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kisskissbanggang · 5 months ago

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Contention - pt. 4

[6k words/20min. read - Skz! Love Triangle, Non-Idol!AU - Nepo Baby!Hyunjin x Female Reader , Personal Assistant!Seungmin x Female Reader - NSFW/Smut - Dinner Dates, Vaginal Sex, Expensive Gifts, Security Cameras, Mysterious Letters, d r a m a , Cliffhangers, Tense and Frightening Situations, Someone Might be Lying, Arranged Courting, Doing a Terrible Job of Navigating Feelings, Poor Seungmin, Poor Hyunjin, Poor Everyone tbh, Exorcising my Seungmin and Hyunjin Brain Rot One Fic at a Time]

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Tuesday, 11:15AM Week 10 of 24

Every day that passed felt as though Hyunjin’s penthouse was getting bigger while you were getting smaller, and before too long it would swallow you whole.

To say things had been awkward since Seungmin found you drunkenly kissing Hyunjin would be a massive understatement. When it had happened, Seungmin had rushed over, yanking him off of you. The two grappled immediately, employer versus employee, best friend versus best friend, with Hyunjin trying to take a swing at him. Seungmin attempted to simultaneously steady him and fight back at the same time.

“I see how it is!” Seungmin had shouted at him. “You’re going to ignore her for weeks and then force yourself on her when things aren’t going well for you?!”

“He’s not forcing anything!” you’d slurred back. You had gotten back to your feet by then, teetering with how much champagne was still sloshing around in your system. The bubbles were practically fogging your brain, but you were still able to shove your way in between both men. Seungmin had stared hard at you, first realizing that you were hammered, and then processing the fact that you were actually defending your actions. “And you’re one to talk,” you’d scolded him stubbornly. “You ignore me all week and this is the first I see or hear of you?!”

“I was only trying to help,” Seungmin argued.

You were on the cusp of saying something when Hyunjin had elbowed you aside.

“She doesn’t need help.”

Seungmin had turned to leave then, clearly hurt. The feeling was mutual.

So you let him leave.

The only problem was now Hyunjin was avoiding you, too, even days later. Obviously, Seungmin never came back. Yesterday, Monday, was the first time another human entered the penthouse at all, none were Seungmin. Instead, you noticed more assistants and couriers than usual, coming in his place. For the first encounter, you directed an impatient stranger wearing a suit, having blustered in through the elevator door, and to where you were certain a set of files had been left when Hyunjin had finished reviewing them. The stranger had left just as swiftly. So did the next office runner that arrived, and the next.

You knew it wouldn’t be Seungmin anyway. The way you’d turned him away had been thorough and utterly unfair, no matter how unwanted he’d made you feel, and now this was likely the best option for him: avoiding you until he forgot about you. Honestly, you were ashamed to realize you were never truly right to feel unwanted in the first place. But, as it turned out, now you weren’t even sure what would make you feel wanted at all. Time was blending into itself in Hyunjin’s flat. You read books, or did some sudoku, or played solitaire. Flipped through magazines. Snacked during a two hour-long bath. Sipped on poorly balanced margaritas in the pool in the middle of the night. If you didn’t watch the clock, hours melted together if you also weren’t watching the sun rise and set.

Days shuffled into a heap on top of you. Strangers would come by. Hyunjin, himself, would skitter past, trying his best to maintain distance. It was either that, or he would briskly enter the elevator in the morning and reappear like a phantom later that night. He was clearly torn up about all this, too. All the vitriol he held for his mother, all the spite that he finally put aside in order to properly notice you for the first time… all after Seungmin already noticed you plenty. His own best friend and assistant had gotten to you first, and with his assumed permission, no less, but weren’t you still meant to be his?

All three of you were embarrassed. All three of you were hurt. All three of you were waiting for someone else to make a move.

And on Thursday, a week and a half after that damn kiss, someone finally did.

Thursday, 5:52PM Week 11 of 24

You happened to walk by the entryway on a familiar path from the living room to the kitchen when the elevator chimed, drawing your attention. Another office runner stepped in, but not with a thick folder of paperwork or a stack of folios or an ominous box or Hyunjin’s dry cleaning or any of those other common items.

The assistant set a single letter on the entry table and left.

This was odd. All of Hyunjin’s mail was sent to the office, even personal letters. It was risky, but you stepped closer, and then closer, trying to see if you could make out any idea of who’d sent the mysterious message. Only barely, you could see Seungmin’s name on the envelope. Your eyes widened, wondering what this could be.

You continued to puzzle over this when you realized you were lingering alarmingly close to Hyunjin’s private mail, and at that moment, Hyunjin himself exited his home office. Thoroughly startled, you fumbled into the kitchen, trying to look casual. After a moment, you risked a peek around the corner, trying to get a glimpse of what he would do next.

Your contractual roommate walked up to the letter, where you’d previously been standing, and hesitated before picking it up. His long fingers were almost cautious, slowly tearing open the envelope. The sound of the crisp paper unfolding almost echoed, he and you both were so focused. Hyunjin read over the letter, jaw set hard so as to not betray any emotion despite assuming he was alone before he ultimately, reluctantly grimaced.

That couldn't be good.

What was worse was you were lingering again.

Hyunjin turned, presumably to walk back into his home office, only to catch you spying on him before you had a chance to look nonchalant. You steeled yourself, reluctant to accept however he decided to confront you. Much to your surprise, though, he didn’t become upset. Instead, Hyunjin’s surprised eyebrows eased, his lips tilting into a brave smile.

“It’s been a few days since I've seen you,” his voice lilted, the downplayed observation acting in lieu of a greeting.

You nodded in return. “It has been.”

Now both of you lingered. Seungmin had made a move with his letter, and now it was Hyunjin’s turn.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

The request almost made you stop breathing for a moment. More than two months living together–almost three, really–and you’d never eaten together. You ogled him, dumbstruck, drawing an almost smitten smile out of Hyunjin. Smitten, but something else, too. Probably something to do with the letter from Seungmin.

Understandable.

He waited. So did you, considering the question. And for whatever reason there was to consider what felt like such a deceptively simple proposition, you had no idea.

“Yes,” you finally nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” Hyunjin grinned, seemingly relieved. “Seven tomorrow, sharp.”

Your roommate did ultimately head back to his room, that same, warily pleased smile still on his face and Seungmin’s letter tucked in his trousers pocket.

Friday, 3:58PM Week 11 of 24

He probably didn’t intend for you to bashfully agonize over this all night and the next day, but you did. It felt like you were a performer, preparing for an audition that kept getting postponed for months on end and it was suddenly opening night, skipping rehearsals and workshops and everything in between. Hyunjin was the reason you were here, and he finally invited you to eat with him.

It just took him drunkenly kissing you and his closest friendship crumbling to dust for it to happen.

This felt sudden and exciting and terrifying all at once, but you did your best to keep your head firmly locked in on your objective: appearing like this didn’t affect you whatsoever. Nonchalance was supposed to be the name of the game, but you kept finding your mind wandering into what your little date would encompass. Thankfully, while you stared at your breakfast the next morning, you’d realized you were being ridiculous. Hyunjin was only a man, and this was only dinner. A wave of relief washed over you, easing the growing tension stiffening your muscles.

Around four o’clock, on your way to grab your laundry after a long shower, you noticed a blue garment bag hanging on the coat rack by the elevator. You curiously approached and noticed that the bag wasn’t blue, but the dress under the clear plastic was. A note pinned to the hanger confirmed it was meant for you, and when you peeked into the little folded card, it simply read, “It’s only dinner, but I saw this and thought of you.”

Mouth hanging open in quiet astonishment, you lifted the garment bag away from the dress, the rustling plastic like a miniature applause. It was a simple thing, really, the luxury lying in the weight of the fabric and the capability of the construction. Delicate layers of chiffon over top of the whole dress gave it a dreamy effect. On the entry table, a shoebox revealed a pretty pair of heels; nothing crazy in terms of height, but lovely and satiny and coordinating well with the pewter blue dress.

You attempted to not let all this go to your head while you surveyed your makeup on your vanity. Over the last few weeks, your use of cosmetics had minimized to nearly none. Back when you’d been fooling around with Seungmin, he sheepishly admitted once that he felt guilty about smudging your mascara. You’d begun blotting off your lip gloss before kissing him. Now, with the outfit Hyunjin had picked out for you, it felt almost criminal to not try to do the ensemble justice. A silly amount of pressure for a simple dinner.

With Hyunjin.

Blow dryer in hand, you frantically set about crafting a meticulously casual half up-do, and then fussed for over an hour on a fastidiously effortless-yet-glamorous makeup look. You were practically sweating.

Friday, 7:00PM Week 11 of 24

A soft knock at your bedroom door rattled you just as you finished fussing in the mirror, and you attempted to take a steadying breath. It was only dinner. You thought so, and Hyunjin thought so. It just so happened that you were also wearing an ambiguously expensive outfit that Hyunjin picked out for you, and you had no idea what to expect. When you finally opened the door, you were met with Hyunjin’s chest and looked up, somehow not remembering that he’d still be a good head taller than you.

Hyunjin grinned and extended a hand, palm up for you to take. He was outfitted nicely but not lavishly, skipping a suit jacket or cardigan with the sleeves of his shirt neatly rolled up. His fingers were warm around yours. The two of you, with Hyunjin taking the lead, took a short stroll back to the kitchen. There were two place settings at the breakfast nook. Truthfully, this was a relief. You’d fretted for a passing second, wondering if you’d have to awkwardly sit at the surprisingly large dinner table in the dining room.

As an extra surprise, Hyunjin pulled on an apron and stepped up to the stove to presumably plate up dinner. You hadn’t seen him use the kitchen in any nominal capacity since you’d arrived.

“You cook?” you bluntly asked.

Hyunjin let out a bright laugh, his eyes wrinkling up in a smile. “Don’t act too surprised,” he pretended to pout. “I’m not a chef by any means. I actually called in a favor to a friend, to be honest. He did all the menu planning and prep. All I really did was put it together.”

A small, easy smile betrayed how you were impressed nonetheless as you sat down. Music was playing in the flat, easygoing and lovely. Instead of sitting beside you, Hyunjin set his plate down across from yours and adjusted his rolled sleeves. You tucked in like this, sitting at the counter while Hyunjin casually stood on the other side. This was almost nonchalant, practically pretending that you’d skipped a night out to hanging out at home afterward.

It was hard not to feel giddy. This was wildly romantic, the evening shaping up to be easy and intimate. Conversation was simple. You learned more about what Hyunjin did for work, and more about what he did when he went out every weekend. He always got help with his spreadsheets, but he always managed to put together good reports. He’d gone through the trouble of learning to golf, but he preferred bowling with friends. Hyunjin didn’t grandstand or applaud himself for pulling together a date like this.

Because this was a date, right? It wasn't really just dinner… Was it?

Your plates were half empty when Hyunjin sighed, as though he had been waiting for a good time to bring up something inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” he earnestly began, “about the whole ordeal a couple weeks ago… kissing you like that. That wasn’t alright.”

“What?” you questioned. “No, Hyunjin, don’t apologize. I understand.”

