#Moved these over finally ee!

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[thebearer]

arguing with carmen and its big enough where you leave for the night but what’s even scarier to him is that you also took teddy

he'd have an actual psychotic break, nervous breakdown.

especially bc i'm picturing him reverting back to his old ways. it's rare, but he slips into a full carmy (in the lock in) level meltdown. gets unbalanced and spirals further and further, and you just happen to be who he takes it out on.

screaming at you like a maniac over something stupid- you didn't wash his spare whites (he didn't tell you they needed to be washed). it's his fault, he knows it deep down, still he's losing his shit because it's the final straw.

"you stay at home all day! all fucking day and you can't do one thing!" carmen's red faced, screaming.

you're shocked, scared, on the brink of sobbing yourself. teddy's woke up from her nap, his screaming startled her. the newborn wailing from her nursery.

"carmen, you didn't tell me-"

"-i shouldn't have to!" carmen roars. "you're home all day-"

"-i'm on maternity leave. i just had a baby-"

"-oh, so. you can't do one fuckin' thing now? i have to do it all here too?" carmen is spiraling, pacing, running a hand down his face. "i get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then i come home so i can go back and work my ass off some more, and you can't help me out?"

his words sting, shock you with the weight of them. swallowing back tears, you turn, climbing the stairs to the bedroom.

carmen is scoffing, hands shaking with rage and annoyance and just overwhelmed. your ignoring him stings. makes him spiral even more. "don't go do it now! it's too late!" carmen scoffs. "i've got a fuckin' critic coming in two hours, and i'll wear stained whites. probably get a shitty review about our food being gross an-and the chef being just as bad!"

you texted pete through your tears, telling him that you were coming to stay there for a while. shoving clothes for the night in your small bag quickly, hands shaking when you zipped it up, your wedding ring flashing at you. you stared at it, a wave of tears coming over you, screwing the ring off your finger and setting it on carmen's night stand next to a photo of you two on your honeymoon.

you packed teddy and anchovy's things quickly, knowing you'd come back tomorrow to get what else you needed. just the essentials, to get through the night. anchovy in his carrier, and teddy in her's, you ignored carmen's pacing, his deep breaths and clenched eyes, walking straight to the garage.

carmen looked up at the sound of the door, standing quickly. a damning rush of horror, of realization washed over him, pulled him right out of his clouded tantrum.

"w-what- what are you- hey, what-" carmen runs towards the car door, where you're putting teddy's car seat into place, shushing the wailing girl gently.

"-don't fucking touch me." you sneer, teeth bared in primal rage, pure protectiveness.

"baby, wait, wait, ju-just hold on. where're you- hey, don't- where're you goin'?" carmen's frantic, eyes wide, stomach churning.

you shut the car door, moving past him without looking to get to the driver's side. "no, no, no, no, no. don't-baby please, don't. i-i-i'm sorry. i'm sorry!" carmen's stuttering in fear, hands shaking trying to hold the door open, keep you from shutting it.

"let go." you growl, yanking the door. "you're not going to talk to me like that, carmen. i don't care if you're stressed, i don't care. you're not going to come home and talk to me like that because you fucked up. not when i've been at home all day taking care of our- my child."

carmen feels dizzy, mouth filling with spit, sure he's about to throw up.

you slam the door, eyes watery and red and angry, glaring at him before pulling out of the driveway.

carmen's left alone in the garage, knees weak, hands shaking. his ears are ringing, head spinning, sure that he's hallucinating- that this has to be a sick sick dream. floods of realization icy through his veins.

the house is eerily quiet, so still. no teddy, no anchovy, no you.

he isn't sure how long he sits in the garage, the sun sinking in the horizon, but he stays motionless and still. richie shows up eventually, frantic and wide eyed.

"cousin! what the fuck? dinner service started a fuckin' hour ago, and we-" he stops, slowing his stride when he gets closer. carmen's vacant gaze, trembling hands.

"hey, carm, what's goin' on? you-you alright?" richie's voice dropped low and slow, like he used to with mikey. "carmen. hey, what's-"

"-she left." carmen whispered, his eyes wide in horror. "she-she left and she took t-teddy." carmen breaks, a sob choking out of his throat.

"why? why did she-" richie stops, looking at carmen. "carmen, what did you do?"

carmen sobs- no, wails. broken and terrified and horrified. full chest sobs that are more like screams. the realization of what he had done, what he had said, feeling the full weight of the consequences of his actions for the first time.

[wonryllis]

dear future husband (m) | lee heeseung.

i can't say i do without you.

PREVIEW. you always get what you want, spoiled with the love of everyone around you. and it's all innocent love, at least that's what everyone thinks. it comes with much surprise therefore, when heeseung makes a move on you. thirteen long years of being in the brother zone having made him utterly clueless that if he’s going to date you he has to pass through your actual brothers first. and he knows how scary they can be. especially since they are known to have a sister complex and he’s been the third scary one with them, numerous times before.

OR WHERE, bimbo heeseung has no idea what the fuck to do with his feelings for you who are oblivious as fuck and your brothers who are overprotective as fuck.

MEET THE CAST. insanely love struck lee heeseung with his spoiled rich girl!reader ft. yeonjun, soobin, the rest of txt and the rest of enhypen. NSFW VERSION: BRAT TAMER heeseung with his BRAT girl.

GENRE & WARNING(S). social media!au + written chapters, SMUT MDNI!!! in the form of written chapters later on in the series, fluff, humor & crack, minimal angst, lots and i mean lots and lots of swearing and dirty jokes and everything nsfw. college!au, nonidol!au, neighbors to lovers!au, childhood friends to lovers!au. heavy on sister complex! rest other warnings will be stated in respective chapters.

UPDATE SCHEDULE. discontinued.

ׅ ꢾ꣒ profiles, character introductions & the groupchats. ( PLAYLIST ) theme song, code blue!

YEONIE NOTES. incase someone wonders if this is incest, no it’s not, they are not related by blood. sister complex. a state of strong attachment and obsession to sisters, always having them as their first priority. FIC ASKS: ask about the characters!

EPISODES rolling ..

000. prologue: the backstory.

001. arranged date gone wrong

002. it's a shame yn wants you

003. all good when all delusional

004. can you afford her a McLaren? TWT + WRITTEN ( 2.4k )

005. heeseung finally— [REDACTED]!

006. you went as my arm candy

DISCONTINUED!

i think its obvious enough why, the lack of response and enthusiasm from readers has made lose all motivation to continue this any further. i was so excited to revamp it but it seems it isn't the case for the other side. feedbacks are what keep most if not all writers going and absence of it for this one has just rid me of all interest i had to share it with you all. thank you to those who read it, and i apologize those who were looking forward to read it. this is it. over and done, with this kind of support i'm never doing a series on here again.

FIRST TAGLIST @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @diorsyun @hooniehon @fakeuwus @caramelcandescence @intromortal @kookify @yutasberryy @sumzysworld @nikiswifiee @shuichi-sama @primroselover @rayofsunshineeee @aishigrey @yjwluvs @soraokkotsu @nyfwyeonjun @srhnyx @trashx678 @wondipity @winuvs @hoondiors @niniissus @firstclassjaylee @biancaness @enhaz1 @sophi-ee @un06 @heelariously @d-earlog @pharaways @ethelia @eneiyri @secretbarbariangardener @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @microwavedstrawberr1es @randomanothercreature @thatsoraya @graythecoffeebean @rikibun @jaeyungxrl @mxxnintheskyreblogs

[foreingersgod]

Let’s Stay Home . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: just a small fic about how your girl is absolutely infatuated with you

A/N: this was a request, but i accidentally deleted it! so if you requested emily x girly!reader, this was meant for you love!

“baby, our reservation is in like 35 minutes” emily called from her seat at the edge of your shared bed “we gotta go!”

“i know, i know! im hurrying” you called back, voice muffled behind the connecting bathrooms door.

you were stowed away in the bathroom still trying to make sure your makeup and hair were flawless all while trying to pull up your dress past your thighs. it was your 2 year anniversary with emily tonight and she had made plans to take you out to a nice dinner to celebrate, but now you were about to be late because of this damn dress. it was a stunning thing, a deep blue calf length gown that hugged you just right. the neckline was a bit revealing for your taste, but was partially covered by a strip of satin that crossed the top of your breasts and cascaded off your right shoulder. it’s only downside was the stupid zipper that wouldn’t budge.

“emily can you help me get this up? and maybe help me put this necklace on? i can’t do it” you huffed, stumbling out the door as you tried to slip on your heels. a simple necklace dangled from between your fingers as you latched the strap of your shoe.

“YN” she had said, standing but not moving, biting her lip.

“what?” you pouted upon seeing her expression “is it too much? ugh, i knew i should have gone with a different dress”

“no, baby” she finally walked over to stand behind you, tattooed hands finding the zipper of the dress “you look stunning”

you smiled, relieved that she had liked it after all. “thank you”

without a response, she pulled the zipper up to the top making sure it was secure. you handed her the necklace, giving her those eyes you knew she couldn’t resist. but you didn’t have to. she would do anything you asked no matter how silly it was. emily draped the gem studded necklace around your neck, clasping it with ease.

her hands lingered on you to keep you in place. they wandered from the back of your neck to your shoulders, moving painfully slow. her touch sent shivers throughout your body. calloused hands roamed any bare spot of skin making you close your eyes in contentment. she was your weakness.

“what happened to hurrying up?” you remarked as her head dipped down, lips connecting with the skin her hands once graced.

she placed wet kisses along your soft skin, hands now falling to your torso. her finger tips teased at dangerous territory, just along the undersides of your breasts. your dressed bunched up around your hips as she grabbed at you desperately.

“mmm” she sighed, pulling you against her forcing your backside to mold into her perfectly “maybe we should stay home”

yea, let’s stay home you wanted to say. but you had been waiting for this night all week and you just wanted to spend some (rare) quality time with your girl.

“no, i really want to go” you said, forcing yourself to turn in her arms so you could face her. “you went through all that trouble for the reservation and i wanna spend time with you!”

she squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back dramatically. all you could muster was an eye roll as you clutched her biceps.

“plus,” you purred, making her look down at you curiously “the surprise i had for tonight would be ruined”

“surprise?” her eyebrow quirked.

you placed your hands over hers, nodding your head in conformation. she let you take full control of her as you dragged her hands down the sides of your body over the blue satin, fingers trailing over the seams. you could sense her breathe hitch in her throat when she realized. hands reaching the plump of your rear, feeling the outline of lace underwear underneath your gown.

“don’t want to spoil it do you?” you leaned in to whisper in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

“no” she croaked out, cheeks going warm with a deep scarlet “no, you’re right, let’s go”

you smiled in satisfaction, proud of your little stunt. she found the small of your back to guide you out of your room and to the car. it was easy to tell by the way she held you that she wasn’t going to end the night without that surprise.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: yay!! my first emily fic!! feedback is much appreciated :)

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 9.1 | full chapter without breaks on AO3

content warning: lots of music links, ROADTRIP!!, some hurt/comfort at the beginning, a damn near comedy if I must say so myself, Spanish parts (if wrong, please correct me), lots of fluff, Buc-ee's shenanigans (I love that store), Miguel drives a Range Rover (hot, I know. Tyler got that MUNYUN), some jealous Miguel (MY FAVORITE), a hint of jealous reader 🫨 (she has a storm coming lol), simp Miguel if I'm being honest, 18+ so MNDI, male masturbation, wet wet fantasies, both reader and Miguel are h word for each other

word count: 7.1k, damn near proofread (this is only one part of the behemoth)

I did some research on MLE, yachts, superyachts, dolphins, and water activities for this chapter. 🤠 Hopefully, it shows! The yacht size I imagined is somewhere in between a regular yacht and a superyacht/megayacht. I built a Range Rover just for GR!Miguel you guys. (thanks to my irl besties and @slushycoookie once again 🥰)

Prev | Next (Part 9.2) ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who comes back home after nearly a week of bliss with you. He floated all the way home from dropping you off with Tyler’s people.

He made them wait much longer than they needed to when he decided to makeout with you next to the black Suburban. 

Only a few more weeks before he could see you again. 

GymRat!Miguel who is met with his mom sitting on the couch with just the tv glowing on her. 

His steps were too heavy to sneak past her, so he just sighed and settled down on one of the plush chairs. 

“I see you’re home,” she says. Her eyes don’t move from the Golden Girls episode playing softly. 

“Sí, mamá.”

“How come you didn’t tell me where you went?”

“Gabriel told you where I was. I’m sure you asked him.” Miguel was tired already. 

“He did, pero eso no fue lo que te pregunté.” (but that’s not what I asked you)

“Ma-”

“Mijo.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“And you’ve sat so far away. Like I’m going to hurt you. Miguel, I asked you to come home. You didn’t respond. You didn’t call. You didn’t even speak to me when you came back a few days ago.”

Miguel stared at her face, willing himself not to get emotional over this. 

“I acknowledge that I should have let you know where I was. I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to say something I would regret.”

Conchata finally turned to look at Miguel. Her first-born. The life given to her after so much turmoil. 

She could still see the little boy that would cry at the drop of a hat. She could still see the little boy that would dry up his tears if Gabriel started to cry with him, just to comfort him. The little boy with so much room in his heart. 

She can see him now, face ridden with sadness. A face that she knew too well. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, mijo.”

“Well, you did. Again. I’m used to it. This isn’t a new feeling. What is new, is you acting like this towards someone else close to me.”

“I-”

“Let me finish, ma, please. You’ve never been a parent that cares about how I’ve felt in regards to anything. You have made decisions for me without a second thought without ever considering how I might feel. You’ve also never been the type of person who hurts someone else for no reason. I’m sorry I’m not with someone you picked, but I’m not sorry for loving her. She is everything to me. If I were to fall, there’s no doubt in my mind that she would be there to build me back up. She’d probably even break my fall if I couldn’t stop her.” 

Miguel stopped to look up, willing himself not to cry. 

“What you said to her brought something out that she hasn’t felt in a while. You broke her in a way that I promised myself I never would. I wanted to present her to my family in a positive light, to show her off. I didn’t expect you to be ecstatic about her, but I did hope that you could at least open your heart up once you met her.”

He looked off, tears escaping from his eyes. You’re in a better position now, but he won’t know if that donner will creep back up on you, making you hate yourself for something that’s not your fault. He remembered the pain in your voice, how kept it in until you were with him and away from the manor. He hated it. 

“But instead, she was met with two people who paid her no respect. Two people that brought her turmoil. I expected Kron to be horrible, look at how he talked to you, but not you. You were supposed to be better. You didn’t see how much you hurt her, I did. It’s like we prepped for nothing but a shitshow and I should have followed my gut and kept her to myself a little longer.”

Miguel sniffed, wiping at his nose in hopes that it would stop the urge to cry. 

Conchata let the silence rest. Nothing but the TV and her son’s sniffles filled the room. 

“I’m sorry, Miguel.”

Miguel turned back. Shocked that she didn’t put up much of a fight. 

“I just,” she paused. “There’s no excuse for how I treated her. She didn’t deserve it and if I could go back and change my behavior, I would. I think that I was just overwhelmed. Upset because my baby is growing up. He’s moving on and I can’t hold him in my hands anymore. I don’t tuck him in anymore. I don’t have to check under his bed for monsters. He doesn’t need me to do anything. So this shift is hurting me, mijo, and I took it out on the wrong people. For that, I’m so sorry.”

Conchata was a hard-cased woman. She stuck with her opinions, even if they were blatantly wrong. She was proud and vocal. She never let people see her crack or fall under pressure. So, seeing her like this, begging for Miguel to understand her, was a rare moment for Miguel. 

“Ma, me growing up doesn’t stop me from being your son. I’m still here. I’ll still rely on you, but I want you to have a break too. You have to let me grow. I won’t live here forever, but that doesn’t mean I won’t come back to you. I’m glad you were able to express this to me, I just wish you could have said so sooner.”

“Lo siento, mijo.”

Miguel got up to get closer to her. He wrapped her up in his arms, too easy to forgive her. “It’s ok.”

He leans back and kisses her forehead, heart mending by the smallest of stitches. “You still have to apologize to my girlfriend, though.”

“I will when I see her again.”

“And we need to go to therapy.”

“George has already told me.”

“And I want you to make me some ceviche. And tamales.”

“Bueno.”

“And tres leches.” 

She sighed, but squeezed him tighter. “Don’t curse in front of me again, and I’ll consider it.”

“Gracias, mamá.”

“De nada, mijo.”

GymRat!Miguel who goes to sleep with his body feeling a lot lighter. The weight of his relationship with his mom lifted a little off his shoulders.

GymRat!Miguel who has two grand master plans that he’s been setting out for months: eating you out and making your first time together special. 

He’s been overthinking every detail like a maniac. The peaches from the fruit bowl have been disappearing to his room for research purposes only- and a snack of course. 

He once ended up on the girl side of Tik Tok where they complain about everything guys get wrong when pleasuring them. He had been thoroughly reading the comments and taking notes here and there. He didn’t really need the tip about making noise though, he already does that just thinking about you. So many times has he had to stuff his mouth when jerking off. 

He also had a few tabs open in incognito mode. That research is only done in the deep of the night. 

Right now, he’s sitting at his desk reading some article about listening to your partner’s body and his mind can’t help but to wander off. Will you grip your thighs around him? He hopes so. He could die that way. Will you be vocal? Will you tell him if it’s too much? Will you guide his head and pull his hair? 

That last question has him gripping his sweats in anticipation. No doubt when you scratched at his back in the hotel room, he was reeling from the sensation. It was like a reward for him whenever you feel so good, you’re too unaware of what you’re doing to him physically. Too lost in bliss to register the marks and pain you’re leaving on him. You just want him to give you more. 

Miguel drops his pen and pushes the heel of his palm on his growing bulge. 

