple skirt and a white top but the more I looked in online stores, the crazier (and shinier) my outfit got. I decided on a sparkly purple blazer and a black mini skirt with a matching black tube top. the only shoes I could find were purple doc martins so that's what I went with.

the moment I stepped out of my closet to show Farah my outfit, I was convinced that she dropped dead. her hands slammed on the desk she was sitting beside. she stood up and ran her hands over the shoulders of my blazer. "its so fucking good oh my God. I'm kind of mad at you actually. I wish I came up with this." her eyes and hands traced over my entire outfit in awe. before I could even look at myself in the mirror, Farah began taking way too many photos. "I'm sending these all the Nika." that's when I slapped the phone out of her hand.

i almost broke my nose diving for her phone to delete all the pictures. the last thing I wanted was for Nika to see me in a ridiculously glittery outfit with anything else done. if I was doing a big reveal for her then it would have to be when I'm fully ready.

while Farah changed into her outfit, which was a mystery to me, I started doing my makeup. the concert was in 3 hours from now and the venue was 1 hour and 30 minutes away. so as long as Farah didn't take forever getting ready, we would be fine. of course that's as long as Nika was ready.

------------------------------------------------------------

nika's pov

to be honest, I've only heard one Olivia Rodrigo song in my entire life. and its not like I hated it but it wasn't my type of music. but because I love concerts and y/n, I turned on a playlist with her music and started getting ready. me, Farah, and y/n had made a group chat just for this occasion. we barely talked in it, more of just updating each other on where the concert was at and what time it was. the only appropriate outfit I could find was a pair of black jean shorts and a purple tank top. when I tried showing a couple of the girls on my team, I've never gotten more disapproval. they forced me to get letters and designs ironed on the top so once the outfit was put together I had a purple tank top with the words 'sorry my guts spilled' on it with my shorts and a purple pair of Nike dunks that I had to borrow from Paige. oh yeah, the group chat was also used for outfit checks. so I got sent pictures of outfits on racks, hangers, beds, floors, and people. I couldn't care enough to do all that so I just sent a picture of my outfit once it was on me.

farah and y/n had to have been the most hyped up girls I've ever met. they couldn't stop spamming the group chat when they saw my outfit. it honestly felt nice. I didn't do much makeup because I knew how hot those stadiums got. I just put on some mascara and lip liner and I was ready to go. I didn't want to end up looking a mess afterwards, I guess the girls did though.

when I was getting ready, one song sort of stuck out compared to all the others. love is embarrassing. I kind of related to it. loves was never really my thing. at least in college it wasn't. love seemed like something that would get me distracted. as much as I adored seeing other couples out on dates and couples going to each other's event like sports games, it seemed well, embarrassing to me.

i tried to keep it like that.

the time that the girls spent getting ready on seemed to go by slower than ever. i found myself sitting on my bed and my couch and every other surface ever. when finally i got a text.

'we're here!'

i launched myself off of the ledge of my counter and grabbed my bag. i made sure to bring a couple extra water bottles and other necessities so that if anyone ran out, that actually wouldn't.

the moment i sat in the car, the energy shifted.

when i looked from afar, the girls were going back and forth with no music playing. as if one or the other was panicking about something. but when i got there, they acted normal as ever. weird.

"heyyyy! you ready?"

fatah squealed, shaking my shoulder. i smiled in return while nodding my head up and down.

"yess! let's go!"

i wanted to talk to y/n but she barely looked at me. i couldn't tell if it was out of fear or if she just forgot to say something but i knew it didn't feel that good.

the entire car ride was filled with the two girls informing me about olivia rodrigo's songs and who they are about and who she's dated. and to be honest i was pretty invested. more than any other artist. the girls knew every lyrics to every song and it made me feel out of place but i knew i'd settle in once i heard her live.

"oh my god and just a little while ago she released guts spilled!"

i couldn't help but tilt my head in confusion.

"what's that?"

the girls gave eachother a look as if they were about to stop the car and put on a performance of what 'guts spilled' is.

"it's like a bonus to guts! it has five new tracks that basically everyone was waiting for!"

i could tell that this was something y/n had been waiting to be asked about. the pure joy in her face and voice brought a light smile to my face. her eyebrows were raised and her eyes were open wide.

"i think you'll like obsessed and girl i've always been..." farah leaned back to look at me and whisper.

the rest of the car ride was pretty fun actually. we spent time memorizing lyrics. well. they spent time helping me memorize lyrics and eventually i got lost in the music, making the time on the road go by extremely quick. by the time we were at the stadium, i had basically learned all the lyrics to both of olivia's albums. farah and y/n were so proud.

this parking lot was more packed than any concert lot i've ever been to. i mean every single spot was taken. we had to park on the street and speed walk to the stadium. we got in after what felt like hours of checking bags and tickets and whatever. and once we were in? it was cold.

cold and mildy empty. we had gotten there around 40 minutes early so we found the pit and hung around until the entire stadium was full.

when the light went off, i felt the entire aura switch very quickly. there was a different artist opening. and while i had heard of olivia once or twice around social media, i had never heard of chappell roan. of course farah and y/n had because they began screaming every single lyrics. the music actually was bad so i started to dance along and hum to as much lyrics as i could understand.

finally there were purple lights flashing and olivia came out. i couldn't help but scream along with everyone because as much as i tried to hide it, i was pretty fucking excited.

------------------------------------------------------------

y/n's pov

i don't think i could express how badly i want to wrap my arms around nika just for her coming. we were basically strangers and she came to a whole concert with us. a normal person wouldn't just do that. nika would.

i won't lie, the way our shoulders bumped up against eachother while we were dancing and singing felt even better than hearing olivia rodrigo live.

there were even moments where the air was steamy but bearable. i'd take a second to look to the side and there nika would be, already looking at me as if she was waiting for our eyes to meet. she would nod her head, asking if she could take my hand without speaking. and of course i never denied. she held both of our hands in the air and jumped around to all-american bitch. i know she meant it in a "this is a girls moment" way but my head told me that she was holding my hand the way i had been wanting to for the past week.

none of this could leave my mouth of course. because one ; it was too loud for anyone to even hear my words and two ; it wouldn't be the best choice to confess my love to nika in the middle of a concert. so i shoved my thoughts and fluttery words right back down my throat and replaced them with song lyrics.

all of the thoughts in my head were bringing me to tears. the fact that i was actually in the same stadium as olivia rodrigo and the fact that i was in the same arm distance as nika muhl. and i couldn't even hold her how ive wanted.

then the scream happened. right before the scream in all-american bitch was about to happen, olivia stopped and told everyone to scream for themselves. and i knew exactly what to think about when i screamed.

i screamed about having to wait for nika even though it might not work out. i thought about the fact that our bodies were pressed together in the most platonic way possible. i screamed about the fact that i still had to sort shit out with asher when i got back to campus. and i screamed about the fact that nika had no idea.

in my head i was the loudest person there but i know i wasn't when all of the screams melted together into one.

then she played obsessed. my favorite. there were a good amount of Olivia Rodrigo songs that I did relate to and this was not one of them. I've never been obsessed with anyone's ex. I've never really...cared.

i remember when the song was first leaked on a podcast on Spotify it was the only thing I listened to for a while. I knew every lyric like the back of my hand even if I didn't associate them with my own life.

olivia had changed into a red body suit and she looked amazing. it shocked me how she sounded so perfect while dancing but that's just Olivia Rodrigo for you.

i noticed Nika getting even more loud during this song. she actually was singing the lyrics as if she had known them for months. I felt proud as fuck. are hands met again. we were jumping up and down to the beat of the drums, screaming together like we had been friends for years.

everything went by so quickly.

next thing I knew she had her hand around my waist while she tried to catch her breath. her head was closer to my hands then my face and she had a death grip on her own knee. her back lifted and fell as her heavy breaths slowly went away. i had my hand on her back, trying to make sure she was ok while the song continued.

when her head was back up at eye level the first thing she did was lean into my ear and whisper. "can I try something?"

i had never been more confused in my life until I nodded and felt her hand still lingering around my hips. her fingers grazed the skin that was open in the air. she had been pretending to be focused on the music while her hands slipped down my waist and under my skirt. my breath hitched when she used just her pinky to slide my underwear to the side.

"w-what are you doing?" I questioned, trying to pretend like I didn't want this to happen.

"oh shut up I know you've wanted me too."

i couldn't form words before she dipped two fingers in my pussy. I knew that I could be more vocal since the music was loud enough to drown everyone out but I still felt the need to stay quiet. from anyone elses view, you'd think we were just holding each other or holding hands while singing. Nika quickened her pace, already making me close. it felt like a dream. and it felt like three songs had already passed but by the time it was the bridge of obsessed, I was dripping all over Nika's fingers.

"f-fuck!" I whined out, making Nika cover my mouth with her lips. she didn't stop pumping her fingers in and out of my cunt but it felt like we were only kissing. like the only thing I could feel was her lips on mine and her tongue tangled with mine.

just as I was about to finish for the second time within 1 minute and 30 seconds, Nika pulled her fingers out of me and laid them on her own tongue, sucking them clean.

part of me was in disbelief of what just happened and the other part was fully aware.

"can we continue at home?"

i nodded eagerly, still not knowing what to say to her. I could tell by the smirk on her lips and how her hands were placed on her hips that she was real fucking proud of what she just did.

the rest of the concert was a blur to me.

#girlblogger #nika muhl #basketball #uconn wbb #uconhuskies #lesbian #nika muhl x reader #nika x reader #nika mühl #nika my wife fr #never be like you #Nika muhl smut #Nika smut

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042502 · 15 days

Text

⸝⸝﹒ bad friend • chris sturniolo. ‧₊⋆

°ᡣ . ° summary. Some conflicts with a person you thought was your friend brings you health problems, but your boyfriend Chris is there for you.

°ᡣ . ° content. False friends, health problems, bad friends, among others.

°ᡣ . ° writer's note. My first language is not English, so if you find any grammatical errors you already know why :)

°ᡣ . ° word count. 3.1 K

°ᡣ . ° m.list.

The days for you were being really shit, you haven't been feeling well lately. Your mind was so clouded, Your mood sucked and your body was reflecting your mood.

Your lazy body gets up taking the clothes of the day. You pass your head through the gaps in the garment and slide it over your torso.

You look in the mirror, You feel lighter, you even look thinner. Lately you didn't have the crazy appetite you used to have.

You pass your legs through the pants and adjust them to your waist, You put on your shoes to finally enter the bathroom to clean yourself.

"Good morning Sweet" Your mother wishes you when you sit down to eat the breakfast she prepared. "There I have left you some vanilla cookies, I'm sorry, your father hasn't been paid his salary yet and we don't have money to buy groceries."

Your mother explained sadly, breakfast consisted of a cup of tea and those vanilla cookies. He nods silently and begins to drink from the cup.

Your mother kept chattering about the different things she had to do during the day, while getting ready.

You feel a feeling of disgust in your mouth, The saliva begins to accumulate and your vision began to be seen in slow motion, little by little dark edges were visible.

"Mom..." The words come awkwardly from your lips.

"That?" your mother responds still getting ready from the other room.

"I think I feel... Bad..."

You try to stand up to go to the bathroom, Your mother came out of the room to see you when your body collapsed, Your mother ran to your fainted body and took you to your room.

Your mother quickly went in search of the machine she uses to take blood pressure, scared of your state. You had no pressure, The machine could not take it.

"It would be better if you don't attend your class today, I'll talk to them later."

It happened like that, you stayed in bed in the morning, your mother asked you to have breakfast anyway, that you couldn't improve if you didn't. So you accepted breakfast, Meanwhile your mother would go shopping to prepare a good lunch for you.

"Do you think you can stay alone for an hour?" your mother asks you worried.

"Can" cup drinks. "Don't worry mom, I won't try anything."

"Even so, If you feel bad, don't get up, you can throw up here and I'll clean it up." He points to the floor of your room. "I will try to return as soon as possible."

He nods and she leaves, you continue with your breakfast, following your mother's instructions about drinking slowly and eating cookies slowly.

Your slow breakfast is interrupted by notifications hitting your cell phone, you had text messages from your best friend, asking about your absence. On the other hand you had messages from Chris, you decide to respond to him first.

After answering the texts, You finish breakfast and rest a little until your mother arrives.

The rest of the days continue the same, the mornings during breakfast were impossible, you fainted, you would end up in bed and then it would get better by the afternoon.

"Are you ok?" Chris asks you as he kills your hand.

They were on their way to the local hospital, Your mother was driving with you. While Chris rides next to you in the back.

"Yes, I'm nervous... "

"He is afraid of having blood drawn." Your mother speaks and you nod.

"They have never done it to me and I don't want them to do it."

"They will do it to find out why the hell you faint at breakfast."

You could feel your mother's penetrating gaze as she saw you in the rearview mirror.

"Right now I haven't fainted."

You snort in discomfort looking through the window. Chris takes up the conversation again.

"That's because you haven't had breakfast.."

A week later they gave you the results of the analysis you had done, you had anemia. The cure was that you have a good diet and your obligatory daily meals, They have asked you questions about whether you felt uncomfortable in any way with your physique or similarities.

Which you denied, You understand that they were trying to know if you are going through an eating disorder.

"I just have no appetite."

They later confirmed that your anemia is caused by emotional stress. They have asked about your sentimental situation.

"I have my boyfriend, We have been dating for six months together and no, We don't have any difficulties in the relationship."

They were trying to find the culprit, but that of course wouldn't be Chris.

They finally sent you home, Your mother and Chris made sure you made all your meals without exception.

Chris would spend the night with you that day, you knew he wouldn't want to leave, You on the other hand felt very sensitive so you needed him too.

"Is there something going on that I don't know about?" your boyfriend asked as he hugged you.

"huh, there are not many relevant things."

"Tell me."

"I have recently had discussions with Anna" Anna was one of your friends, It wasn't new that you had problems with her, because normally someone always had problems with her. "We haven't spoken for... Weeks maybe."

"Because? "

"She was just mad at me for not going to that stupid meeting that day."

"Oh really? But if you canceled because you were in a bad mood, I remember that that day you had an argument with your father."

You had canceled the meeting you had with Anna and your friends, because that same afternoon you had a big fight with your father and you didn't feel like leaving the house.

Your friend Anna was very offended that you canceled at the last minute, Then an argument broke out in the middle of the group chat, exchange of insults and strong words.

Since that day she hasn't spoken to you., You recognize that you haven't done it either.

"Honestly I haven't had the will to want to solve it, I'm just tired of being the one who always asks to talk things over. I think she is also mature enough to come and chat with me if she wants to fix things."

"Do you think he doesn't want to fix anything?"

You raise your shoulders in response. The next week you were slowly improving, At least you could attend classes, your best friend Tomi welcomed you excitedly.

"Your presence was missing here, By the way, many have asked about you."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, You were not of great relevance to the class, so of course that takes you by surprise.