A silence, heretofore unfamiliar to the conversation, settled in between you both. The formerly pleasant and romantic music felt almost in poor taste for a moment. Worse, that letter in Hyunjin found on the entryway table was plaguing your mind.

“... Have you heard from Seungmin since then?” you asked stealthily.

Hyunjin sighed again. “I sure have.”

To your surprise, he pulled the letter from his trousers pocket, still in its envelope. Your eyes shifted from the worn paper of the envelope, crinkled from being handled multiple times, to Hyunjin’s conflicted expression. “Is that from him?” you asked, feigning innocence. “What does it say?”

The corners of Hyunjin’s lips almost curved into a frown before he seemingly caught himself. His expression eased again. Calculated. Practiced. You knew he probably learned early on to mask his emotions with a mother like Mrs. Hwang. “It’s, er, difficult,” he curtly stated. “He basically put in his two weeks, backdated to that night after the gala.”

That uncomfortable silence returned, accentuating how hurt Hyunjin clearly was, but he powered through it. He pulled on a resilient grin.

“Hey,” he pivoted, “I’m fine. We’re fine. Aren’t we supposed to be having a good time?”

You nodded, reluctantly for a second but quickly falling back into the swing of this beautiful new development with Hyunjin. Yes, you were heartbroken by Seungmin leaving, just as Hyunjin must’ve been.

If not even more heartbroken than you were. That was his closest friend.

Hyunjin swiftly transitioned to a light dessert and a glass of champagne for each of you, lifting your moods when he brought the conversation back up to speed. He asked you about what you studied in school, what you were doing for work before you moved in. It was surreal, having all his attention, just as you ever wanted. For a moment, you thought you heard the callbox at the entryway of the penthouse chime, but you realized soon enough that it must have been the music Hyunjin was playing. In this moment of peace, you had forgotten that the stereo was on. The conversation had flowed back so naturally that it felt like it was just you, Hyunjin, and your easily shared words.

That, and the damn letter in Hyunjin’s pocket that kept nagging at you.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin gazed at his stereo, seemingly also remembering that he’d been playing an album as well. He hand reached for yours again, palm up like how he had offered to escort you out of your room earlier that evening.

“Dance with me,” he insisted, coming around the breakfast nook and pulling you to your feet. “I picked the dress because I thought you’d look amazing dancing in it.”

Your cheeks heated up from his sweet sentiment, and you found yourself easily pulled along to simply dance in the kitchen with Hyunjin. Weeks ago, you and Seungmin kissed on the floor right where you were currently slow-dancing.

“Sorry,” Hyunjin apologized once more, stilted and sudden, like it was weighing on him. “I mean–I guess–about Seungmin… again.”

It’s like he knew you were thinking about him. Maybe Hyunjin was, too. You stubbornly shook your head. Something in the back of your mind still desperately clung to your yearning.

For Seungmin.

For Hyunjin.

For someone to make the first move again.

Maybe it was your turn this time.

“I came here for you, Hyunjin.”

Resolute.

Firm.

Hyunjin’s eyes had widened momentarily, but his expression softened back down with a faint swallow you could hear in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing a millimeter. But he didn’t proceed any further. He was waiting for your move. Your assurance hadn’t been enough. Boldly–although it shouldn’t have felt that way–you reached up to cup Hyunjin’s face. His skin was just as warm as his blushing cheeks suggested.

“I’m ready for you to kiss me again.”

You’d said it softly, like you were afraid you’d frighten him away, and for a second there you were convinced he’d run. However, Hyunjin didn’t. Mirroring your gesture, Hyunjin’s hand reached for you. That same palm that’d first accepted your hand earlier in the evening met your cheek, and you barely had a chance to savor it before Hyunjin smoothly leaned down, eyes closed to kiss you.

It was far more chivalrous than your previous kiss, but maybe it was also more reserved. This was almost more methodical, warily searching each other. Your gentle sway to the music stopped. Standing in the same kitchen you’d kissed Seungmin in, now you were kissing Hyunjin. He almost possessively pressed a hand to the small of your back, herding you in closer to him. It was sweet, the way he jolted when he felt you deepen the kiss yourself, growing more brazen in your embrace. Hyunjin’s lips parted slightly for you, accepting your intrepid tongue that was lulling him deeper into becoming more comfortable. This was good. This was better than last time, more ideal. You wouldn’t be interrupted this time. Hyunjin would actually give and receive unfiltered, mutual attention that you’d been dreaming about. Seungmin was just a phase. Maybe you weren’t even that hurt.

This kiss–this series of unending kisses–it felt like you were making up for lost time. At least, it felt that maybe Hyunjin felt that way. While you were preoccupied with your thoughts, it seemed that Hyunjin couldn’t get enough of you. His hands pushed and pulled at you, wisping through your hair or running over the fabric of the dress he’d picked out for you. A hunger laid in his kiss, trying to bring you up to his level and almost impatient as he grew bolder. You tried to follow his lead. He dipped his nose to one side, so you followed so to the other. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, so yours slung around his neck. Hyunjin’s tongue tasted like champagne again, and you were dazed enough to feel like you’d had too many bubbles even though you’d only shared a glass.

“Please,” he finally murmured into your mouth.

Please… what? What did he want more of? More kissing? More romance? More touching?

Sex?

You waited as your kiss lingered, but no clarification came.

However, only an extra moment later, there it was: Hyunjin grabbed your hands in his again, and he took one step in the direction of his bedroom.

What Hyunjin didn’t know, though, was that you hadn’t completed forgiving him yet. He still had to make it up to you for ignoring you for so long.

“Mm,” you interrupted, pulling away from his lips, “we can’t.”

Hyunjin was flabbergasted. “Oh… that’s alright. Why not?”

You teasingly tugged on his hands that held your own. “My roommate is home.”

It seemed your sarcastic joke didn’t quite land. A distinct look of Hyunjin’s bruised ego shaded his expression for a second, and when he squared his shoulders, you were utterly convinced he might even be mad or upset. However, weren’t you right to make such a jab? Hyunjin hardly even acknowledged your existence until he decided to drunkenly change that only a matter of days ago.

“Roommate?” he wryly asked. “You don’t have a roommate. You have a fiance… or at least that was my impression.”

Your heart pitifully jolted.

Fiance.

The whole, true reason you ever signed this inhumane contract in the first place.

Was Hyunjin coyly dangling this in front of you, or did he truly mean it? You barely had enough time to really think about this before he kissed you again and took yet another step towards his bedroom. It would seem that even though you made your move, it might not have been quite enough.

Maybe it wasn’t fast enough.

You had to stop getting distracted. By now, Hyunjin had kissed you into the hallway, up against the wall opposite his bedroom door. Weeks ago–ages ago by now–you’d pulled Seungmin into the same position.

You also had to stop thinking of Seungmin. And it could possibly be a little easy to do when Hyunjin’s lips nursed at your pulse below your jaw.

Instead, you honed in on every single sensation and ascribed each one to Hyunjin. Hyunjin’s hands on your waist. Hyunjin’s rushing tongue in your mouth. Hyunjin kissing you closer and closer to his bedroom before the two of you stumbled inside.

You’d only been in here once before. With Seungmin.

Seungmin.

No. Hyunjin.

Hyunjin tipping you down onto his bed, his arm wrapped around your waist to gently lower you onto the soft duvet.

Hyunjin lifting the hem of the pretty dress he’d picked out for you before you felt the palms of his warm hands slide up your thighs.

Hyunjin sucking in a breath when you pulled at his shirt buttons.

You finally caught up with yourself. The buckle of Hyunjin’s belt slid under your fingers, slippery with a thin layer of perspiration. Your supposed fiance’s chest was pale and modestly sculpted, cutting down in a sharp pair of channels at his hips and drawing your eyes further south. However, Hyunjin eased you flat on your back, and you almost wondered why before you felt his lips and tongue teasing your panties.

He was in such a hurry, almost as if he were afraid he’d have second thoughts if he let himself stop. You practically insisted to yourself that this had to be tested. As much as it felt incredible, you stopped Hyunjin before he could get his tongue on your bare skin. He gasped, less from your fingers in his hair gently pulling him back, and more because you sat up, herding him back to reclining flat on the duvet. You slid off the bed so you could stand back up, easily stepping out of your heels and fumbling with the dainty zipper of your beautiful dress before the pewter blue chiffon piled around your feet on the floor. Hyunjin gazed at you, plush lips agape as he was forced to take it slow for a change of pace. You took your time, unclasping and dropping your bra on the floor as well before you finally slipped off your panties. Hyunjin’s eyes followed each lacy undergarment as they were peeled off of you and he seemed to savor this, taking in the sight of you and committing every inch of your skin to memory. He absently fumbled with the nice belt he had originally stopped you from unbuckling and soon his trousers joined your growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Before you lay Hwang Hyunjin, a stunning vision in only his open dress shirt and a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his slim hips. You’d pined over him for months before you ever even met him in person, and resented him for a decent share of the time that had elapsed since you were finally introduced. And now, he watched you intently, beautiful dark eyes dilated and shiny with desire as you climbed back into bed and sat astride his lap. He almost whimpered when you slid your fingers under the waistband of his underwear and finally held his length bare in your hand. You brushed the soft head of his cock, pretty as the rest of him, against your dripping entrance. This moment was months, weeks in the making. You both held your breath as you ultimately, finally took him inside you.

Time surged forward once again, the headrush settling back into place as Hyunjin groaned with satisfaction, his brows furrowing when he shut his eyes to feel you. Even then, it wasn’t enough. Hyunjin was, as you had gathered early on, ravenous. He quickly set about bouncing you on his hips, searching out a perfect angle to take you in, and when he didn’t find it right away, he eagerly rolled you both over and set about finding the right position from this new vantage point. You found yourself simply laying back and taking it, interested to see his process before Hyunjin settled to slide a pillow under your hips, getting a more comfortable angle for you as he spread you open, expertly slinging one of your legs over his shoulder while he began to rub you to euphoria.

From that point, seemingly finding the right angle to at least begin with, sleeping with Hyunjin was a whirlwind of sighs and moans. He was playfully rough and gentle in waves, lightly pulling your hair to expose your neck for his lips and teeth, or softly caressing your breasts down to your hips while he slowly thrust deeper into you. Your hands returned his energy in full, your nails digging into his back or sweetly sweeping his hair out of his gorgeous eyes or the sweat off the tip of his perfect nose. Hardly any words were exchanged between you aside from small little pleas and affirmations, tiny pleasantries amidst the pleasure you were giving and receiving.

Hyunjin kissed you hard and passionately when you reached your climax, swallowing your cries and persisting through his unrelenting thrusts until the spots in your vision faded and you were able to coherently think straight again. However, this left him more vulnerable than he was likely expecting, a thick groan of shock escaping him when you pushed him onto his back once again and resumed mercilessly riding him with a renewed vigor, practically a little act of revenge for snubbing you for so long. Hyunjin was almost begging you to slow down but his grip on your hips said otherwise, and you ground down on his length until he cried out in return, gasping and sighing through a culmination of his own.

It was as easy as that. Hyunjin finally took the time for you and it worked out beautifully for everyone involved. You were embracing Hwang Hyunjin in his bed after passionately making love to him for the first time. In a matter of days, you would forget Seungmin even existed.