“Fuck.” Every time about an hour or so into researching, his head is full of you. He imagines what it’ll be like to finally taste you, to be inside you. 

He remembered how wet you got with just a little rubbing. Your body was so responsive to his movements and he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if you guys upped the foreplay. 

Miguel leaned back in his chair, arm over his head. He dropped his hand in his sweats hand gripping at the base of his erection, exhaling deep as he gave it a few pumps. 

Your hands on his chest. Your arms around his neck. Your nails scraping his back. Your thighs wrapping around his waist. Your breath on his lips. 

You opening up for him. You dripping down his fingers, down his legs, down his face. You screaming out his name loud enough for the entire neighborhood to file a complaint. You in whatever position he puts you in. He could hold you up. Maybe have your legs in the air or stretched out on the bed. He could have you grabbing for the sheets, the headboard, him. His head in your chest, in your pussy, in your ass. 

Pre-cum spilled onto his stomach, rolling down his shaft. Would you let him go that far?

He doesn’t know what’s worse, the cold showers and teeth-marked arms at the beginning of the relationship or his constant daydreams of your body connecting with his that kept occurring regularly. 

Maybe you felt the same way too. That was a new thought. 

Do you wonder about your first time together? Were you just as excited as him? Do you get wet at the thought of him inside of you? Do you have to stop everything and find pleasure like he does? Were your fingers enough or did you need more?

Miguel continued to move his hand up and down, squeezing occasionally to mimic what you might feel like. 

He’s groaning into his elbow, hips lifting from his desk chair. 

He could almost hear your voice in his ear. Begging, praising, crying out, stuttering. 

GymRat!Miguel who cums as Gabriel slams through the door. In a matter of 15 seconds, Miguel covers his drenched chest, shoves his sensitive dick back down, and grabs napkins to try to wipe away at his hand. 

Nevermind his shirt is now ruined. 

“What the fuck are you looking at and why is this picture showing a seductive pomegranate?”

“Why the fuck are you opening my door without knocking?”

“I did knock! I did our special knock plus a freestyle! I thought you were dead, Miguelito.”

Miguel’s heart felt a little tug despite its rapid tempo, “’M not dead, Gabri. Just busy. I didn’t hear you.”

Gabriel snickered when he got closer to look at his laptop. “I can see why. These tabs are a dead giveaway.” 

Gabriel reached over to stare at Miguel’s notebook. 

“These are some good tips! You shouldn’t expect her to taste like sweets, though.”

Nothing in his notes indicated that, but Miguel wanted to be offended for you anyway. 

Miguel gave Gabriel a hard side eye, mouth set deeply down. 

“I really wish you would get out of my room.”

“Oo, you should buy a rose. Dana loves that thing.”

“I don’t want to hear about whatever freaky shit you and Dana get up to, Gabriel.”

“You’ve caught me in more embarrassing situations, I’m just trying to lighten the mood! I also suggest those candy panties-”

“I’m not putting candy on- Gabriel. Can you please stop talking to me?”

“Miguel, this stuff is important!”

“¿Por qué eres así?” Miguel mumbled. “Ok, yeah. I get it. But you can chat to me about this after I’ve switched shirts.” (Why are you like this?)

“Fine, I’ll come back. Ten minutes. Then we must have a healthy chat about how to have fun safely.”

Gabriel skipped back to the door singing Candy loud enough to be heard as he went back to his own room. 

“Strawberry! Raspberry! All those good things! Violets and gumdrops that’s what you’re saying to me, me, me.”

A black hole would be nice to save himself from this situation. 

GymRat!Miguel who jumps out of his bed the day of the “Yacht Weekend.” Gabriel is dead set on calling it the “Yachty Pawty” and Miguel thinks that’s unbelievably stupid. 

GymRat!Miguel who has to go and pull Gabriel out of his bed to get him to get ready, his body stretching like a ferret. He’s never been a morning person. It’s like his brain didn’t start computing until noon. 

GymRat!Miguel who jogs around the neighborhood to kill time. The weather is a lot cooler in the morning plus it gives Gabriel time to come to reality. He waves to the son of one of his neighbors who gawks at him as he passes by. 

Were his shorts giving away too much again? He didn’t feel a draft. 

He looked down at his crotch. All good. 

GymRat!Miguel who calls you while he stops to take a water break. 

“Amor!” His voice is bright and his smile is radiant, watching as you squint at the screen.

Your cheek is squished against the pillow and you’re wrapped up in your covers. 

“Hey, Miggy. It’s so bright there.”

Your voice was scratchy, a sign of how deep in sleep you were. You were so fucking cute. 

“Are you running?”

He placed his phone on a nearby bench so he could stretch. “Yeah, I’m taking a break.”

He went into a deep lunge, stretching his body low to the ground. 

You went quiet for so long, Miguel thought the call dropped. 

“Baby? Did you go back to sleep?” Miguel asked.

“No, I’m still here. Those pants are,” you started to shuffle your phone. “Really short.”

“Really?” Miguel stood up and looked down at his pants. They did cut off high up his thighs, but they were good for running. Plus, he got hot easily, so he needed as much wind on his skin as possible. “They’re comfy.”

“Mm hm. Can you turn around for me?”

Miguel turned, confused but willing. 

“Got it. Thank you, my muscle bear!”

“What did you just do?”

“Took pictures of your ass. It looks great. I’m gonna hold it real good later.”

Miguel laughed and grabbed his phone. 

“Can I hold yours, too?” He wanted to do way more than hold it. 

You smile sleepily at the camera. “I’ll think about it.”

GymRat!Miguel who lets you stay on the phone while he runs back to the house. 

“You’re just going to hear the wind and me breathing for a few minutes.”

“And I’m fine with that! It’s like boyfriend ASMR. Peaceful.”

GymRat!Miguel who ruffles Gabriel’s hair when he gets back home. He’s staring at the wall and shoveling cereal in his mouth at the slowest pace known to man. 

“Buenos días, hermanito!” (Good morning, little brother)

“Mm.”

GymRat!Miguel who takes a cold shower to cool off for once and not because he’s having explicit thoughts of you. 

GymRat!Miguel who chugs down a protein smoothie while he waits for Gabriel to come downstairs. 

GymRat!Miguel who answers the door to Dana. She’s got some shades on and a purse with the same texture as a croc. 

She peers over her shades. “You’re looking put together!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to impress your girl! What do you have planned? A dinner on the horizon? A spa date? Oh! No! Another shopping spree?l

Yes. No, but he should arrange that. And absolutely not. He’s not Tyler. 

“No,” Miguel squints. “But how can you tell?”

“You’re easy to read, big guy. Even when you think about her your eyes turn into hearts. When have you ever thought to wear a button down for a roadtrip to the beach?”

“Touche.”

“I’ll figure out what you’re up to. I have my ways.”

She twirls and runs up to Gabriel’s room, leaving a waft of strong perfume after her. 

With that, Miguel knew it would be at least another 45 minutes before he could get on the road. 

GymRat!Miguel who does his special knock on Gabriel’s door. 

“I’m opening it, so you fiends better have your clothes on.”

He swung the door open to the disheveled couple. Dana with her hair astray and Gabriel breathing eerily hard. 

“Seriously, guys? I need to go by the airport.”

“I was just waking him up!” Dana says with a voice that was much hoarser than it was an hour ago. 

“Well,” Miguel put a hand on his hip in a way that anyone could tell he was Conchata O’Hara’s son. “Are you awake, Gabri?”

Gabriel’s face was as red as a tomato as he shook his head no. 

Miguel pitched his voice higher to mimic his brother. “Ten minutes. And then we can have a conversation on time management and respect. Except it won’t be “safely” because I’m going to hurt you.”

GymRat!Miguel who finally backs out of the driveway in exactly ten minutes. Gabriel is rubbing his arm in the passenger seat with a pout on his face. Dana is grinning from ear to ear. 

GymRat!Miguel who hands Gabriel the aux. He might be a silly boy, but his music taste is immaculate.

GymRat!Miguel who almost has to hurt Gabriel again when he doesn’t want to get out of the passenger seat. 

“Why do I have to move?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not grounds for anything!”

Dana pokes her head over the console. “Gabie. Read the room. He wants to grip on to his girl while he drives with one hand. Show off.” 

GymRat!Miguel who kisses you and grabs your bags at the same time when he sees you. The cars around are loud, honking sporadically. People are walking and running to catch cabs or get to their loved ones. Workers are trying to direct the traffic. 

It all quiets down when he meets your eyes. 

“Hola, mi amor.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him close. “Hello to you too, my love.”

You smile up until he presses his lips against yours. More and more pecks follow after that. 

He holds his nose to yours, completely enraptured by your presence. 

“Oh my god, let’s go!” Gabriel shouts from the car, pressing his palm against the steering wheel. 

“You’re not the one driving, pinche pendejo!”

You giggle and stand on your tippy toes to try and see over Miguel’s shoulder. You’re still too short so you lean sideways. Miguel melts. 

“Just a few more and we’ll be done Gabriel!”

“Fine. For you, I’ll let it slide.”

You stand back up straight and kiss Miguel a little more. 

GymRat!Miguel who does reach over and grip your thigh. If Gabriella and Troy weren’t in the back belting, he’d hike his hand up further. 

“Right now I can hardly breathe!” Gabriel pivots his head towards Dana dramatically, water bottle a faux mic. 

“Oh! You can do it, just know that I believe.” Dana is touching his chest dramatically. 

“Are they always like this?” You ask, laughing a little at their antics. 

Miguel groans in annoyance. “Yes.”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly sprints out the car when he parks by a pump. He’s been riding for a bit and he needs to stretch his legs. 

“Miggy, you want something from the store?” 

You’re standing next to the car, the wind blowing your hair back. Your jacket blows away a little, showing off the tight little outfit you’re sporting. You’re beautiful. 

He wants to break you down in the front seat of his car.

He swallows the thought. “I’ll come in there soon, don’t worry.”

You walk in the giant gas station and head immediately to the Icee machines. For the best possible experience, you should wait until it’s time to go before buying it. 

As you’re walking along the wall wondering what flavor you should get, you feel a tug at your arm. 

You turn to see Dana with some bottles in her hand. 

“I don’t know what he’s planning, but trust me when I say, you should take these.”

You frown as you take the cranberry juice. “Um.”

“I’ve been around those two long enough to know when one of them is up to something. I mean Gabriel hasn’t said anything off, but look at how he’s bopping around the store.”

You turn and look. 

He is indeed bouncing more than usual. He’s so tall that if he puts even more pep in his step, he might just break a hole in the ceiling. 

“Ok,” you turn back to Dana while fighting a laugh. “So they are planning something. What does that have to do with me and cranberry juice?”

“Gabie tries his best to use bro code, but I quite literally suck the information out of him sometimes. He caught Miguel looking at lots of articles about pleasuring his partner. With his mouth. That’s all I know for now.”

Your heart picks up. He was still going on about that?

“That might just be a coincidence.” 

“He’s wearing damn near beach attire with his hair styled. He held onto your thigh for an hour, even when the turns got tough. He stared at you walking into the store even until he couldn’t see you anymore.”

You bit your lip. “Those last two things are standard Miguel behavior.”

Dana huffs and spins you around. 

Across the store, you could see Miguel and Gabriel huddled over something. Miguel with his eyes focused and Gabriel animatedly explaining something. Every once in a while, Miguel would nod and roll his eyes up as if he was mentally checking on something. 

You sigh and turn back around. 

“Do they sell pineapples too?”

GymRat!Miguel who looms over you while you and Dana are looking at some cakes. You look up at him, pressing your head against his chest. 

Miguel kissed your forehead when you beamed at him. 

He looked over to Gabriel who was also crowding Dana and shouted, “¡Vamos!”

In a matter of seconds, Miguel had lifted you and brought you to the middle of the store where the workers were cooking up fresh meat. 

You squeal in shock and laugh on the way over. Miguel’s not even struggling. 

Gabriel on the other hand huffs as he places Dana down. 

“You need to work on that, babe.”

“I can lift you when I want to!” Gabriel replies, petulant. 

“For like one minute maybe. Why don’t you start working out with Miguel?”

“No thanks.” They both said in unison, almost carbon copies of each other. 

Really, if Miguel didn’t work out, or if Gabriel did for about a year, they could definitely play off as twins. Only subtle things separating them, like Gabriel’s freckles, softer face, and slightly shorter height and Miguel’s less curly hair, thicker eyebrows, and deeper voice. 

In your eyes, their bond was precious. You wondered what their baby pictures looked like. 

“You guys are so cute,” you say, reaching up to squeeze both of their cheeks. 

They both melt the same way in your hands. Miguel’s face is only a little bit hotter against your palm. 

GymRat!Miguel who presses up against you while you both check out. You stay nonchalant and talk to the cashier like normal, but you could feel Miguel’s heartbeat through your thin romper. 

Every breath he took molded on your skin, his chest rising and falling against your head. 

He kept steady hands on your hips and waist, only moving them to pay for your snacks. 

The cashier would take not-so-subtle breaks to stare up at him, face getting redder after each glance. 

You could only think “me too, girl.”

He really did look good today. His shirt was open a little lower than normal, his shorts loose but tightening around his thighs with every step he took. His hair was slicked back with a few strands falling loose and shades sat perfectly on top of his head. A chain danced around his neck, the color glowing on his pretty skin. He was tanner than usual, the sun making him glow after so many morning runs. 

To top it off he smelled really good. You wanted to lick him. 

From how slow the cashier was moving, you knew she was ready to take a lick too. 

You took moments like this in stride. Especially when Miguel was pressed so hard against you, you could feel his dick at the small of your back. 

Still, when people still tried to hit on your boyfriend or gawked at him even when you caught them, it was hard not feel frustrated about others thinking he can be taken from you. Or just ignoring you. 

More often than not, Miguel would bring you back down to earth with some action to let others know that he’s taken. 

Today, it was a kiss to your neck and a smack to your ass followed by his hand rubbing circles in the same spot. 

He grabbed the bags in one hand and your hip in the other. 

You looked back to the cashier scanning the next customer far more aggressively than before.  

GymRat!Miguel who eats half of his sandwich before starting the car back up. 

You still place the other half in front of his mouth, feeding him occasionally. 

He just smiles before and after each bite. Giddy with attention. You wipe his mouth to stop sauce from spilling from his shirt. 

Miguel almost turns the car into turbo drive. 

GymRat!Miguel who finally makes it to the beach an hour or so later. It’s late Thursday afternoon, so the sun is still shining bright. 

Gabriel is excited to finally be free from the tight back seat so he uses the opportunity to blast music from Miguel’s stereo. 

“C’mon, Dana! Dance with me,” Gabriel said, pulling her out of the back seat and bringing her to the front of the var. “Let’s have a twerk-off.”

You can’t stop the laugh that spills out of your mouth. You couldn’t imagine either of them shaking anything. 

“I can not twerk and you know it!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t shake. Don’t be shy now!”

You and Miguel get out of the car to stretch, Miguel watching the two over the hood of the car, unphased. 

Gabriel turns to you with a glint in his eyes. “Can you twerk?”

You were ready to shake your ass on a yacht after some liquid courage, but you didn’t mind a little dancing beforehand. 

You hurried to the front before the song was over and put your hands on the hood. You bend over with an arch in your back and move your ass to the beat of the song. 

You hear Gabriel shout, “Oh shit! Go, go, go!”

Dana sprints, nearly bulldozing Gabriel to stand behind you and catch it. You laugh at the two and bend even deeper, encouraged by their cheers. 

GymRat!Miguel whose eyes nearly pop out of his head when you bend over. 

When did you learn how to do that?

He’s stunned for a second until he reaches inside the car and turns the radio off. He’s going to kill Gabriel. 

Miguel hurries to the front and picks Dana up by her armpits to move her aside. “You guys are wasting my gas and neither you or you are CashApping me shit.”

He straightens you up and pulls your risen romper back over your ass. He stands behind you like a bodyguard, arms crossed and frown deepening. 

“I don’t know what you think we’re going to be doing on this yacht, but all of my girls are throwing it back. You need to prepare yourself, Mig.” Dana scoffs, mostly offended that Miguel just removed her from a dream spot. 

“Yeah, Mig. Be mindful of why you were invited to the function,” Gabriel turned his nose up and wrapped his arm around Dana. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, m’lady.”

Gabriel bowed to you and you curtsied back with a fake dress. The two of them walked like royalty to the trunk, gathering their bags. 

GymRat!Miguel who stuttered trying to explain himself when you turned to him. 

“Is it going to be a problem for you that I’m dancing with others?”

“No!” he said way too fast. 

You gave him a look with your eyebrow raised. 

“You just,” he paused. His voice got quieter as he played with the strap of your romper. “You never danced on me before.”

He had a pout on his face, mouth turned like a duck. 

“Oh my god, Miguel. I can dance on you if you would like. You just have to ask.” He was so cute. You’ve never seen him get that jealous before. 

You kind of want to play with him some more. 

“Can you dance on me later?” he asks, not daring to meet your eyes. 

“Of course.”

You giggle as you kiss his cheek. His pout slowly disappearing from his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who is greeted by the enthusiastic captain with a shake that moves his entire arm. He’s a jolly little fellow, cheeks rosy and his mustache curled on the ends. He was also strangely stocky. He reminded Miguel of Santa Claus if he took vacations in the Bahamas when he’s not at the North Pole. 

“I take it you’re Mr. Stone’s son, yes?”

“That would be me.”

“Excellent! Excellent. Your father has told me quite a lot about you. You sure do take after his height. My name is Captain Barrett and I’ll be steering the boat for you youngins this weekend. Me and your father go way back. And between you and me, I was better lookin’!”

Miguel chuckles awkwardly, trying to move the conversation along. 

He finally looks past Miguel and sees the three of you standing there. 