"Anna asked me how you were feeling."

"I have not changed my phone number, If you need to know anything about me you can write to me."

"We've talked, she wants to fix things with you, He plans to talk to you next wee."

"I mean I have to wait another week for her to want to talk to me, I'm not good at these things."

"I think it would be good for you to chat."

"Right now I don't feel like it."

It seems that your words were worth little to your best friend at that moment, because when class ended and they were both walking together back to their homes, He takes you to Anna so they can talk.

They talked about the misunderstanding and you explained your point of view and she told hers.

"I had an argument with my father that day, I wasn't in the mood and that's why I canceled."

"I'm mad at you for canceling at the last minute. because I really wanted to go out and if you don't go, automatically everyone in the group cancels as well. It's like you turn into a capricious girl and everyone does what you want when you want.."

"I understand."

You understood that she wasn't apologizing, but even if you let it pass, They haven't touched on the topic of your health.

Still it was good, They had reintegrated the link a little.

That same day you were in your room with your boyfriend Chris, He was studying for his driving test.

"I know you will make it."

"I hope so" You sit next to him and he closes his notebook to look at you.. "So everything solved with Anna? That's good."

You nod and he leaves a kiss on your forehead, You had told him about the situation with your friend while he was reviewing his notes.

You were sure he would manage to take his license.

"Anyway she's very defensive, at least that's how I feel."

"I don't understand, it's like she looks for this kind of problems."

You nod, agreeing with your boyfriend, You had dinner together and then Chris leaves your house to go to his.

The next few weeks were good, your group of friends had been restored, and they no longer isolated Anna and they all enjoyed school together.

Your diet was slowly improving, You still had dizziness and some small disgust with certain foods. Still you didn't faint.

It seemed that everything was splendid, That morning Chris had his final exam to obtain his license so you were attentive to his chat, to keep you informed.

But then a hand slams your phone, making it hit the ground, you take it quickly confused.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You ask annoyingly towards your friend Anna, who is standing right in front of you with a bad face.

"I thought you were my friend, but you are making advances to my boyfriend, I seriously can't believe it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Don't act stupid, I have seen that my boyfriend has you in his close friends."

"I don't have your boyfriend on Instagram, Besides, I don't know him and you've talked shit about him since they've been dating, Do you really think I would be with a trash like him? I don't know him and I hate him for all the harm he did to you.

"You should have told me that he had you added."

"I don't follow it, I'm not interested in him Just block it from my account. Even so, Why does he have me added? Shouldn't you blame him for his actions?"

"you are a slut, I have spoken with him, that's why I'm talking to you."

"You're saying that you've talked to him and you've believed him, I'm your fucking friend Anna. Are you crazy? I'm dating Chris, I have no fucking interest in your fucking boyfriend."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Right now you can't prove me otherwise."

"I don't want to be your damn friend anymore, I'm not going to be friends with a boyfriend-stealing bitch. You're a whore."

You felt like shit, again the stress hit your body, you had lost a friend with whom you spent thousands of moments together, nights, days, early mornings. You had lost everything due to a misunderstanding.

You text a quick message in your boyfriend's chat, but the messages were not sent, lock yourself in the bathroom to cry. You really felt very bad, You didn't want the friendship they had to end.

You spent the rest of class in the bathroom, You leave at a hurried pace, ignoring everyone in your path, the calls of your name or the voices of your friends, to absolutely everyone ignorant.

But then the noise of a car catches your attention, Chris was driving a dark gray car. He had a big smile on his lips, He brakes the car and leans over to open the passenger door.

"Get in the car!"

You look back and your friends were walking in your direction, still shouting your name and making signs with their hands to get your attention. but again you ignore them and get in the car.

"How do you feel? Now you have your boyfriend on license" He shows you his license proudly and you smile widely.

"Congratulations, I knew you would make it. Finally you can use this car."

The car was an impulse purchase that your boyfriend had, Since then he has been improving to obtain his license, so you knew very well what this meant to him.

"Something happened? you are depressed."

"I have argued with Anna..."

"Again? It already has me tired, Don't you have another target to attack?"

"He accused me of stealing boyfriends."

Chris lets out a big laugh as he drives.

"She's a lying bitch, I really just wanted to stop being your friend and I'm looking for the dumbest excuse of all to do it." Chris's words made sense, there would be no other reason. "You don't even know her boyfriend, I mean, even if you knew him What kind of friend does he take you for? They are supposed to be friends, you will never surpass them with their partner."

"And you forget something, I am very happy with my boyfriend, I don't have eyes for anyone else."

Chris shows a big smile when he hears your words, He loved it when you made those kinds of comments about him. He felt so loved.

"I know, I don't want you to try to talk to her again, that I forgot about you. He doesn't deserve you."

You nod at your boyfriend's words, He had never forbidden you from getting close to anyone, but you understood that he didn't want you to be hurt

When they arrive at your house, Chris parks the car and takes off his seat belt. you imitate him. Your eyes burned from holding back the tears, but a rebellious tear escapes and Chris notices.

"Ma, Do not be like that, It hurts me to see you this way. You have to understand she is not good for you, does not value your friendship and how unconditional you have been, I still remember that day when we were about to go to the movie screening and you went to see her at her house because she had argued with her boyfriend." You're surprised Chris remembered that. "You are an excellent friend, You always put your friends first and defend them from everything unconditionally, but I think some abuse that... That annoys me."

"It's just that she is my friend Chris, it was my pair."

"I know, but she has made this decision. I think it's time for you to let go, It's not doing you good."

School was over and at the graduation party you met Anna, she was alone with her father, Apparently she broke up with her boyfriend.

Would you have liked to accompany her during that process, because you knew how toxic the relationship your friend had with her boyfriend was, The best thing was that they will end. That reminded you of the words Chris told you about Anna with you.

Maybe Anna was a toxic friendship, almost as toxic as Anna's own relationship with her boyfriend.

Chris approaches you with a bouquet of flowers, You thank them for the gesture and they take a photo. Your mother and father also joined the photography, you could feel your former friend's heavy gaze on you.

They take the group photo and then Chris asks for one more photo with you, You nod and he gives you a kiss on the lips for the photograph.

"I will upload this to my Instagram."

You smile widely, then you look towards Anna and she still had her eyes on you. He had such a heavy energy.

"Ma" Chris speaks to you. "I want to give you this."

He takes off a red bracelet from his wrist to put it on your wrist.

"Nick said it was for negative energies, I'm not sure if that's true, but yes it is, I want you to use it."

"Thank you, she is very pretty."

The graduation ended without a problem, before they left you took a group photo with your group of friends. Of course without Anna's presence.

"You are tired?" Chris asks you as you both walk behind your parents towards your boyfriend's car.

"my feet burn" You point to the painful area.

"I think you deserve a massage from me today."

"Oh that would be great."

You hold your boyfriend's hand and give it a small squeeze to which he responds with another, You laugh and kiss his cheek.

But the moment is interrupted by the call of your name, You turn around recognizing that voice, it was Anna.

"We can talk?"

She had a long red dress, What a coincidence, you were also wearing a long red dress.

You let go of your boyfriend's hand and nod, ready to talk to Anna, but Chris grabs your hand again and stops you from getting closer to Anna.

"She has nothing to talk to you about."

"This is about her and me, we don't need third parties."

"Tell that to your fucking boyfriend" attacks without mincing words Chris, feign surprise. "Oh I'm sorry, I meant, your ex-boyfriend."

"Chris..."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to allow you to talk to her, she doesn't deserve it. She completely despised you and a friendship like the one she offers you is not healthy, You have been in poor health due to the stress you went through with their arguments. He hasn't even asked how you are and accuses you of fallacies, without sense."

You had never seen your boyfriend talk to someone that way before, he had so much contempt, so much hate, in your words.

"I hope that in a few years you mature and realize how bad your actions towards her were." points to you. "You are a bad friend and I hope that is clear to you, People like you don't deserve to have friends as good as my girlfriend was to you."

Having said that, You and Chris walked to the car without saying goodbye to Anna, The expression she had after Chris's words was neutral, like he really didn't care at all what Chris was telling him.

They got into the car with your parents, who were still talking about the night.

When they arrived at your house, They undress and lie comfortably on the bed.

"Thank you for taking care of me Chris."

"I didn't like to interfere, But she is a seriously bad person and I couldn't stand to see you bad again."

"I love you" You leave a kiss on his lips.

You were grateful to have Chris in everything, He had stayed out of everything until now, You suppose that he was already tired of seeing you bad, so you externally thanked him for his support at this time.

°ᡣ . ° writer's note. Remember to hit the heart and share it with your friends! Thanks for reading^^

°ᡣ . ° taglist. @luverboychris @l34n @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @dirtylittleheartsworld @ilovechrisssturniolo-deactivate

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illubean · 3 months

Note

Hello. I am here to request a Yoru X male reader with Yoru acting cocky. I feel like we don’t get enough of that— writers often make him soft in fanfics, but I want to see him act shamelessly arrogant (and for good reason). The genre is up to you, but maybe some sort of action-packed/mid-fight scene would be good. Thank you for your time. :]

Mr. Arrogant

Characters: Ryo "Yoru" Kiritani Type: Fluff?, Oneshot, Gn!reader

IM CRYING I PRACTIALLY HAD THIS DONE THEN A POWEROUTAGE HIT I know the request was for male!reader but I couldn't really find a spot to specify it im sorry >.< anyways reader's abilities are vaguely inspired by kiriko from overwatch

Warnings: none

To say Yoru pissed you off would be an understatement. The self proclaimed 'lone wolf' of the protocol's cocky and arrogant personality made him insufferable to work with. By no means was he bad at what he does, but god was he annoying.

Especially as an agent with healing abilities. Despite his refusal to be a team player, he expects you to come help him at any beck and call. You do anyways because it's your job and, unlike him, you value teamwork. That doesn't make it any less irritating though.

Today had been like any other mission with Yoru. You holding down a site while he ran off to god knows where. The two of you were sent to check out lotus, making sure everything was in order. But what no one expected was for a full team of mirror agents to be there.

"A little help here, asshole!? They're all A!" you yell through comms, trying your best to hold down the fort on your own. Currently, you were cornered in tree where you had to watch for doors and the entrance to site. You huff in annoyance at his lack of a response, shooting your pistol while trying to keep the enemies at bay.

After a few moments you hear the faint sound of the rift walker ripping through the dimensional fabric. From what you could tell, he had probably teleported to drop. You finally made your way out of your hiding spot at the sound of 2 shots from his sheriff and 2 bodies of the omega earth agents hitting the ground.

"Surprise. Idiot."

From what you could tell, there were two sets of footsteps coming from main and another one from stairs. Yoru went to push main, paying no mind to you, fully confident in his ability to take each and every enemy out on his own. You roll your eyes at his behavior, waiting for the enemy who was at stairs to peek out, taking them down.

You snapped your head around to your companion at the sound of a pained grunt.

"Need healing!"

Despite his call out, he continued to push the two remaining enemies.

"I can't heal you if you keep moving, dumbass! Stay in my range!" You run after him, tossing one of your healing charms towards his feet.

"What? Can't keep up?"

You could practically hear the smirk on his face through this remark. The sound of gunshots ceased as Yoru took out the last of the mirror agents, finally standing still for you to run up to him.

After approaching him, you did a few hand signs before placing them on Yoru's shoulders with a soothing glow. You glance at his face to see him wearing a smug expression.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What would you do without me? You were barely able to take one of them out on your own. Am I just that much better than you?"

Your eye twitched slightly as you removed your hands, ceasing your healing. Oh how he pissed you off.

"Oh? Did I ruffle a feather?" he says, smirk growing wider across his face.

Your feathers were in fact RUFFLED.

Without a word or a second thought, you punched the man in his shoulder before yanking him by his collar into a chaste kiss.

You pulled away and got a good look at his face. His cocky expression was now replaced with one of shock as his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you Mr. Arrogant?"

#valorant #valorant yoru #yoru valorant #yoru x reader #ryo kiritani #yoru valorant x reader #valorant yoru x reader #yoru #valorant x you #valorant x reader #valorant oneshot #valorant headcanons #valorant fanfic #valorant fanfiction

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petersprincesss · 10 months

Text

Security Measures

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything… but I decided IM BACK BABY!

It felt like it was time for some good old fashioned smut. I really went back to my roots with this one. I still personally prefer to refer to this character as Peter Ballard, and that’s gonna be his name in the fic. I apologize if that’s not your thing, but you don’t have to read it 🫶🏻

Genre: Porn with minimal plot

Rating: so crazy explicit lmao. Minors please leave 💞

Tags: dom!Peter, sub!female!, bdsm kinda?, edging, fingering, orgasm delay, orgasm denial, dubcon? kinda?, choking, hitting, hair pulling… all that good stuff

As always, I appreciate any and all feedback. You know I love to hear you, baby 🙏🏻

Hawkins National Laboratory was going to be the biggest story in my journalism career. Like many children in this area of Indiana, I had grown up hearing all kinds of rumors, stories and conspiracies surrounding the mythic brick building in the woods.

Being a casual column writer for the Indianapolis Recorder gave me access to plenty of information, but most of it felt so mundane compared to what I might be able to uncover in the source of all my childhood nightmares. Through my boss, I was able to secure an interview with one Dr. Martin Brenner, the supposed mastermind behind the madness. The only question now was whether or not I would learn the truth.

Parked outside of the structure, it felt no different than those creepy campfire tales my friends and I had swapped in our youth. This time, however, I knew I was going to go inside. I was going to settle fact and fiction.

I smoothed out my smart pencil skirt and clutched my notepad and two pens close to my chest (I had to have two, just in case one ran out in the middle of the interview, but I had tested them both twice before leaving the house). My modest high heels clicked against the pavement before stopping at the tall glass front door. I took one final deep breath before pulling it open.

The lobby was beyond what I was expecting. Panels of sleek, dark wood lined the walls, and a kind-eyed brunette woman sat behind a mahogany desk with a warmly lit lamp set atop it.

“How can I help you?” She spoke, folding her fingers together and resting them on her appointment book.

“I have a two o’clock with Dr. Brenner,” I replied. I could feel my knuckles turning white around my notepad.

The young lady glanced down at her calendar before tapping twice on my name.

“You’re right on time. I’ll buzz you through the main doors. Go down the hallway and go through security. They’ll guide you from there.”

“Thank you so much,” I responded, already making my way around her desk towards a set of hospital-like doors. She pressed a button behind her desk, sending a buzzing ring throughout the lobby, followed by the click of the door’s lock. I swung it open and entered a lengthy hallway lined with sterile white tile.

Scents of various disinfectants stung my nose as I rushed down the corridor. My watch read twelve minutes before two, and I prayed whatever security measures I had to clear wouldn’t take long.

Around the hallway’s corner stood a second pair of doors with a metal detector and X-ray machine before them. A slender, blonde-haired man dressed in all white stood patiently with his hands clasped in front of his belt next to the machinery.

“Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. Brenner,” I sputtered, paying no mind to the orderly as I set my belongings on the conveyor belt into the X-ray.

“Just remove your shoes, jacket and anything in your pockets,” his gentle voice instructed me.

I followed his orders, sending each of my items into the machine before I stood tall in front of the metal detector. The spotlessly clean man mirrored my stance on the opposite side. Our eyes met for a second before he silently raised two fingers and motioned me towards him with them. I felt a sting of intimidation rush through me as he locked his eyes on me while I stepped forward. My heart skipped a beat when the metal detector beeped.

“It’s okay. Step out and try again,” he commanded, his eyes still motionless.

I did as I was told, stepping backwards and then forwards. The metallic chime rang out once more.

“Are you wearing any jewelry?” He questioned, tilting his head slightly.

“None at all…” I trailed off, touching my earlobes, fingers and neck.

“…Any I can’t see?” He spoke softly.

My eyes shot up to his, half offended by the question, “No.”

“One last time, then. Raise your hands above your head this time.”

I repeated my action, raising my hands as instructed. As predicted, the machine buzzed again.

“I’m going to have to pat you down. We’ll step into the security office for some privacy, okay?”

“Excuse me?” I spat, feeling my eyebrows raise with my temper.

“You don’t have to,” he smiled kindly, “you can always leave.”

I wished in my heart that he was joking, but I could tell he was deathly serious.

“Fine,” I spat, shaking my head in disbelief.

“You can put your shoes back on,” the orderly spoke gently. He picked up my blazer and notepad for me as I slipped my feet back into my heels impatiently.

“Let’s get this over with,” I sighed.

“Right this way,” he gestured into an open door. I walked in before him, nervously kneading my knuckles.

He set my items on a sterile steel table and turned to face me as I glanced around the office. The walls were the same bland tile, nothing on them except for a clock, which read ten minutes before two.

“Please hurry, I don’t want to be late for my meeting,” I pleaded, feeling the rising urge to tap my heels.

“You won’t be, I promise,” a cheeky smile spoke, “I’m Peter by the way.”

“Great, nice to meet you Peter. Let’s go,” I hurried him, not bothering to introduce myself to the security guard orderly that I would never see again.

“Arms out, feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed. I obeyed yet again.

His palms clasped around the top of my right thigh and began to slowly pat inches at a time down my leg.

“You don’t have a female security guard to do this?” I huffed.

“I’m afraid not. The only women here are the nurse and the secretary,” Peter sighed. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the response.

Once down to my ankle, he raised his hands to check left leg, but the tip of his thumb grazed me where I was most sensitive, causing my breath to hitch. I prayed he hadn’t noticed as he worked his way further down.

“Nothing yet…” he reported once down to my foot.

A lightbulb went off in my head. My IUD. I had a copper birth control device in my cervix. Could that have set off the metal detector? Surely copper couldn’t trigger it. But what else could it possibly be? I knew that I genuinely had nothing, but how could I tell Peter that without proving it?

Peter began to pat down my right arm, from shoulder to wrist, before moving to my left.

“Listen, I swear I have nothing. I’m just a journalist…” I began to bargain.

“I actually do believe you, but it’s just laboratory protocol,” Peter grinned. His eyes shone a bright blue even in the dingy fluorescent lighting, and I felt a twinge of happiness that at least he was a gentleman.

“The metal detector indicated something at waist level, so I’ll need to examine there further. Again, you may leave at any time.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through my nose.

“Okay. Let’s get it over with.”

“I’m just going to slide two fingers into the waist band of your skirt, okay?” Peter informed more than he asked.

“Okay,” I nodded with a deep breath.

As he had narrated, his slender index and middle fingers from each hand slipped into the top of my skirt next to my hip bones, resting atop the hem. As I exhaled, the pressure on his knuckles decreased, the warmth of them abandoning the crisp caress of my blouse.

“Just going to slide them around to the back now,” he gently described his action. As promised, those slim fingers slithered around my hips towards my spine.

With his arms around my waist, I paused to glance at his sapphire eyes, preciously surveying his work. A breath left his lips and cascaded down my chest just as he lifted his touch from my body.

“All looks well, but I’m afraid that means I still have searching to do,” Peter sighed, clasping his hands in front of his belt buckle.

“This is ridiculous,” I fumed, “look, it must have been a fluke. I promise I just want to go to my interview and then leave.”

Peter’s doe-like eyes blinked innocently as I ranted.

“I believe you, miss, I really do. Unfortunately, it’s not my decision. You may either continue, or leave the facility,” his honeyed, overly calm voice stated.

“Fine. What next?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

Peter cleared his throat as his eyes darted to the floor between us before responding, “I’ll need you to remove your skirt so I may assess what’s underneath.”

“Assess what’s underneath? What are you, a fucking cop?” I protested, my voice growing in volume with each syllable. Peter didn’t bat an eye.

“You’re welcome to leave at any time, but this is protocol,” he assured me, “I’ll turn away while you undress.”

I thought back to all the time I had spent dreaming about being able to interview Dr. Brenner. The countless nights of sleep I lost staring at my ceiling dreaming about what I would write and what questions I would ask. Was I really going to back out now? Could I just chalk this up to one of the things a girl has to do to fulfill a dream?

I silently nodded and Peter turned on his heels to face the door.

The parting of the zipper was the only noise in the uncomfortable silence. I shimmied my skirt off my hips, allowing it to pool around my ankles before picking it up and grasping it timidly at my waist. The cool, sterile air brushed across my bare backside, sending a wave of goosebumps up to my neck.

“Okay,” I spoke shakily.

The orderly turned back to me and immediately placed his hand on my skirt. I allowed him to take it, kneading my fingers anxiously with nothing left to protect my modesty.

Peter crouched curiously at eye-level with my panties. I felt like a common whore standing before the stranger in nothing but my undergarments and high heels. Of course, today was the day I had decided to wear garters instead of regular pantyhose, which only amplified my bashfulness.

“Could have been these,” he noted, slipping his index finger beneath one of the nude garter straps holding up my stocking, snapping one of the metallic clasps against my thigh.

I felt my heart rate increase dramatically beneath his touch. Blood rushed to my core, causing a noticeable temperature increase between my legs. The visual alone of golden blonde locks kneeling before me was enough to create a knot in my abdomen that grew harder and harder to ignore.

The orderly tsked and shook his head, “I think that’s too small of an amount of metal. It must be something else.”

My palms began to grow clammy as I debated telling him about my contraceptive.  

“Could there be something… inside you? A medical device, perhaps?” Peter asked, his eyes shooting up to mine from between my legs. I had to tell him now.

“Yes,” I spat out, feeling my stomach turn, “I have a copper birth control device.”

“I see��” he trailed off, shifting his gaze to the floor.

“That’s it. I know that’s all. I was just scared to tell you, I had this crazy idea that you would have to confirm it or something.” I blurted, vomiting my words all over him.

A silence grew between us, and Peter’s choice not to disprove my absurd theory became increasingly worrisome. Finally, he rose to his feet, returning to his polite stance with his hands held above his belt.

“I”m afraid that actually is the case,” Peter finally confessed.

My head fell back as I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes imagining what exactly this process might look like. I glanced back at the clock on the wall. I had seven minutes left.

“You better be fucking fast,” I voiced sternly, turning back to those blue eyes.

“Not a problem. Remember, you may leave at any time,” he reassured me.

I nodded as he gestured towards a padded table lined with parchment-like paper, beckoning me to lay back across it. I relaxed back against it, closing my eyes as the orderly shuffled over and stood patiently next to the table.

“Would you like to remove your undergarments, or would you prefer I work around them?” He asked cordially, as if any of this process was anything less than crass.

“I’m in a hurry, just do what you have to do,” I instructed, closing my eyes and clasping my hands above my stomach.

His fingertips wasted no time snaking under my panties and pushing them aside. I exhaled slowly as his warm touch glided over my pussy.

“Breathe for me,” he guided. On my next inhale, he slipped a finger inside me.

Something between a pornographic moan and a wince escaped me, and I found myself biting my lip to prevent more from following it.

“You’re doing such a good job,” that silvery voice cooed.

A twinge of shame crawled from my stomach to my chest as I realized that I was already dripping wet from the interaction. Something about his maintained innocence -everything from his crisp white uniform to his “this is strictly protocol” attitude”- ignited a craving I didn’t know I had. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to make me miss my interview.

“Okay, I think I feel the string,” Peter remarked, shifting his body to give his arm a better angle.

I felt his finger begin to slide out of me when I jolted my eyes open and gripped his wrist assertively.

“Are you sure?” Was all I could managed to spit out.

I lessened my grasp on his wrist and relaxed slightly, “I mean. Are you positive? You don’t need more time?”

“I’m fairly certain, I mean…” he trailed off, clearly missing the memo.

“Peter,” I finally spoke his name, “I think you need to check more thoroughly.”

“Are you sure? You’re going to miss your interview…” those blue eyes batted at me, and suddenly I wasn’t the one feeling so bashful.

“Fuck my interview,” I moaned, guiding his middle finger up to join his index inside me.

“Oh my,” Peter’s voice dropped an octave and those precious blue eyes shifted infernal.

“Please?” I urged, shifting to allow him better access.

“I don’t know,” he falsely contemplated, sinking two fingers into my pussy as he spoke, “are you going to be good for me?”

I choked on a moan rising in my throat before closing my eyes and nodding rapidly. Peter clicked his tongue, uncertain of my answer. I squeezed my eyes tightly and allowed my chest to relax. The grim, florescent light suddenly felt warmer as his slender fingers thrust into me.

“Jesus,” he remarked, slowing his pace, “tightening up on me already, hmm?”

I whined a vague response, bucking my hips against him. Wordlessly, Peter grabbed my leg nearest to him and swung kit over his head so it rested atop his shoulder and stepped forward, forcing my back to arch to accommodate him. Whimpers flowed freely from me as he quickened his pace, and I couldn’t help but open my eyes to look down and take in the sight of his fingers sinking into me.

With his free hand, he reached up and snatched a fistful of hair at the crown of my head and jerked forward, “That’s right, watch my fingers fuck you.”

Whimpers fell into wanton moans, and Peter switched to using his middle and ring finger, curling devilishly where I needed him most.

“Shit, Peter, I’m going to c-“

Before I could even speak the words, the orderly removed his touch entirely from my pussy and released his grip on my hair. My leg slid off of his shoulder, hung carelessly off the edge of the table. Dumbfounded, my misty eyes searched for his. Peter stood motionless, watching me with no readable expression on his face.

Once I had managed to find my breath a little, he spoke, “Are you done?”

“What? No, I was about to and you-“

The back of Peter’s hand landed a heavy smack across my cheek as he leaned in close to whisper, “Are you done being a needy bitch?”

Holding my stinging cheek, I gazed up at him in erotic trepidation.

“Y-yes,” I whispered, not even convincing myself of my answer.

“Good,” he praised, creeping his hand back to my pussy, “let’s continue.”

My panties were pushed to the side once more, and my body lurched forward onto Peter’s fingers as they writhed back into me. He leaned over me, placing his free hand at the base of my neck and whispered in my ear, “I knew you were fucking dirty the second you walked around that corner.”

I felt myself grip him tighter as he accused me, enthralled with his whorish perception of me.

“Fuck, I’m so glad you had to search me, Peter,” I panted, squirming beneath him as his grip on my neck grew stronger.

A sinister chuckle crept from his throat, “I know, baby. Almost like it was meant to be, hmm?”

His question would have felt more ominous if the orgasm that I was fighting against wasn’t growing stronger by the second. I writhed beneath him harshly, now with the intention of staving myself off until Peter was ready. I spread my legs further for him, wrapping my right calf around his waist to give him direct access. My toes curled against the inside of my shoes as I struggled to pull him closer to me.

“Please, Peter, I can’t hold it back much longer,” I squealed, my vision blurring as I starred up at the bleak white ceiling tiles.

“What’s that? Are you begging me to let you cum?” Peter mocked, slowing his pace ever so slightly.

I nodded intently, feeling my chin brush against his knuckles.

“Almost. I know you can hold out just a little longer. Can you do that for me?” He positioned his face just inches from mine, tilting his chin up so he still looked down upon me. Appearing pathetic no longer mattered to me, I just wanted him to grant me release.

“Yes,” I told a half-truth. If he quickened his pace in the slightest, there would be no more waiting.

The stern grip on my throat vanished, his hand now working its way to the collar of my blouse. Without breaking eye contact, Peter effortlessly undid two of my buttons, leaving my sternum and the center of my bra exposed. Nimble fingers pushed the cup of my bra to the side, leaving half of my chest fully exposed. He traced around my nipple slowly at first, sending a shockwave sensation through my abdomen. As my pleasure peaked higher and higher, Peter’s lips swapped with his fingers, sucking teasingly at my flesh.

“Christ, I can’t- I have to-“ I stuttered between breaths.

“Go ahead. Let me hear you cum,” Peter permitted.

My leg’s grip on his waist doubled, and in my senseless passion, my hands clawed at his shoulders and across his back, finally releasing myself upon him. A stream of curses and lustful whimpers echoed through the overly-hygienic office, mixing flawlessly with Peter’s determined grunts as he pushed himself. Peter lifted his head from my chest as my climax began to fade, a bead of sweat falling from his furrowed brow to my sternum. His sapphire eyes bore into mine as the two of us panted back and forth.

“Taste yourself,” Peter commanded, sliding his fingers out of me and up to my tongue. I obliged, pleased at how his scent mingled with my taste. Pearly white teeth smiled approvingly at how eager I was to fill his request.

“I have a confession to make,” the orderly informed, bracing his weight on his palm, now resting next to my head.

“Yes?” I replied, slipping his fingers out of my mouth and holding them delicately between my own.

“I always set off the metal detector when pretty girls come through.”

#stranger things #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #peter ballard #001 #henry creel #vecna #stranger things 4 #fics #peter ballard smut #001 smut #smut #henry creel smut #peter x reader #x reader #my work

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝑾𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑰𝒕 𝑻𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

Paid story for @sardonic-the-writer. Word Count: 1k Warnings: walkers, killing, killing walkers... mentions of violence, otherwise it’s pretty fluffy

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

The air was warm outside, Rick and the others were hard at work, sweating and grunting. They were building traps for Walkers. Animal traps really, but it was better than wasting bullets or having them get too close.

You had just come back from helping Glenn on a run. Supplies had been low for a while, so it was time for you him to go back out. However, you had gotten close to the soft-hearted man. His friendliness wasn’t a ploy, or a mask. Glenn was genuine.

So, it was hard to leave his side. Because everyone else seemed too … off … or rather, mysterious. Like they had shadows and deep regrets that didn’t make them trustworthy in their core. Except for Glenn and … Daryl.

You had a crush on the red neck ever since you came with Rick’s group to Hershel’s farm.

Your fondness started when you realised just how much passion he had for trying to find Sophia. It was admirable.