Saturday, 12:04AM Week 11 of 24

You only wished that you could fall asleep, like Hyunjin did in a matter of minutes. Myriad thoughts that you hadn’t had the time to properly consider before were swirling around your head like a storm. You crept out of bed to sneak off to the ensuite, taking a second to spruce up and check in on yourself. This was incredible. Hyunjin was incredible. This was everything you wanted.

Except you had to admit that you didn’t exactly know what you wanted anymore, at least not how you wanted to achieve it. The weeks–the months–that Hyunjin ignored you couldn’t be forgiven, not so easily, even if you understood his reasoning. Tip-toeing back to bed, something caught your eye amidst your conjoined pile of clothes.

Seungmin’s letter was peeking out of the pocket of Hyunjin’s discarded trousers.

This gave you more pause than it had any right to. The temptation nagged at you, instantly burning through your chest and down to your fingertips. You had to know what Seungmin wrote to Hyunjin, what he possibly could’ve said to make his best friend grimace so deeply upon reading it the other day in the penthouse’s entryway.

It was as though the letter was glaring at you, denying you any second or rational thoughts. Instead, you kept an eye on Hyunjin, peacefully dozing in bed, as you carefully bent down to grab the envelope as quietly as possible. Unsure of where to read it though, you settled for scampering back into the ensuite. Even in the enclosed space, it felt like the sound was amplified while you carefully opened the paper envelope and unfolded the letter, well worn over the time that Hyunjin had apparently been holding onto it.

Hyunjin,

I’m sorry if you think I’m being dramatic or selfish. All I know is this whole situation was outrageous from the beginning and, although I never intended to get involved in the way that I did, here I am. It may not seem fair to approach you like this, but you were the one who was presented with a living, breathing human that was tasked to live in your house for six months and decided that it would be reasonable, then, to treat her like trash. I’m not sure what I’m more stunned by, that it took you this long to acknowledge how you really had a chance at an amazing human, or that you seemed to only be interested in once I really fell for her.

I don’t blame you, of course. I never have. If all you’ve ever known is getting your way no matter what, then it makes sense that this is what you would stoop to.

Fine, though. Have her, then, if she really does want you and you’re not just toying with her. I’m nothing if not your best friend. I want you to be happy. However, let her choose. It’s only right, and you know that. If she chooses you, then I think I’m well within my right to ask for a month of paid leave, just to get over this. If you let her choose me, however, consider my two weeks retroactive, back to that night after the stupid gala. You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t even take a severance package. I just want out.

Forgive the deadline, but I’ll want an answer by the end of Friday. Hope you understand.

Your Friend, Seungmin

You were frozen, stunned at the words you just read. Your eyes pored over each and every word again, two more times. Friday.

Tonight. Or Saturday, really, judging by the time on Hyunjin’s digital clock on his bathroom counter.

Instead of accommodating Seungmin’s request, Hyunjin simply took you for himself. A dizzying sensation of unfiltered confusion washed over you, your emotions pulling you in all directions until you settled on one.

You were livid. The sickening taste of bile coated the back of your throat, you were so infuriated. Seungmin wanted you so badly that he’d give up everything simply so he could move on. On the other hand, Hyunjin wanted you so badly that he could risk destroying your and Seungmin’s trust. All forms of irrational ideas sprang to mind at once, but one lit up, as if strung up in lights: you had to find Seungmin.

However, the problem was that you turned in your phone and laptop when you moved in. The little old doorman took them from you when you first arrived in the lobby of the building. At no point had Seungmin given you his phone number, because you didn’t need it. His address was unknown to you, because it simply wasn’t necessary before now. You would have to figure out what you were doing in a whole new way. Minutes passed in the ensuite like this before you were able to piece together a plan.

First things first, you had to leave the bathroom. Thankfully, neither of you had shut Hyunjin’s bedroom door during your tryst, so you were able to tip-toe out. You crept back to your room and threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, before digging out your sneakers and a light hoodie. Dusting off your backpack from weeks previously, you shoved everything you could fit into it and threw it on. The next stop was Hyunjin’s office. You carefully searched, trying hard not to disrupt how Hyunjin had left everything on the desk, before you found your prize. Hyunjin, obviously, kept a couple of Seungmin’s business cards next to his desk phone. This at least gave you Seungmin’s work phone number and email address. Finally, you stopped by the entry table next to the elevator. Hyunjin’s wallet felt heavy in your hands, as if you were trying to stop yourself from stealing, but you had no choice. Mrs. Hwang also had the doorman take your wallet when you first arrived. You had no cash, no credit cards, not even your identification. Surely, this was justified.

The elevator loomed next to you, its hum sounding foreboding in the quiet entryway. You hazarded a glance behind you. No one was catching you escaping. Then again, that would probably change when the elevator chimed. You looked back at the elevator, and the door to the fire escape beside it. Easing open the door, you paused to listen for any alarms before you took off, rushing down the stairs as fast as you humanly could.

Hyunjin lived on the 21st floor. Each flight you descended became more and more exhausting, but at least you were going down, not climbing up. There was a distinct feeling of perspiration growing on your palms, heightening the smell of the steel comprising the railing, the scent sharp in your nose. Your breath rattled in your chest, and on floor 10, just past halfway, you hazarded a quick breather.

This was, truth be told, terrifying. Obviously, this was never supposed to happen, but now that it did, you hated Hyunjin and his goddamn mother more and more by the second. Who knew what would happen when they discovered you left? Would Seungmin still want you after you seemingly snubbed him? Would you even be able to afford a lawyer to help you?

The final flights of the building were still difficult, but a little easier to traverse after your brief pause. However, you struggled to manage your panting breath by the time you finally reached the lobby. You burst free from the fire escape, ready to run out the front door and hail a taxi–

When a pale, wrinkled hand snatched the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Miss,” the old doorman greeted you, condescending and pitying, “you seem to be lost. Let’s get you sorted out.”

The thing you weren’t expecting was for the elderly man to be so fucking strong. You thrashed and cried out as he grabbed you and grappled you down a hallway, back into the building, its walls swallowing you back up. He wrenched off your backpack and tossed it under the front desk when he dragged you past it. Even more distressingly, the little old man had a pair of handcuffs that he fished out, and he snapped them on your wrists the moment he was able to wrestle them both behind your back. If you hadn’t insisted on taking the stairs, maybe you would’ve had more strength, but it was no use. You uselessly twisted and kicked as much as you could manage before the old man opened a nondescript door at the end of the back hallway. Inside the room, a bank of security camera monitors formidably stood over a desk of controls and miscellaneous paperwork. The doorman dumped you in a folding chair. You couldn’t hear your frantic breaths over your heartbeat.

On the monitors, you observed a new terrifying layer to this ordeal as they cycled through their different inputs.

As it turned out, there were cameras apparently stationed all over Hyunjin’s penthouse–the living room, the kitchen, the patio and pool… and Hyunjin’s bedroom. You could see him now, still obliviously dead asleep in bed.

The cameras cycled again. Your eyes widened, unbelieving at first.

Seungmin, somewhere, was in another holding cell of sorts, tied up and gagged in a folding chair of his own.

“Don’t you worry, Miss,” the doorman facetiously assured you, not looking at you as he grabbed the phone on the desk, “I’ll call Mrs. Hwang and we’ll get this sorted out right away.”

#straykidsland #neverendingdreams #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin x y/n #skz smut #AHHHHHH I'm so excited that I finally continued this 😭#haha you have a crush on kim seungmin 😔#tolkein elf hwang hyunjin #the way i FORGOT i made that a sorting tag omg

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gaycrouton · 1 year ago

Note

I just read ur fic about mulder and scully watching p*rn and I AM LIVING pls give us chapter 2 🥵 you write these two so well!!!

Thank you so much!! And thank you so much to everyone who sent me an ask about it! I've accidentally missed a ton of messages and I'm so moved by the love and support I've gotten in there. I'm going to be responding to everyone over the course of the next few days, but I'm using this ask to respond with Chapter 2 of Be Kind Rewind! I hope people who liked it are still around and interested in reading it <3 I am so appreciative of you all.

Be Kind Rewind II

Prompt: can you write a fic of mulder and scully somehow ending up watching something from mulder’s “collection” together? (pre-relationship)

Chapter 1 | Ao3

Mulder had died and gone to Heaven. Surely, that was the only explanation for how he was currently holding Dana Scully in his arms as her tongue coaxed its way into his mouth.

His brain struggled to reconcile the sensations of kissing a woman and the knowledge that the woman was Scully. His Scully. Mulder had spent so long sequestering his desire for her to his most private moments, that being able to lean against her and feel her warm body meld against his made him feel delirious. From the way her mouth felt pressed against his to the little puffs of exhalation caressing his cheek, Mulder felt entirely overwhelmed by her.

Without her heels, their height difference proved to be more of a challenge than normal. The back of his neck burned in protest from craning down at such an unnatural angle, but he'd be damned if he let that stop him. Scully, ever his partner, eased herself up on the balls of her feet to meet him halfway. The movement caused her to sway a bit, but when her breast grazed against his sternum, she didn't move away. In fact, she wrapped her arms around his neck and melted into him as her jaw worked greedily against his.

It didn't feel real. He was kissing Scully. She was kissing him back. Suddenly, the games he used to play in the bathtub where he'd see how long he could hold his breath underwater felt like preparation for this very moment. He might've been out of the water, but he was absolutely drowning in Dana Scully's rapt attention.

When he was afraid he might pass out and finally had to acquiesce, he pulled away from the kiss only to feel her body careen forward in an effort to prolong their contact. Mulder's hands darted to her hips to steady her and he almost flinched upon his fingertips making contact with a sliver of warm skin where her shirt had ridden up.

Her eyes had been closed, and when they blinked open, her pupils were blown with desire. Mulder wished he had something smooth or charming to say right now, but all he could do was try to suppress the goofy, toothy grin that seemed to only grow wider the more he looked at her.

She let out a little breathy chuckle before running the pads of her thumbs over his bottom lip as if mesmerized by her own newly conquered territory. For the first time since they kissed, she looked into his eyes and he felt his breath catch in his throat at the intensity of her stare. "Stupid fucking bee," she whispered with an impish grin.

The explicative went straight to his cock, and he knew Scully had to have felt it throb against her stomach. Mulder raised his hand to the back of her neck, toying with the collar of her shirt and the golden chain of her necklace before pressing his hand flat against the nape of her neck, An inch of raised scar tissue rubbed against his palm, and his fingers curved protectively. "I've spent so long wondering…" he admitted before raking the tips of his fingers through the hair at the base of her scalp.

She licked her lips tentatively as she nodded. "I know," she finished, letting her hands slide up from his jaw so that she was cupping his face in her hands, her fingers cradling his skull. Then, as always, she provided him with tangible evidence of her theory. Scully raised herself up on the balls of her feet while pulling him towards her so that she could press her swollen lips to his. And once again, he found himself wholly overwhelmed by the sensation of having her tongue in his mouth, feeling her cling onto him as her hands roamed his body.