“And who might you three be?”

“This is my younger brother, Gabriel. His girlfriend, Dana.” 

“And this is my girlfriend.” Miguel moves by your side and wraps his arm around your shoulders. His tone is full of warmth as he says your name. 

“It’s nice to meet you all. Will you all be in our cabins this weekend?”

“Yeah, this is four of the ten staying on board. The others won’t get here until tomorrow at noon.”

“Is Kron supposed to be joining you all too?”

Miguel stiffens, his grip on your shoulder a little firmer. 

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Perfect! He ruined my other boat and it took me ages to clean it up. Hopefully, you’re nothing like him.” Captain Barrett does a little pleading gesture with his hands. 

“Welp, follow me and I’ll show you on board!”

GymRat!Miguel who is still stunned by the amount of things money can buy when he sees the yacht. He’ll never get used to the life of luxury that Tyler introduces to him. 

“Holy shit,” Gabriel mutters as he stares up at the black and wooden beauty of the deck. Dana elbows in his side, telling him to be polite in front of the captain. 

“Welcome to Black Jack.”

There were crew members there to hand out fancy smoothies and grab everyone’s bags. 

You had seen yachts on some of your old high school classmates’ Insta stories but this was beyond. 

“I’d like to introduce you guys to the crew. They’ll be assisting me to give you youngins a good time.”

Captain Barrett ran down the line and you all greeted every person. Miguel made mental notes of their names. They’ll be getting close with all of the surprises he had planned for you. 

“And this is my son, Blake! He’ll be helping me up in the cockpit.”

Miguel stopped to shake his hand. 

He was like the textbook definition of a pretty frat boy. Tall, but not O’Hara tall, tan, and handsome. He smiled and showed a straight line of teeth, dimples peeking through. 

“Nice to meet you, Miguel. Kron’s really not coming?”

What’s with people asking about that dickhead today?

“Nope. Just us and our friends. If he does come, it’s news to me.” 

Blake went to shake your hand and it was like he started to glow under the sun. His smile went up to his eyes and he mimicked the heartthrobs in the movies Miguel’s cousins watched growing up. 

“And who’s this?”

“My name is-”

“My girlfriend,” Miguel said before you could even finish. 

You looked up at him in shock, laughing it off. “That too, but I have a name.” You respond to Blake and shake his hand. 

Miguel doesn’t like how his eyes scan your body. It was subtle, but he caught it. 

Even as you all finish up greetings, Blake is still making moves towards you. The type of flirting that probably flew over your head, but Miguel has been around enough guys like him to know exactly what it was. 

 “So is this your first time on a boat?” Blake asked you while he guided you guys to your room. 

“No, actually. But it’s definitely my first time on a yacht, especially one this huge.”

Miguel followed behind with Dana and Gabriel.

“Is this your first time on a boat?” Miguel mocked Blake quietly, mouth scrunched up. 

“‘La envidia esta flaca, porque muerde y no come,’” Gabriel replied. “You’re turning green from your neck, bro. He’s just being nice.” (Envy is thin, because it bites and does not eat.)

“No, he’s definitely flirting,” Dana quipped. “He’s not even paying the rest of us any attention.”

“Thank you, Dana. And Gabriel, don’t ever quote a Spaniard to me again.”

“How do you call that flirting? He’s not even-” Gabriel paused as Blake laughed really loud at something that you said with his hand guiding you way too close on your ass. “Ah shit.”

Miguel stomped towards you two, yanking Blake’s hand off of you and replacing it with his. 

“I think we’ve got it from here. You can show those two where they’ll be staying. Thanks,” Miguel nods his head towards Dana and Gabriel with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Right,” Blake responds to him with a blank face. “I’ll see you up on the deck.” Blake winks at you before walking further. 

“Don’t kill him, Miguel,” Dana pats his shoulder as she walks by. 

“You’ve got my permission to hurt him if he touches me one more time though,” you say, snuggling close to Miguel and patting at his chest. 

“So, I’m killing him. Got it.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches you twirl around the VIP suite. 

“Miguel! This is so beautiful! Look at the view.”

“Oh my god! There’s a walk-in closet!”

“There’s a bidet! How’d they fit that and a shower in here?”

Miguel leaned on the doorway, watching you comment on every little thing. 

You made sure to start to spray everything with Lysol, a habit from your mom when traveling. 

While you were in the bathroom, Miguel got out one of his first gifts of the night. 

It was another keychain to add to your collection. He’s been working hard to have this weekend make up for the awful dinner night. 

He placed it on the bed and started to open his bag to grab his pajamas. 

“What’s this?” you ask, coming out to spray the bed. 

“Just a little gift for you.”

“Aw, this is so cute!” Your voice gets higher as you take in the little legos. “They even look like us! When did you get these?”

“I got them made about a week ago. You like them?”

“I love them! Thank you, Miggy.”

GymRat!Miguel who wants to moan when you walk out. 

You guys are going on a double date with Gabriel and Dana at a casual-not-so-casual restaurant farther in the city. That didn’t stop you from getting all dolled up. 

You walk to him on the bed, standing in between his legs. 

“Amor,” Miguel said, rubbing his hands up and down your backside. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. So do you,” you responded, careful to not run your hands through his hair. It was a comfort for you, but you didn’t want to ruin it. 

Instead, you bent down to kiss him in the quiet of the room. The sun was still out, but a lot dimmer than before. Little patches of sunlight caught Miguel’s eyes. The color was so deeply brown, you swore you saw speckles of red throughout. 

He moved to sit you on his lap, glancing over every detail of your body. 

“You’re making it harder for me to want to leave.”

“It’s funny that you say that. You’ve been walking around like you’re straight out of a beach movie. Chest out and legs for days.”

Miguel blushed and put his head in your chest, bending you back and holding you so you won’t fall. 

“What are you hiding for? It’s true!” you laugh as Miguel seemed to burrow his face deeper. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to call me out.” He was just trying to impress you, per usual. 

GymRat!Miguel who gets nervous on the way to the restaurant. It was one of those immersive experiences with projections on the plates that told stories with the meals. They were pretty cute to Miguel and he figured that all three of you guys would love it. 

The only thing is, he pulled some strings with Tyler to add an extra animation in there. He’s not sure how much that cost, but he’s glad he didn’t have to see the price. 

GymRat!Miguel who side-eyes Gabriel when he just about screams as the little chef walks across the animated place. 

“He’s so tiny!” he whisper-shouts. “So precious!”

By the time the first course comes out Gabriel is fighting tears. 

“Control it, Gabri,” Miguel says, rubbing his back. 

“I’m trying. I really am.”

GymRat!Miguel whose heart blooms when you laugh at one of the scenes. The little chef is squabbling with a giant shrimp and losing the battle. 

GymRat!Miguel whose heart speeds up when the special animation starts up. 

Only the two of your plates are lit up. There’s a river of chocolate that separates the two. From Miguel’s plate, there’s a little version of him that calls to your plate. He watches as your eyes grow when a mini you climbs on top of the plate and yells back. Your character throws him a kiss, sending a pink flutter across the river. The wave of it goes straight to mini Miguel’s heart who in turn, falls backwards dramatically. 

The real you lets out a watery laugh at the scene, eyes looking at Miguel briefly in shock. 

Mini Miguel jumps back up and gets to work, digging around the plate to grab biscoff cookies from the chocolate ocean to make a boat. While he works, your character wanders around the plate cutely, tidying up the area for his arrival. 

When the boat is finished, Mini Miguel uses a giant spoon to steer the boat, singing out brightly the closer he gets to you. The mini you is jumping up and down, cheering him on just like you do in real life. 

Once he gets to the edge of your plate, you lean close to give him a kiss. He climbs from the boat onto the plate and spins you around. You giggle in his hold until he lets you down. 

From there, he starts to use the spoon to drag a chocolate message across the plate. He takes confident steps, spreading the brown syrup across the plate with ease. 

“Tú eres mi luz.” (You are my light.)

When he finishes it, you both sit at the edge of the plate, feeding each other scoops of chocolate from the giant spoon. They both look up at you to wave, the Mini Miguel cheesing extremely hard as he waves both arms. 

The animation fades away in a wave of browns and pinks, the waiters bringing out the actual plates of food. 

The floodgates open when you’re presented with the same chocolate message, a slice of chocolate biscoff cake, and little chocolate decorations of the mini you and Miguel. 

“Oh my god, the spoon is here too,” you say with emotion, picking up a chocolate coated spoon. “Miguel!”

You don't know what to do. You keep fanning your face in hopes to stop the tears from coming out and ruining the light makeup you had on. Dana hands you a pointed napkin and you thank her while holding your head back. 

Gabriel is a mess, faces wet with tears. His cheeks are round as he blows out air to control his breathing. 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, mi amor,” Miguel’s face is ridden with worry as he reaches across the table to grab your hand. He looks to Gabriel and sighs, “You either, hermanito.” (little brother)

“I’m good. I gotta just,” Gabriel waves a hand in front of his face cutely. “Just gotta get this out. If you’ll excuse me.” 

He gets up to shuffle to the bathroom. 

“I better go help him out. He gets a little delirious when he cries like that,” Dana says, rubbing your shoulder as she leaves the table. 

Miguel wastes no time to sit in Dana’s seat, taking the napkin from your hands and wiping carefully at your tears. 

“I love you. So, so much,” you say, resting your face in his hands. “Everyday, you find new ways to surprise me. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m just…”

You pause, waving your hands in the air, unable to express how you felt. Just thinking about it has the tears spilling over again. 

“Hey, hey,” Miguel chides, catching your tears again. “If you keep crying, I’m going to cry.”

“I can’t help it, Miguel! You made a cookie boat to get to me. How can I not cry?”

Miguel reaches to kiss your cheeks in hopes to help you subside the tears, “I know, baby, I know. But to answer your first thought, when I think of you, the ideas just pour out of me. You’re my first true love, so I don’t know all the ends and outs of a relationship, but I do know what it feels like to be loved. I just want to extend that feeling to you.”

You stare in awe and the man sitting next to you, eyes glistening as you take in his words. 

“I think I need another tissue.”

Miguel laughs as he grabs one to pat at your face again. 

GymRat!Miguel who feeds you bites of the cake while you feed him scoops of ice cream when you’ve calmed down. You can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night. 

divider by: @iwonbin 🩵

Part 9.2 here!

a/n: This is half of the chapter, but I had so much fun writing this! (mostly because I was not doing my actual work while writing half of it), especially Gabriel's silly ass. Like, it was super duper fun. Writing jealous Miguel was also great. There's so much stuff about reader that he was unaware of and I've been imagining him sitting at a table and yelling like Kendrick when it all plays back in his mind.

As always, like, comment, and reblog. Let me know how you feel! 🩵

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@maxlinpetersen

[zeroreasonstocare]

Choso almost wants to laugh at how scared you look. One foot on the skateboard, refusing to lift the other. You had talked over what to do to skate, now you had to actually do it. He had a day off and Yuji was staying at Megumi’s, so it was the perfect time to.

“Come on, don’t be scared, just put your foot up with your other.”

You shake your head and cling to his shoulders.

“It’s gonna roll and I’ll fall.”

“You won’t fall, it won’t roll, I’m right here.” He slides his foot to keep the wheels from moving you. “Just step up.”

You take a deep breath and take the step, for some reason, it’s terrifying and you cling tighter to his shoulders. He moves his hands to your waist and holds you still.

“See? Didn’t fall, didn’t roll, and I’m still here. I’ve got you.”

You nod and take a breath, grip on his shoulders loosening.

“I think… I think we can move now.”

Choso nods, keeping his hands on your waist. “We’ll start slow, okay? Push forward with your foot. I won’t let go of you.”

You hesitate, so he tightens his grip where his hands are. “I promise, I’m not letting go.”

You take another deep breath and nod, pushing forward with your foot, when you move forward you panic a little and Choso makes you bend your knees.

“It’s just like the skating rink, all in the knees. Balance.”

You nod and hold his hands on your waist, pushing forward again and letting yourself balance as Choso walks along.

“There you go. I’m right here, not going anywhere.” He encourages. “When you’re more confident, push a little harder to go faster.”

You nod. After a few long and slow circles, you go a little faster to where Choso has to jog to keep holding you without dragging you back. After a minute or two of that, he speaks up.

“You think you can do it yourself now?”

“…Not that confident yet.”

“That’s alright, I won’t let go until you say so.”

“Thanks.”

After a few more minutes, you’re finally more confident and familiar with the feeling of circling the block, so you let go of his hands.

“I think I’m ready.”

Choso nods and slowly removes his hands from your waist, still jogging along in case you trip up or need to stop.

“You’re doing great!” He encourages again and stays as close as he can without worrying you about possibly running into him. After more circles, you look at him.

“How do I stop?”

Instead of answering, he swoops you into his arms. He holds you close and smiles. “We’ll work on that later.”

You stare up at him in admiration and surprise, heart fluttering and cheeks instantly flushing. “…thanks…”

He grins and sets you down, running to go grab his skateboard. “Wanna watch a movie and gave some dinner at my apartment?”

You nod, knowing he probably gets lonely when Yuji stays at a friend’s house. “What’s on the menu?”

He chuckles and walks with you back to the complex. “I was thinking about ordering wings.”

“Ooh, spicy?”

“If you want.”

You grin and follow him. “Order some dessert too.”

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Masterlist

[thereaderinsertlady]

could you do a yandere fic w bill cipher in his triangle form please :3

O yeye ofc! I'm finally getting back into the groove of things lmao; Expect to see more ask box fics being written! :D Here's the link on ao3, and I hope you enjoy!

‎

Bill Cipher x Reader - The Triangle of Your Dreams

Stood before you is an amalgamation beyond your greatest extent of horrors. 

And he knew it.

Bill Cipher knew how to manipulate you, showcasing your fears when you didn’t obey him. It wasn’t real, you always had to remind yourself when you chose to fight back. Just a dream. Just a… very scary and hyper realistic dream. 

“I…” Your lungs filled with dread, nearly stealing your breath to speak. “I know you want me.” 

“Yee~ees?” His tone was sing-song and echoing. You couldn’t quite see Bill, your ‘lover,’ but he was here. Here, outside of your vision. Tormenting and taunting you. Mocking you. 

…

Your head hurts.

“I know you want me,” you repeated, “And that you will do anything to have me.”

“Ah-huuuh? Where are you getting at with this?”

“...I want this to stop,” you ended softly, lowering your head and no longer staring at the gaping horror. It disappeared when Bill Cipher laughed.

“Oho, that’s easy! Just follow my directions next time–” something brushed past your shoulders. You whipped around to try and glimpse at him but to no avail– “And this won’t happen!”

You growled, clenching your fists. With a flash, a spotlight shone down on you, as if to showcase your beauty. Or whatever he said last week– month. You don’t recall when he said it. 

“I want this to end! I don’t… ugh, I don’t want to play your sick games any longer.”

The emptiness around you seemed to stretch infinitely, yet every inch of it was saturated with Bill’s presence. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a sinister echo that wrapped itself around your thoughts like a snake coiling tighter.

“Come now,” his voice was smooth, condescending, “You know you can’t resist me forever. Why fight it, sweet cheeks?”

“I wouldn’t have to fight anything if you weren’t such a di– ah!”

He appeared in front of you, triangle form and all. Eye all seeing and all knowing. 

The spotlight narrowed, isolating you further, making you feel like prey. Your breaths were shallow as the edges of your vision blurred, yet you straightened your back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. You couldn’t let him win.

“Fickle little thing you are…” His lone eye narrowed. “Humans, always so… needy…”

“I’m not yours to control,” you spat out, even though your voice wavered. “I would have been at least your friend if you–”

“FRIEND?”

His mood snapped in an instant. 

Of course, you knew he always wanted to be more than friends. He was greedy like that. He calls you needy, sure, but his wants would always come above your needs. 

And he wanted you. 

All for himself.

Forever.

He gripped your chin and you grunted, unable to move back in time. It was so real– you could feel your jaw bone nearly crunching under his fingers.

“We are lovers,” he corrected you. “In no reality are we just simply…” He laughed, “We are lovers. Okay? Okay!”

You fell to your ass when he released you, groaning in pain and rubbing your jaw. It felt so real. But it wasn’t real. This is just a dream– nightmare. A long, annoying nightmare. 

You couldn’t let him be the one in control. 

You can’t let him have power over you.

Bill almost seemed to hear your thoughts, hovering down low and getting up close and personal. 

“Listen.” 

You just scoffed. “I don’t want to listen to whatever you have to say, you monster–”

He slapped you. Your face ached. “Listen. And listen closely, little human. You are mine. And since you are mine, you will listen to me like a good obedient lover. There is nothing you can do to get me away. Understand?” He narrowed his eye when you didn’t respond right away. “UNDERSTAND?”

“Y-Yeah.” Your shoulders sank. “I do. I do understand.”

“Good.”

“...But…” You looked up into his eye, frowning deeply. “While I do understand… that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you. You’re… evil. Awful.”

He rolled his eye, floating back and finally giving you some space, much to your relief. “Oh boo-hoo. So what? At least I don’t hide it.”

…You shivered, disgusted. 

If he wasn’t like… this… then maybe you could have seen yourself having a future with him. Despite most people, you quite enjoyed the uncanny. The creatures of the night. Monsters. Dating someone that isn’t human would be awesome.

…

But this?

This is just abusive. 

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, getting up from the ground shakily. “I’m not going to listen to ANYTHING you say anymore!”

…

Bill Cipher just laughed.

It was humiliating. 

“Oh we’ll see,” he practically cooed, seeming to have composed himself from his previous anger. 