But your beginnings weren’t kind.

Eight, your German Shephard ran the dirt road back to the farm, barking happily as he saw Daryl. They too didn’t have a very good beginning.

The old factory had been run down for years before the time of the Walkers. And being homeless before that made it easy to survive in this new world. It had been your home for a year; sleeping in a hammock, eating out of canned soup and at times, stealing from venders. Eight had always been a good companion. A good look out, and an even better fighter.

When Rick’s group had found you, it was his decision to take you with them. Shane and Daryl were firmly against it, while Glenn, T-Dogg and the rest were in the green.

And that’s how you came to be here. The farm wasn’t a bad place to be, a hundred times better than the factory. One of your favourite things was watching Eight run around the open fields, his tongue flapping, tail wagging. It was one of the things that made both you and Daryl smile. Although, whenever someone noticed Daryl smiling his instant response was to drop it.

“Find anything good?” Maggie came up beside you, throwing the pack over her shoulder and lugging it into the house. You and Glenn followed, each carrying your own bags of plunder.

“We found a few knives, a packet of cigarettes, dog food, for Shane –“ You interjected, and Glenn snorted in response.

The floorboards creaked as you walked up the steps, and the front door squeaked in greeting. These were one of the few noises you had gotten used to; everything else made you jump.

Unloading on the wooden kitchen table, you put everything into piles. Important, and then the rest. And then subcategories because you couldn’t help yourself. It was one of your autistic traits. The others didn’t mind, not one bit.

Maggie started putting the cans away, while Glenn put the bags back where they usually went. Everything had to go back to its usual place. In case of emergencies – and just plain curtesy.

You sat back and started taking inventory when the door swung open.

“Hey Glenn we got a lot more than wha-“

You stopped talking as soon as you saw who it was. Not Glenn. But your greasy-haired crush, Mr Dixon.

“Good run,” he stated, filing through the packets of bandages, bottles of pills and rubbing alcohol.

“Sure was,” you said in a casual voice, pretending that your heart wasn’t thumping erratically.

“Any Walkers?” you stole a glance at Daryl and his eyes flickered towards you, but only for a second.

“A few,” you answered remembering that you hadn’t looked in the mirror after coming back. There had been three of them; strays that were caught in different parts of the pharmacy. But with your knife and Glenn’s own weapon, you were fine.

“You got some…here-“ Daryl went and wet a tea towel and came back over to you. Suspiciously, Maggie and Glenn hadn’t come back inside.

He knelt down beside you and wiped away dark Walker blood from your neck and face, making sure not to be too rough.

“Must’a caught your cheek on something, It’s pretty scratched up.” You couldn’t make eye contact with him, especially not with the proximity. Being so close, you could smell the dirt, earth and sweat that emanated from Daryl. You didn’t mind it.

“Didn’t feel anything,” you replied lightly, shocked at his tenderness.

Daryl had been slowly getting used to you, and after five months he had accepted you were part of the group, as well as Eight. His prior impressions had faded away until new ones emerged; you weren’t uptight like he thought you were, just quiet. Reserved. You kept to yourself. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like your sarcastic remarks.

The dining room was quiet as Daryl wiped away the remaining blood and fixed up your cut. He’d been listening to Hershel talk to Lori about how to heal and had started to know his way around mending bodies.

“Thank you,” your words came out barely above a whisper.

In a gruff voice he replied, “you’re ah, welcome.”

Getting up, he threw the tea towel in the dirty laundry and left the house, you could hear the front door swing shut.

You shook your head in confusion, mere months ago he wanted you dead. He had been adamant that you weren’t an asset. That taking you on would be a liability. And now his hands were so tender as they cleaned your face. You could still feel the warm pressure, easing the headache that you didn’t know was coming on.

Then you heard a voice whistled from behind you, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Daryl … be so nice,” Glenn’s smirk made you blush. Well, blush even harder. Your cheeks already felt hot to the touch.

“He was just…I-“ You couldn’t explain it because you didn’t really understand it fully yourself. Was it just politeness? Friendship? An olive branch?

Or was it something…more?

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anna-n-hetfield · 2 years

Text

Picnic

Request: can you do one where james hetfield proposes to reader please?

Author’s note: I was going to make this into a headcanon, but the writer’s gods said otherwise and to make it into a one-shot. Or I just wanted to make it into a one-shot because James is a babe.

Y/N could tell that there was something up with James. He had been acting like there was something on his mind for the last few months, and it was really starting to bother her. She could figure out if James was mad with her and contemplating breaking up with her or if he was just stressed over something. There was that new album that James was working on with the rest of his band mates.

A knock on the door brought Y/N’s attention away from the mirror in front of her. She had hoped that the blue sundress was appropriate for where James was taking her. When he said that he wanted to take her out, he had mentioned that she should wear something pretty. Which Y/N could never tell just what he defined as pretty since he always said that about her clothing choices. It was one of the things she loved about him. James always seemed to be in awe of her.

“Coming,” she called out as she went to the door. Some days she wished that they lived together, but she hadn’t known how to bring it up since she had only been with James for a little over ten months even though it didn’t feel like it had been that long to her.

Y/N opened the door and smiled up at James. He had a huge smile on his face. It was the one that he reserved just for her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him like she hadn’t seen him for months, even though it was only a couple of days ago.

“I missed you too,” James said, laughing a little in her ear. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him.

Y/N laughed a little, afraid to admit to what had been plaguing her the last couple of weeks. With that weird way James had been, she thought that he was going to break up with her. This date had been a comfort to her. Because in her mind, why would he tell her that he wanted to take her out on a date just to break up? That would be a waste of both their time and money.

James leaned back just a little and whistled looking at her. “You really hit the mark when you wear a gorgeous dress,” he said, admiring her.

“So where are we going?” Y/N asked, curiously.

“Nope, I’m not ruining the surprise yet,” James said, looking at you as he started to guide you to his GTO.

Y/N smiled, knowing that he had loved fast cars and had a collection growing. She got into the passenger side when James opened the door for her. Y/N loved the fact that he had always wanted to get the door for her. It was something that she had to get used to, but she admired him for it. It was just one of the few ways that he liked to do for her, and she didn’t want to take away his joy from it.

Y/N watched as James rushed around to the driver’s side and got into the car. She grabbed onto the hand that was offered to her. A part of her wanted to ask what had been bothering him for the last few months, but she didn’t want to ruin his good mood. Besides, he seemed to be acting like his old self. Happy, here with her and not in his own head.

“Can’t I get a hint?” Y/N asked, wishing that she had some sort of idea of where they were heading.

“Well, I’m hoping you will like it,” James replied, teasing.

“James! That is not a hint,” Y/N whined.

He just laughed and shook his head. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Y/N sighed, wishing that he wasn’t being so stubborn, but it hadn’t taken him long to get to the park that you loved going to. It had trails to hike and wonderful places to have a picnic at with a great view of the beach.

James got out of the car, went to the trunk of the car, and pulled a picnic basket out with a blanket. He then ran over to Y/N’s side of the car and huffed a bit when she was already getting out of the car.

“Y/N, I was coming,” James said.

“Well, you seem to have your hands full, and I didn’t want you to drop anything,” Y/N replied, taking the blanket from him.

He shook his head, but then led the way to her favorite spot to have a picnic at. He took the blanket from her, refusing to let her help. He seemed to have something on his mind as he was focused on the task at hand.

“Here is your choices,” James said as he opened the basket. “I have a lovely strawberry spinach salad, ham sandwich with your favorite add-ons, or a mix of different fresh fruit.”

“Now, how can I turn any of that down?” Y/N asked, loving all the choices.

“Was hoping you wouldn’t,” he replied, pulling out the food and two bottles of water.

They sat next to each other watching the ocean as they ate. Talking and joking here and there, but mostly just enjoying the peace between each other. That was another thing that Y/N loved about James. She didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet between them or the worry that she was being annoying when she rambled.

“So, Y/N, I have something that I want to ask you,” James said, looking completely nervous.

Y/N nodded, a little scared about what he was going to ask. “You know you could just ask, right?” she replied.

James laughed a little. “Yeah, I know, but this is important,” he replied. He looked down at his hands and then looked up at her. He was silent for a moment, and when she was about to encourage him to go one, he finally said, “Y/N, I know that we haven’t been together for a long time yet, but I don’t want to be with anyone else. Hell, I can’t see myself with anyone else. I just want to be with you, and only you. I have been thinking about this for months, and it just feels right. Everything feels right when it comes to you. Y/N, will you marry me?”

Y/N looked over at him in shock as he pulled out a gorgeous diamond ring from the basket. “What?” she asked in shock, not believing that this was actually happening.

“Will you marry me? Take my last name and be Mrs. Hetfield?” James asked, looking confused and worried.

Y/N could feel the tears of joy forming in her eyes as she looked at him and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and knocking him to the ground. “Yes!” she shouted.

James laughed, sounding a little relieved. She felt his arms around her, and she didn’t waste anymore time as she kissed him deeply.

“This was what you looked so worried about for the last few months?” Y/N asked.

“I was afraid you were going to say no or that it was too soon,” James replied, blushing a little.

“Oh, you sweet, silly man,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I love you! How could I say no to the man who has made me so happy since the day I met him?”

#metallica x y/n #metallica imagines #metallica x reader #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield x y/n #james hetfield imagines #fanfic #writer #james hetfield imagine #metallica imagine #one-shot #metallica oneshot #james hetfield oneshot

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purplegirl20 · 1 year

Text

Secret Meetup

Pairing: Damian Priest x Self-Insert (Me), along with judgment day and Edge.

Summary: A certain someone decide to visit me before the induction ceremony.

Warning: Light Smut.

Tagging:@ghoulsister1 @omg-im-such-a-masochist @sparkleva95 @alicejoaquin1990 @vintage-pvssy @ashkrystal @theworldofotps @nyc-kyra-93 @ziasaph @priestparty @queenzay @sultryfandoms @auburnwrites @windhamsrotunda@rheaanddamianfan@theclawdeen1442@tmt-77@blueberryomega@ironshamelessyouth@lisashield @sparklykryptonitequeen91

Note: I hope you love my story after a long hiatus from writer's block.

March 31st: Los Angeles.

It was a hectic Friday night at the Arena. I was in the staying in the Judgement's Locker room, getting myself ready for the Induction Ceremony. I was getting my makeup done by Rhea.

Rhea: You're going to look good for Damian for tonight's ceremony.

Shaynell: You think so?

Rhea: I know so.

Shaynell: Alright.

Rhea: Good. I'm almost done.

He continue applying some dark eye shadow and lipstick.

Rhea: And Done.

She then passed me a hand mirror. I quickly gasped at my appearance.

Shaynell: Holy Shit! I look beautiful!

Rhea:(chuckling) You like?

Shaynell: I do. I'm surprised that you actually have make up that matches my skin tone.

Rhea: Hey. I have done your boyfriend makeup, like all the time.

Shaynell:(smirks) Well I look fantastic.

Rhea: Thank you.

Dominik : Hey Rhea. Are you ready for you segment with Charlotte?

Rhea: Yea. Give me a sec. Dom!

Dominik: Yes Mami?

Rhea: Give her a compliment. I worked so hard to make her gorgeous.

Dominik: You look very Bonita, princessa. You look good in Purple.

Shaynell: Oh! Thank you. It my favorite color

Rhea: I'll see you later. Try on the new dress while we're gone.

Shaynell: Ok. See you later.

They smile and left the room. I removed my dress from the garment bag, revealing a dark purple evening gown.

Shaynell:(sighs) It look beautiful.

"Purple is such a regal color on you, my little boston cream"

I gasped as I quickly recognize the voice. I turn around and saw Edge at the entrance.

Shaynell:(gasp) Sprinkles!

Edge:(chuckling) We meet again, my love.

I ran off to him and hugged him. He smile and wrapped his arms around me.

Shaynell: Edge! What you doing here? You're on the judgement day's hit list. We'll be in huge trouble if they say found us together.

Edge: I know, but I haven't seen your face for a long time. I just want to see you before my match.

Shaynell:(blushing) Sprinkles. I miss you. But your wife--

Edge: Don't worry. I won't let anyone know about our meetups.

Shaynell:(blushing) Sprinkles... I love you.

Edge: I love you too, Boston Cream. I miss your warm smile. Our secrets escapades together.

Shaynell: I miss them too.

I smile and hold him tight.

Shaynell:(sighs) I can't believe it been 1 year since we meet.

Edge: It had been.

Shaynell:(sighs) I wish we went back to relive those memories.

He sighs as he ran his fingers, through my crochet braids.

Edge: Before I go, Can you let me help put on your evening gown.

Shaynell: Yes.

He smiles and removes my clothes, leaving me in my undergarments.

Edge: It been a while since I saw your body.

Shaynell:(blush)

He smiles and help me put on my dress and zip me up.

Shaynell:(blushing) How do I look?

Edge: Beautiful.

Shaynell:(smiles) Thank you.

I gave him a small, but warm smile.

Edge: This outfit is missing something.

Shaynell: Really? What does this outfit need?

Edge: This.

He then produced a purple a black and purple choker.

Shaynell:(gasp) It so beautiful.

Edge: Think of it as my anniversary gift to you.

Shaynell: Oh Edge. Thank you.

He smiles and put it around my neck.

Edge: Such as a exquiste necklace for a exquiste girl like you.

He smirks and starts placing soft kisses on my neck.

Shaynell:(whimpering) Edge.

Edge: I miss your soft moans.

Shaynell: I miss your warm touch and smile.

Edge:(chuckling)

Then we heard faint footsteps.

Edge:(gasp) I must go, my love.

Shaynell: Please be safe and beat Finn.

Edge: I will, Boston cream.

He smile and passionately kissed me on the lips, making me blush.

Edge: We shall meet again, Boston cream.

Shaynell: Farewell, sprinkles.

He smile and quickly left the locker room.

Shaynell:(thinking) Good thing the lipstick is smudge free.

I sighs and look myself in the mirror. I quickly grabs a breath mint to conceal Edge's breath in my mouth.

(door creaking)

I look over and saw Finn and Damian at the door, donning their suit in their faction's colors.

Shaynell: Damian.

Damian: Princessa. You look so beautiful.

Shaynell:(blushing) Thank you.

He smirks and lift my chin up to see my face.

Damian: You're look fantastic. Rhea did a good job doing your makeup.

He smile and smash his lips against mine.

Shaynell:(moans)

Damian:(chuckling)

He smirks and wrapped his arms around me.

Shaynell:(sighs) Damian. I love your cologne.

Damian: Why thank you, mija. I make sure that I smell good for my own princess.

Shaynell:(blushing) Damian.

He smirks and gave me another kiss, making me blush.

Finn: Not to interrupt your lovefest, but we have to do our photoshoot.

Damian: Alright. Let's go princessa.

He smiles and take my hand to lead the way.

Shaynell: Wait! Hold on!