Growing bolder, he slid the hand that had been resting on her hip a little lower. Then a little lower after that. Until he was cupping Scully's ass as she let out a muffled groan into his mouth. She slid her knee up his leg towards his hip in an attempt to press her groin against his, but the momentum caused them both to stumble back until Scully's calves pressed up against the couch cushion. Suddenly, Scully was reclined on the couch while he had one knee resting next to her thigh as his hands grabbed the back of the couch for balance, bracketing Scully's head in between his arms.

In normal circumstances, he would've laughed at the clumsy fumble, but in normal circumstances, Scully wasn't staring at him with bedroom eyes and swollen lips.

A loud, guttural groan tore from his chest as the sensation of Scully's lithe hand cupping him through his pants threatened to buckle his knees. He suddenly became incoherent as she traced his length with her palm, curving her fingers against the girth. All he could bring himself to do was bury his face into the crook of her neck and let out incomprehensible strings of encouragement and appreciation.

He felt Scully's face turn towards him before he recognized the sensation of her lips nibbling on the thin skin covering the tendon of his neck. Bolts of arousal were shooting through his nervous system and disseminating into every part of his body. He felt possessed by her, and it was intoxicating.

But he wanted her to feel good too.

Taking one of his hands off the back of the couch, he placed his palm against her hip, running it tentatively up her torso until he was cupping one of her breasts. Despite there being at least two layers of fabric between their skin, she jolted towards him. The action elicited a sound that was somewhere in between a gasp and a whimper, and the proximity of her mouth to the shell of his ear caused his body to break out in a wave of goosebumps as he shuddered.

He began moving his thumbs against the thin fabric, finding the spot where he could feel turgidity blooming under the cotton. Encouraged by the sounds she was making, he began flexing his hand against her, kneading the weight of her breast in his hand.

Scully's head fell back onto the couch cushion, and the column of pale skin being exposed to him was too tantalizing to neglect. He bent forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of her throat, suckling at her skin while he felt her heartbeat flutter under his tongue. "Oh my god," she whispered almost inaudibly.

He wasn't sure how they ended up here, but the next thing he knew, Scully was sprawled across the couch with him leaning over her, careful not to put too much of his weight on her. His hands were under her shirt, resting on her ribs as his thumbs teased the bottom of her bra.

"May I?" he rasped, moving his hands further up her sides and causing her shirt to bunch up over his knuckles. In response, she arched her back, and he used the movement to pull her shirt the rest of the way off, careful not to tug on her hair.

Mulder took a moment to appreciate her simple, black bra before reaching his hands behind her again. In his excitement, he fumbled a couple of times with the clasp, but his embarrassment quickly went away when he saw Scully smirk at him. He managed to free her of the garment, leaving Scully naked from the waist up underneath him.

It might've been imperceivable to someone who didn't know her as well as he did, but as soon as her bra came off, he saw a level of vulnerability settle over her. She began licking her lips while slightly curving her shoulders inward, watching his reaction as if she expected it to be anything other than elation.

"My chest is small… I've been told… during."

All of her exes were morons.

They were perfect. She was perfect. He pressed his face to her chest and nuzzled his cheek against the heft of her breasts. Her nipples prodding against his jawline caused him to turn his head so he could pepper kisses across her skin, adorning her with the affection others had been too brutish to bestow.

Under his attention, the skin of her chest became marbled red as her flush manifested in blotchy patches. When he took one of her nipples into his mouth, she gasped so loud he worried he'd done something wrong until he remembered she said her breasts were sensitive.

In his fantasies, he'd always imagined she'd be responsive. Over the years he'd witnessed how sensitive Scully's skin was, but hearing how labored her breathing became as he switched between sucking and flicking. He split his attention between each breast, making sure whichever one didn't have his mouth was getting plenty of attention from his hand. She fit against his palm perfectly, and he was mesmerized by the impossible softness of her skin.

After a few minutes of this, he kissed his way up her sternum until his mouth was against her neck. "Scully, I love your breasts."

She let out a little breathy laugh before joking, "I think they love you too."

He resumed his attention, but spread it across her whole torso, wanting to commit every bit of her to memory. When his teeth grazed the skin covering her ribs, he felt her muscles tense away from him and he pulled back. "Sorry. That tickles," she grinned.

With as much seriousness as he could muster, he asked, "Where?" Then, putting his hand on her side, he flexed his fingers, grinning as she gasped and lurched away from him. "There?"

"Mulder, don't," she warned with a breathy laugh, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. The movement caused her to push her breasts together and suddenly Mulder forgot what he was just doing.

Scully must've seen his expression change because her hands quickly slid to her waistband with his own hands trailing quickly behind. They made quick work of ridding Scully of her pants. As the fabric slid down her legs, he repositioned them so that he was sitting normally on the couch while Scully sat on his lap – her back to his front as her legs dangled on either side of his own, her feet unable to touch the ground.

Scully seemed shocked at the sudden change in position, but when his hand slid down her abdomen, she simply fell limp against him, reclining her head back so that it was resting against his shoulder.

His fingers slowly crept under the elastic of her underwear, treading through her public hair until he felt slick warmth.

"You're so wet," he murmured in disbelief. "Was this from the video?"

"Not even slightly," she asserted with a sardonic laugh, a sound he felt resonate against his chest. Then, in a softer voice, she added, "It's because of you."

His eyes fluttered shut as the weight of that statement threatened to rock him off-kilter. To say he was aroused was an understatement. An eight-inch long understatement currently straining against the denim of his pants. But part of what was titillating was that he was on the cusp of learning truths he'd only been able to speculate, and speculate he had, with his cock in his hand since he fell in love with her. If he was honest, even before. What would she sound like? What did she like? Was she bossy or submissive or both? With each second that passed at this moment, he was learning something new.

Mulder progressed slowly, feeling her reactions before proceeding further. He watched her face with rapt captivation as he slid his middle finger into her, palm up. Her brows furrowed and Mulder paused a moment, his finger still inside her, as he watched for any sign of pain or discomfort. When he felt her hips wiggle against his hand in silent encouragement, he withdrew his finger slightly, curving it against her upper wall before plunging it back into her tight heat. Despite the fact his second knuckle was just sticking out of her, and that his index and ring fingers were flush against her labia, she still rolled her hips against him as if he could possibly get any deeper.

As she squirmed in his lap, her ass kept grinding against his crotch, causing him to inadvertently buck against her and push her harder against his hand. Based on her reactions, he took the initiative to plunge his ring finger inside of her while pressing the palm of his hand against her swollen clit.

Scully gasped as her head lolled back and forth against his shoulder. Taking advantage of the position, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, sucking on her erogenous zone with fervor. With his free hand, he slid up her torso until he was groping her breast again, kneading its weight while using his forearm to lock her in place tightly against him.

Restraining her elicited a surge of arousal to coat his digits as the squirming of her hips grew. She was babbling a mixture of his name and pleas, and he had to use all of his willpower to keep from grinding into her ass like his body so desperately craved.

As he massaged her breast, he pinched her nipple and within a second, she was coming in his arms. He had to tighten his hold to prevent her from rocking out of his lap as he helped her ride out her orgasm.

He stopped moving when she crushed his hand in between her thighs, rolling her hips a few more times with his hand trapped until she bonelessly collapsed against him.

"Oh my god," she panted breathlessly.

"You're incredible," he replied, his voice equally as strained as hers.

While she was catching her breath, he gently eased himself out from under her so that she was taking his spot on the couch with him kneeling in front of her. He slowly removed her sodden underwear, but instead of rejoining her on the couch, he stayed where he was and parted her legs.

As he stood on the precipice to the gates of heaven, he had one thought.

Scully's never come this way before.

The thought that she'd come undone on his tongue, that he'd be the first to pleasure her with his mouth successfully, was almost too much to bear. She had just caught her breath from the last orgasm when he pulled her further down the couch as he settled on his knees.

Her blood was flowing to her sex and he could see her labia was pink and engorged. The way her arousal glistened against the lamplight made him think of peaches. He'd bet that Scully would roll her eyes if she knew he was thinking that, but it was all that came to mind as she lay prone and ripe beneath him.

He was aroused to the point he felt dizzy. He was currently kneeling in between Dana Scully's parted thighs with parts of her he'd never seen before grazing his cheeks, inches from his lips.

"W-wait," she stammered, her breasts falling and rising with her staggered breaths.

He paused and her thighs released their grip on him, parting just enough so that he could see her face. "You really don't have to."

In that moment, Mulder wished he could have seen himself from her point of view. He felt like his entire body was trembling with the desire to taste her. He was practically salivating from his position between her thighs. He might even cry if he didn't get his mouth on her soon.

Even so, the echoed whispers of her past treatment still hung miasmic in the air. She'd been made to feel like a burden to the point that even though everything about his posture non-verbally screamed "please let me go down on you or I'll die," she still thought he was indulging her.

"Would it make you uncomfortable?" he rasped, rubbing his thumb playfully against the skin above her pubic mound.

She licked her lips while staring at him blankly. A moment went by before her face went crimson and she let out a breathy, embarrassed chuckle, "I'm sorry, I got distracted. What did you say?"

"Did I just make you flustered?" he asked incredulously, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He moved his hands so they were cupping the undersides of her thighs with his thumbs pressing gently into the area where groin met thigh.

She squirmed under his touch as she tried to shake her head. "No," she replied, her smile answering differently.

He leaned forward so that his breath was hitting the wet arousal coating her vulva. "I asked if it would make you uncomfortable if I use my mouth."

The tendons in her groin stretched under his hands as she resisted the urge to buck against his face, her movement caused the skin of her inner thigh to graze his cheek and he felt a droplet of precum escape from the head of his cock. Scully squirmed once more against the back of the couch, her brows furrowing in preemptive pleasure. "N-no," she exhaled.

Scully was looking at him from her position reclined on the arm of the couch. There was a flush across her heaving chest and her eyes were dilated to the point of being almost black. His cock twitched at the sight, and he swore his proudest accomplishment to date was knowing he'd caused her to look like that. Beyond that, he felt overwhelmed by knowing she was entrusting him with her body in this way, that she was letting him take his time to explore her. He wanted to rectify all the times her pleasure wasn't prioritized.

I felt like I needed to just make it quick which took me out of it, and then I couldn't…

"Good, because I've been dreaming about this for years," he assured. Then, before continuing his thought, he pressed a kiss to the top of her pubic mound, putting pressure right above her clit.

Her entire body jerked in response and he realized maybe he didn't need to give her this preface, but he wanted to say it anyway. "I just want you to know that I don't want you to feel like you have to come. I've thought about doing this with you for so long, and I want you to know I'm doing this because I want to not because I feel like it's a chore that needs to be done. Nothing arouses me more than making you feel good. I promise every minute I spend here is a minute I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I'm not doing it with the intention to get it over with."

She was squirming as he spoke, her thighs tensing under his hands, and he could see her breathing quicken. It struck him with a bolt of pride that his breath intimately blowing against her while he spoke was turning her on. "Mulder?" she prompted.

Upon meeting his gaze, a wide smile broke out across her face as her eyes shone with adoration. "Please stop talking," she begged.

Contrary to popular belief, Fox Mulder did in fact know when it was time to shut up.

He finally closed the gap and pressed his mouth to her swollen, glistening folds, moaning when he felt her jerk towards him. "Oh my god," she gasped.