You gritted your teeth, angry and still mildly scared. Even still, after all this time with him being in your dreams, you didn’t know the full extent of his abilities. There were many things that he could do– and you wouldn’t know what he has done until it’s too late. Probably. He would be the type of guy to hold his aces until the last moment. Even when you first met him, you didn’t realize just how ‘awful’ he really could be. Who knows what he’s hiding?

After all these countless nights of encountering him in your dreams, you were still left in the dark about the true depth of his powers.

That was the worst part; not knowing what he can do. The sense that you were constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff, never certain when or if he’d push you over. He could be doing something right now, in this very moment, and you’d have zero clue. Maybe he was in your mind, twisting your thoughts into knots, or planting seeds that would only sprout when it was most inconvenient. That would be like him, wouldn’t it? Always one step ahead, always playing the long game…

“This doesn’t have to be like this,” he began, voice soft. A fake sense of kindness you knew. “All you have to do is listen. Even an idiot can do that.”

…

“Get out of my head,” you muttered. 

Maybe there will be a time where you’ve had enough. Where you’d give up and give in, letting him do as he wanted with you. 

…

But not tonight.

Bill Cipher released a wistful sigh. “Alriiight. But just don’t say that I never gave you a chance.”

With a snap of his fingers, you awoke in your bed.

[yrsdf]

Masochist s/o w konig

Konig is a man of focus, a man of few words, one strong focused, killing machine, oh.. But you, you were his demise sending him lewd photos, and dirty messages while he wasn't in the field, now he didn't have his phone on him in the field, that would've been hazardous and maybe a distraction, but when he’d get back from his missions and wind down on his couch he would go through your filthy messages, wishing he could just punish that stupid grin he knew you were behind the screen, and he did, he changed that when he came home.

Heavy boots approaching your shared from door, keys struggling to unlock it and once it was finally open he looked around until your eyes locked, he never warned you he'd be home so soon, quite frankly you were clueless, you were bundled up in a soft blanket with a large t-shirt and some shorts on, not really a looker in most eyes, but in konigs you were exactly how he wanted you to look, he shut the door behind him locking it and tossing his keys in the bowl beside the door that held your own car keys, he was quick to lift you and flip you so your back faced his front, he sat on the couch he took you from and sat you between his legs as his gloved hands roamed your smaller frame.

“You must be so naughty all the time, hm…? Test my patience so often it makes me think you like when you get punished..”

You drunkenly nodded, high off of just some rubbing against your plush thighs, he was going to punish you…just not his usual way, he lifted your shirt off you and noticed you wore his favorite white lace bra, he let out a trembled sigh as his large hands roamed once again, he ran his hands on both sides feeling your ribs, your torso, hips and chest he loved how petite you were, so fragile and so easy for him to break.

“Do you remember the rules of the Kleines?”

You stayed silent drunk under his touch, mind rolling with his sweet words, his gentle hands and his masculine smell, the way his large chest with textured military gear pressed against your smaller back, was intoxicating, you were snapped from your trans when his hands clamped down on your torso and squoze, in a way that began to hurt which caused a yelp from your mouth.

“Say the rules, I know you know them Schlampe”

You nodded as you spoke in a whimper

“Don't look back unless told too..”

He hummed in approval as he rubbed the spots he squoze, he smiled under that mask of his as he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pants shimmying them off, his smile turned into a devilish grin when he noticed you did indeed wear the matching set of lace.

“Look at my braves Mädchen… all prepared in such pretty undergarments, so precious..” 

You let out a soft whimper as he lifted you, your legs hooking over his making moving nearly impossible, his hand kneading your inner thigh as you let out a whimpered sigh, you were vulnerable completely to his pleasure and needs, his plaything.

“All those pretty pictures of you.. The teasing texts and promises… i am not one for liars hübsches Mädchen, let me show you what misbehavior when i'm working earns you.”

----

KNIFE PLAY -  ROUGH SEX - NO CHILL FRFR BELOW BEWARE BEWARE BEWARE EE

You were a mess, his hand wrapped around your throat as you let out straggled whimpers, he carefully carved a K in your upper thigh, it broke skin but it wasn't deep at all, you were high off of every sexual drug ever, you could feel his member pressed against your back, and placed his knife to the side lifting his hand behind your hand and you heard the rustle of his hood and mask being lifted, his hand moved from your neck to your inner thigh and then to your core, his hand rubbed the outside you your panties giving you slight pleasure before you felt his lips connect to your neck, sucking and kissing hickies whenever he could get them, before you realized it he has moved your panties to the side and sunk 2 fingers in already, before your head could fall back he bit down on your neck and a screech of a moan fell from your mouth, he licked the bite mark and smirked

“eine so unheilige Sache..”

----

He had already pulled 3 orgasms from you and you were practically limp against him, letting out hummed moans and weak whimpers before he lowered his mask and hood again, he flipped you and turnt your body so you were face to face, he took his thumb and wiped the drool from your chin.

“Such a messy girl… must be so worn out.. Schade Haustier, I'm not quite done with you.”

He unbuckled his pants and undid the belt, he zipped the zipper down and pulled his boxers down, his cock springing from its cage, he rustled in his pocket and pulled out a condom and he put it on (safety first you wannabe teen moms), his hands hooked on your bum and lifted you, his tip aligned with you and he slowly lowered you, he was big..huge even, it had been forever since you felt him fill you like this, you had your eyes squoze shut as he kept lowering you. And he came to a stop.

“Ah,ah…eyes on me mein Engel”

Your eyes fluttered up at him and with your innocent doe eyes burning into him he couldnt help but thrust up and you took every inch your head falling back and mouth falling agape, he held your hips and fucked you like you were his toy, he took a hand and roughly gripped your jaw, forcing eye contact.

“schmutzige kleine Schlampe, die von mir ausgefüllt wird..."

You whimpered in between you screaming moans, his pace unmatched and unbearable, you couldn't count what orgasm you were on you just knew it was way more than one.

[itsabouttimex2]

I think we need something wholesome: so uh anything LSO MK related cuz I found comfort in him

Comfort Food

(Made to pair with Let’s Start Over!MK)

The kitchen always smells so nice when MK is at the stove. The air is scented with spices and herbs, drifting through the house. The whole place feels cozy, even though it’s snowing pretty hard outside.

Most of the mountain monkeys have herded inside to weather the storm, lounging on your bed and toying around with your clothes.

“Clover,” your mentor calls, using a nickname born of your status as the fourth owner of the Ruyi Jingu Bang. “You want extra peppercorns?”

You nod, slow and noncommittal- there’s more important things on your mind right now, after all.

Lying beside a few of your happy little white-furred friends is, of all things… a tail. Yours, specifically. It had only grown in a short while ago, so there was still a sort of unease around using or even seeing the simian appendage… but the mountain monkeys were eager to “help” by grooming it to neatness by MK’s request.

MK turns to check on you and smiles, slowly relaxing his tense shoulders. He always calms down when he you’re safe and content, tucked in nearby and within eyesight.

Unlike the monkeys, who had found your tail amicable from the start, your mentor was a more… complicated case, to say the least. At first he had been shocked by his child student sprouting a brand new appendage, especially since nothing of the sort had ever happened to him.

But he had quickly gotten over that initial shock, which made him more than aware of how you feel. He glances over his shoulder at you again, before returning to the stove.

Are you questioning yourself the way he questioned himself?

“Almost done, bud!”

He’s spent a lot of time trying to keep your spirits up about the change.

The hero takes up a small bowl of finely ground peppercorn and stirs the powder into the boiling pot, then turns the heat up a little higher.

As he does, a monkey hops up onto the counter to try and swipe a pepper, only to be “swatted” away by a wooden spoon. Really, all MK does is lightly tap the monkey’s head with a gentle wrist flick, prompting a pouty chitter.

“Y/N, try getting him to come over to you- with only your tail.” A little task that would, hopefully, distract you.

“Monkie Knight, I’m not sure-“

“Ah ah ah! Just give it a shot, bud! A flick or two won’t hurt you or anybody else, right?”

Please do something that takes your mind off the worries that he knows are racing in your mind even in this moment of comfort.

With a nod, you slowly lift the still clumsy appendage, trying to beckon the gluttonous little furball back to the couch with the rest of his troop.

The little simian doesn’t move, instead cocking his head with confusion. He doesn’t know what you’re trying to do. The monkey looks at you and then MK, then back at you again, chittering.

MK is trying not to smile, covering his mouth as he watches. “Come on- use it like you would your hands. Try and coax him over there. You’re not just supposed to be “good” with monkeys- you are a monkey, kiddo.”

Like him. Gods, there’s finally another like him.

Sitting up to give a more spirited attempt, you jerk your tail around to insistently point at the monkey, then the spot beside you on the couch.

MK snorts, struggling hard to hold back an uncommonly heard rumble of laughter.

Do you know just how happy you make your dad mentor?

The monkey looks at you, then the spot… and suddenly, it clicks. He finally begins to move towards you, hopping up onto the couch. The monkey finally comes to understand your intent. With an “Ee-EE!” of excitement, the monkey scampers across the floor and jumps up onto the couch, immediately nuzzling his head against your cheek in affection.

“Oh, oh! He… he actually listened to me,” you call in happiness, your tail flicking about wildly and erratically. “Monkie Knight, look at him!”

A proud smile blooms across MK’a, clearly amused as hell. He leans over to watch the playful scene unfold, giving the pot one final stir before taking it off the oven.

“See? You’ve got a good handle on it. You’re a natural, bud.” The other monkeys notice their friend has gotten cuddles, and start chittering and clamoring to get your attention as well. They want to be loved, too.

Maybe those desperate feelings were a reflection of their caretaker’s own.

You work to pull as many of the little critters into your arms and tail as possible, excitedly scooping them up with little grace- sure enough, the monkeys are overjoyed with your efforts and you quickly have hold a heap of chattering and writhing fur. They’re crawling over each other to dote on you, some of them even climbing up your shoulders to get to your hair.

MK makes a short trek from the cozy kitchen and into the cozier living room, holding a steaming bowl of jajangmyeon in one hand, and a pair of smooth wooden chopsticks in the other.

Most of the monkeys hop off your body as your mentor sets the bowl and chopsticks on the table in front of you.

“Here, eat up. But be careful- I don’t want black bean sauce on your clothes.” He says, already imagining the stain it would leave. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the headache that clearing it would take. “Don’t burn your tongue, either. And don’t eat too fast.”

There’s an annoyed twinkle in your eyes at his fatherly fussing, looking at your mentor from the corner of your eyes while breaking the chopsticks cleanly.

“I’ll be fine- dad.”

You joke now- but MK is sure that he’ll hear you say that for real eventually.

One of his hands drifts to your head, mussing the hair with a large and scarred palm. For a moment there’s only the sound of your munching and his breathing, you focused on the noodles and him focused on the parental fantasy of taking complete control of your safety and welfare, of having you entirely rely on him.

It would take a while, but…

It’s the sort of thing he’s willing to wait for.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Achieved Love - Luke Thompson

Word count: 877

Summary: What is more delightful than accompanying your lover to an award show and watching how he achieves something with love?

The Bafta award show was in full swing when you finally arrived, the atmosphere electric with anticipation and excitement.

Paparazzi flashbulbs exploded like popcorn around you as you both made your way up the red carpet, your boyfriend Luke Thompson known as the dashing 'Benedict Bridgerton' was nominated for the EE Rising Star Award this year.

 Looking dapper as ever in his tuxedo, his arm firmly wrapped around your waist. You felt like a princess on a fairytale evening, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places, the diamonds at your neck and wrist sparkling under the bright lights.

As you approached the interview area, a sea of eager reporters and camera crews jostled for position, their questions and comments flying through the air like confetti. 

Luke smiled reassuringly at you, his blue eyes twinkling beneath his perfectly coifed hair, before turning to face the throng of media with a practiced ease that belied his years.

"How does it feel to be nominated for such a prestigious award, Luke?" asked one reporter breathlessly, her microphone inches from his face.

"Well, it's a huge honor, of course," he replied, his voice smooth and confident.

 "But at the end of the day, I'm just grateful to be here, surrounded by so much talent. I'd like to dedicate this nomination to my family, my friends, and of course, my girlfriend," he added, squeezing your hand before looking back at the reporter.

 "Without their support, I wouldn't be where I am today."

You felt your cheeks flush with warmth at his words, and as you looked up at him, you could see the love and admiration shining in his eyes. 

You exchanged a brief, sweet kiss before moving on to the next question. 

The rest of the interview flew by in a whirlwind of questions about the upcoming season of Bridgerton, his favorite category of the night, and his thoughts on the other nominees in his category. 

Throughout it all, Luke was charming, articulate, and gracious, leaving a lasting impression on everyone he met.

Finally, you were able to break away from the media frenzy and make your way into the venue proper.

 The grand ballroom was a breathtaking sight, with towering chandeliers casting their warm glow over rows of gleaming tables set with crisp white linen and sparkling crystal. 

Celebrities from all corners of the film industry mingled amongst the guests, their designer dresses and tuxedos making a dazzling display.

As you scanned the room for your seats, you felt a sudden surge of pride in your boyfriend.

 Not only was he talented and handsome, but he was also so genuine and kind-hearted. 

You knew that no matter what happened tonight, whether he won or not, he would always have you by his side, and that your love would only continue to grow stronger.

Just then, a waiter passed by, carrying a tray of champagne flutes. You reached out and took one, offering it to Luke with a mischievous smile. 

"To winning," you toasted.

 "or losing," you added with a wink.

 "and most importantly, to having each other through it all." He laughed, raising his glass to meet yours, and you clinked them together before taking a sip.

The awards ceremony began soon after, with the host taking the stage to welcome everyone and set the tone for the evening. 

As the first award of the night was announced, your stomach did a little flip-flop when you realized that Luke was among the nominees. 

His category was the last one to be presented, and as the golden envelope was slowly opened, the anticipation in the room grew almost palpable.

Finally, the announcer spoke his name, and the crowd erupted into cheers. 

Luke jumped to his feet, looking stunned and overwhelmed, kissing you deeply before making his way up to the stage. 

As he reached the podium, he took a deep breath and looked out over the audience, his emotional eyes meeting you briefly before he began to speak. 

"I want to first and foremost thank my Bridgerton family, the crew, the screenwriters, the whole Netflix team, and the Bafta committee for this incredible honor," he began, his voice steady despite the thunderous applause.

 "And I want to dedicate this award to the most important person in my life, a few years ago on this day I met one of the most talented people on an auditioning day, for a role in one of the most popular Netflix shows that changed my life."

"I want to thank my girlfriend, y/n y/l/n. She's been my rock, my inspiration, my home, my safe place, and my greatest supporter through all of this. I love you, y/n, more than anything in the world."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to him speak, your heart swelling with pride and love for him. 

He went on to thank his family, his friends, and his agents before sitting down amidst thunderous applause and a standing ovation.

 As he made his way back to your table, you couldn't help but feel that no matter what happened from here on out, you would face it together and that your love would only continue to grow stronger in the face of whatever life threw your way.

[glossysoap]

ready to comply x - инстинкт

кондиционирование or conditioning is defined as:

a process of changing behavior by rewarding or punishing a subject each time an action is performed until the subject associates the action with pleasure or distress.

warnings/tags: electrocution, choking, violence, panic attacks, hair pulling (not in the good way), memory loss, near death experience.

notes: i literally cannot apologize enough for taking so so long with this chapter !! but i promise i’ll do better in the future because writing fight scenes is what gives me a hard time so now that this is out of the way, it should be easier. thank you for your patience and all of your support! :)

prev chapters here!

word count: 3,200

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @shadowycreatormentality @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @luvmeijii @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @namgification @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee @whateverwhocares6 @sae1kie @thychuvaluswife @elichisstuff @grippingbeskar @cyb3r-4ng3l (excess tags will be in comments)

The second that the Winter Soldier stomped over to stand in front of you, Rumlow could easily sense your nerves. Anxiety was practically rolling off of you in waves.

The way your eyes widened and your breathing picked up the second that you saw your opponent.

Like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Pitiful.

You started by circling each other on the mat, assessing your opponent. Sizing each other up and determining if the other was a threat — but it was clear that your opponent was more of a challenge than you.

The training room was filled with shouts and chants from all of the other subjects. Most were cheering for your opponent to finish you off, to put the new recruit in their place. Others were, surprisingly, rooting for you to prove them all wrong and defeat the long experienced Winter Soldier. They wanted you to put your newfound strength to good use, breaking his bones and putting him through a wall or two.

As the heckling filled that room and echoed off the walls, your handler could tell you were getting distracted. That you were getting thrown off your game even more so, if that were even possible.

You tried to focus on blocking your face and dodging any potential hits from your opponent, jolting out of the way whenever his fist darted out.

It was painfully obvious to anyone that you were an amateur, refraining from making any blows or punches. Instead, sticking to guarding your face and upper body from any hits.

Rumlow’s eyes narrowed into a glare when you dodged your opponents jabs, your body all jittery and full of nerves as you side stepped any hit.

Every time your opponent attempted to punch you, you would dodge and block his hits by jabbing his forearms.

After a minute of evading, you finally went on the offensive and decided to cut him off with a punch of your own. Across his nose, against his jaw, anywhere you could get your fist on.

It didn’t take him off of his feet or knock him out, but if the blood trickling out of your opponent’s mouth was any indication, it still caused some damage.

You capitalized on that momentum and stepped up your attacks. After every punch you landed, you delivered a swift kick to either one of his legs in an attempt to throw him off guard.

Your opponent let out a grunt any time your fist made contact or your foot came down against his legs. His jaw clenched both in pain and anger, clearly frustrated at you finally fighting back.

Your hands moved back up to guard your face when you noticed your opponent’s icy glare narrow on you, his jaw clenching as well.

Only, he took that opportunity to punch you in the place that you weren’t guarding - your abdomen. Thankfully your stab wound from weeks prior was already healed, but it still delivered a hell of a shot.