I quickly grabs my purse and took his hand.

Shaynell: Let's go.

Damian and Finn escort me out the locker room and left for the photoshoot.

#damian priest #damian priest imagine #damian priest oneshot #wwe fanfiction #wwe oneshot #puerto rican papi #the judgment day wwe #rhea ripley #dominik mysterio #finn balor #wwe edge #adam copeland

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darkpoisonouslove · 1 year

Note

1, 8, 19, 22?

Thanks! I'm just worried about this because I'm so rusty when it comes to the OUAT fandom but let's see.

1. the character everyone gets wrong

You know what? I'm gonna come out and say it - Facilier. The sheer amount of people I saw hemming and hawing about whether or not he was good for Regina because "he's a villain" and "has some hidden agenda" is absolutely appalling. Like, wtf do you mean is he good for her? He's literally the best! He is the only person on the show that's consistently put Regina over himself and his own wants. Like, I know he didn't have a lot of time to mess up but honestly, I don't think that even the writers understood him. He was giving off such strong Rumplestiltskin 2.0 vibes, which is the reason why I think the fandom had this reaction to him, and the writers really kind of went that way when he was even killed by Wish Rumple for wanting the dagger. It was a total waste of a perfectly good, intriguing character, not to mention husband material. Facilier deserved better treatment by everyone. Shadow Queen also deserved better!

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Oh, god, I have no idea what's common.

Oh... Oh, fuck, now I wish I hadn't thought about this but...

People hating on season 7, usually without even having seen it. I think season 7 is my favorite season. There were plot lines that were unnecessary or got derailed or just didn't go anywhere but there was so much fresh stuff in there as well.

Usually, people don't even want to give it a chance because most of the og cast isn't even in there and I understand that because I hate big changes in my shows as well but the truth is that the writers had no idea what to do with the og cast since around the end of season 3 and they were clearly unwilling to spin a different angle to these characters and they were bringing in a new set of characters every half season. It only made sense to get more new characters and let them stay for a longer time.

Really, Henry, Ella and Lucy are precious, Wish Killian and Alice are one of the best parent-child relationships on the show, Alice and Robin are perfect and I think that Lady Tremaine and Gothel are some of the most ruthless villains of the show. There's a lot of raw emotion and fun twists and even if it doesn't end up being people's favorite, I think they should at least give it a chance.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

I'm kinda mad that I was into the Cruella x Isaac clusterfuck of a relationship (if it can even be called that). On the one hand, they are not compatible at all. But on the other hand, he is so much of a slimy worm that he somehow manages to match her in horribleness and villainy; he's just on the other side of the spectrum, the pathetic wet cat side. There were clearly feelings. Extremely fucked up feelings. It really is like you're preparing to watch a car crash in slow motion but then you end up being ran over by the car instead, which is a perfect description for them. And that leads me to the fact, that her signature car was actually his first? Oh... oh, I hate the writers for this. Now I'm sold and there's no getting out.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

I guess the tension between Regina x Rumple. Now this is kind of the opposite of question #8 in that the majority of the fandom is correct that s6 Golden Queen was a mistake and, frankly, kind of disgusting and I am saying this as someone whose first ship from the show was Golden Queen. Season 6 absolutely ruined everything that I enjoyed about the ship in favor of what? Them having sex? With zero of the actual appeal of their relationship being involved? And they still could have done something good with that! The fact is that Rumple was treating the queen like a puppet for his plans and that's exactly what she was! That's why he created her. But they should have added more about her being more of a mirror reflection of his. I don't want to write a whole analysis of their dynamic here because I was actually saving that for a meta post (as soon as I find the time to work on it) but the truth is that Regina learned all of her weapons, all of her villainy from him. Even her mannerisms. And now that the little remaining good inside her is gone and there's no conscience to hold her back, she could be even more like Rumple. But at the same time, she's a broken reflection of the situation with Baelfire, who was trying to help Rumple only to be abandoned. And Regina discarded the Evil Queen like trash. Also, another good angle here because Regina practically decided that everything she learned from Rumple was useless. They could have shown him be at least a little attached to the queen on merit of that.

But the thing is that the tension between Rumple and Regina comes from her good parts, the ones that remained with Regina after the split. And that tension has been there all along. He had to take every last thing from her in order to force her to cast the Curse, no matter how bitter and evil he'd managed to make her over the years. He had to crush her hope completely until the only thing that could rekindle it was casting the Curse. Which is the exact same situation that he's in - the Curse is his only hope to find his son. And even after that, Regina is still doing better than he is! And he knows that! The best example of that is his line in 2x09 when he says "One day maybe they'll even invite you to dinner". Because she did what he couldn't - put her own feelings aside to do what is best for her child. There is a tiny bit of goodness inside her persisting no matter what he's doing and that is driving him insane because it is a constant source of problems for him. It took him years - decades - to make her cast the Curse, her trust in Henry really slapped him in the face with his failures where his own son was concerned, her interference in getting revenge on Zelena for killing his son, her sacrifice for Henry undoing his happy ending in 4x22, her splitting herself eventually leading to even more issues between him and Belle. And on the other hand, Regina's attachment to him has gotten her in so many problems but, ultimately, his mistakes and schemes are what got her Henry - the biggest happiness in her life (and he almost killed Henry several times but that's the point exactly). Still, after all of that, they both gravitate towards each other and there's this kind of understanding between them because in certain ways they're similar, but there's also resentment because of the ways in which they're different. It makes for an extremely compelling dynamic and people are so quick to brush it off.

make me choose violence with these asks

#once upon a time #ouat #dr facilier #cruella x isaac #golden queen #ask #intothewickedwood

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dreamerswriter · 1 year

Text

Book 6 Finale

Leona threw gold into hell. Also, I thought Leona was going to kill Ortho for that. And I out of the teams, besides Vil’s, Leona and Jamil’s team is the best. I love this group so much. Especially with what Leona did. He didn’t have to help Jamil, but he did. I want an anaylsis. Leona is one of the best characters in this app.

I.... this was translated for me. I love this so much. Also, those mini games were a lot of fun! I loved it! That and fighting and searching. I love those kinds of mini-games!

Hahah! Even Azul can only handle Riddle for so long!

.......... I think in a fist fight, yes, Azul could take down Riddle.

I loved how both were so happy to take down the titan. They had so much fun. This is true friendship right here. Also, I just noticed this, but Azul’s hat and Riddle’s crown are gone after that fight.

No, I am with Vil on this. Rook is supposed to look after the dorm if anything happened to the house warden. Sure, Rook went to save his husband, but Vil’s right. Those students must’ve freaked out about this.

He’s really laying on Rook. I agree with him still.

Oh wow. Dang.

Sir, I’ve played through the KH series, I will be fine. (And others, but I see my Yuu as the player who failed to raise Xehanort).

I really like this. Gods, I can’t get over Vil. He’s such a good character. He takes his position as the dorm leader very seriously.

Aw....That’s sweet.

The fans rejoiced! I was blushing too. It isn’t every day someone like Vil does this, and he means it too. More importantly, ROOKVIL KISS?!

Proud apple child right here.

That’s not the best success rate....

So... Ariel ran a non profit organization.... You didn’t believe that and searched... Realizing it was true. Your mind went “FREE!” Fricken same. Especially in this economy...

They were so close. I really do feel bad for them, but this wasn’t good either.

They really did help the students.

School traditions are stronger and more impactful. Love how Rook agrees.

That is terrifying. They’re 18-16, and they know this. But gosh darn, this is written so well. I cannot wait for Book 7 with this level of writing. It is going to be immaculate.

Yes, yes, yes!

I still can’t believe Vil is a Xiao build. Rook, yes, but Vil? Well, yes... Beanfest proves this. Never mind, I am wrong.

Hot dang! Yes!

That is final boss dialogue, and I love it so much! Vil got his wish too! He’s a hero!

Ok, so I love stats, but Idia not only gives himself a boost in fire magic, but he also gets a healing factor too in grass. I love Hades and Persephone, so I am going to believe that’s why he has it.

HE JUMPED AND FELL TO THE BOTTOM AND AFTER IDIA, ORTHO, AND GRIM!

This hurts so much. Out of all the Overblots, Idia’s is the most tragic. Riddle, Leona, and Azul are relatable. Vil’s kind of, and I hope to gods no one is in Jamil’s situation. Idia’s backstory is tragic.... I was so silent. He’s been carrying that pain, guilt, and not grieving for so long.... No one should ever have to do that. If you are suffering, please talk to someone. You deserve to be happy and not go through anything like this alone. I love you all and hugs all around.

THANK YOU FOR NOT TRANSLATING THIS ONE WIERDLY! I WAS SO WORRIED! NO, BESIDES AZUL’S, I LOVE HIS! THAT SOUNDS SO EPIC AND AWESOME TO ME!

Welcome! We love to have you! You have friends now!

Idia, you nearly destroyed the world. Azul, you saved it. HOW ARE YOU BOTH ARGUING ABOUT CHESS?! Oh, Azul got his hat back.

I am surprised they even let you back onto the premise after this. I didn’t think they would either.

Hahah!

Do not get me wrong, this was sad. But also, Hercules turned old. You know who else did and scarificed their beauty? The Evil Queen! She’s an amazing writer!

Can you blame him? He lost his dream and lively hood there.

FORESHADOWING! I’M CALLING IT! Also, thanks for helping Vil, Malleus!

HE’S A REAL BOY! I AM SO HAPPY FOR HIM! HE’S A REAL BOY!

Also, yes, Crowley, Silver and the mirror, Lilia’s old speech, and Malleus’ thoughts are so suspicious. I cannot wait for the next book! We get to fight a dragon prince who is suffering from loneliness and realizing he’s going to outlive his friends! YAHOO! I really want to fight the dragon! LET ME FIGHT THE DRAGON!

Welp! That’s it for me! I’ll work on Harveston next, but please be patient! Final month for me, and I can’t wait! So, that is all! Thanks everyone! And remeber to love your friends and family and those important to you. We love you and will always be there to listen if you need it! I love you all! Thanks! See ya soon!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland Idia #twisted wonderland ortho #twisted wonderland vil #twisted wonderland epel #twisted wonderland rook #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland jamil #twisted wonderland azul #twisted wonderland riddle #rookvil #these two are just relationship goals at this point #i don't make the rules

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medium-bloodcrafter-scion · 1 year

Text

"Bright, Golden Eyes" - A short Natasia Kane fanfic

This is my first fanfic ever, and I decided to be really really brave and share it with you all. I was just gripped suddenly by how flippin' sad Natasia's story is, and while in that headspace decided to write this down. My repetition of the phrase "bright golden eyes" is meant to evoke that feeling of a memory that you desperately want to hold onto, but it fades over time leaving only a strong imprint. Please be nice, I'm a novice writer and shy ☺️.

--—-------------------------------

Bright golden eyes that mirrored my own gazed up at me. Clever eyes. Perceptive eyes. Eyes that bore into my soul and seemed to know me more than I knew myself.

I knew I was pregnant well before the obvious signs showed up. I felt it in the aether, almost like magic was calling him when he was barely a bunch of cells.

I tried to keep him away from this world, even though he was made for it. Tried to capture those short years of innocence in a bottle and keep them safe.

But he was a precocious and curious baby. Even crawling, he found his way straight to my pile of grimoires, chubby fingers exploring the worn leather, bright golden eyes filled with wonder.

He found me at my altar during meditations. Climbed into my lap as I chanted, gazed up at me with bright golden eyes, willing me to take him on my astral journeys.

He wasn't a smiley child. Almost like he understood his mission. Understood the world of rules and rank, deprivation and darkness that he was made for.

He spoke early, wore me out with questions upon questions. So I gave him books - not "first words" books, no - real books, with big words and adult stories. I taught him everything I knew, answered all his questions.

His busy mind craved more, so I gave him music. I'll never forget the joy in those bright golden eyes when I gave him his violin. I ran my fingers through his blackest black curls as he gazed down at the instrument in its case. He looked up at me with a happy little grin, the most precious gift.

Seven years elapsed just like that. He sat in the grass on a sunny June afternoon, bright golden eyes focused on the whirlpools of aether that danced in his palms. Easy as pie, far better than some twice his age.

I went into the house, closed myself in a cupboard and broke into a billion pieces.

"Mom, why were you crying?" he asked, concern in his bright golden eyes. I wept harder - his Merlin ears had heard me from outside, and Merlin speed had brought him to me in seconds.

I was bitter. They had won.

I'd given them what they wanted - the "progeny of my carefully crafted line" - and now they would discard me. I wondered, what lie will they tell about me this time?

And so he was taken from me, not a day late.

...

Now he's been brought back.

But gone are the bright golden eyes. The curious, playful eyes.

Oh no no. These eyes are the colour of blood upon blood, hungry for misery and pain and grief. Mercurial, sly, and ever perceptive.

My most cherished dream, now my worst nightmare come to life.

Once again, I'm broken in a billion pieces. How will I piece myself together enough to bring back my boy with the bright golden eyes?

#legendborn cycle #legendborn #natasia kane #Legendborn fanfic #fanfic

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giggly-squiggily · 9 months

Note

Hi!! I've read about the limited requests, and I decided to try my luck and make a request myself 😅

I'd like to request a fic with Lee Ikuya and Lers Haru and Makoto from Free! Iwatobi Swim Club... maybe Ikuya is grumpier than usual about a practice that didn't go smoothly and the others cheer him up, or something like that

I hope I wasn't too late, but I won't mind if you don't choose my idea. You're a great writer and I'm sure you'll receive a ton of amazing requests ^_^

I can't wait to read your future works ❤️

YEEE THIS IS CUTE! :D I love Ikuya so much, and to bring in the boys for this fic- YESH! I can absolutely write this for you, friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist peeps):

@myreygn @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

Still too long.

That was the only thought going through Ikuya’s head as he glared down at the stop watch, his most recent time blinking at him mockingly. Behind him, others whooped and groaned as they gained their own times, some breaking personal records while others bowed in defeat.

No good. No good at all. He needed to get better-

“Ikuya. We’re heading out- ready to go?” Haru’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, startling him some. He had forgotten their teams were doing a group practice today. “We gotta stop by the swim school on the way back to pick up Makoto.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.” Ikuya shrugged as he began walking back to the pool, stopping when a hand grabbed his bicep. “Haru, let me go.”

“Ikuya- you’re doing it again.” Haru pointed out, voice firm. He didn’t need to turn around to feel the effects of the look he was getting. “Come on- we’re going home.”