She was swollen already from her first orgasm and he could already feel her arousal dripping off his chin as he worked his mouth against her.

Mulder wasn't lying earlier. He loved this. Blame it on an oral fixation, call him obsessive, whatever it was he was addicted to the sensation of a woman getting off under his tongue. The changes in breath, the fluctuation in pitch, the warmth of arousal on his tongue — it made him feel wanted.

His past partners had expressed a dislike for the act. For years he'd thought it was because they didn't want him to, but after gaining some insight from his talk with Scully, maybe their past partners had made them believe he wouldn't want to. Perhaps they turned it down because they wanted to spare themselves the pain of his anticipated disgust, or maybe they didn't like it because over time it became associated with shame. Regardless, even though he loved this, he didn't have all that much experience.

Luckily for him, their years of unspoken communication were paying off. Just this time, instead of looking for a sideways glance, he was paying attention to the subtle movements of her hips against his mouth, the way he could feel her quick inhalations under the palm that was resting on her lower belly. With every signal, he moved his tongue where she guided him, changing the pressure and speed until he could feel her getting wound tighter and tighter. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest as if it was trying to escape from the confines of his ribcage. He wanted this to be good for her.

Sometime during this, her legs had migrated over his shoulders and Mulder could feel them trembling as her heels tried to drag him impossibly closer. "Mulder, oh my god, ohmygod," she whimpered in a voice he'd never heard from her before. She sounded so completely and utterly lost in ecstasy that he knew she was close and he knew that meant to not change a damn thing he was doing.

The only change he made was to glance upwards to watch her, and upon doing so, he realized she was watching him this whole time. Her pupils were blown and her jaw was slack as the sounds of her labored breathing filled the room. Scully only met his stare for a moment before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her back arched off the couch, pressing herself against him as her orgasm rolled through her. His name rang out in her breathy, strangled voice as she gripped his wrists.

Mulder didn't let up until he felt one of her hands gently push at his head when she became overly sensitized. He glanced up at the visage of her framed between her thighs, she was looking at him from over her breasts with a toothy grin. "Wow," she giggled, placing one of her hands over her heart.

He'd never been more in love with someone in his entire life.

"You're so beautiful," he told her with a content smile.

She pouted her bottom lip shyly before rocking her body forward so that she was properly sitting on the couch. Her palms cradled his jaw as she used her thumbs to wipe away some of the lingering arousal from his mouth. Scully's attention shifted from his lips to his eyes, and he could see a whirlwind of emotions passing over her features. Gratitude, disbelief, affection, desire, trust — much to his relief, instead of allowing any anxiety about this new stage of their relationship to consume her, she leaned in and kissed him with so much passion and fervor it nearly knocked him over.

Mulder sat up straighter on his knees, making it so they were practically at the same height as he returned her carnal assault on him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, still finding himself shocked when his hands met the warm, naked skin of her back and she leaned into the touch. Her bare breasts grazed against his chest and he found himself dropping his hands to her sides so he could thumb the gentle curve of the undersides of her breasts.

She exhaled through her nose and shifted a bit, dragging her nails through his hair as she cradled his skull. As she moved, Scully's shin brushed against the front of his pants and he involuntarily broke the kiss to groan into her mouth.

"Why are you still dressed?" she asked so earnestly that he couldn't help but laugh.

"I was distracted," he answered honestly.

They quickly remedied his situation, and as soon as all his clothes were off, she was pushing him against the couch until he was sitting down. Scully put her hands on his knees for balance as she lowered herself to the floor.

However, instead of gravitating immediately towards his groin, she decided to torture him by kissing all over his body, touching him everywhere but the area weeping for her attention. His nipples, his ribs, his Adonis belt. By the time she was near his happy trail, he was squirming and nearly whining with desire. She pressed her parted lips to his neck and lapped at his skin with her tongue while gently sucking and he was almost embarrassed at how loudly he moaned. He hadn't thought that area was an erogenous zone for him. Maybe it was the anticipation of knowing another part of his body would soon receive that treatment or maybe it was just because it was Scully, but whatever it was, he felt like every cell in his body was vibrating with want.

He knew he'd done things to arouse women, that women have derived pleasure from being with him, but Scully made him feel desirable in a way he hadn't experienced before. She looked at him like she wanted to ravish him. It was a confidence boost that shot straight to his groin. He wanted her to possess him: body, mind, and soul.

Suddenly, she leaned back so that she was on her knees in between his legs, and Mulder found himself reciting every World Series winner in an attempt not to come the moment she touched his dick.

Boston Americans, New York Giants, Scully's warm hand, Chicago White Sox, Chicago Cubs, Chi-That feels fucking fantastic, Chicago Cubs, Pittsburg Pirates, how did she know how to do that?

He gave up on his plan as soon as her pink little tongue darted out to lick the head of his cock. "Fuck-" he groaned, resisting the urge to let his head fall back onto the couch. He couldn't bear tearing his gaze away from watching Scully touch him. He couldn't even begin to count how many times he'd imagined his scenario in this very same location, but there was no way in hell he could have accurately envisioned just how overwhelming the sensations of her trained hands touching him exactly where he needed.

When Scully lowered her head, it felt like his brain stopped working. Within an instant, he was in Scully's mouth. Scully was giving him a blowjob. His mind could barely comprehend that this was really her. The same lips he'd spent almost a decade staring at were wrapped around his dick.

She began flattening her tongue against the underside of his length, wiggling it against his sensitive flesh and he had to grab the ends of the couch cushions to avoid thrusting into her mouth. As if to help him, Scully placed her elbows on the tops of his thighs as her hands continued their ministrations against his balls and the bottom of his shaft. In this position, he could feel the sides of her breasts against his inner thighs, and his entire groin felt entirely possessed by Scully.

Mulder watched the way her neck flexed as she bobbed her head in his lap, her face obscured by a curtain of red. As gently as he could, he lifted his hand and raked his fingers through her hair, trailing along the warmth of her scalp as he brushed her hair back so he could watch her cheeks hollow around him. Her eyes flickered up to him as a trail of her saliva slid from her mouth down his length.

He didn't know what he did to deserve her, and he wished he could thank every god and deity under the sun that he could die a happy man now. Mulder wanted her to know how much she drove him crazy, how desirable she is, so he didn't hold back the guttural moans tumbling from his mouth, she even drew out a whine.

She pulled away to take a breath, and one of her incisors gently scraped the side of his cock, but it felt oddly erotic and sent a shiver up his spine.

"Sorry," Scully panted, using the back of her hand to wipe away the mixture of precum and saliva coating the bottom half of her face and dribbling onto her chest

"D-don't be," he rasped, his blatant, delirious desire laden in his voice.

With her right hand, she kept an even tempo as she stroked up and down his shaft. With her left, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear before her hand darted lower until it was in between her—

"I think I'll die if you do that," he blurted, quickly gripping the base of his cock with a firm hand to subdue the overwhelming urge to come. The idea of Scully masturbating while going down on him was something that took him over the edge in his fantasies; seeing it in the flesh was wholly overwhelming.

Scully's hand remained still on his cock for a moment, the side of her hand touching his own, as she processed what he said. A familiar, bemused smile spread across her face as she teasingly asked, "You'll die if I touch myself?"

"I might finally get you to believe in spontaneous human combustion after all," he joked, in between labored breaths.

Scully rolled her eyes at him goodnaturedly, but instead of letting go immediately, she leaned forward and placed a chaste, gentle kiss on the spongy head of his cock. The sight caused him to involuntarily twitch in her hand, and he could feel the vibrations of her laugh through her lips pressed against him. Her hand fell away as she pulled back, eliciting equal parts relief and devastation. She stood up in front of him, and from his position he was face to face with her swollen, pink folds and he could see her inner thighs were wet and slick from where her arousal had seeped down her legs. The heady smell of her made his head spin and he knew it was inevitable that he wasn't going to last much longer.

The side of Scully's index finger gently pressing against the skin underneath his chin drew his attention up towards her as she stared down at him with a tender expression on her face. "I don't have a condom, but it doesn't bother me to go without with you. I've used a condom with all my other partners, and I know I'm in the clear but if you'd rather-".

He wasn't dumb, he knew it was very evident they were building up to sex, but hearing her make it explicitly clear she was planning on having sex with him felt surreal. "No," he interrupted a little too quickly, causing them both to smile at his eagerness. "I trust you, and I've always been safe," he added softly

He'd never been inside a woman without a condom before and he felt the coil of arousal in his groin tighten knowing he was about to experience that with her. Mulder slid to the side of the couch, making space as Scully crawled onto the couch. She laid on her back and spread her legs to accommodate him nestling in between them.

"S-Scully, at the risk of revealing how long it's been for me, I just want to warn you that I don't think I'll be able to last very long," he admitted.

She exhaled a laugh and ran her palm over his cheek. "We would have been zero to three earlier for orgasms, but I didn't want to kill you." Mulder's eyebrows shot up at the knowledge that going down on him had gotten her that worked up, and she shrugged playfully in response. "I won't last long either. Don't worry about that."

Reaching in between their bodies, he grabbed his cock in hand, and pressed his swollen head to her clit, tapping it so that the weight of him slapped against the reddened bud. Her entire body lurched at the impact and she met his gaze with a breathy chuckle.

"To answer your question from earlier, that feels amazing," she admitted with a playful grin that matched his own.

"Yeah," he agreed, his throat tight.

Mulder rubbed himself up and down her slit as he watched with rapt fascination. He was mesmerized by the sight of his pink tip separating her folds. She was so wet that every time he passed over her entrance, his cock started slipping in, only for him to pull it out as he trailed back up to her clit. It was undoubtedly the most erotic sight he'd ever witnessed.

"Mulder?" she asked in a husky voice.

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from their joining, trailing up her body to rest on her flushed face. "Hmm?"

"Please," she begged with an exhalation. She arched her hips with a wanton undulation, causing him to slip into her up to where his hand was in the way.

"Fuck," he gasped between clenched teeth. His hand shot to her hip, smearing her arousal onto her skin.

Mulder plunged the rest of his length into her with minimal resistance as they both moaned in pure rapture. Even with her lubrication, she was so tightly gripped around him that he felt like he could barely breathe. Being inside her without any barrier felt so profoundly intimate he couldn't help but lean down and capture her lips with his own. His hips began bucking against her instinctively, and it gave him the chance to swallow her moans as he tried to find what she liked best.

She seemed to be doing the same as she torturously rotated her hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust while her nails scored the flesh of her back. He wanted her to break skin, mark him with the evidence of her pleasure.

"Scully," he groaned against the crook of her neck. It was mid-sex babble, but the one phrase meant so much.

You feel so good.

I can't believe I'm inside you.

I've been dreaming of this for so long.

Perfect.

Scully seemed to be reaching his level of near-incoherence as she voiced his thoughts. "I can't believe— so good," she gasped, her breasts gyrating with the intensity of their movements.

Scully had never looked so out of control before, and he knew he probably looked no different. They'd waited so long for this moment, and now that it was happening, it was like a divine sensory overload. He brought a hand up to brush her mussed hair back, and she took the opportunity to slide her hands over his ribs, grasping and groping the expanse of his body as he continually pinned her down with his thrusts.