It might not have caught you off guard so bad if it wasn’t with his metal arm, but it was.

At first, the gut punch just made you recoil ever so slightly. But that’s all it took for him to use it to his advantage and send more punches and hits to your stomach.

“Fuck!” You cry out in pain.

The hard metal arm combined with the pure force and super strength that stemmed from decades of the serum was enough to send waves of pain radiating throughout your body.

Pain grew and bubbled in your abdomen with every hit, making you double over and consider tapping out. The air got knocked out of you each time his fists made impact to your body, making you gasp and lurch forward. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the pounding mixing with the shouting of the other subjects.

Your mind wavered between the first possibility of fighting against your much more experienced opponent, and the latter possibility of surrendering while you still could. In the end, your self preservation instincts won out and you reached your hand towards the mat. Fingers shaking and stretched desperately to the mat.

Your hand was only a few inches from the mat, ready to waive your white flag when suddenly you were yanked from your hunched over position. Your sight blurred as you were pulled from the ground, the darkness of the uniforms became black streaks in your field of vision. The metallic glint of your opponents arm and the harsh lights on the ceiling mingled, making you flinch at the brightness.

His metal hand was wrapped around your throat and he squeezed and squeezed, pulling you up to your feet. Your hands scrambled and pushed at his chest and shoulders, desperate to steady yourself as he manhandled you. Your feet stumbled to rise to a standing position, boots scraping and scuffing against the rubber mat.

He used the iron grip on your throat to pull your face up to his and force you to look at him. His icy blue eyes staring into your (eye/color) eyes, his narrowed with anger and yours rimmed with tears.

You gasped for air as he walked the two of you back to the wall behind you, all the way until your back slammed against the hard wall. He shoved you against the cold wall, still having your throat in a vice like grip. He had slammed you so hard against the wall that your ribs ached and pulsed, and your head bounced off the wall.

Pain flooded through your brain and burned behind your eyes from the impact of your head hitting the wall. Each breath you took made you wheeze, your lungs aching and ribs bruising.

His metal hand tightened and he applied more pressure on your windpipe, and he squeezed. You clawed and swatted at his metal arm in an attempt to pry his hand off of your throat.

The subjects’ yelling that once distracted you was now drowned out by your heartbeat pounding in your mind, and your ears ringing from the lack of oxygen.

Your vision continued blurring and you choked, throat constricting on pure instinct to try and harness any sort of oxygen but to no avail.

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt your feet leave the floor and dangle inches in the air, as he held you up by your throat.

You could feel your limbs grow heavy as you tried hitting his arm, his chest, anything you could reach. Your legs felt like lead as you thrashed and tried to kick your opponent.

You were going to die.

That was all you could think of as black spots filled your vision.

You were going to die all alone, in this cold, mean place. You would die without ever getting any answers as to why you were here, and what your life was like before you got here. Did you have parents? Did you have a family? Any friends? A partner or spouse? Any children?

Whose cerulean eyes were those that kept flashing across your mind? Whose voices were those that kept echoing in your head? Albeit, they were distorted and made your head ache whenever you heard them. But it was just another question you would never get the answer to.

Because you were going to die here.

As your eyes began fluttering shut, you could only take solace in the fact that you would be free from the torture you had endured for months.

Across the room, Rumlow ground his teeth and his nostrils flared as he watched the pathetic excuse of a fight.

In that moment, all he could think of was — that was it?

This was who HYDRA spent their resources on? This pathetic ball of nerves is what they spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on? This is what they spent months of precious time and effort on?

What a waste.

He decided that you were going to cooperate whether you wanted to or not.

As he held that small black remote in his hands and grazed his thumb over the red button, he knew exactly how we would get you to cooperate.

He stared at your scrambling figure held in a chokehold against the wall, your hands trying to pry your opponents hand off of your throat. As he saw your eyes unfocus and begin to flutter shut, he knew he wouldn’t have much time. So, he pressed the red button.

The moment that the button was pressed, an electric current was sent from your neck all the way down your spine, and down to your toes.

Your eyes flashed open and you cried out in pain, eyes watering and voice cracking.

The jolt of electricity struck through your body, setting your spine aflame and burning through every nerve and vein that ran through your body. As the current ran down your spinal cord, you involuntarily arched your back against the wall in an attempt to quell the pain.

When the current hit your neck, it consequentially traveled to the metal arm of your opponent, shocking him as well.

Your opponent sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, wincing at the shock running through his metal arm.

As if burning his hand on a hot stove, he instinctively recoiled and took his metal hand away from your neck. You dropped to the floor, nearly crumpling onto the mat as you grasped your neck. Immediately you gasped for air, desperately gulping down oxygen to ease the burning in your throat and lungs.

Your ears popped and the shouting returned to flood your hearing, multiple other subjects urging you to get up.

You blinked rapidly to clear your blurred vision, shapes of people and machines becoming more defined with every blink.

You gasped and heaved with every breath, tears pricking at your lash line. Panic flooded your veins as your eyes darted from person to person, subject to subject and soldier to soldier.

The subjects’ were all still shouting and yelling. Their voices pierced your mind, adding to the already pounding headache you were suffering. They were laughing at you, at your pathetic attempt of a fight. They laughed and heckled at how easily you were taken out, how weak you were. They spat and flung insults at you — wearing sneers as they yelled about what a waste you were. How you were a waste of super soldier serum, that you couldn’t even win a fucking match.

The soldiers were just staring at your gasping form, looking down at you — literally and figuratively. They looked annoyed, almost disgusted as their eyes trailed up and down your body. Their eyes were narrowed as they stared down at you, noticing all of the injuries that you had gained so easily. They looked at you like pure scum, like you were just a piece of gum stuck on their shoe.

As you looked, you noticed a new figure in your periphery. It was your handler, Brock Rumlow. He was standing in the inner circle of the subjects, at about ten feet away from you. The expression he wore was nothing compared to the subjects or soldiers. His face was twisted in pure rage, and it sent chills down your spine.

His eyes had darkened and his brows were furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at you. His jaw was clenched, the hard muscle pulled taut as he ground his teeth. His nostrils flared. His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

“09012020. Up — now.” He barked out your serial number, voice full of gravel and disdain.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move, no matter how much you screamed at your muscles and joints to obey. You felt frozen in your slumped over position against the wall, the same wall you had been choked against a mere minute prior.

You could feel his dark eyes burn into your head as you remained in your slumped over position. Your brain tried to send signals to your nerves and muscles to get up, to move, to do something — but you couldn’t make yourself get up to your feet. Not only was your nervous system trying to recover from being fried with electricity, but it was also enduring anxiety and panic. Down to every nerve, every cell in your body, trauma was being ingrained into you with every waking moment that you were in this hell hole.

Only a few seconds passed before you heard boots stomping on the mats, making you look up to see your handler had come to stand in front of you.

His expression darkening even more so, mouth pulling into a snarl and brows furrowing, was the last thing you noticed before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and used it to pull you off the ground.

“I said, up.” He all but growled.

You cried out as pain bloomed at your roots, eyes clenched shut as your scalp stung and burned. You could even feel some hair follicles being pulled out.

You stumbled to your feet as he kept a tight hold on your hair, tears pricking your eyes. Merely the action of being yanked off of the ground by your hair was reminding you of your opponent, who had yanked you off of the ground by your throat just minutes prior.

That same opponent was standing a few feet away from you and your handler, still clutching his metal arm from the electricity coursing through it.

“Now,” Rumlow muttered, still pinning you with a glare, “put up a fight.” He nodded towards your opponent, before letting go of your hair and taking a few steps backwards.

Your opponent walked towards you once again, shaking his prosthetic arm in an attempt to shake off the sting from the electricity.

He steeled his expression once more, holding his fists in front of his face in order to block any of your attacks.

You blinked away the tears and quickly wiped them away with a shaky hand. You locked eyes with your opponent once more before taking a few steps towards his hulking figure.

The first thing you noticed about him was that his eyes were no longer narrowed at you, he wasn’t glaring a hole into your head. His jaw was no longer clenched and his lips weren’t pulled into a snarl. His face was just blank, with no mark of expression or emotion. No anger or happiness. His eyes were just staring at you, waiting for you to finally attack him like you’re supposed to.

His body was perfectly poised and ready to defend himself, arms raised and hands balled into fists.

You were just about to throw a punch when another jolt of electricity ran from the microchip in your neck, all the way down your spine. You cried out in agony and your back arched when the sharp pain reached your spine. As the electricity hit each nerve and muscle, it felt like someone was wrenching a knife into your back and twisting it.

The tears you had just wiped away were now running in waves down your cheeks once more, burning your tear ducts. Your lips were bleeding with how much you were biting down on the sensitive flesh.

Rumlow released the button on the remote begrudgingly as he watched your quivering form, your lips trembling and tears running down your cheeks once more.

“The more you waste time, the more I use this,” he drawled, holding up the small black remote up for you to see. Almost taunting you with it — the fact that the little remote could hold so much power over you. “Your choice.”

“Okay, okay, I will.” You nodded rapidly, sobs still racking your throat. You just wanted to appease him and discourage him from using that damned remote again.

You exhaled and made your first move, willing your mind to focus on your opponent and just making it out alive.

You decided on a different approach, desperate to gain the upper hand. Instead of just showing all of your cards and making it painfully obvious that you didn’t know what you were doing, you would try and throw him off.

You acted like you were going to hit with a left hook, which prompted him to use his right hand to block you. At the last second, though, you grabbed his right hand and pulled him to you so his back was to your chest. While you had his arm in your grasp, you used all of your strength into twisting his arm behind his back and pulling it until it was at an impossible angle. You pulled and pulled at his arm until it gave a nasty crack.

He howled in pain. You didn’t stop there, though.

You held his arm in place with your metal arm, while you pushed him onto the floor with your right arm. He all but crumpled to his knees as you continued to apply hard pressure to the injured arm, before he then fell forward onto the mats.

You straddled his back, keeping him in place with your knee sitting on his injured arm. He let out a muffled scream against the mat as you put more weight on his injured arm, grounding your knee even harder on the broken bone.

You capitalized on this opportunity to take him down and make him tap. You grabbed him by his brown hair and yanked his head up from the mat, ignoring all of his cries and yelps of pain. If anything, it just fueled you further.

You wrapped your metal arm around his neck and immediately started squeezing. Your lips pulled into an almost pleased snarl as you watched him choke and cough just as you had just minutes prior. You watched his mouth sputter and gape open as he tried and tried to gasp in air, but it never came. You could even feel his throat try to expand, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down almost in sync with his coughing. His eyes were rimmed with red and glossy with tears.

They were wide with panic and unadulterated fear, as he got to feel exactly how you were feeling — choked within an inch of your life and powerless to escape.

Utterly helpless and alone.

As your eyes were glued on his face, you felt the corners of your lips pulling into a smirk. Seeing his face painted with terror, his lips shifting to a shade of blue and his eyes unfocusing as he became oxygen deprived, sent a sick wave of pride to your heart.

Good.

You spared a single glance up to your handler standing a few feet away. You locked eyes with him, your bloodshot eyes staring into his dark eyes. You squeezed your metal arm even harder, pulling another choking gurgle from your opponent’s throat, and you kept your eyes on your handler the whole time. As he watched you choking the Winter Soldier within an inch of his life, you could’ve sworn you saw your handler gulp.

The sound of your opponent’s palm slapping against the mat almost didn’t register to you as you kept holding his neck in your metal arm. You kept staring at your handler as your opponent tapped out, desperate to escape from your hold.

You gave one more final squeeze of your metal arm while holding your handlers’ gaze, your nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, before finally releasing your opponent.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[foreingersgod]

Wait up for you . EE

pairings: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: she’s an early bird, you’re a night owl…but she also refuses to sleep until you agree to go to bed with her

A/N: this sounded a lot better in my head, but i fear it came out terrible lol, also this was a request that i lost somewhere in the inbox so apologies if that was you!!

“how many more pages left?” emily asked, voice muffled by her pillow. she was laid flat on her stomach, eyes fighting to stay open as her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.

it was well into the early hours of the morning by now-moonlight creeping into your shared bedroom, crickets chirping loudly outside. it was your favorite time of day, when the world had gone silent and it was just you (and your lovely girlfriend) with no interruptions. life was always busy for the two of you, with work and your education and with emily’s career, and it left you with little time to have a few hours of peace. so tonight, after working a double and taking your last final for the semester, you allowed yourself some time to unwind and read.

emily had been out with her team for the majority of the night, eventually coming home to see you tucked under the duvet of your bed and propped up against the headboard. you were quite the night owl, she knew, always expecting you to be busy with something when she got home. whether that be reading, watching a new show, or doing some random craft you’d seen on tiktok that you convinced yourself you could nail first try. it made her smile as she walked through the door, watching your eyes flicker across the pages rapidly. but whilst she loved your wakeful nature, she often found it difficult to keep up with.

emily was almost the exact opposite of you, in a way, going to bed earlier than most and getting up hours before you for practice. she was the sun and you were the moon. she didn’t mind that you stayed up late except for the fact the she truly couldn’t sleep without you. ever since moving in together, she found it harder and harder to go to bed alone. she craved the weight of your head on her chest, the silent snores that would occasionally fall from your lips throughout the night. so she’d wait up every night for you, finding something to keep herself busy until you were ready to finally fall asleep.

“i don’t know, babe” you hummed, trying to focus on the paragraph you were on. you were hoping to finish your book by tonight, but your particularly needy girlfriend was making it near impossible with her small interruptions “maybe like 35…40?”

“40?!” emily groaned, turning her head away from you and letting about a dramatic sigh. she didn’t know how much longer she could stand.

“emily, you can go to bed!” you laughed and set the book down on your lap, reaching over to gently caress her arm “you’ve had a long night, you need some rest”

“i can’t believe you just said that” she joked, rolling over onto her back, a calloused hand coming up to rub her jaw. she looked up at you with half lidded eyes and a lopsided grin on her face “i wanna wait up for you, you know that”

you bit back a smile. your heart swelled knowing that she loved you this much. but it also made you feel so unbelievably guilty some nights, that she was missing sleep just because of you. on several occasions you would beg her to go to sleep in fear that she would wake up cranky and exhausted and barely make it through the day, but she was more than insistent on waiting.

“i know,” you sighed “i just don’t want you to be tired s’all”

she rolled her eyes, scooting down the bed to wrap a strong arm around your torso. her head came to rest against your hip as she kissed the exposed skin of your thigh.

“i’d rather be tired every single day than go to bed without you”

you chuckled under your breathe, shaking your head slightly. she was impossible to resist. emily squeezed you tightly as she felt your stomach expand in laughter, fingers sneaking their way under your shirt to brush against your smooth skin.

“you’re so cute, em”

“cute enough for you to finish the book tomorrow and go to bed with me?” she tilted her head up, hopeful for your compliance. her lips formed a small pout which earned a playfully disappointed look from you.

“you’re so lucky i love you” you put the bookmark back into its spot in your book, placing it somewhere on your cluttered night stand. emily instantly moved off of your lap to lay back on her side of the bed, arms opening wide for you to slide into.

you accepted her embrace as you finally settled into bed, allowing emily’s large body to envelop your own. she pulled the blanket up over your shoulders once you were comfortable, making sure you were tucked in just the way you liked. your head found solace underneath her chin, chest pressed against hers. it was like the muscle memory, the way the two of you blended into each other as the night grew darker. her body relaxed as your weight pressed into her, hearing your heart beat slow.

“mmm, i love you too” she placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head. now satisfied, she let her eyes close completely. she’d wait for hours just to have these moments with you “g’night, baby”

“goodnight, em” you muttered before finally drifting off to sleep.

[rafesgoldrings]

would love to see what exactly occurred when rafe slapped our ass black and blue for bitching too much 🤭 and whether he got any of the other kooks involved or he took this on as his responsibility…

(edit: adding a little more to this because I thought of more🫶🏻)

You were pissed, fully prepared to brat to your hearts content when Rafe, Topper, and Kelce came over. They hadn’t paid you nearly enough attention lately, hadn’t bought you any new gifts, too fucking busy golfing and partying to pay attention to you. You’d complained to each of them individually, and then to all of them at once in the group chat. Telling them that you were bored, that they weren’t answering fast enough, that they needed to answer you now or buy you something to make up for it. It’s all they heard for the last few days and they were getting fed up, part of it was their fault, they spoiled you too much, but you were bitching just a little too much for their liking. All of you were supposed to hang out at your place that weekend, ready to make it up to you then. So when they walked into your living room, they expected their usual greeting, a kiss to their lips and a hello, but when they walked in? You’d walked over and slapped Rafe in the face, hard, and walked back to your couch. Sitting with a loud huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Rafe touched his face, tracing the hot splotch your hand left, jaw clenched and tongue sucking his teeth. You knew you fucked up, you knew it was soon as your hand made contact, but it was already done. He’d stormed over to you, hand harshly gripping your upper arm and bending you over the arm of the couch. He ripped off the tiny skirt you had on, smirking when he saw you had no panties on and telling the boys to watch him , and slapped your ass. “Ow, that fucking hurts you dick. First you abandon me, no gifts or anything, and now you’re hurting me.” you whined, a harsher slap landed on your ass followed by a firm ‘shut the fuck up’. Then you’d heard that sound, the sound you both dreaded and desired, his belt buckle being undone. It wasn’t but a few seconds later the rather made contact with your right ass cheek, a loud crack filling the room and echoing off the walls as the welt began to show. He moved on to the left one, the same cracking noise filling the room as you tried to squirm away. He’d brought your hands behind your back and held them there, moving his legs to tangle with yours and hold you in place as he kept up with his relentless attack. You could feel your cunt dripping, the sticky arousal coating your inner thighs, leaking more and more with each whip of the belt. The boys watched in pure satisfaction, knowing if you couldn’t handle it you’d let them know, eyes moving to the glistening on your thighs and dripping hole. Your ass was on fire, sore and hot to the touch, but Rafe kept going. Tears cascaded down your face like a crystal river, small drops falling onto the couch. “3 more. Count them and fucking thank me you fucking brat”

He’d brought the belt down again “O-one. Thank y-you Rafe”

Again “Tw-o. T-thank you Rafe”

Again, but this time you forgot to answer, head too empty to remember.