“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m my own person!” Ikuya ripped his arm away with a glare of his own, wincing some at the surprised expression Haru wore. “Sorry- I just…I just need to give it one more go- just to see if I can meet my time. Then I’ll give up for the day.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“....okay.” Haru folded his arms, stepping back as Ikuya pulled down his goggles, reaching the diving board. “But only one attempt. Makoto’s waiting for us.”

~~~

One attempt ended up being two- then three, and before long Ikuya was gasping for air against the side of the pool, muscles burning and lungs screaming at him to give it a rest. He knew he needed to call it quits, but the damn number on the watch was still 20 seconds longer than he wanted. If he could only…

“Ehem.” Feet stood before him, then legs. Finally, Makoto’s pinched expression was before him. Wait- Makoto?

Oh…

Oh.

“Shit- god, I’m so sorry!” He scrambled to get out, slipping in his efforts to climb up the side of the pool. “Oh my god I can’t believe I did that-”

“Ikuya, calm down.” Makoto offered a hand, easing Ikuya out of the pool. Seconds later a towel was tossed around his shoulders, warm and smelling of chlorine. “It’s fine- Haru texted me that you guys were gonna be late so I drove over.”

“Oh…” Ikuya shrunk some in his towel, shame coloring his face as he dared a peek around the taller boy. Sure enough, Haru was where he left him, sitting against the wall watching. When their eyes met, he gave a short wave, making Ikuya’s stomach drop. Oh he screwed up big time.

~~~

“I’m really sorry, guys.” Ikuya leaned against the backseat window as Makoto drove them home, Haru’s apartment coming into view within minutes. The entire ride was…tense. Makoto did his best to keep the conversation going, but Haru was determined to stay quiet and Ikuya was a mess of guilt, so it was more him filling the void with random events that went down with his kids and the people he ran into.

“And then Nao swung by- it was great seeing him again! Oh- we’re here.” The moment Makoto turned off the car, Haru was already out, leaving the two behind as he unlocked the front door.

“He’s pissed.” Ikuya sank. Makoto gave him a sympathetic look through the rearview mirror.

“It’s only because you made him worry. The last time you pushed yourself, we almost lost you.”

“I know- and I feel terrible about it. I just- I’m so far behind on everything I’m doing; I’m not making good numbers during practice, and it’s starting to affect me everywhere else. My grades are starting to slip and even Hiyomi’s worried about me. I figured if I could at least make my time today, then maybe everything else would follow suit?” He held his head, letting it rest against the front seat. “I’m really sorry, Makoto. I didn’t keep my promise.”

“It’s okay by me- I was planning on coming myself anyway. It’s Haru you should apologize to.” Makoto reached back, squeezing his hand. “Come on- let’s go in and try to make amends. I’ll tempt him with mackerel as you grovel for his forgiveness.”

“Okay. Thanks, Makoto.” Ikuya squeezed his hand back as they climbed out of the car, facing the apartment.