The leather sofa was getting slick from the sweat and heat, and it caused him to lose momentum every time his knees slipped on the surface. He wanted to be cautious not to fall and hurt her, so he placed one hand on the armrest while planting one of his feet on the ground.

Sensing his struggle, Scully began pushing on his chest so she could sit up. "I have an idea," she said, a husky quality to her voice.

"What's that?" he asked, slowing his strokes as he languidly rolled his hips in an upward motion that made her eyes flutter shut.

"Sit on the couch," she demanded.

He had an inkling of what her idea was, so he quickly did what she asked despite his body's protest upon slipping out of her heat.

Scully sat up and eased her leg over his with ease so that she was sitting on his lap again, only this time facing him as his erection bobbed needily in between them. She took mercy on him and grabbed his shaft, giving him a few firm strokes to spread his precum down his length. The crown of his cock kept brushing against her bellybutton and the visualization of how big he was in comparison gave him just another reason to be completely in awe of this woman.

She eased herself up on her knees and his hands shot instinctively to her waist to steady her. Mulder watched with a hooded gaze as she aligned his erection before sheathing herself fully on him, undulating her hips as she accommodated the new position. Scully firmly nestled in his lap, their groins touching in every way possible, and in that moment, Mulder believed in God.

Her name was Dana Katherine Scully and she was blessing him with a miracle with the gentle snap of her hips.

They spared no time resuming their previous pace as they both chased their inevitable release. Mulder slid his hands over her dewy skin until they were firmly gripping her ass so he could help grind her against him. "Fuck, Mulder," she cried out, grasping his shoulders as her brows furrowed.

He squirmed under her so that her clit was rubbing against his pubic mound with each downward stroke and it made her throw her head back as she became more frantic. As she rocked against his lap, her tongue peeked out in between her lips, and Mulder knew he was done.

There wasn't anything inherently sexual about it, but it was something she did whenever she was concentrating really hard. For the past seven years, in motel rooms across the country and across the solid oak desk they shared, he watched her tongue dart out as she focused. It was so quintessentially Scully. A trait he'd become hopelessly endeared by, and that made it all the more real that his partner, the woman he was desperately in love with, was currently wrapped around him in the most intimate way imaginable.

The coil that had been tightening in his abdomen since she walked into his apartment sprung free with a blinding intensity that had him crying out her name as he came. Then, as if it wasn't already the most mindblowing orgasm of his life, he felt her walls spasm around him as Scully ground herself into him as if her life depended on it. "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," she chanted breathlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest as she trembled in his lap.

They rode out their pleasure for as long as possible, but eventually, Scully sagged completely limp against him. She threw her arms around his neck loosely and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Despite the fact they'd just had their mouths in some of the most intimate places on each other's bodies and they'd just had mindblowing sex, the realization that he was cuddling Scully brought him an exorbitant rush of excitement. He lethargically circled his arms around her, using one of his arms to stroke her back with languid slow movements.

He could feel her nipple harden against his chest, and he felt himself harden in kind. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, he knew he was too tired for a round two, but the fact his body could still recover that fast was impressive.

But then again, it was Scully.

"Already?" Scully teased. Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard before, gentle and spent.

"What can I say? You have that effect on me," he replied honestly.

In response, he felt her nudge his head to turn towards her, and when he did, kissed him. It wasn't as desperate as their previous kisses, but it held just as much passion. While she lazily teased his tongue with her own, Scully raked her fingernails over his scalp, eliciting goosebumps across his whole body.

Mulder could feel their coupling seeping out of her and back onto his lap, and he knew he should invite her to take a shower or get her a washcloth — but he wanted nothing more than to stay on this couch for the rest of his life. He'd never experienced such tenderness after sex, and he didn't want it to end.

Scully pulled away from the kiss only to pepper a few more to his jaw, stopping only so she could rest her head against his shoulder once more. "I can't believe the final push we needed was an assignment from Skinner and a porno flick from Frohike," she murmured.

Hearing her refer to their coupling as something destined to happen brought a smile to his face as he tightened his arms around her. "I wonder what would have happened if we watched it at the office."

He felt her smile against his skin. "Well, I guess we'll have to watch something from your collection and find out."

#x files #fanfic #x files fanfic #mulder #scully #msr #smut #it's filthy smut #ust #rst

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mustainegf · 6 months ago

Text

— Masterpost

— Chapter 11

The night stretches on, the darkness enveloping us like a warm blanket as Felicity's head rests gently on my shoulder. The sky above is a canvas of deep blue, scattered with shimmering stars that twinkle like distant fireflies. It's quiet, besides our conversation.

We've been laying here for what feels like hours, lost in conversation about everything and anything. Every once in a while the water would lap up and graze our bare feet.

"Do you ever think about what life will be like after high school?" Felicity's question hangs in the air, the weight of it settling between us.

"All the time," I admit, turning to look at her. "But I try not to worry too much about the future. Right now, I'm just grateful to have moments like this with you."

There's a comfort in sharing these thoughts with her, knowing that she understands me in a way that no one else does.

As we talk, I steal glances at her, admiring the way the moonlight casts gentle shadows across her face. Her features are illuminated by its soft glow.

"What do you think will happen after we graduate?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Felicity's gaze meets mine, her expression thoughtful. "I'm not sure," she admits. "But whatever happens, we’ll have each other."

Her words fill me with a sense of warmth, and I reach my hand to rest over hers on my steady chest. "Always?" I ask softly.

With a tender smile, Felicity nudged up, giving me a soft kiss. I still hadn’t quite gotten used to how exhilarating it was, but I managed to move my lips in unison.

After a second or two, she pulled her warm lips away. “Always. And forever.”

Summer break had started with such promise, but now, two weeks in, I found myself already bored out of my mind. I had been looking forward to spending more time with Felicity, especially after that unforgettable dance by the lake, but she had been nowhere to be seen.

I missed her more than I cared to admit. Her absence left a void in my days, and I found myself constantly thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she okay? These questions swirled around in my mind, but I had no answers.

The days seemed to drag on endlessly, each one blurring into the next without much excitement or purpose.

As I sat in my room, staring out the window at the bright summer sun, I couldn't help but wonder when I would see her again. The thought of her brought a warmth to my heart, a flicker of hope amidst the dullness of my days.

What if she regretted confessing her feelings that night by the lake? What if every kiss was now a source of regret for her?

I couldn't shake the feeling that I might never see her face again, her ever so pretty face. The thought of never seeing her smile again, never hearing her laughter, never feeling the warmth of her touch sent a shiver of sadness through my head.

I found myself replaying our time together over and over in my mind, searching for clues, for signs that she still felt the same way I did.

What if I had misinterpreted her feelings? What if she had only kissed me out of pity or obligation?

But she said always? Always and forever.

As the days stretched into weeks with no sign of Felicity, I found myself consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Resentment bubbled up within me, mingling with the frustration and confusion that gnawed at my insides like a relentless storm.

I couldn't understand why she had disappeared without a trace, leaving me to wallow in a sea of my own head. Had our connection meant nothing to her? Had she simply grown tired of me and moved on without a second thought? That quickly?

Each day that passed without a word from her only deepened the sense of betrayal that simmered beneath the surface of my mind. I felt like a fool for ever believing that our bond was genuine, for allowing myself to be swept away by her.

But even as I stewed in my own anger, I knew in my heart that I wasn’t angry with her. I longed to hear her voice, to see her smile, to feel her lips once more.

Yet, with each passing day, that hope dwindled.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around them. The room was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath me. Moonlight shone in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. But none of it mattered. All I could think about was her.

Felicity.

The mere thought of her name sent a pang through my chest. I missed her more than I ever thought possible. Each night seemed to stretch on endlessly, a void of loneliness that I couldn't escape. And tonight was no different.

I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears kept coming. I couldn't help it. It felt like a dam had burst inside me, and all the emotions I'd been holding back came rushing out at once.

I remembered the first time we met, down by the lake. Her smile had lit up the whole world, and I knew from that moment on, she was special.

Since our dance, she'd been gone.

I hugged my knees tighter, willing the ache in my chest to go away. I needed her. More than anything, I needed to know she was safe, that she still cared about me as much as I cared about her.

But as the minutes turned into hours, and sleep continued to elude me, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that hung over me like a dark cloud. What if something had happened to her? What if I never saw her again?

My cheeks were hot and wet, tears streaming down my face in torrents as I sat hunched over on my bed, consumed by the squeeze in my chest. I hadn't realized how loud my sobs must have been echoing through the room until I heard the soft creak of the door opening.

I looked up through blurry eyes to see my little sister, Deanna, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with concern.

She was only thirteen, but in that moment, she seemed so much older.

"James?" she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay?"

I tried to compose myself, to wipe away the evidence of my tears and put on a brave face for her sake. But the sight of her standing there, my own sister seemingly so worried, it broke me down.

"No," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. "No, I'm not okay."

Deanna crossed the room in a few quick strides, slowly sitting down in bed beside me

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

How could I explain the emptiness I felt, the fear? The vulnerability that me, her older brother, wasn’t supposed to show.

"It's Felicity," I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. "She's gone."

Deanna shifted slightly, her eyes searching mine for answers. "Gone? What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I don't know," I admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She hasn't been to the lake in weeks. What if she's dead, or she hates me?"

"We don't know that," she said firmly. "Maybe there's a reason she hasn't been to the lake. Maybe she's sick, or her parents are keeping her at home for some reason."

I shook my head, unable to shake the gnawing sense of dread that consumed me. "But what if something happened to her?" I whispered, the fear clutching at my heart like a vice. "What if she's hurt, or worse?"

Deanna didn't have an answer, and for a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air between us. But then, she surprised me by reaching out and taking my hand in hers, her touch warm and comforting.

"James," she said softly, her voice breaking through the haze of my thoughts. "Are you and Felicity... more than just friends?"

Deanna's question hit me like a punch to the gut. I could feel her eyes on me. Slowly, I turned to look at her, my vision blurred by tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "I mean... we... we were..." But the words caught in my throat, choked off by a surge of grief that threatened to consume me whole.

Deanna shifted uncomfortably beside me, her gaze flickering between my face and the floor. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of my ragged breathing. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Memories of Felicity flooded my mind, each one more painful than the last. The way she smiled at me, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her touch. It all felt so perfect, so right, in those fleeting moments before she was ripped away from me.

And now, faced with Deanna's question, I couldn't escape the truth any longer. Felicity wasn't just a friend. She was so much more than that. She was my everything. And the thought of losing her, of never seeing her again, was more than I could bear.

Without warning, I burst into harder cries, my body shaking with the force of my emotions. I buried my face in my hands, unable to look my sister in the eye as the tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

"James..." she began, but her voice trailed off as she realized there were no words she could offer to ease my pain.

And so we sat there as I cried into my hands.

I refused to give up on her.

A desperate plea formed in the recesses of my mind, a silent prayer offered up to a universe I wasn't even sure existed. It was a strange sensation, this instinctive reaching out for something beyond myself, something I had always rejected.

I couldn't help but think of my mother, her strict beliefs casting a shadow over my childhood like a dark cloud.

She had always tried to force her faith onto me, dragging me to church every Sunday and lecturing me about the importance of prayer. But no matter how hard she tried, I could never bring myself to believe in the same way she did. If at all.