“I said,” the hand not holding the belt letting go of your hands and moving to wrap around your throat to squeeze it, loving the way you gasped for air “Fucking count. You’re not that much of a dumb slut to do that right? You’re so smart yeah, our smart girl? So try that again” he’d coo, releasing your throat as you coughed and caught your breath.

One final crack of the harsh leather against your ass “Thr-ee. Thank you R-Rafe”

“Good girl baby, all done now okay? Did so so good for me sweet girl” his voice soft and gentle, his hands caressing the bruised and broken skin. He’d cleaned you up, having the others grab some ointment to rub on the broken areas of skin, before the three of them admired Rafe’s handy work, splotches of red, purple, black, and blue covering your ass. He let go of your body, moving to sit on the couch, before pulling you into his lap and smirking at the hiss you let out. Ass sore and sensitive.

“Let this serve as a reminder not to ever fucking do that shit again. Not to me, not to Kelce, not to Topper. If something is bothering you, you talk to us and tell us how to fix it like the big girl you are princess” you’d nodded your head, curling into Rafe’s chest as the other two began rolling a joint.

Safe to say, you never dared brat that way again. Especially not towards Rafe, it took several weeks for the bruises to go away and for you to be able to sit properly.

Tag List: @sweetestdesire @congratsloserr @xyzstar @madelynie

[pbelfz]

Two to One | 13 |

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader x Midoriya Chapter Title: Default Dance Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 Story Masterlist Summary: You are a simple college girl working at a cheap, back alley café! The top heroes, Deku and Ground Zero, visit your work in hopes of ordering coffee, but they pick something else up instead. You begin an interesting relationship with the pair, while slowly becoming aware of certain underhanded tactics they are using. Idolization isn't always that bad... Right?

WARNINGS: controlling, manipulative?

Deku never smiled as much as he did on television.

Izuku came down with a hearty fever within the first two nights of (Y/n) officially moving in.

Katsuki was quick to point his finger at her, blaming her for bringing her city germs into the house, but Izuku insisted one of his high school interns was coughing in his office a few days prior. Regardless, Katsuki kept his distance from both of them.

In the few hours he was awake, Izuku worked from home, sending reports to his agency secretaries and signing off on investigation collaborations. He slept most of the day otherwise, leaving (Y/n) alone in the spacious house.

All of her personal belongings were relocated to the new house, but it’d been an overwhelming feat to unpack most of the boxes – not that she had that many to begin with. Still, it gnawed at her how final this all seemed. She couldn’t help but feel like she jumped the gun a little too quickly when she saw the face her RA gave her when they exchanged lease documentation.

She’d never lived with any of her previous partners before. What would she tell Hana if she wanted to come over to hang out? Would Deku or Katsuki even be okay with her having guests at all? The last time she recalled needing approval for friends visiting was when she lived with her parents.

Her frown tightened as she performed the next dance move of Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani. She remained sour even as the TV screen dinged, signifying a perfect score.

Izuku groaned into the pillow, hearing the music travel up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Even with the door closed, it grew harder and harder for him to block out the nasally ‘Nana na na na na’s, the ache in his head pulsing with each beat, right behind his forehead. He texted (Y/n) a few minutes ago to turn the TV down, but she must not have seen it. He supposed this was his cue to get up.

Izuku – slowly, with no urgency about him – made his way to the kitchen. His cold was getting worse, but he didn’t want to worry Katsuki or (Y/n). He glanced at (Y/n) in the living room once he reached the bottom of the stairs, and on a normal day, his interest would’ve piqued to see her playing Just Dance.

However, today was not that day.

He turned and continued to the kitchen.

Izuku’s eyes could hardly stay open as he made himself a cup of peppermint tea, adding some honey for his throat. He took his time with it. Why not, right? Gwen Stefani was serenading him.

Deku never smiled as much as he did on television. That was one of the first things (Y/n) noticed when she moved in.

‘If I was a rich girl, nana na na na na–,’

(Y/n) was completely enthralled in the game, but once she turned around for a spin, she locked eyes with Izuku, who was leaning against the wall with his cup of tea.

“EE-eezuku!” She covered her mouth to conceal the tail end of her yelp before scrambling to finally turn off that damn game. “How long–?”

“Did you get my text?” Izuku cut (Y/n) off more harshly than intended, which took her by surprise. He’s never the one to do that. Izuku noticed his slip-up as quickly as she did, and he took a sip of his tea, glancing at the floor.

“No, I left my phone upstairs. What did it say?” (Y/n)’s voice was soft, worried that she missed something important. Izuku shifted his weight, his reply just as soft as hers, much gentler than his previous interruption.

“I was just trying to sleep,” his gaze flickered to the TV hanging on the wall behind her. (Y/n) got the hint.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Izuku nodded before turning away, withdrawing from her. “It’s okay.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but feel compelled to follow him to the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?”

Izuku opened the fridge, bending over to check the lower shelves for something quick to eat. “Better.”

“Good.” She withheld the urge to feel his forehead to check his fever.

Izuku grabbed some bread, meat, and cheese to make a sandwich. He didn’t look at (Y/n) as he reached for condiments, which were right next to her.

Is he really that upset that she didn’t turn the TV down?

“Are you mad at me?”

It’s only natural to ask.

Izuku finally looked up at (Y/n), his face almost appalled at the question. “No,” was all he offered before biting into his sandwich and walking past her. “Just tired. And sick.”

He left her in the kitchen by herself.

With all of the audacity Katsuki carries, (Y/n) never anticipated how attentive he was towards Izuku.

She felt creepy, watching from the doorway as Katsuki spoon-fed Izuku the last of the homemade soup his mother dropped off. (Y/n) was in class when Mitsuki came by, but from what little Katsuki shared of his homelife, the Bakugous were a gourmet family, so it was no surprise they had their own recipe for everything.

Regardless of how big the house was, (Y/n) still felt lumpy and in the way. Katsuki brushed by her when they crossed paths in the hallways, almost purposefully knocking shoulders with hers. She didn’t have the heart to ask him if he actually was doing it on purpose, though; she still felt like a guest here.

More so now than ever, as she watched Katsuki kneel by the edge of bed, stroking the back of Izuku’s neck. Izuku was dozing off with a cooling pad on his forehead. They were muttering to each other about something, and Katsuki wore just a hint of a smile on his face as he monitored a drowsy Deku. (Y/n) didn’t want to interrupt them. They surely noticed she was there, but Katsuki wasn’t going to make an effort to call her in; Izuku was the priority at the moment. She observed how they looked at each other, and a black, tarry pit in her stomach kept telling her it was different from how they looked at her. Their hands found one another, Katsuki’s thickened skin naturally a comfort for Izuku, just as Izuku’s scars were for Katsuki.

(Y/n) hoped she caught the flu next week.

She turned and went back downstairs.

Days passed, and Izuku’s cold lessened into an irritating sore throat.

Izuku became antsy, not accustomed to being away from work for so long. The house was spotless from the compulsive cleaning he did when Katsuki wasn’t around (he would’ve gotten yelled at). (Y/n) gently suggested he continue resting, but her words went ignored. She then offered to help but was disregarded. That was fine with her; she was behind on her assignments because of her shifts at Satou’s.

Izuku’s weights clanged in the basement gym while she proofread a 10-page essay. (Y/n)’s fingers tapped on the keyboard, unable to focus on her work as she listened to her boyfriend work out. Two minutes passed, and there was silence. (Y/n) fixed a sentence on her document.

Clang!

She paused and waited.

Silence for another minute.

(Y/n) read another paragraph.

Clang!

Her concentration muddled once more, she groaned and closed her laptop.

Izuku almost instantly threw himself back into hero duty the second Katsuki’s mothering radar subsided.

The Bakugou-Midoriya-(Y/n) household found what their “normal” was.

Disgruntled Katsuki.

Overworked Izuku.

Unoccupied (Y/n).

It’s not like she was necessarily waiting for them to do anything with her! It’s just this situation screamed “roommates”. Isn’t that what they were now, though? Roommates with benefits, except they haven’t done anything sexual since Izuku’s got sick. (Y/n) wanted to talk to the two heroes to clear up any boundaries, but the throuple were hardly ever in the house at the same time. (Y/n) busied herself with schoolwork, carrying about her business as she usually would back in her apartment, except now there were two hunkering men lumbering about.

“Deku and I made dinner reservations for all of us tomorrow,” Katsuki mentioned over his shoulder.

Neither of them bothered to mention this to her before right now. (Y/n) tightened her lip to keep from rolling her eyes.

“I don’t think I can go. I’m going out tomorrow,” (Y/n) pondered aloud, scrolling through Instagram on her phone.

Katsuki’s attention, previously only halfway in the conversation, was now yanked fully into it. He finished his rep, setting the weighted barbell above him on the bar holder before sitting up on the bench. Sweat gleamed from his torso, and he grabbed the nearest rag to wipe his forehead.

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,” he grunted, glancing up at (Y/n). She shrugged, still invested in her phone.

“I guess it was kinda last minute.” A slight jab.

Katsuki was quiet for a moment, trying to be careful about his words. “Does Deku know?” He asked, trekking over to the dumbbells.

“Does Deku know what?” Izuku suddenly called from beyond the basement stairs, the sound of the front door closing behind him. (Y/n) glanced upwards, noting how Deku always appeared at just the right moment.

Izuku took his sneakers off in the foyer, exchanging them for his slippers before bounding down the stairs. He was noticeably tired, and even though he wasn’t in his hero costume anymore, his clothes still seemed worn. He may have run into another villain on the way home.

Katsuki snorted a dry laugh, giving (Y/n) a look as he began another set for his workout. The dumbbells were bigger than (Y/n)’s head.

“I’m just going to a karaoke party tomorrow. Maybe some barhopping,” (Y/n) peeped from her place on the floor next to the weight rack. Katsuki glanced at his partner.

Izuku’s mouth tightened ever so slightly, but only Katsuki caught it. “Oh.”

“Who are you going with?” Izuku asked, hiding the hesitance in his tone as he stepped further into the basement.

Katsuki set the dumbbells down much quieter than Izuku did. (Y/n) didn’t know why they were making such a big deal about this.

“Hana. My coworker from Satou’s.”

Both men appeared to be in thought.

Izuku spoke first. “We can talk about it after we shower, okay?” He suggested with a soft smile, leaning back as an invitation for (Y/n) to follow him upstairs to the bathroom. (Y/n) remained seated on the gym floor.

“What’s the big deal?” She asked. Part of her was looking for a fight; they felt it. She wanted to do something with her friends, and they finally decided now was the time to give her attention? Katsuki and Izuku looked at each other. Katsuki was more reclusive than Izuku when voicing his concerns, so he withdrew as he wiped the bench down with a rag. Izuku sighed.

“We’re just worried,” Izuku spoke for the both of them, as he naturally did. (Y/n) blinked, setting her phone to the side as she prepared to hear them out.

“About what? I’m gonna be with my friends.”

Izuku scratched the back of his ear and stepped over to her, crouching down to her height on the floor.

“Everyone there is cool, I promise,” (Y/n) softened her voice, trying to comfort them further.

“(Y/n), we’re concerned about the college culture.”

(Y/n) furrowed her brow at that and glanced at Katsuki, who was watching the exchange.

“What do you mean by th–?”

“Just don’t be a whore,” Katsuki all but blurted as he picked up his water bottle and started chugging.

“Katsuki!” Izuku shouted over his shoulder. The volume didn’t seem to affect Katsuki, but it made (Y/n) jump. There was a beat of silence, as if Izuku was debating on yelling something else, but instead he turned back to look at her with an apologetic expression.

“We’re just worried about drinking and all that,” Izuku tried to explain, returning to his regular pitch. (Y/n) glanced between both of his eyes and held her tongue because she was about to tell him he sounded more like a father than a hero. “While they may not be villains, some people can do pretty villainous things, like slip something into your drink. If you’re going to drink, keep your drink on your person, and try not to take your eye off of it,” Izuku warned. (Y/n) shifted, and although she felt like he was overexaggerating everything, she still felt uneasy under his gaze.

“Yeah, I know…”

“And can you text our groupchat when you get there tomorrow? What time is it at? And the address?” Izuku asked, pulling his personal phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, of course. I was going to, anyway,” (Y/n) picked her own phone back up to check her texts with Hana. “Karaoke is at around 8:30 PM at 228 Yugun.”

“Text every thirty minutes,” came Katsuki’s request. (Y/n) looked over at him, then back at Izuku, who seemed to be typing the address and time into his phone reminders. There wasn’t any rebuttal from the other hero, so this seemed to be a consensus between the two of them.

“Okay.”

It was so much easier to socialize with Hana by (Y/n)’s side.

(Y/n) cheered along with everyone as Hana completed the song on the screen. It wasn’t perfect, but Hana laughed off her mistakes, something (Y/n) always admired about her.

Their other friend from school, Chiharu, was a naturally gifted singer and was getting high score after high score on each song. Natsuko and Jin, who were dating, sang a duet but were too tipsy to get a score above 37%. Every time someone offered (Y/n) the mic, she politely declined, satisfied with simply sipping on her drink and eating some of the platter.

“Jin fucked that one up that time!” Natsuko laughed, slipping her jacket off and resting it on the seat behind her. Jin was carefree and good-natured. Patient. Everyone in the group knew Jin and Nat were a good match. Jin was flipping through the available list of songs, her shoulder-length hair swaying when she wiped some of the beer from her lip.

“You can’t blame all of that on me,” Jin retorted playfully. Chiharu suddenly shot up from her seat, pointing at the screen.

“Wait! Pick that one! Pick that one! I know the Tiktok dance to it.”

“Oh, God, nooooooo, boooooo,” Hana moaned with a thumbs down.

“Wait, no, I wanna see her do it!” Came Nat from the other side of the room.

(Y/n) sunk into the couch, cradling her drink as she glanced from person to person, a blissful smile on her face. After a dedicated discussion, Jin finally picked the Tiktok song. Just as Chiharu was warming up for her dance, (Y/n)’s phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her bag.

(09:48) Katsuki : What time you coming back?

(09:50) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : not sure yet

Katsuki is typing…

(09:50) Katsuki : Can you ask?

(Y/n) sighed and scratched her head.

(09:51) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : i asked. No one knows

Katsuki started typing again. He was typing for a while, but then the bubble disappeared. (Y/n) stared at the screen. He began typing again.

(09:53) Katsuki :  Deku’s picking you up

(09:53) Katsuki :  When you’re done.

(Y/n) replied with a thumbs up emoji.

(09:54) Katsuki : So let us know when you’re almost done, so he can head over there.

(09:54) Katsuki : Are you drinking?

Jesus Christ, Katsuki can talk when he wants to. (Y/n) shifted in her seat, setting her drink down on the table in front of her so she can type with both hands. Hana eyed her.

(09:55) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : I will

(Y/n) didn’t know if he responded because she shoved her phone back into her bag. She looked over and saw Hana already looking at her.

“You okay?” Hana asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just group project stuff.”

Hana nodded, understanding. Nat then came over and handed mics to her and (Y/n).

“I picked out this duet just for you two.”

(Y/n) and Hana stood on the curb with their arms locked at the elbow as they waved goodbye to their friends, watching the three of them stumble away in the direction of their apartments. Jin and Natsuko lived together, and Chiharu lived in the complex around the corner from them. Hana lived on the opposite side of the city campus, so (Y/n) offered to walk her. They were both laughing at a video someone posted on Twitter of the Deku Fortnite skin.

“Why didn’t they include Shoto? Dynamight and Deku, but no Shoto?”

“I don’t know, maybe he didn’t approve it,” (Y/n) remarked, watching Deku’s character dance on Hana’s phone. “And with good reason.”

“And Dynamight did?!”

(Y/n) shrugged, sputtering a laugh. “Maybe Dynamight likes the game.” By force of habit, (Y/n) pulled her own phone out of her bag to check her notifications. She ended up ignoring it for most of the night, so she couldn’t imagine what she missed.

To her surprise, she only missed one text from Katsuki and one text from Izuku. Izuku was letting her know the time he was picking her up at, which was… in 3 minutes.

(Y/n) stopped walking, her sudden halt pulling Hana back. Hana looked at her, confused.

“So, my ride is actually a few minutes away, and I only gave them the address to the karaoke bar…”

Hana understood, and she smiled. “Oh, okay! Text me when you get home?”

(Y/n) didn’t think Hana realized she didn’t live on campus anymore.

“Of course.”

Izuku pulled up to the curb in the sleek black car he and Katsuki alternated driving. They had other cars, but they both must’ve preferred this one. It was 1 in the morning, and the streets were starting to quiet down.

He wordlessly unlocked the car, and (Y/n) popped into the passenger side, smiling. Izuku didn’t give much of a greeting as he pulled off as soon as she buckled in.

(Y/n) broke the silence first. “I didn’t know you were in Fortnite.”

It was dark in the car, but (Y/n) could see the way his brow furrowed as he drove, as if he were trying to recall what on earth she was referring to.

“Katsuki’s in Fortnite, too,” she giggled. “Your costumes look a lot different, though.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he was no louder than a mumble as he looked past (Y/n) to make a turn.

(Y/n) sunk into her seat, taking this as her cue to leave him alone. Where Katsuki pushed her when he was upset, Izuku ignored her.

“How was your night?” He finally asked, after the lights of the city became sparser. (Y/n) perked up.