Grovel. Easy.

~~~

The second Ikuya came through the doors, arms latched around him, pulling him back until he was thrown into the nearest couch. “Whoa! What the hell- Haru!”

“You promised me only one attempt, and then you kept going.” He sounded pissed, real pissed. For a second Ikuya didn’t know what was gonna happen.

Then it came.

“AH! Aheahhahahhahahhahaha! H-Hahahhahru, wahhhahhait!” Ikuya let out a startled squeal when fingers attacked his ribs, pinching and prodding as they drew out the reluctant sound. “Whahhahhat theheheheh hehehehehhhell?! Mahahhahahakhoohoohohoto hehehehehelp mehehehehheehe!”

The taller boy blinked a few times at the sight, taken aback by Haru’s sudden ambush. Then he was smiling, laughing in his hands as Ikuya squeaked and thrashed against the couch. “Sorry, Ikuya. Maybe you should try what we talked about? That might help.”

“Trahhahahahitohohohohohr-ahheahhahahahaha not thehehehehhehehre!” Ikuya all but squealed when Haru dug his hands into his armpits, vibrating them in circles as the green haired boy kicked and laughed. “Pleahahhahhahahhse Hahahhahahru!”

“Breaking promises and calling Makoto a traitor? Who do you think you are?” Haru looked over his shoulder, something rare and playful in his expression as he nodded behind him. “Wanna help me instead?”

“Hmm….okay!” Within minutes Makoto had Ikuya’s foot in an armlock, digging into the socked sole.

The absolute scream Ikuya let out probably would have gotten them a noise complaint.

Worth it.

“HAHAHHHAHARU! MAHAHAHHAKOOHOHOHOHOTO! PLEAHHAHHASE I’M SHAHAHHARRY! I’M SHAHAHHHAHRRY! HAHEHAHAHAHHAHA!” Ikuya was on the verge of silence with Haru tracing his belly and Makoto tapping along his foot, cheeks flushed and eyes beginning to mist over. Upon seeing this, Haru tapped the other- signaling a break. Ikuya all but gasped when it came to an end, arms weakly curling around his belly as he blinked away mirthful tears. “Hahhaharu…Mahahhakoto…I’m sorry, rehehahally.”

“...I've already forgiven you, dork.” Haru poked his forehead, chuckling at the shocked look upon Ikuya’s face. “I get it- you want to get better. I'm all for it. But if you do that mess again, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Haru- you can’t even open a water bottle without help. How are you gonna- WHOA!” Makoto yelped when Haru lunged at him, sending them both tumbling to the carpeted floor. “Haru! Hahahhahahharu- hahahahhang ohooohohohn!”

Ikuya giggled softly against the couch cushions, resting his eyes as Haru and Makoto carried on with their game. It was such a relief they weren’t mad at him anymore.

“I’ll do better. I promise.” Ikuya whispered in the cushions, voice lost in the sounds of mirth around him.

Thanks for reading!

#free!#tickle #tickle fic #ikuya kirishima #haruka nanase #makoto tachibana #I didn't write this as a ship but like...👀#kajrkjarjkaekjarkj #can be read either platonic or romantic #I had fun writing this one akjrekarjeajrkejkr

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stackthedeck · 8 months

Note

hi!! I was wondering what happened to your t4t butch dean and trans cas fic?? Im really interested to read it if you still have it! butch dean is WAY to close to my heart. anyways have a nice day! <3

this has been in my ask box for literal months but I've decided to rewatch Supernatural (I'm not well) and I remembered this fic and this ask so... I'll probably never finish the fic or post it on ao3, but I did write this one scene and I like it a lot even though I like to think I'm a better writer now, but I wanna post it.

So for context this is happening in early season 5 where Sam and Dean are separated and also the plan for the fic as a whole was that Cas's complete separation from heaven was also mirrored by her gender journey, so Cas in this doesn't think of himself as a man, but has accepted that people view his vessel as a man and has excepted it. Basically, her egg hasn't cracked yet.

The road has been lonely since Sam left. Good lonely. For the first time in… well ever, Dean’s not playing mom or big sister. She’s just a hunter. A hunter who doesn’t have to look over her shoulder every second to make sure her baby brother isn’t getting maimed or hooked on demon blood. It’s good lonely… kind of.

It’s just that the front seat of the Impala is so empty and no matter how high she cranks the volume, the car just feels so quiet. The road just goes on and on forever. It sucks not having back-up on hunts, but Dean’s capable. According to the angels, she’s too important to die so she’s been pushing her luck lately.

The road hasn’t felt this empty since Dad went missing.

Dean’s pulled from her thoughts by a buzzing in her pocket. She pulls out her phone and sees a familiar number on the screen. The last time Dean ran into Cas, she gave him a burner phone so that they could keep in touch.

“Hello?” She says, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.

“Dean, it’s Castiel,” Cas’s voice says from the phone, “where are you?”

“On the road.” Dean looks around for a mile marker, but it’s in the dead of night and there are no streetlights. Dean rambles off the interstate road she’s on and takes a wild guess at what mile she’s at. “I can pull off at the next exit if it’s important.”

A woosh of air and a flap of wings reverberate through the car. Dean looks over and Cas is in the passenger seat. “You don’t need to pull off,” Cas says into the phone as he stares at Dean.

Dean huffs and hangs up the phone, shoving it back into her pocket. “Any updates on God?”

“Nothing since the last time I saw you-” Cas sighs and looks out the windshield “-but I’m still looking.”

“If there’s nothing new—” Dean drums her fingers on the steering wheel “—then why are you here?”

Cas does his head tilt and Dean pointedly keeps her eyes on the road. Sure, she finds Cas’s clumsy attempts at expressing emotion cute, but it’s cute like a baby or a puppy. “I sensed that you were lonely.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Whatever happened to not perching on my shoulder?”

“Things are different now.” Cas’s words hit Dean’s ears with such certainty and finality, but she doesn’t feel like they’re true. Things are exactly the same. She’s still saving people, hunting things. It’s the family business, just without the family. Okay well, maybe things are different.

Dean does her best to keep her eyes on the road, but the highway is empty at this time of night. It’s so easy to let her eyes drift to the angel in her front seat, silhouetted by moonlight. His face is stone, that typical neutral expression, but Dean can see in his eyes that something is eating at him.

“So sitting here in silence is your grand plan for making me less lonely?”

Cas shifts in his seat, his tie suddenly becoming very interesting. “Can I ask you a personal question, Dean?”

Dean does her best not to sigh. This better not be a chick-flick moment or worse yet, a Christian movie moment. “I thought you already knew everything about me? What with the rebuilding my soul and all.”

“I want to hear it from you.” Cas drops his tie and meets Dean’s eyes.

Dean nods, pursing her lips. “Alright, shoot.”

“How did you decide to…” Cas hesitates “...decide to… not look like the other females of your species?”

Dean laughs. If Cas had asked her that a month ago, she’d assume he was trying to get her to grow her hair out and start wearing pink. But she trusts Cas, trusts that he likes that humans don’t perfectly line up with God’s vision. “You mean, why am I a lesbian?”

“No, I understand that,” Cas says, “women are very pleasing to look at.”

Dean smiles. She’s surprised that the strip club incident didn’t turn Cas off of women or just humans in general.

“So, why am I butch?”

Cas nods. “Yes, I believe that is the term.”

“I don’t know, I just am.” Dean drums her fingers against the steering wheel. “Sam took a gender studies course when he went off to college, he probably gets this stuff more than I do.”

“Well, I want to hear it from you.”

Dean sighs and rubs at the back of her head. “I don’t know, I guess Dad was a real traditional guy. From what I remember, Mom cooked and cleaned, took care of me and Sammy and Dad went to work. I don’t remember much of Mom, but I remember being in the kitchen with her and her handing me baby Sammy to hold while she was busy. I didn’t mind those things because I was with her, you know?”

Dean stares through the windshield, watching the landscape blur as the car speeds past. “And then Mom died and Dad still went to work. And suddenly it was just me and baby Sam alone in motel rooms for days. I think Dad was so caught up in his revenge that he forgot that Sam and I needed a dad and a mom. So I started cooking and looking after Sam because if I didn’t we’d starve.”

Dean can feel the words spilling out of her like a busted dam. She’s never told anyone any of this, but now that she is, she can’t stop.

“I think Dad expected me to be the new mom. He’d come back to the motel rooms from hunts or from bars and be furious if there wasn’t something to eat. And it’s not like he ever went grocery shopping. He’d just leave a credit card—that barely ever worked by the way—or cash and expect me to figure it out! I couldn’t stand that he treated me like his little wife. Then, Sam started looking at me like I was his mom and not his big sister.

“It didn’t help that I looked like Mom. I have her eyes, you know. And when I was younger I had long curly blonde hair. Sam liked to brush it, which was good because I didn’t. I think it was soothing for him or something, but that’s probably why he keeps his hair long now.”

Dean’s rambling. She knows she is and she’s doing it on purpose because she doesn’t want to say what comes next. Cas’s eyes are fixed on her, but Dean’s not taking her eyes off the road. She could stop talking, change the subject, or give an easy answer. But if she doesn’t tell Cas right now, she’ll never tell anyone. And it’ll just keep festering and rotting inside of her.

“Dad would run his hands through my hair and tell me how pretty I was when he was drunk. It creeped me out, always made my skin crawl. He never… you know… did anything. He’d look at me the same way he looked at old pictures of Mom. I know it’s not true, or at least I don’t believe it’s true, but I feel like he only saw Mom when he looked at me. I wasn’t his daughter, I was the ghost of his dead wife. A ghost that he couldn’t salt and burn.

“And he treated me like I was going to go up in flames like Mom. For god’s sake, Sam learned to shoot a gun before I did! Dad wouldn’t take me on hunts, wouldn’t train me because if I was alive he could pretend she was too. One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I stole Dad’s clippers and buzzed my head.

“And boy, was Dad mad.” Dean winces, squeezing the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. “He was really mad. But suddenly, he didn’t care if I went up in flames. He put a gun in my hands and took me on hunts. And it felt amazing.”

Dean smiles at the memory of the first time Dad clapped her on the back and bought her a slice of pie after a successful hunt. She can still feel that warm swell of pride after her first ghost, first vampire, first demon.

“My hair started growing out and it looked bad, like so bad. But Dad started hiding his clippers so I just had to let it grow out. Then one day he dropped me and Sam off at Bobby’s place and he took one look at me and gave me my first crew cut.”

Dean looks at herself in the rearview mirror. It’s kind of embarrassing that she’s had the same haircut since she was fifteen, but if it ain’t broke. “I remember looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, that’s me. I didn’t look like Mom anymore, I was just me for the first time.”

Dean feels wetness on her cheek and realizes that she’s crying. They’re not tears of sadness but of relief. Man, it feels so good to get all that off her chest. But still, she always ends up crying around Cas and she really can’t make a habit out of this.

“Thank you for telling me that, Dean.” Cas’s eyes aren’t trained on Dean but on his own reflection in the windshield. “I suppose I just have one more question.”

Dean shakes her head but smiles. Might as well continue this chick-flick moment. “Go ahead.”

“How does Dorothy shorten to Dean?” Cas tilts his head. “I��m unfamiliar with the nuances of human languages.”

Dean laughs at that, a good hard laugh that echoes through the car. “It doesn’t, not really.” Dean claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder, unable to stop grinning. “Sam was a little shit when I buzzed my head and he called me random boy names to get under my skin. I always liked those old cowboy movies so, whenever we’d play cowboys, Sam called me James Dean. The joke stuck and now I’m just Dean.”

“Huh,” Cas says, “you’ll have to show me those movies sometime. I’ve never seen a movie.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Cas,” Dean says, “we’ll have a girls’ night, paint our nails and watch cowboy movies.”

He’s joking but Cas doesn’t get jokes. “I would like to do this girls' night with you.” That’s a hint of an excited smile on Cas’s face and it makes Dean’s heart flutter. In the same way that puppies or babies make her heart flutter, of course.

“It’s getting late,” Cas says, turning towards Dean, “you should stop and get some rest.”

Dean shakes her head and sighs. It is late, really late, and she’d kill for a bed right now. “Wish I could Cas, but there aren’t exactly a lot of motels around.”

Cas frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “I could drive,” he says after a moment of thinking, “and you can sleep in the backseat.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You ever driven before?”

“No,” Cas says, “but I’m an angel of the lord, it can’t be that hard.”

“Tell you what,” Dean chuckles, “you give me an angel blade, and I’ll let you drive.”

“Dean, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

…

When God created the angels he named them. Each name was unique and divine, but it also gave God power over the angels. The angels did not have the power to create, to choose so they took the names with gratitude. When Lucifer rebelled, he took new names: Satan, Morning Star, The Evil One, and many others. Castiel has not rebelled against God, just against heaven. When he finds God all will be set right. Castiel is keeping his name as a promise. He has not fallen…just questioning.

Castiel may see the importance of names, but the Winchesters do not. Sam is not Samuel, the name his mother gave him to honor his grandfather, he’s Sam or Sammy, or a million other strange words that Dean hurls at him. Dean is not Dorthy, the name her father gave her to honor her grandmother, she’s Dean. Cas is not Castiel anymore, he’s Cas and so much more.

Dean’s been calling Castiel Cas since their second meeting, it’s just a shortened version of his name; it’s not a big deal. But then… Cas is sitting in a diner with the Winchesters late one night, trying to track down the horsemen. The siblings are eating burgers and Cas has one in front of him too. He doesn’t need to eat, he's an angel, but he’s curious. He’s curious about a lot of things lately.

“Pass the ketchup, Cassie,” Dean says through a mouthful of food.

“What?” Cas looks up from contemplating his burger to stare at Dean.

“I said pass the ketchup?” Dean frowns, but then just reaches across Cas’s chest to grab the bottle at the end of the table. “Never mind, I got it.”

“No-” Cas swallows nervously “-I mean what did you call me?”

Dean and Sam put down their food and exchange glances. “...Cassie?” Dean says slowly.

Cas still doesn’t understand facial expressions. Humans read so far into a tiny movement of facial muscles. So he keeps his face very still. When Castiel was just a fledgling, Gabriel, Balthazar, and the other older angels would call him Cassie. Fledglings weren’t ready for the full responsibility of their names, so it made sense. But Gabriel continued to call him that well into his adulthood. It was sweet, made Cas feel seen and seen by someone so powerful and important as an archangel. And then Lucifer fell and angels got much more serious about names.

“It’s like Sammy,” Dean says, awkwardly bumping her shoulder into Cas, “are you good with that?”

Cas looks between Dean and Sam, unsure of what to say. He’s created tension, he can feel it, but he’s not sure how to fix it.

“Hey don’t worry about it, Cas,” Sam says a little too loudly, “you’re a grown man and it’s weird to be called something like Cassie or Sammy.” He shoots a tight-lipped frown at Dean.

“Bitch.” Dean reaches across the table to steal fries off Sam’s plate.

“Jerk!” Sam attempts to swat Dean’s hand away, but misses and Dean ends up trying to stick her tongue out at Sam and eat fries at the same time.

“I’m not a man, I’m an angel,” Cas says, looking toward Sam. “But, it’s fine,” he says, mostly to prevent any more petty squabbling. The nickname is a sign of sibling affection, both in heaven and on earth. It doesn’t matter that the way Dean said it makes his heart race and his mind reel. “Cassie is fine.”

“Well, Cassie-” Dean smiles at him “-are you going to eat that?” She doesn’t wait for a response, just snatches the burger off his plate.

And the things Dean calls him only got worse from there.

…

When Cas first met Dean, she accused him of being a “prince charming” and at the time Cas wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’s starting to get the picture. Something about saving someone only to be rewarded with a relationship. That’s not Cas.

He’s in the far corners of the globe looking for God, when he hears Dean’s voice. It’s a quiet voice in his head, but it is powerful and desperate. A prayer. Cas is close to God, he can feel it. If he just keeps going a little longer, he’ll finally make it. But Dean’s voice is in the back of his mind, calling, pleading.

Cas flies to Dean without another second of hesitation. As he gets closer, the details of the situation flood into his mind in an instant. From a human perspective, Dean and Sam are in the basement of an abandoned mansion, surrounded by people, baring gruesome smiles with knives and fists drawn. From Cas’s perspective, Dean and Sam’s souls shine in a haze of demon smog. Dean’s the brightest, familiar in it’s golden hue.

“Cas, we could use some angel mojo down hear!” Dean shouts, voice thick with blood. “...Please!”

The demons laugh like in a chorus of gnashing teeth. One steps forward, kicking Sam—who’s barely clinging to consciousness on the floor—as he moves to grab the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Scream all you like, little girl,” the demon whispers, his breath hot against Dean’s face. “The angels don’t take calls from the likes of you.”

Cas appears suddenly, hand on the demon’s head, smiting the creature inside its meat suit. Dean actually smiles when she sees him, not even looking at the shell of the demon that falls to the floor.

“You came,” She says, unaware that it holds the same power as a prayer.

Another round of hideous laughter comes from the gaggle of demons. “Oh, how the mighty fall,” another demon cackles.

Cas’s stomach drops. He’s not fallen, he’s still doing God’s will. How can protecting Dean not be his purpose?

“Dean Winchester,” the demon continues, “damsel in distress waiting for a prince to save her.”

Dean, despite three broken ribs, a twisted ankle, and several lost liters of blood, sprints at the demon, burying the knife in his chest. She moves to attack the next closest one, limping as the adrenaline wanes. Even so, she’s a machine and Cas watches her with aw.

“Cas,” Dean shouts, “a little help here!”

Cas bolts into action, smiting demons almost as fast as Dean can stab them. Once they’ve killed all the demons, Cas stands with his arms pressed to his side, watching Dean pull her knife from the final demon’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

Dean places a hand on her chest, cradling her broken ribs. “For what? You totally saved our asses there.”

“I do not wish to belittle you,” Cas says, “what that demon said, if I ever—”

“Can it, princess,” Dean says, “it wouldn’t be the first time a demon tried to get under my skin.”

Cas nods then steps forward with his hand raised to heal Dean. She nods back and that’s all the permission he needs to press his fingers to her forehead, healing her instantly.

Sam groans from the floor.

Dean jumps away from Cas, staring at her brother. “Umm, maybe take care of him too.”

“Yes, please,” Sam gasps, weakly wiping blood from his mouth.

Cas leans down, healing Sam as well. Sam stumbles to his feet, glaring at Cas.

“Did you seriously heal her first?” Sam scoffs. “After she called you princess?”

“I did not!” Dean says.

“You totally did,” Sam says. “Cas, you’re just going to take that?”

Cas cast his eyes downward. He didn’t take any insult from it, but it seems he should have. “I am still unaware of human social rules, but Dean has made it clear that I am not to be her prince charming.”

“Yeah don’t be friggin’ sexist, Sammy.” Dean walks over, swinging an arm around Cas’s shoulder. “Cas is our princess in shining armor.”

“I believe I am wearing a trench coat.”

After the incident, Dean teases Cas by calling him princess. It’s just another nickname that makes its way into the many the Winchesters use for him. For the first month, Sam tries to get Dean to cut it out, but eventually, he gives up. Cas thought that Dean would drop it once it no longer annoyed her brother. It’s only when he has this thought does he realizes he doesn’t want her to stop.

But she never does.

…

“Hey, angel,” Dean greets, shoving his shoulder the same way he shoves Sam.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, “I do not call you human.”

“She’s flirting with you,” Sam shouts from over the impala.

“Bitch,” Dean shouts back.

“Jerk.”

Cas looks down at his vessel. He doesn’t like it being called angel, there is nothing divine about this meat suit—as Dean so often calls it—it simply carries his grace while he’s on earth.

“Cas? Earth to Cas? Cas?”

Cas startles, looking up to realize he had tuned out another Winchester argument. “What?”

“You don’t mind when I call you angel, right?” Dean says with a smirk. “You think I’m funny right?”

Cas stares into Dean’s eyes, swallowing thickly. A part of him knows—no, hopes that Dean does not see his body as him. Perhaps she knows better than anyone that what body one happens to inhabit does not define them.

“I don’t mind your nicknames, Dean,” Cas says, “but I do not find them funny.”

…

“Dean, I feel ridiculous,” Cas says through the door.

Dean waits in the hallway outside of Cas’s room.

“No you don’t,” she says, “you’re just worried I’ll think you like ridiculous.”

“What’s the difference?”

Dean chuckles at that, shaking her head.

“How do you feel, Cas?”

The door opens and Cas steps out.

“...I feel good,” she says.

She’s dressed much the same way she did when she thought she had to present her vessel as a man. But now with all the angels locked in heaven and Cas is very human, her body isn’t a vessel. It’s her. They’ve traded the slacks for a pencil skirt and nylon tights and replaced the shirt and tie with a white blouse. She’s been growing her hair out since she turned human, mostly by accident, it’s still not as long as she’d like it, but it will be. Dean’s been helping her get a smooth shave every morning and showing her what lotions to use to keep her skin soft. But Dean was never great at being a girl, so what perfume and makeup to use has been left to Google. They’re working on getting her on HRT, but it’s not like they have insurance. They have also considered a couple of spells too.

And she’s still wearing the same trench coat.

“How do I look?” Cas asks.

Dean steps forward, taking her hands in hers. She plants a kiss on her lips, soft and sweet with lipgloss.

“Like a baby in a trench coat,” Dean says, “my baby.”

#asks #not tagging this because i don't want to get bullied by the spn fandom again #for context this is part of a complete rewrite of spn with dean as an afab butch and cas as a trans woman #so like that last part makes sense in context #season 9 is when her egg finally cracks #it's a long fic that i haven't even finished yet and never will #but i think about it all the time

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piratewithvigor · 1 year

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Breakfast At Shawnie's: A Hartbreak Fic

1960s AU: Struggling writer Bret Hart is invited to breakfast with his new neighbor

AO3

(A birthday gift for @prettyboymichaels, who I've been torturing with hints about this fic for 2 days)

It was 1963 when I had the misfortune of losing the outside key to the Brownstone I’d just moved into. I considered it by far the most notable thing that could possibly happen to a person that year. Come November, some people may say that it’s a rather self-centered thing to think, but I’d had my mind blown in April, so the other man in the car will just have to settle for second place.