And yet, here I was, on the verge of tears, silently begging for some sort of god to bring Felicity back to me.

Right now, my beliefs didn’t matter, and neither did moms. All I could think about was Felicity, and the need to know that she was safe, that she was okay.

And if that meant swallowing my pride and uttering a few words of prayer, then so be it.

Closing my eyes, I bowed my head, the weight of my desperation pressing down on me like a lead weight.

Please

I thought long and hard.

Please bring her back to me. I'll do anything, just please let her be okay.

It felt strange, this act of surrender. It made me feel wrong, selfish even, but it was all I had left to hang onto.

In this moment, it was all I could do to help. Even if it didn’t help at all.

Taglist: @whatsupvic

#the space between us james hetfield #james hetfield x you #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fic #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield #metallica fluff #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica #mustainegf #fanfic #fanfiction

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glassrowboat · 4 months ago

Text

If I bleed for you, drain myself dry for a drop of your affection, will you see me then, my love?

I believe I've always had a different view of death than many, or at least, those I've met. You see, future me, I have been told the end of it all is scary, that the moment our strings of fate are cut all that's left is the abyss to swallow us whole, but is that truly so bad?

Not to mention, that's not how I picture death at all, anyway.

You see, I don't imagine a skeleton with a scythe, but a woman far more beautiful than life could ever be. Golden hair, eyes brighter than the sun, and a smile that any painter would wish to capture. She would lead those who have passed into the beyond and wish them safe travels as their visage wonders into the distance.

This is what I imagined death as for years, even as I craved her touch, her embrace, but today, I think I might have seen death differently.

Today, death was blue, white, and stunk of antiseptic.

The middle of winter was supposed to be the coldest time of all, especially as Snezhaya's winds whipped around the small carriage in were in, rocking with every lull of the anemo Archon call. Back and forth in a steady motion, almost like a crib with a father's hand keeping it ever in motion.

But right now was the hottest you've ever been, even as your eyes fell on the partially open curtain to see through the window. Taught fabric in hand from you trying to find anything you could clutch onto for dear life revealing flurries of snow. For her breath was warm, her hands scorching, her tongue like molten lava as it traced your core.

You couldn't even hear the sound of snow crunching under the carriage wheels as you cried her name.

Arlecchino.

All you were greeted with in response was the feeling of her nails digging into the fat of your thighs.

Casual.

That's what she was telling you, warning you, even as you felt like a meal set before the gods. Graced by their touch as their forks stabbed into you and rose your boneless corpse to their lips. Tasting you as your very essence is swallowed down their throats.

The first thing he noticed as Kazuha woke up was a green ribbon, a soft little thing that was funnily enough the same color as his vision, now wrapped around his bandaged wrist. So carefully tied onto him that it seemed if the thing even got one tug it would fall off of him in an instant. No wonder Kazuha didn't notice it being tied to him in the middle of the night. That, or he's just gotten a little numb to the usual chaos and ruckus the others of the crew would kick up right around when he usually fell asleep that his half awake mind wrote it off with ease. His fault then.

But what was truly interesting was that as Kazuha raised his arm, the little tag strung through the ribbon. A note attached? That's what the messy handwriting he had to squint to make out was telling him anyway.

Someone's in a mood then as he just barely made out through the messy scrawl. ‘Find the other four for a kiss! Xoxo!’

Well, that's manageable. At least Kazuha thought to himself as a breathy laugh fell past his lips that was quick to remind him he needed to go brush his teeth. “If you say so, my dear.”

With that, Kazuha kicked the scratchy blankets off of him, letting them slide down and off his feet as the boards his hammock was attached to by metal hooks creaked in protest from Kazuha’s sudden movements.

The first ribbon was easy to find, the color standing out amongst the wooden railing and crimson red sails that have become so accustomed to Kazuha as he climbs to the crows nest every day at some point or another to feel the breeze ruffling through his hair. The wind that would pull and tug at the pages of his notebooks full of limericks, haikus, and flowing words that would more often than not scrawl out descriptions of a certain someone's cheeks as they flush from nights of booze and idle chatter by each others sides. You would always have to find some way to get Kazuha back to his room if you didn't decide to simply give up and let him claim your lap as a pillow.

The absolute gall.

Still, the turquoise color nearly blended with the shining blue sky as the sun's rays beamed down. Today would surely be a beautiful day, he mused as another ribbon was added to the growing collection around Kazuha's wrist.

Three more to go.

It seems this entire scavenger hunt would be easy, despite what was probably your best attempts. It's hard to find spots to hide something when there's a bustling crew with curious eyes and items getting moved around every passing second. That was only further proved as a brown head popped into Kazuha’s vision, long hair trailing after the woman. At least this time, she didn't tug him into a hug that would be too tight to escape from as Beidou cheered to the seas that guided them on their journey from one port to the next.

#abandoned pieces #and deleted scraps

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ailendolin · 1 year ago

Note

for the prompts, maybe 9 for Gabrian, please~?

Thank you so much for the prompt "Trust" for these two! I hope you enjoy this little post-movie ficlet!

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

Chance Meeting

It was a coincidence, really, that Gabriel was passing by the Earl of Croydon’s house just when Ian was roughly being shoved out of the front door by a guard. She had been on her way to the market but all thoughts of buying fabrics for Bill’s latest play fled her mind when she saw Ian stumble down the stairs and land hard on his knees in the mud. A small bag of belongings landed next to him in the street.

“Now get lost!” the guard growled before he carefully locked the house behind him. He left without sparing Ian a second glance and Gabriel stood there for a moment, shocked. She’d known Croydon’s house was to be cleared out this week and that Ian, being Croydon’s former servant, had been tasked with doing the packing up – Bill had told her as much after his latest talk with the Earl of Southampton. She hadn’t known that Ian would be treated like a common thief, though. Seeing him get kicked out of what was, essentially, his home by a stranger as if he were no better than a common household pest made her blood boil.

She had half a mind of going after the guard and giving him a piece of her mind when movement across the street caught her attention. Ian was shakily getting to his feet and the slow way in which he moved made it glaringly obvious that that poor leg of his hadn’t gotten a chance to heal over the last few days. It took him far longer than it should have to find his balance and when he finally did, his leg trembled visibly. He made quite a sorry sight as he stood there, dripping mud and with his few belongings lying at his feet. Gabriel had been in his place once, a long time ago, and when his attempt to retrieve his bag made him wince in barely suppressed pain her old back injury twinged in sympathy.

“Wait, let me help you,” she said and hurried across the street. She picked up the bag – it was awfully light – and handed it to him.

“You’re – you’re one of them,” Ian said shakily and took an unsteady step backwards. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost and Gabriel didn’t blame him. She’d still been an assassin the last time they’d met, and he didn’t seem to have heard that the queen had granted her asylum.

“Not anymore,” she said with her best reassuring smile. “I’m working for Bill now – Bill Shakespeare? The man who wrote the play?”

Ian swallowed hard and clutched his belongings more tightly against his chest. “I – I had nothing to do with what happened with Mr Shakespeare’s wife or – or Mr Marlow, I swear!”

He took another step away from her and his injured leg slipped on the muddy ground. Acting purely on instinct, Gabriel’s arms shot out to steady him.

“Careful,” she said softly and released him once she was sure his leg would bear his weight.

“Thank you,” Ian whispered without looking at her. “Are you going to stab me now?”

Gabriel laughed because otherwise she might cry. “Of course not. I tried to tell you: I work for Bill now – as a seamstress.”

“Oh,” Ian said and finally dared to look at her. “Congratulations?”

This time, Gabriel’s laugh was more genuine. “Thank you. They’re really good people – and they happen to be looking for someone to take care of their house here in London.”

Ian blinked. “You – you can’t mean me.”

“Why not?” Gabriel asked. “You’re a hard worker. I’ve seen that myself. And you’re out of a job, are you not?”

“Yes, but – I’ve worked for Croydon,” Ian said, resigned. “No one in their right mind would want to employ me after what happened. And Mr Shakespeare has more reason than most not to want me under his roof.”

Gabriel shook her head. “If Anne and Bill can forgive me for the part I played in the plot, they can certainly forgive you for just doing your job.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ian mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Well, I am,” Gabriel said and, taking matters into her own hands – literally – gently took hold of his arm. “Please, just come and have dinner with us. Trust me: they’ll be glad to see you.”

“No one is ever glad to see me,” Ian muttered.

Gabriel knew what that felt like only too well.

“That’s not true,” she said softly. “I was glad to see you, just now. We’ve been wondering what had happened to you – Anne, Bill and I.” She paused. “I did not lie when I said you would be welcome in their home.”

She knew it would take a long time for Ian to trust her – to trust anyone, really, after the way he had been treated by Croydon for years – but when he tentatively nodded and allowed her to lead him down the street, Gabriel felt her heart lift with hope. Hope that he would let them help him, that he might stay–

That perhaps one day, he would look at her and see a friend rather than someone he should fear.

#ian #gabriel montoya #gabrian #bill 2015 #bill the film #my fic #ask game prompt ficlet #birthday prompts 2023

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neopronouns-in-action · 6 months ago

Text

Neopronouns in Action #085: Stereotypical Amnesia

Neopronouns: za.

Replace all pronouns with za

EX:

"She is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as she gets a fence set up around her yard so the puppy can go outside without her having to walk it. Her uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting her use, since she lost hers. She's going to buy toys and train the puppy herself."

Becomes:

"Za is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as za gets a fence set up around za yard so the puppy can go outside without za having to walk it. Za uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting za use, since za lost za. Za's going to buy toys and train the puppy za."

___

Za head hurt.

It was, for a long time, the only thing za could think about. Za head hurt, and when weakly za lifted za hands to touch it, za hand came away covered in blood, and it was only then that za realized that za was surrounded by a pool of blood, still warm against the cold stone beneath za.

When za managed to sit up, za was so dizzy za immediately fell back down, and hit za head on the floor, sending even more pain and dizziness rushing over za.

Za didn’t know how many hours passed as za lay there, in pain and dizzy, like the world was spinning below za. There were several times when za lost consciousness completely, but finally za found the strength to open za eyes.

But there was nothing to see. Za eyes burned when za opened them, but even when za wiped at them with za hand, za still couldn’t see anything.

The floor beneath za was getting colder and colder the longer za lay there, so za tried to sit up again, this time more slowly and carefully, making sure to push za up with za arms to stop za from falling over again.

This time the endeavor was a success, and za grinned at the achievement, and immediately attempted to get to za feet. This wasn’t as much of a disaster as it could have been, because za was careful to move slowly, and stretch a hand out to brace against the stone wall that met za questing fingers. It was rough and sharp beneath za hand, but allowed za to pull za to za feet.

Za still couldn’t see anything, and za eyes still stung, but za felt no concern, only a mild irritation, which was due mostly to the pain in za head, which refused to go away. Za was also starting to get hungry, and already za throat was dry with thirst.