“It was a lot of fun! I was a little nervous to sing, so I spent a lot of time watching my friends, but Hana and I did a song together near the end.”

She didn’t know, but Izuku could smell the alcohol on (Y/n)’s breath, and he slightly turned his head away from her as she spoke.

“You have a lot to drink?” He asked quietly, a hand leaving the steering wheel to scratch his ear.

“No, not a lot.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really–”

“How much, (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) looked over at him, blinking. Izuku’s gaze was still fixed on the road.

“I think no more than five,” she peeped. She watched him.

Izuku continued driving. They were almost home.

“You think?”

“I think, yeah.”

He was silent. He made another turn, and the light from a streetlamp shined down on half of his face, so (Y/n) could finally discern him. He appeared unaffected.

(Y/n) didn’t know what else to say, and whatever buzz she was feeling before quickly dissipated. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap. If this was Katsuki, she would’ve yelled back at him, but this was Izuku. Izuku has a different command about him.

The car was parked, and (Y/n) looked up. They were home. Izuku turned the car off, but he didn’t unbuckle. He turned to (Y/n), the light from the porch finally illuminating his face enough to give (Y/n) an emotion she recognized: pity.

“Please try to keep track next time.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to say.

“Okay…”

Izuku got out of the car, closed the door, and headed inside with his hands in his pockets, leaving (Y/n) alone in the car.

[rosiesthehat]

wrap me in your arms like i'm made of glass.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Tags: possessed!reader, exorcism, self flagellation / self harm, disordered eating, mommy issues, hurt/comfort!

Summary: You've been fighting an evil spirit on your own for months, until an angel falls on your doorstep, and you no longer have to fight alone.

Author’s Note: This one is sort of dark, ee!! Sometimes a girl just needs to write an exorcism, I guess!! This is my first go of anything horror/angsty, so uhm.. it might be kinda bad. This is also on my AO3!!

It hates the cold.

As do you.

Yet somehow, as you lay by the flung-open bay window, watching the tiny, crystalline flakes fall to cover your once-blossoming hydrangea bushes, you feel your head silence for the first time in weeks. The lightweight blanket draped over your knees isn’t much help to fight the tremble in your fingers, which are wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate— you’ve been falling victim to your sweet-toothed cravings lately, considering this very well may be your last chance to do so.

The television across the room hums whatever country music variety show is on this early in the morning; a few cars pass by outside, splashing up muddy sludge into your front yard. You can’t help but wince at the action. You once dedicated so much time to perfecting your lawn, just for all of that hard work to become irrelevant in a few short hours. It’s probably been decades since this town last saw any snow. You’d never seen so much as a cold rain in your few decades of living. It seems that Hell’s finally frozen over. It’s a shame you never paid attention in church long enough to find out what to do in such an event.

You’re feeling weak. This isn’t a new sensation. Weeks’ worth of sleep interrupted by family photos flung off of walls in the middle of the night truly does begin to take a toll on a young woman’s body. Not that you ever had much energy to begin with, what with the early mornings spent tending to horses and late nights attending to sick barn cats.

It’s quite shocking just how much energy a demonic being inhabiting your body saps up.

It only takes a few minutes, lounged by the window and focus blurring out on the white mounds of snow, for you to loll off to sleep, cocoa spilling onto your favorite quilt, but you’re not lucid enough to notice.

It’s a very gentle knock at your door that rips you from your slumber. Your encounter with whatever beast has been haunting your every move has made you an incredibly light sleeper. At this point, you could be woken by a light breath against your face. You believe you already have, a few times now.

It’s incredibly difficult for you to stand from your position on your once pristine, now chocolate-stained sofa, but you make it upright eventually. The blood comes rushing to your head at the sudden swing upright, your feet heavy against the cold hardwood floor that you never bothered to buy a rug for. Your feet were calloused enough, there was no need for comfort for something already so broken.

You cling desperately to the heavy front door that, by some act of God, you manage to swing open.

The light you’re met with is blinding. You’re not sure if it’s the sun’s rays beating off of the snow and directly into your eyes, or if the woman at your doorstep just naturally emanates such a light.

“Hi there.” Her voice is so kind and warm that your entire body feels like you’ve been sat next to a fireplace. Once your eyes fully adjust to the light surrounding your savior, you notice that her face holds a slightly bewildered look, but like she’s trying to hide it. To remain professional, to not let you in on the fact that there’s quite literally a demon hanging over your shoulders.

You take her outstretched hand in your own, shaking it weakly, and as you do, her expression is replaced by a frown. “I’m Loraine Warren,” She hums, wrapping another hand around yours, seemingly trying to bring heat to the five icicles you call fingers. “and you’re freezing.” You muster up a lackluster smile, ruminating in the warmth from the hands wrapped around your own for as long as she’ll allow. Your visitor doesn’t pull back until you do, to let her into your home.

Mrs. Warren has clearly not come prepared for this entirely unforeseen snow, seeing as she’s dressed in a plaid, tea-length dress, with only a light cardigan hung from her shoulders. There wasn’t a single weatherman on any of your very limited channels that had predicted this sort of weather this far south of the Mason-Dixon.

“Thank you…” You begin, leading the taller woman to your living room, where you practically fall to your position on the sofa again. “For coming to meet with me, Mrs. Warren. I’m so very appreciative.” Your eyelids are heavy, and your cheeks hurt with the strain of a smile, but you still force yourself to engage as delicately as you can with this woman, both for the beauty that you find so enticing, and for the fact that she very well may save your life.

The affliction you’d been suffering for the past few weeks of your life… you weren’t entirely sure what it was. At first, waking up standing in the kitchen and holding a knife to your own throat was something you could pass off as a traumatizing night of sleepwalking. The sudden headaches and physical aversion to reading your leatherbound, heavily annotated bible made you think you had suffered a concussion from falling out of bed one too many times.

Seeing the Warrens on your favorite morning talk show was what led you to raise your own suspicions. The way they spoke of a young girl in Poughkeepsie who had begun levitating in the middle of the night, who began seizing when she was read the word of God… You couldn’t help but see the similarities.

You couldn’t have possibly called the demonologists sooner.

On the phone, you spoke to a man. He was much heftier with the way he spoke, clearly the extroverted salesman of the team. He seemed skeptical, and unwilling to leave his home in New England, as he had every right to be. You very well could just have the flu. But you knew, deep down, that you didn’t, and it had to be them. It had to be. You had no other hope of surviving against your oppressor if you had to fight it alone.

Your frantic begging must have been loud enough for the people close to Ed Warren to hear, because as soon as you finished your rambling about how miserable you were, a distant, soft voice came from the other side of the phone.

Ed, listen to her. She needs us.

The line then went muffled, he had placed his palm over the receiver in hopes to hide the fact that they had begun arguing about you. You couldn’t quite make out what was said, only that the woman, Lorraine, very much wanted to come to visit you, and Ed did not.

It was as if by miracle that Lorraine showed up at your door only a day after your phone call.

“Please, call me Lorraine.” The older woman returned, standing above you. “May I ask why you have the windows open? It’s just so nasty out there… it may affect your health, sweetheart.” There’s a little glimmer in her eyes when she presses the back of her hand against your forehead, which, much to her surprise, was just as cold as your hands.

A stubborn frown returned to her pink lips, and Lorraine quickly closed the two windows behind you.

“The cold helps.” You say plainly as Lorraine moves around your vintage furniture to close the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“What do you mean?” She returns to your side, placing your quilt atop your knees and finding another to cover your shoulders. She then sits on the sofa next to you, delicately maneuvering herself underneath your blanket as well.

You blush a little, hiding your face behind the large mug that you’d once discarded.

“This… thing. Whatever’s inside me… it hates the cold.” You reply, staring down at your feet, which wiggle to regain the feeling that the cold air had taken away.

“How do you know?” The clairvoyant muses, reaching up to pet the hair that’s turned into a mat behind your head. You’ve had a horrible go of taking care of yourself lately, with things as simple as brushing your hair disappearing from your mind for days at a time.

“It started snowing just last night… Since then, it’s been quieter. I’ve been able to take control of my life again, at least a little bit.” You hum, leaning into her touch, which has dropped to press comfortingly to your shoulder. “But as soon as I lit a fire, tried to get warm, it all came back. The chaos. The… evil.” You shudder to remember the noise that’s filled your head for the past few days. The screams, the whispered urges to harm yourself and others. It’s like you’ve been sent to your own personal Hell, like God finally punished you for the way that you look at women like Lorraine. 

“You’re a very perceptive girl.” Lorraine offers you a smile, and you find that it may not only be the cold that calms you. Her presence has offered you more solace than any pain killer or chamomile tea has offered you in your entire life.

You try to giggle, try to accept her praise, but her warm touch, paired with your general lack of sleep, has made it truly impossible for you to remain at all upright. You slump over, dropping your cocoa once again, head landing on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“I believe you.” She whispers quietly, maneuvering your shoulders so that your head lays on her lap. The words are all you’ve ever needed to hear. To be assured that you’re not going crazy is all you need in order to finally fall asleep, and the hands that press warmth into your neck and forehead are the best medicine you could take.

You fall asleep in less than a second, your ears muffling all the noise in the room, yet you can still hear your visitor humming along to the tv as your muscles relax into the sofa.

♱

A soft whine escapes your lips before your eyes open. It’s a combination of bright light and tugging at the back of your head that wakes you up, and as much as you detest being stripped from the best sleep you’ve had in at least month, you feel rested enough to accept it.

“I’m so sorry. Keep sleeping, little one.” Your brain fights to register who the voice belongs to, but judging by the fact that you’ve only received one visitor in the past weeks, and the fact that no visitor you’ve ever met has had such a honey-coated voice, you remember right away. It’s Lorraine.

It’s Lorraine, and the light tugging you feel is a comb being pulled through the hair that hasn’t met such a thing in far too long. You’re hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing that the state of your hair must make you look so pitiful, like a child that can barely take care of herself. You hide your face in your hands, whining once again, hiding from the yellow light of a lamp above you, and from the fact that you look such a mess in the presence of one of the most well-kempt women you’ve ever met.

“I’m all done.” She purrs softly, running her fingers through your now untangled hair, tucking it behind your ear. You sit up, face beet red as you do so. You’re sure you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life.

“Thank you…” You stutter out, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I just… haven’t in quite a while. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.” You glance up at her, eyes squinting to view the porcelain skin adorned by a smile. Lorraine Warren must truly have the kindest heart in the entire world to spend time taking care of someone she’s only just met.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She says quite firmly, pressing her hand against your cheek, and you can feel yourself becoming addicted to her touch. “I want to take care of you.”

You feel a warmth in your cheeks, and a certain tingling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard these words before, and the last time anyone had earnestly taken care of you was… well, you don’t really remember. It was probably in your early childhood, but even then, you weren’t too sure.

The butterfly wings in your stomach are quickly replaced by a different sensation, a large growling that just about reverberates through the living room. You’re filled with another bout of humiliation, and grip your stomach tightly. You’re also not too sure when you last ate.

A ginger hand presses against your stomach as well, and it dawns on you just how close to the older woman you’ve become. She’s pressed against you so much that you’re nearly sitting in her lap, and her other arm is wrapped around so very tightly around the small of your back. Lorraine is quite the touchy woman, and you couldn’t be more appreciative of such a character trait. You lean into her hands greedily, head tilting over to rest on her shoulder once more.

“Can you stand?” She hums, pressing her cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You nod slowly, not quite too sure that you’re telling the truth, but if Lorraine wants you to stand, you’ll stand. And you do, pushing hard into the ground, thankful that before all of this mess you were at least regularly active, and your body was fairly well maintained from throwing bales of hay.

“Good girl.”

The words make your knees go weak, weaker than they already are, and you falter a little in your steps. You thank God that Lorraine has such a strong grip around your waist and is able to keep you upwards.

“Show me your kitchen?” The clairvoyant asks softly, and while you do just as you’re asked, her steady gaze washes over each little family portrait, each corn husk doll, even the sunhats you’ve worn so much that they’re full of holes. One may see her wandering eyes and find her to be a terrible snoop, but Lorraine is doing her job, gathering every piece of evidence she can to use against your demon. She wants to know everything about your past and present so that she may rid you of this retched thing.

She gets no clue as to what suffering has conflicted this household from the photos of a quite happy family hanging from your walls, but she can sense it in the way the house creaks with her every step. There’s an evil lingering in these walls, and Lorraine can feel it.

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s even any food that’s still edible.” You speak gruffly as you arrive in the kitchen that overlooks your barn that was once such a brilliant red, and now stands with peeling paint and water damage. It’s a proper metaphor for your own status. You haven’t been in this room in many days, and the sight of wilting flowers and rotting vegetables depresses you immediately.

“I’m sure I can make do.” Lorraine shoots you that oh-so very reassuring smile once again, and leads you to sit at the dining table that’s only ever been set for one. “When was the last time you ate?”

It’s a dreaded question. A question that, once again, you don’t have a clear answer to. You think the last thing you ate was a handful of boiled peanuts… or was it oatmeal? Lately you had only had incredibly unpleasant dreams about food, and your brain has been so occupied by so many voices, that sustenance was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m not sure.” You muster in response, and Lorraine’s frown returns once again. She’s not mad at you, only furious at the creature that’s taken hold of you, keeping you from living a healthy life.

“You need to keep yourself fed.” Lorraine speaks softly, peeking out from behind the cabinet she’d begun rummaging around in. “Communing with the being, and an eventual exorcism, will take a lot of energy.”

She speaks so calmly about something that is so terrifying to you. You weren’t raised Catholic, and didn’t know much about their traditions, but the interview that you had watched of the Warrens spelled an exorcism out to be one of the most dangerous, mortifying acts that one could participate in. You trust Lorraine entirely though, and are filled with the knowledge that if she has to do such a thing, she will treat you delicately, and cause as little harm to you as possible.

It's only a few groggy minutes before there’s a plate laid in front of you, and by some act of God Lorraine has found another chair to sit in. She’s pulled up right next to you, and while you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t chosen to sit across from you, her choice is very welcomed. The heat from your plate warms your face, and you press your hands against it in hopes that they’ll warm as well.

“It looks delicious.” You look up to the women through your heavy eyelids, weakly grabbing hold of your fork to start lifting potatoes to your mouth. “I can’t believe you were able to make this so quickly! Thank you so very much.” You smile to her, licking your lips, stomach so very grateful to the woman beside you.

“I’ve always been a good cook. My husband is never very appreciative of my skills.” She laughs softly, but you can tell it’s something that truly upsets her. If you were lucky enough to live in a home with Lorraine Warren and have her food for every meal, you consider yourself to be in Heaven. From your short conversation, Ed didn’t quite seem to be a wholly grateful man. “You’re not married.” She then says, taking a sip from the old whiskey glass that’s now filled with water.

Her words are more observational than questioning, and it causes a twinge of discomfort within you. You’d always been questioned for your spinster-like nature, women in your church always wanted to set you up with their sons or nephews. You’re such a pretty girl, they’d say, why on God’s green Earth aren’t you dating anyone?

It was impossible to tell them that you’d never want to marry a man, even if someone held a gun to your head.

“No…” You reply awkwardly, and the word turns into a yawn, leading you to cover your mouth with one hand. “I’ve just… never met the right person, I guess.” You huff, kicking your elbow up on the table and resting your chin on your fist to keep yourself propped up. Who knew something as simple as lifting a fork to your mouth would be so difficult. “Or… Well…” You start again, feeling almost too comfortable in Lorraine’s presence to share a little more. “I’ve just, never really been interested in anyone.”

When you drop your fork to your plate with quite the dramatic tink, that same loving hand returns to your lower back. Lorraine has taken your fork between her perfectly manicured fingers, and lifts another bite towards your lips, which you not-so-gracefully accept.

“Well, that is a shame.” The brunette responds, and though you can’t see it, there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. She seems to be a bit too pleased by your loneliness. “I do hope you’ll find someone soon. You are so deserving of love.”

You’re not sure if you’re deserving, but you’re damn well desperate for it.

Lorraine continues to feed you, lifting small bites of vegetable to your lips while whispering her gentle praises after each bite. Your face is now permanently pink, with each of her cooing words turning you into a little mess beneath her. You’re connected at her hip once again, legs tangled around each other under your gingham tablecloth. You’re so very lucky that you never receive any visitors, for you deign to think of anyone’s reaction to your little displays of minute affection.

“I was hoping I might stay with you here. I always find it more helpful to fully integrate myself into the lives of someone I’m helping.” She hums once you’ve finished all of your food, and she can move onto her own. You lean against her shoulder once more, eyes closed, yet you’re completely awake. Her sentence is entirely shocking, yet you’re completely excited by it, and couldn’t possibly accept her request quicker.

“Yes, of course!” You hear the over-enthusiasm in your voice, and hope you haven’t come off too strongly. You sit up to meet her gaze, blushing just from the way she looks at you so sweetly. “I only have the one bedroom, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I can wash the sheets, and you can sleep there! I spend most of my time on the sofa anyway, I’m happy to sleep there.” You nod cheerfully, hoping with all of your heart that she’ll not be too deterred by your excitement.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiles, lifting her hand to gently pet your hair, her fingernails grazing your scalp in a way that sends a tingle down your spine. “I’ll take your bed, but only if you’re in it as well. If that’s alright with you, of course. I just want to keep an eye on you.” She winks, and it’s that moment that you feel your soul leave your body. You choke on your own saliva, coughing a few times. You’ve been sitting so close to Lorraine today, that you shouldn’t feel so strange about sharing your bed with her, yet it brings a worried feeling to the pit of your stomach. When you explore that feeling more, you’ll find that it’s really excitement, and a desperation to sleep next to another body that you’d never knew you had.