Everyone I knew who was anyone was dying to live in a New York City Brownstone. It was chic, artsy, somewhere that if you mentioned it over a dinner conversation, your guest would lean forward a little bit with a fascinated look that you would have bent over backwards to put into their eyes ten minutes ago if you thought that it would do any good. I didn’t see exactly what the appeal was at first. A building, three floors and a basement (I was never sure why the basement didn’t count as a floor, but it seemed oh so important to clarify), making four apartments in one building. Three neighbors that I would likely never meet. One never met their neighbors in New York. You met everyone, introduced yourself to everyone who seemed interesting at every party you went to until it seemed like you ran across someone you knew from somewhere, until the only strangers in the whole city were the two people who lived underneath you and the one who lived above.

I hadn’t seen what exactly all the fuss about a Brownstone was. They were usually on quieter streets (about as quiet as streets get in the city), but that was the only leg up they had on any other apartment building. The one I was currently living in when my brother came to visit was nothing in particular to sneeze at. I took an elevator to get to my place on the 5th floor and Owen stepped in after me.

“If you really wanted to be a writer, you’d live in a Brownstone,” he commented, admiring the peeling gold filigree on the ceiling of the elevator.

“I am a writer. I write fine here,” I pointed out.

“You write short stories here. That barely counts.”

“They pay the bills well enough.”

“You moved all the way down here, and you want to settle for well enough? That doesn’t sound like the perfectionist I know.”

“Glad to see the nosy little brother I know hasn’t changed a bit.”

I didn’t mean it with any real malice. It wasn’t as though Owen didn’t know he was nosy; he’d flown from Calgary to New York just to be nosy. Seemed as though my weekly calls back home didn’t satisfy him. Only seeing how I was living now, “big city writer-style”, would.

“Three parties. You’ve taken me to three parties and everyone I’ve met has been talking about them. How they’re the only place to live if you want to actually write and not just pound on a typewriter until the New Yorker thinks you’re worth throwing a paycheck at.”

“I was with you practically the whole time at each one of those parties, and not once have we been in a conversation about Brownstones.”

The elevator stopped with the familiar squeak of having reached the fifth floor doors. I stepped out and started the journey down the hall to my front door with Owen half a pace behind me.

“Those parties are so crowded, you don’t have to be in a conversation to hear it,” he continued. “But I’m sure they’re right. You don’t belong in a building like this. Every hallway and every door the same. It’s like living in some kind of strange mirror dimension.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“How do you figure?”

“The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and you got off and walked halfway to your apartment and didn’t notice a thing was wrong.”

For all his nosiness and the fussiness that came with being a youngest sibling, maybe Owen had a point.

Within a week, he’d found me an available, furnished room in a Brownstone a dozen or so streets north. It wasn’t exactly downtown anymore, but it wasn’t so far outside of it that I would start feeling out of the loop. He helped me pack, got me the key, did everything except actually move. Instead, he wished me the best of luck with a shit-eating grin. The exact same one he would use as a child after announcing that since he’d made dinner, the rest of the family could do the dishes and he’d somehow used every single dish in the kitchen, as well as most of the ingredients, resulting in a meal that wasn’t quite food and a mess that had outgrown the term. As required by sibling law, I called him a prick as I hugged him before sending him off in his cab to the airport. If I’d known that the outside key and the inside key were two separate entities and that he’d only given me one, while unknowingly leaving the other in his coat pocket, I might have called him an ass as well.

It was an honest mistake, but it still left me standing between the street and outside doors of my new home with bags around my ankles at 8am on the last Tuesday of April. Part of me wanted to call my parents’ house to tattle and had I had enough change for a long-distance pay phone call, I would have probably gone so far as to pick up the receiver and snap at an operator who had no business being snapped at so early in the morning for such a silly reason. The other part (thankfully, the far more logical part), drew my attention to the wall of doorbells. The one that would be mine was labeled ‘Apartment 3’, but the other three each had a chance of having someone inside who was awake, pleasant, and wouldn’t try to feed me my shoes for trying to speak with them. All three could have someone who fit the description, or all three could result in me running for my life from someone armed and very displeased at being woken up.

On an ordinary day, I would have probably considered my odds a little more. I would have stared at the numbers and tried to figure out which one made me feel luckiest. I was by no means a gambler, nor should I truly ever become one. It’s not in my nature to be good at it. But on a move-in day, where I was wondering how exactly Owen talked me into moving just because it would make me seem more interesting to the artistic crowd, I figured I could probably do no better, nor worse, than to press the doorbell of Apartment 2. By my math, and judging by where the sluggish footsteps seemed to echo from, Apartment 2 was the one on the main floor.

It took a few moments, but the lock for the outside door clicked, giving me a precious few seconds to open it and keep it open with my heel while maneuvering my bags to the other side, hopefully crushing nothing and leaving nothing behind. Once I had them all to the safe side of the door, I took enough of a breath and a moment to note the sound of a low chuckle from a few steps down the hall. A man leaning against an open doorway with silky pajama pants slung low on his hips, no shirt to speak of, and a sleeping mask pushed up on his forehead, high enough to muss up what I could only assume to be usually pristinely-done blonde hair. He only stopped chuckling when he noticed me looking him over.

“Sorry for not helping. I would’ve, but you only had a few bags; I figured it was only fair, since you woke me up,” he explained with an amused shrug and a far deeper voice than I expected a man like him to use.

“Suppose that’s as fair as anything,” I admitted, standing up and hoping I didn’t look quite as disheveled as I felt.

“You’re the new upstairs neighbor?”

“I am. Bret Hart.”

“Shawn Michaels.” He accepted my handshake and took his turn to look me over, like he was sizing me up, comparing me to some metric I wasn’t privy to. “Anyone helping you move in?”

“Just me. But like you said, it isn’t much.”

“Still a whole flight up…” he looked up the spiral staircase to illustrate his point. “Tell you what, since we’re trading favors: I help you bring up your bags and then you join me as company for breakfast.”

I couldn’t deny it sounded tempting. I’d made the unfortunate oversight of not leaving any food uneaten for breakfast, supposing I’d go out and find a cafe once I was fully moved in. I hadn’t thought about how much I would hate having to move on an empty stomach. To have an offer from a neighbor…

“Sounds a bit like you’re doing me two favors,” I eventually pointed out.

“That depends on if you value breakfast more or if I value company more. Given how bored and lonely I’ve been this morning, I think it still works in your favor.”

“Then I’d be pleased to accept.”

Whatever reaction I’d expected from Shawn, it certainly wasn’t him clasping his hands together in what could only be described as glee.

“Wonderful! I’ll go get dressed and put the champagne on ice and then I’ll be right out.”

He was back inside his apartment before I could question what kind of breakfast included champagne. I supposed it wasn’t necessarily unheard of. Extravagant breakfasts and brunches included champagne, though usually mixed with something. Orange juice, if I remembered correctly, but the excitement at having been invited to an outing as fancy as that had kept me from remembering anything about it too clearly. Something in me hoped this wasn’t going to be some kind of overly fancy extravagant meal; the man was not only treating me, but helping me move in. The last thing I needed to worry about upon moving in somewhere new was the guilt of accepting someone’s generosity while having nothing to offer in return. I had a carton of cigarettes stuck somewhere in one of my bags for such an occasion, but from the brief encounter we had, he didn’t seem like much of a smoker. I truly didn’t know what to make of him until his door opened again. For a moment, I hardly noticed he’d gotten changed. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, but his pajama bottoms had been swapped for obscenely tight pants and red leather chaps adorned with small mirrors. Bare feet were in cowboy boots and his hair had been smoothed out with the sleep mask discarded.

“All ready. Which one should I take up? Anything particularly not-delicate?”

His request for something not delicate threw me a little. While most of it wasn’t delicate, the case with my typewriter inside was very much the opposite. I quickly handed him the bag of clothing before he could discover the delicate case the hard way.

“These should be fine. You can toss them wherever when we get upstairs.”

“You know, I’ve seen every apartment in this building except for yours. The man who lived there before you wasn’t exactly neighborly, and he kept the blinds in his window drawn at all times. I was pretty glad when he moved out and even more so now that you’re moving in.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“You accepted my offer to breakfast. You can tell a lot about a man by what he decides to eat.”

“And just what could you tell about me?” I asked, increasingly amused by this man, and not just because from my position about two steps below him, I was being granted a pretty magnificent view. The chaps certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Well, if I tell you all my secrets, you may decide not to join me for breakfast after all. I have to keep some mystique until I get you sat down. Small miracles that you don’t have much to bring up.”

He was right on that. Between him taking the case of clothing and me taking my typewriter and the other box of personal items, we were able to bring up the full collection in just one trip. The apartment was supposed to be fully furnished, which made furniture pointless. All that really mattered were the little mementos that could never be replaced. Few enough that I didn’t even feel as though we were taking up the whole hallway in front of my new front door. Thankfully, the key Owen gave me was indeed for this one, opening easily into an apartment that felt an awful lot more like a showroom at a furniture store than a home. It was certainly furnished, but with elegant, personality-free furniture and any detail that might indicate someone had ever called the four walls home.

“It’s… nice,” Shawn commented. “I’m sure you’ll be fixing it up a little bit as you settle in. Mine looked just like this one when I moved in; forgot just how bare they seemed at first.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I nodded. “Just have to unpack.”

“And that can wait. The ice bucket won’t. Not forever, anyway. Come on.”

I barely had time to set down the typewriter case before Shawn had taken my other hand and was leading me back down the stairs and into his apartment. His startlingly bare apartment. I recognized some of the similar pieces of furniture, but only about half of them. A full living room was now just a couch, the kitchen had only the essential pieces and the glimpse into the bedroom showed what seemed to be only a bed. I could only guess that he subscribed to the new style that had been going around. Minimalism, or something like that. The idea of ‘less is more’. I didn’t quite understand the appeal, but if it made him happy, what could I say about it?

“I hope you don’t mind the champagne in a martini glass,” Shawn strolled in with the bottle in hand as well as two of the said glasses. “I lost both my champagne flutes in an unfortunate accident at a party last week. Haven’t had a chance to find a new set.”

“I… suppose a martini glass would be fine. I’m not about to turn away champagne, no matter what it’s in.”

“You’re a braver man than me. If I were offered a champagne martini, I’d dump it over the man’s head. Just cannot be decanted properly. Even a pipe would do better, but I’m fresh out of those as well. It’s much more fashionable not to smoke.”

He handed me a glass and motioned towards the couch, upon which I could scarce imagine what kinds of things had happened. Regardless, I still took the offered seat. There were no others to speak of. Shawn didn’t seem to notice my hesitation as he headed back to the kitchen.

“What’s your fancy for breakfast? I’m not much of a cook, but there’s still plenty of leftovers. And this tin of caviar is still fine.”

“Caviar? As a breakfast food?”

“Eggs are a breakfast food, aren’t they? They were last I checked.”

“I suppose they are…”

“Oh, don’t tell me you discriminate between eggs. Chicken, fish, they’re all the same.”

Was this what living in a Brownstone was like? The rent hadn’t been exceptionally expensive. Certainly not to the level I expected the types of people who would buy caviar for breakfast would choose to live in. It was definitely beyond my own budget.

“When in Rome…” I shrugged. It seemed to be the right answer, judging by Shawn’s delighted crooked grin.

“I’ve always loved that expression. I’ve yet to go to Rome, but whenever I hear about it, it sounds so luxurious. Like it brings luxury to wherever you are.”

“I suppose it does. Though it wasn’t always the case.”

“Oh? What was the case before? Wait- on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to think of anything less luxurious than I already think of it.”

It seemed important to him. That everything was a luxury. That everything was fancy and proper. And yet, the only furniture he had was what he’d been furnished with and he was living in an apartment so cheap, a struggling writer could afford it. I didn’t want to pry, but the question ate at me.

“Does that extend to people?” I asked after my first sip of the (what I assumed had to be ludicrously expensive) champagne.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, looking at you, I see a rather luxurious man. Would asking more about you ruin that image?”

“It might,” Shawn smiled slyly over the rim of his glass. “But if I start divulging every little thing about myself, I expect you to stay fair and give me something just as interesting to mull over.”

“I’ll do my best. But I’m afraid I’m not that interesting of a man.”

“You interest me.”

“I haven’t done it on purpose.”

“The ones who are most interesting never do. The ones who try to be interesting are, at heart, the biggest bores this city has had the misfortune of spitting out. I must find us something suitable for this caviar… I almost never have breads around, but you can’t just eat caviar like it’s a bowl of cereal.”

In a roundabout way, I supposed I’d succeeded in my goal of finding a simple breakfast after moving in. Eggs on toast with juice. It just so happened that I’d managed to find the man who indulged in the most expensive versions of all three. It hardly felt real until he set down the tray of baguette crackers and the tin of caviar on the couch cushion between us. Without a table, it was the best he could offer.

“I hope you enjoy. I’d feel terribly rude if you didn’t.”

“You’re the one who invited me. I almost feel like I should be paying you back for this.”

“You are. I wouldn’t be opening a bottle just for myself. You gave me an excuse to drink this, even if it’s served all wrong.”

“So who would you usually drink it with?”

“Oh, depends…” Shawn swirled the champagne around the edges of the glass carefully, watching the bubbles with quiet amusement. “Whoever stops by, generally. They usually bring something to drink and then we finish it by the end of the night. But someone left this beauty behind at the last party. The one where my flutes broke, remember? No one who’s come by since has seemed really… worthy of drinking it with.”

“And I am?”

“You haven’t proven yourself a rat yet.”

“Give it time,” I chuckled, smearing a few pearls of caviar over a cracker. I’d been taught how to eat it during one of my first city parties, but I’d certainly never get used to it. Especially not for breakfast.

“People don’t become rats. They either are or they aren’t.”

“You don’t think someone can change?”

“No, just your opinion of someone. You can grow to like a rat, or find out someone you like always was, but they don’t change.”

“Well, then your opinion of me might change.”

“I doubt it. I met you outside a party, when it was just the two of us around. Hell, I watched you before you even knew I was there. No one wastes the energy on performing if they think they’re alone.”

“Is that why you invited me in?”

“You’re very set on that. Is it because you’re insecure?” Shawn leaned forward with the same interest someone would use when I mentioned I lived in a Brownstone.

“Do I give that impression?”

“You do. You seem so concerned with my reasons, as if I chose you to be my golden hero. And you don’t think you’re worthy.”

“About some things, I suppose. I find myself worthy of some things, but not of occasion.”

“Is breakfast with a neighbor occasion for you?”

“More so what we’re eating.”

“So you don’t come from money.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement, like he’d just figured it out and was overjoyed to do so. He wasn’t incorrect; money had been tight for most of my early life. Twelve kids to two overburdened parents without stable employment. When times were good, they were able to buy a house big enough to fit all of us comfortably. When they weren’t, another loan was added to their names. I’d only managed to make it to New York off a hefty scholarship and an even heftier amount of luck.

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Don’t take offense to it. There’s nothing shameful about where you come from.”

“So you do come from money, I take it.”

“Surely you must have figured me out a bit better than that by now.”

I was stuck on the champagne. I couldn’t push my brain past it. But when I put the pieces together, accepted it as a gift from a friend with no more value than a bottle of orange juice, details poked out. He was half-clothed, living in a cheap, barren apartment, seemingly surviving on food left over from party guests. He came from no more money than I did, maybe even less. It was his tastes that were expensive, nothing else.

“Suppose I have… when I think about it.”

“It is a bit early for thinking too much. Especially you, you’ve had a long morning already.”

“Well, then what do you do if you don’t come from money? No one I know hangs out with people who could afford to leave a bottle like this behind at a party.”

“What do I do… lots of ways I could answer that question.”

“I meant for work.”

“I know what you meant, but I don’t really think I work anywhere.”

“How do you manage that?”

“Nothing I do feels like work. I don’t punch in, punch out. I don’t watch over kids. I don’t go to meetings.”

“Okay, then what do you do in general? Besides for work?”

“I live life, Bret. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it.”

“Sure, I live life. Doing it right now.”

“Mm.” He took a thoughtful sip from his glass. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“How do you mean?”

“The first thing you wanted to know about me was what I did as work. That usually means you’ve been wondering just how all this gets paid for. And if you have to concern yourself with how I pay for it, it stands to reason that you think about the same thing in your life often.”

“And if I do?” I felt oddly defensive about it. I didn’t want to. If anything, something deep in the pit of my stomach, underneath half a glass of champagne and a few crackers’ worth of caviar, was just jealous that I seemed like such an open book to him when I couldn’t figure out much of anything about the man sitting across from me.

“It means that some of the decisions in your life are dictated by worrying about where the money will come from. Those kinds of worries are what keep one from living life.”

“And you don’t worry,” I countered. “So you have a steady income from somewhere.”

“And you don’t. What do you do, or rather, what do you not do for money?” “I’m a writer.”

“I suspected you might be. You seemed a creative type. Had the hands for it.”

“Do you read palms or something?”

“Never had the knack for it, myself. I just notice details. Your hands are soft, but your fingers aren’t. You hold or touch things for hours on end. A pen or a brush or typewriter keys-” Shawn cut himself off as he realized what I’d kept him from carrying up. “That was your typewriter, wasn’t it? The fragile case you brought up?”

“It was.”

“Have you used it to write anything I might have read?”

“That depends if you read literary magazines.”

“Then I suppose I haven’t. But if I spot one with Bret Hart’s name across the front, I might be tempted. Do they not pay you enough to live life?”

“A decent amount, but only every time I sell a story.”

“And you don’t sell enough?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

Owen had asked me the same thing during his visit. Why I wasn’t writing more. Why I wasn’t writing anything. Why my typewriter had been out of ribbon for two months and I still hadn’t needed to replace it. The dreaded curse that hit every writer at one point or another.

“Haven’t been inspired.”

“Well, that can be fixed. You just need to find inspiration again. What inspires you?”

“Usually people, but I’ve had no luck lately.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Do I inspire you?”

He did. Every part of him inspired and fascinated me. I would have liked to freeze the moment and walk through it as a ghost in order to study every detail of it. Capture it as best I could in words so everyone who picked up the magazine could feel what it was like to have caviar pearls pop against the roof of their mouth while staring into the startlingly blue eyes of Shawn Michaels.

“You do.”

“Marvelous! Then you’ll be able to write about me forever and be able to live life.” He seemed comforted by it, laying back against the couch with his limbs draped over any part of the couch they could reach. “Just a shame you’ll only have today to draw inspiration from.”

That took me a little off-guard. “Don’t tell me I’ve chased you off already,” I joked, half-heartedly.

“Oh no, really nothing to do with you. I’m just living life. It was a decision I made last week.”

“To leave?”

“To get married.”

“...to who?”

A crooked smile stretched across Shawn’s lips. It would have seemed smug on just about anyone except for him.

“Hunter Hearst Helmsley. 9th richest man in America under 50. I picked him out at my party. You remember, the one where my flutes were broken. He attended and I decided I was going to marry him. It’s a shame about his nose, but he’s a perfectly lovely man. Only married once before and everything. It’s a shame his house is in Connecticut. I would have so loved to stay in the city.”

I couldn’t exactly explain the sudden dryness in my throat. The disappointment. It sat heavy and made speaking difficult. Shawn had felt so much like an old friend in the making. Perhaps something more in a different life. A life where we were on equal footing and he wasn’t engaged to an obscenely rich man while I was about to be a lonely writer in a suddenly far-more-empty Brownstone. A life where we lived life and roamed where the wind took us.

That was a life for some other version of me. Some version that I hoped led a life with a little bit more Shawn Michaels in it. Some version who didn’t come home to his second day living in a Brownstone and dared to ring the doorbell for Apartment 2 and be met with nothing but silence.

“Yes… I would have loved for you to stay as well.”

#Bret Hart #Shawn Michaels #Hartbreak #Writing #Space Dad #Texas Tiddies Mikey

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