“That’s fine by me…” You stutter, trying to hide the eager smile that’s threatening your lips. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, your hands finding their way to some fabric, not knowing if it’s the tablecloth or your shirt or maybe Lorraine’s skirt. Whatever it is, you grip it tightly, trying to force all of your delight on an object rather than voice it. “It’ll be good to share each other’s’ body heat… it gets so cold at night even without the snow…” Your voice is trembling a little, betraying how fast your heart is racing.

You’re ready for the sun to go down now.

But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and Lorraine fills it with questions about your family history, about your experience with this malevolent being, and just about your daily life. She wonders what it is that you do for fun in such a small town, and you feel shy to admit that you rarely leave the house except to go to church. That leads her to talk about her own religion, and it’s so mystifying to hear her speak about her passion for Christ. She speaks in such a profound way, like she’s spent time as a pastor, though you’d never once met a female pastor. Lorraine is certainly a better speaker than all the old men that lead prayer at church and quote the same bible verses into monotony.

She proudly shows you the rosary around her neck, explaining the story behind it with the most adorable sparkle in her eyes. When you take the metal in your hands, wanting to share in her passion, it burns. Burns like you’ve just pressed your hand flat into the cooktop of an oven. You recoil in pain, but when Lorraine attends to your palm, there’s no sign of a burn.

“It… It stings.” You whine, looking down at your hand in disbelief. You’ve never felt such pain, and the fact that it’s not left a visible mark is messing with your head so much that your eyes begin to well with tears.

“I know it does, sweetheart. I know.” Lorraine hums, holding you tightly, lifting a thumb to wipe at your tears. “Ointment won’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s the spirit reacting through nerve induction. It will go away soon. I promise.” The demonologist quickly stuffs the rosary down the neck of her blouse, wanting to hide everything that causes you pain. Lorraine hates to see you in such a state, and though you don’t comprehend anything about this spirit, her brain is working overtime to plot a strategy to rid you of this beast.

You sit together for another half hour, Lorraine consoling the pain that has long since disappeared thanks to her sweet whispers and distracting stories. You nearly fall asleep on the sofa once again, and she can see it, so without having to ask, she takes you up the stairs and to your bedroom.

“I’ll just go down the hall to get myself ready for bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.” She hums, pressing an innocent kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. Watching her walk away from you shatters your heart into a million pieces, but you know she’ll come back through the doors quickly. You trust Lorraine’s promise.

I need to change before she gets back, you think, but your body simply won’t allow you to move.   You’re stuck to this bed, to this soft mattress that you once so adored, but now only fear for the horrible dreams it brings upon you.

You sit in this fear, for how long you’re not certain, before Lorraine returns. Her hair is combed through yet still has that lovely, silky wave to it, and she’s dressed in the prettiest white nightgown. She looks like an angel, in shiny white linen. She’s just missing the wings and halo. You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, seeing her in this state, a state which she’d probably only ever been seen in by her husband. You feel so scandalous, like you should avert your gaze, like God is going to find you sinful for looking at her like this, but your eyes are locked onto this heavenly body in front of you, and you can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I—” You begin, hands gripping at your shirt, trying to indicate to her that you’re upset with yourself for not getting dressed in her absence.

Lorraine only tuts at you, placing down her bag before rounding to your side of the bed. She helps you stand, and begins through your closet, looking for a nightgown for you to wear. Much to her chagrin, however, all she can find is dirty jeans and some oversized t-shirts, which makes her feel pity towards you, but also causes a small giggle to escape her lips because she finds the clothing choices so adorably fitting for a young farm girl. She settles on the least stained of all of your shirts before returning to your side.

“May I?” Her voice is low, knowing that you’re the only person in the world that needs to hear her. When you nod, she pulls your blouse over your head, and she develops a blush of her own to find that you’re not wearing anything beneath it. You try to hide, snaking your hands around your chest, a new warmth between your legs as you realize that Lorraine’s hands are wandering over your body, the pads of her fingers lightly prodding your exposed skin.

“You sweet thing. You just need someone to love you.” Your savior hums, delicately examining all of the bruises that cover your skin. You’re not even sure where they all came from, just that they developed fast. A few concern you more than the others: the ones shaped like fingers and teeth marks. They never hurt at night, but the fear that strikes you every morning when you reveal a new marking in the mirror is something that you never want to feel again.

Lorraine presses another small kiss to a bruise on your shoulder before helping you pull the sleep shirt over your head. She reluctantly, yet with the complete confidence that she’s carried herself with all along, pulls down your pants in one swift motion. You’re back in bed before you know it, Lorraine tucking you in tightly and making sure you’re perfectly comfortable before taking her own place beside you.

Your brain is rushing, not with the demonic thoughts that you’ve had all this time, but with so many feelings that you never knew existed before meeting Lorraine. You feel horribly antsy, like you have enough energy to run laps around the house. You miss the tiredness that had been affecting you earlier this morning, it was going to be quite difficult to sleep tonight.

“I’m so very glad you came to help me.” You whisper, voice shaky with nerves as you turn on your side to face the woman who’s already turned towards you. You can feel how close your bodies are, yet they aren’t touching, and your brain is working overtime to decide if you should close that space between you.

Luckily, Lorraine is making all of your decisions for you.

You feel the soft skin of her legs first, when they wrap around yours, holding them still. Her right arm is next, draping over the curve in your waist so gently, yet she has the firmest grip on you, like she won’t let you leave even if you tried. You’d never try.

“I…” You start again, shifting even closer to Lorraine, placing your hand on her chest so you can feel her heartbeat. You pray she can’t feel yours, for its beating is so quick it’s probably quite dangerous, and you’ve already worried her enough. “Since you’ve been here, my brain has been so… still. So quiet.” That’s not entirely true, as the angelic woman in front of you has only replaced all of your thoughts, but it’s close enough. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She whispers back, voice so low and gravelly with her own sleep, so that you have to lean even further forward to hear her, and your noses nearly touch. “I haven’t done my job just yet.”

You tense, suddenly filled with worry about what will happen when Lorraine eventually does what she’s come here to do. If your still-burning pain from merely touching a symbol of the Lord is any indication, you’re in for a wellspring of hurt when you wake up in the morning.

As for now, though, you’re completely safe, protected by your guardian angel, and you can sleep soundly for the first time in far too long. You fall asleep under Lorraine’s grasp far quicker than you’d like, as you’d really prefer to stay awake and really cherish the soft circles she’s rubbing into your flesh, but your eyelids fall shut on their own accord.

Lorraine, however, stays up a bit later, watching your face for any sign of nightmares, wandering hands exploring your curves as if looking for clues, soothing you into the deepest sleep of your life.  

Lorriane wakes groggily, yawning while rubbing at her eyes with balled-up fists. She notices first that it’s still not light outside, that she still has time to sleep. Though she won’t, because a panic rips through the woman when she registers your absence. She shoots straight up out of bed, body moving to wrap herself in one of your mother’s old house coats faster than her brain can function. It’s on sheer instinct that Lorraine wraps the rosary around her hand and stuffs her small Bible into her pocket.

She races through the creaky old home, feet freezing against the hardwood floors that whine with each of her frantic steps. Lorraine shouts your name and is only met by her own voice echoing back at her. She searches each room of your house, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She whips open cupboards and is even sure to peek into your attic, which you haven’t so much as thought about since inheriting the home.

A worry is settled across Lorraine’s face when she makes it into your kitchen, but her expression turns to true fear when she sees that the lock on your back door has come undone, and the door isn’t settled into its place in its frame. She searches for any pair of shoes she can find and settles for a pair of boots that barely fit her feet, but their steel toes will at least protect her from the elements. She’s shivering, and her eyes are watering so much that the tears turn cold against her cheeks. The demonologist places a hand over her chest, gripping onto her rosary for a moment, bracing herself for the cold, before she slings the door open and steps out into the night.

The snowfall has picked up tenfold, and there’s now a little under a foot of snow packed onto the ground. Lorraine pulls the small cotton coat around herself tightly, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she blinks back tears, searching for any sign of life. When she looks down, there’s an obvious set of footprints: kicked-back snow heading in the direction of the old, forgotten barn.

Lorraine follows your shoeless prints, still screaming your name into the void of night, her voice strained and muffled in the silence that surrounds her. There isn’t even the typical wee-hour birdsong that too frequently keeps you awake. No cars on the road make their habitual noise, no cows bellowing from across the street. Only the exhausted screams of a woman so frightened for your survival.

When she arrives to the barn, finding safety from the wind in its high walls, feeling so close to dropping to her knees and praying that she had never fallen asleep in the first place, Lorraine spots you. A frail, half-naked body illuminated by one flickering, dangling light that allow the older woman’s eyes little vantage.

She’s filled with relief that she’s found you, but that relief only lasts less than a second before she’s filled with dread. Dread that something is horribly wrong. Dread because you’re dripping with a slick, dark, shimmering liquid.

Lorraine falls to her knees beside you, taking your near-lifeless face in her hands.

“What have you done to her?” She yells, voice harsh and gravelly. She’s speaking to your demon, to the thing that has taken control of your legs and marched you out to this barn, that has treated you like such an animal.

You’re barely conscious, losing the internal battle to keep control of your own mind. All you can do is lean your pained body into Lorraine, trying to give her some sort of message that you’re still there, that you’re still swimming in your own mind, trying to breach the surface.

The clairvoyant asses your injuries, wiping the tears at your eyes and her own. Thankfully, the only damage is done to your back, the lashes across your spine that fuel Lorraine with so much hatred. When your shaking hands lift the riding crop to lay even more agony against your tender flesh, Lorraine wrestles it out of your tight grip and throws it aside, far out of your reach.

“We have to do this now.” Lorraine’s voice is significantly kinder, her hands holding your head close to her chest. She sits in her own fear for a moment, building a strategy to get this thing out of you once and for all. She whispers a prayer, and the words hurt your head, fill your brain with a terrible, searing scream, but there’s simply nothing you can do to stop it. Your livelihood now rests at Lorraine Warren’s feet.

Lorraine stands, guides you upwards. She’s shellshocked by the fact that she’s about to take on a task that she had never solely performed before, and it’s caused her knees to walk unsteadily. She takes the housecoat off and guides it over your shoulders, face twinging as she lays it against the open wounds of your back, but she’d rather you feel pain for a small moment than have your delicate skin come into contact with the weather. The woman ties the coat tight before picking you up, carrying you back through the strong winds, shoes clumping down on the piling snow.

When she replaces the darkness of the sky with the darkness of your home, Lorraine places you down on the sofa where she had once sat with you. You sit in a crumpled state, arms limp, though they fight to wrap around your body, subconsciously seeking heat. You’re impossibly cold, and the longer your toes sit with minimal blood flow, the angrier your beast grows. Your shivering only grows worse when Lorraine throws open the French windows behind you, allowing the snow to come in through the screens and settle in your hair.

“I know it hurts.” She whispers, trying to find some sort of life behind your glassy eyes. Lorraine has forced herself into seriousness, closed her tear ducts and is carrying herself professionally. She knows that treating this with any level of emotional attachment could be suicide for the exorcism, and though the near love that she’s developed for you still lingers at the back of her brain, she has to silence it, she has to save your life before she can worry about you anymore.

Sniffing back the wetness that’s come from the cold air beating against her face, Lorraine finds the Bible still sitting in the pocket of the coat draped over your shoulders. She holds her left hand against your forehead, and the cross casts a warmth against your face that you lean back to fight against, though you’re not sure if it’s of your own action or that of something else.

Lorraine begins reciting a prayer in Latin, that you’d surely be swooning over had you been at all conscious. You’ve nearly lost your battle, your body completely limp against the pillows, as though you’ve lost all muscle mass in less than a minute. You’ve lost all awareness of the situation and now exist only in your own mind, trying your damnedest to regain control.

Each word Lorraine yells with a cracking voice causes a new pain to emerge somewhere within your body, and the pain consumes you so much that you fall over, landing in a fetal position against the cushions of the sofa. Lorraine’s hands want to reach out to soothe you, to press their warmth into your blue skin, to replace your pain with her loving touch, but she restrains herself. She knows that you must feel this pain, that it will drive the presence out of your body and back to the Hell that it emerged from.

“I need you to fight it.” Lorraine interrupts her own prayer to press her forehead against your own, fingers gripping your jaw like her life depends on it. “Don’t give in, don’t let it take you.” She calls, holding the weight of your head in her hands, feeling how much authority you’ve lost over your own body. “Please, fight. For me.”

You’ve already done your fighting. Though you’ve been so horribly affected by this presence in your home, disrupting your livelihood, your sleep, your will to live, there’s not really been anything impacting your will to live at all in years past. You’ve simply been existing in this plane, doing your chores and going to church, following your routines for no reason other than it’s what you’ve always done. Your routines that are so set in stone that it took a demonic presence to shake them up. But you’ve had no one to share your routine with, no one to cook for, no one to compliment how beautifully your flowers have grown. You’ve had no one to fight for.

Your life is not one worth fighting for.

Lorraine Warren, however, feels the opposite. The way she’s holding you so tightly, on her knees in front of you, begging you to stay alive… though you can’t see it, aren’t cognizant enough to hear her begging, you can feel it. There’s a warmth against your chest that’s keeping your heart beating, and a light behind your eyes that’s pushing you to keep going.

So you do. You do as Lorraine asks, and the last little bit of willpower you have musters up into your fingers, and you grab onto Lorraine’s shoulders with an anemic grasp, trying to pull her closer. You force your eyes open, though it’s so very painful due to the rosary still swinging in view, and look up at Lorraine’s worried features. More than anything, you’re filled with hatred that you’re the one to cause her this anguish, that she shouldn’t be so concerned over a life as meaningless as your own.

It's the most beautiful smile you’re met with that causes the final push, that forces your beast out of your mind and into the wind that’s still blowing melting snowflakes onto your already freezing body. A sudden relief fills your body, the power over your own actions that brings back the feeling in your muscles. You sit up, blinking slowly, reliving the past few minutes over and over as you regain a full level of awareness that you’d been left without for the past months.

Lorraine allows you your time to rejoin the living world, slamming shut the windows behind you and throwing several blankets over your freezing body. She drops back to her knees to assess you once more, seeing the color back in your eyes and the warmth rising back to your cheeks. She had seen you in such a terrifying, corpse-like state that she’d surely soon have nightmares about, so the fact that your eyes were finally locking onto her own was an answered prayer.

You eagerly wrapped both arms around the woman’s neck, holding her as close as you can, thanking her over and over again, until the stinging on your back takes the brunt of your attention.

“Don’t thank me. It was all your own work.” She hums, trying to find anywhere she can hold you without wrapping her arms around your back. Lorraine then stands, settling on petting your hair, looking around for any other sources of heat that she may impress upon you. “Do you have any fire woo—”

She’s cut off by the swift action of your standing up, an action that she would surely advise against had she had the option to. But her lips are unable to protest, because they’re met by your own. You’re shocked by your own straightforwardness, and though the fear that she’ll run away and call you a freak is very prominent in your mind, you feel so swept up in thankfulness to this woman, so swept up in love, that the only thing you feel like doing is kissing her.

You internally thank God that she’s not pushed you off, and instead, once the initial shock wears off, Lorraine’s hands are gripping your cheeks and are tugging you forward into her. Though you’re near hypothermic, the warmth that radiates through you when you wrap your arms around Lorraine Warren’s waist is something truly heavenly. You can feel the ice melting away from your fingers and toes, even though you still stand within a house that’s currently running below freezing.

You try to stay attached to Lorraine’s lips for as long as you can, as long as she’ll allow, and as desperately as you both are to stay in this state, Lorraine’s overall concern for your health reigns supreme, and she pulls away to once again ask her question. You giggle softly, hiding your face against her chest, hoping she hasn’t seen how overjoyed your smile is. Though if you were to pick up your head, you’d see that she dons a similar expression.

You direct Lorraine to a closet, and she returns to build a fire. She sits you down right in front of it, and for the first time in far too many days, you feel warmth against your face. You’re not too sure just which direction that warmth is coming from, whether it’s from the fire or the woman sitting next to you, carefully washing the horrible scratches along your spine, but you feel a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all of your years of living. A warmth you never want to go away.

[riftdancing]

Several of you probably remember this sundrop bombshell from years back. In fact, many of you have asked if I'd ever bring her back. Well, going into Dawntrail finally feels like the right time to breathe some new life into this character, so consider this her official return.

If you don't know her, I'd like to introduce you to my lynx inspired surf brat, X'issi ( shee • ee • see ) Sunde ( soon • dae ). Part of the coastal Lynx Tribe of La Noscea, she's lived almost her entire life in and around the isle. With an affinity for water and water related magics this woman is sure to win you over with her sunny charms and can-do attitude.

I have a lot of lore for this character, including tribal lore that I'll have to figure out how to organize into spaced out doses for you all to consume. Because when I say its a lot, I mean it is a LOT of lore. I used to write this girl like crazy back in Heavensward days.

But for now, here's some important bullet points for her character...

Owns her own Surf Shack where you can buy boards she's made and her own board wax. Naturally she also does board repairs.

Up before dawn to relay the morning surf report for Costa del Sol.

Surf and swim instructor - Side hustle - mostly for tourists.

Sight Seer and Expedition guide - another side hustle - also mostly for tourists.

Water Dancer, but not like the XIV job. Dance is intrinsic to her tribe lore which is very Polynesian islander influenced.

Part of a tribe who prays to both Llymlaen and Oschon. Tribe is somewhat nomadic. Lives on the shores in the warmer months, and moves inland in the cooler months. (also reflects their dieties)

Has a way with water magic... kinda like a waterbender? I'll take more time to explore this with you guys later. But I will admit its strongly waterbending influenced.

Has a baby raptor companion named Thunk who is an absolute MENACE. ...But we love him.

She absolutely loves fishing.