Za couldn’t smell or hear water anywhere nearby, and when za took a few careful, but stumbling steps towards what sounded like an empty space, za outstretched hands found only ordered stacks of cold metal rising up from the floor. Za turned za back on the empty space, and tried in the opposite direction, using the combined senses of touch, hearing, and smell to figure out that za was in some sort of tunnel, with fresh air from further ahead carrying with it the promise of freedom and eventually, food and water.

It was slow going, because despite the fact that za was on za legs and walking, za wasn’t steady, and kept stumbling into the wall and almost falling, and had to keep stopping to catch za.

Za guessed that za had gotten through less than half of the tunnel before a new sound met za ears from somewhere ahead – the clatter of stone against stone, and a familiar but unrecognizable voice called, “Furless! Can you hear me? Furless!”

The voice, and the name it called, felt familiar, but hung just out of reach. Was za the Furless being called for? Za thought za might be. It felt right.

Should za call back? The voice sounded familiar and safe, like an old friend za would know, if not for the pain in za head.

Za decided to call, “Hello?” and see if the voice would know who za was from the sound of za voice, which echoed down the tunnel and out into the opening.

The other voice immediately called back, with what za recognized as joy and relief: “Furless! You’re alive! Are you hurt?” The clatter of stones grew stronger, and the voice became louder, as though an obstacle were being removed. Za – Furless? -- imagined, with the help of za hearing, a wall of rocks being dismantled.

The pain in za head was certainly the sign of an injury. “My head hurts, and has bled profusely!” Za called back, taking the opportunity to stop walking and lean against the wall to steady za. “Do you know me?” Za called, “I can’t remember you!”

Some might have thought it would be a good idea to keep that sensitive information a secret, to avoid a potential vulnerability, but za felt that za could trust this voice.

The voice called, “You are my friend, Furless, we came here together to look for gold! You went on ahead, then the earthquake struck! The tunnel collapsed, and it’s taken hours to get the rocks out of the way! How badly are you hurt?”

Za wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Za was in excruciating pain from za head, and still couldn’t see anything, but other than that, za was fine. Za could walk, could probably run if za needed to, and now had someone coming to help.

Za shrugged, not remembering that the voice probably could see the movement.

After a few moments, the voice called again, concerned, “Furless?”

“I am here!” Za called, then, after a thoughtful pause, decided to elaborate slightly for the voice’s benefit. “My head is bleeding, and I can’t see. I am dizzy. My head hurts.”

“Alright, I should be able to get through this wall very shortly, why don’t you just sit down where you are, Furless, and wait for me? Once I can get to you, we can decide what to do next.”

Za shrugged again, but this time remembered to answer aloud, saying, “I’ll wait here then!”

Carefully, za sat down, bracing za on the wall until za sat on the cold floor, legs stretched out in front of za, listening to the sound of rocks moving against rocks.

Za wasn’t sure if za eyes had been closed before, but eventually za realized they’d fallen shut, and despite za efforts to stay awake, za found za slipping back into unconsciousness again.

#long post #neopronouns #neopronouns in action #short story #short stories #original fiction #fiction #writing prompts #story ideas #public domain #neopronoun short story #novapronouns #supernova pronouns #supernovapronouns #blood #fictional head injury #the plot contrivances bother me that's why.

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wellsayhelloaagin · 2 years ago

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Tempt- Beckon Part Four

Summary: Sunday breakfast takes a surprising turn when Wanda invites you and Natasha over.

Pairing: Wanda x Natasha x f!reader

Genre: Smut (top!reader, bottom!Natasha, bottom!Wanda)

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: fingering, oral, voyeurism, exhibitionism, threesome, strap on use, degredation, praise kink, swearing, spanking, oral on strap, overstim, masturbation, food play

AN: This took way too long, I have no excuses really. Life just be like that some times.

The wheels of the shopping cart rattled obnoxiously as Wanda tried to manoeuvre her way through the grocery store, trying to avoid running into unsupervised children and elderly shoppers who couldn’t see more than two feet in front of them.

It was Sunday morning and when she stumbled to the kitchen this morning, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she did so, Wanda discovered that there was no food left in her house. Cursing herself internally, she quickly raced upstairs to shower before hurrying out the door in the hope of beating the family crowds.

But to top off her already shitty week, she found the store packed with more people than she was willing to deal with. It only added to her foul mood and every second found her fighting the urge to scream.

It had been a week since the barbeque, since the night that you and Natasha had welcomed her into your lives and changed Wanda’s for the better.

When she had left the next day, thoroughly fucked and satisfied, you had told her not to be a stranger. Wanda had taken that to mean that you were trying to give her some control, to ensure that this was what she really wanted by waiting for her to make the next move.

The only problem was, Wanda was far too shy to take the initiative, despite her body crying out for the release that only you could bring her. She had worn out the batteries in her favourite toy but it just wasn’t the same, not now that Wanda knew what she was missing.

She thought that maybe talking to Natasha would be easier, to mention to the redhead that she’d like to come over one night after work. But every time she had tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat.

So here she was, sexually frustrated and stuck in the grocery store trying to find something to make for breakfast.

She passes through the fresh fruit section, spying some tempting-looking strawberries. Wanda decides that maybe some pancakes might make her feel better about her lack of a spine.

She’s reaching for a punnet, trying to work out which one housed the most decadent-looking fruit when she hears a voice beside her that sends a thrill right through her body.

“Hey, neighbour.”

Wanda turns to find you staring there, Natasha by your side. You both look relaxed, your casual weekend clothes looking far too good on your bodies for Wanda’s liking. It was already hard enough to think in your presence and now Wanda had to deal with your welcoming smile and the sliver of skin exposed by your shirt that had risen above the waistband of your jeans.

“Hey,” Wanda returns, grateful for her voice remaining steady for once.

“I’m starting to think you’d forgotten about us,” you pout, Wanda’s eyes drawn to the way your lower lip juts out. “We’ve missed you this week.”

“Yeah, I-” Wanda begins but her voice trails off when Natasha’s hand reaches around your waist, fingers dipping into the top of the waistband of your pants, her head resting on your shoulder.

The casual display of intimacy has Wanda’s throat running dry, an intense wave of longing sweeping over her as her eyes fixate on Natasha’s hand.

“Sorry, what was that?” You prompt, your lips curving up at the edge.

“I, uh,” Wanda tries again, shaking her head to clear it from the cloud of lust. “I’ve just been busy.”

“That’s a shame,” Natasha chimes in, joining in on teasing Wanda. “It’s really more fun with you around.”

Wanda just nods, not entirely sure what to say. She could feel the heat rising up her neck, memories of the last time the three of you were in the same place invading her mind.

“Oh, strawberries,” you exclaim suddenly, eyeing the product in Wanda’s hand. “They look good, we should grab some.”

You tap Natasha’s hand for her to let go of you before reaching for the red fruit in front of you.

“You can have some of mine,” Wanda blurts out quickly, her mouth working faster than her mind.

You look at her confused and Wanda wants to smack herself in the face.

“I meant,” she continues, taking a breath to calm her nerves. “I was going to use them to make some pancakes for breakfast today. Maybe you two could join me?”

Wanda looks down at her feet, praying for a hole to open her up and swallow her whole. Why did she have to be so socially inept? She misses the look you share with Natasha, the excited gleam in your eyes.

“We’d love to,” you reply, making Wanda’s stomach clench in anticipation. “Don’t forget to buy some cream though, it’s Nat’s favourite.”

You shoot Wanda a wink before grabbing Natasha’s hand, leaving the brunette standing there stunned.

The knock on the door makes Wanda jump, the flour in her hand scattering over the counter. She mutters a few curse words under her breath, quickly cleaning it up before making her way to the front door.

She opens it to find you and Natasha on the other side and she is reminded of the last time you stood on her doorstep. The way you’re smiling at her makes Wanda think that you were remembering the same thing.

“Hi,” Wanda greets the two of you breathlessly, dusting the flour from her hands onto her jeans. “Come in.”

She moves to the side to let you and Natasha pass, smiling at your linked hands. You start walking toward the kitchen area while Wanda closes the front door, resting her head against it for just a moment to help calm her nerves.

By the time Wanda makes it to the kitchen, Natasha has already perched herself on one of the stools at the stone counter. You were leaning against the sink, eyes watching Wanda’s every move as she enters the room.

“Sorry, they’re not quite ready yet,” Wanda chews her lip nervously. “It shouldn’t take much longer. You can wait in the living room if you want.”

“Don’t be silly, Detka,” Natasha replies, leaning forward on her elbows and giving Wanda a clear view down her shirt. “We can help, what do you want us to do?”

“Um,” Wanda swallows thickly, distracted by the swell of Natasha's breasts. “You could cut the strawberries?”

Natasha smiles, leaning back in her seat. “Of course,” she responds, pulling the chopping board towards her.

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, sauntering over from the other side of the room.

Wanda tries to ignore the way your proximity has her nerves on edge, the smell of your perfume invading her senses and clouding her mind.

“Could you check the cream?” she asks, pointing to the bowl on the counter. “I don’t know if I made it sweet enough.”

You nod as Wanda adds some milk to her bowl, stirring the batter and trying not to stare as you dip your finger into the bowl of cream, bringing it slowly to your mouth.

Wanda’s knees feel weak as she watches your finger disappear into your mouth, your lips closing over the digit in a sinful way.

You hum in satisfaction, walking over to stand behind Wanda. She can feel the heat of your body behind her, her stomach doing somersaults.

“It tastes delicious, sweetheart,” you murmur in her ear, moving her loose hair over one shoulder.

The action causes Wanda to shudder and she hears you chuckle lowly behind her, the taunting sound making her thighs clench together.

“But I know something that tastes even better.”

Your voice holds promises Wanda hoped you would keep, your lips pressing gently against her neck. Her head lolls to the side, the wooden spoon clattering against the side of the bowl as she loses her grip on it.

Your lips trail lightly over the length of her neck, Wanda grabbing the edge of the counter for support as her knees start to shake.

She feels you smile against her throat, your tongue licking a stripe up her neck. She shivers as you blow cold air across it, goosebumps rising on the flesh.

“Some of us are trying to work, you know,” Natasha cuts in and Wanda's eyes snap open, watching the redhead pout across the room.

“Right, sorry,” Wanda apologises quickly, grabbing the spoon again to continue mixing the batter.

You just laugh, wrapping your arms around Wanda’s waist and hooking your head over her shoulder.

“Stop whining, it doesn’t look good on you,” you tell your girlfriend, earning a scowl from Natasha.

Wanda tries to ignore the way she can feel your breasts pressed against her back, your hips slotted in behind hers as you stand there. She adds some sugar to the batter, hands shaking as she tries to stir it in.

Her situation isn’t helped when your hands begin to wander to the front of her shirt, fingers slowly undoing the bottom button. You continue up her shirt, undoing each button you come across as your mouth returns to assaulting Wandas’ neck.

She can feel your teeth nibbling, your lips sucking on the spots that you knew made Wanda’s knees weak. Wanda once again lets go of the mixing spoon, eyes locking with Natasha’s across the counter.

Natasha is staring at Wanda, watching as her skin is exposed by your hands. She raises a strawberry to her lips, biting into its plump flesh. Wanda watches as a bead of juice escapes her mouth, moving over her lips and down her chin. She gulps as Natasha’s tongue peeks out to lick it up, her eyes full of lust.

When Wanda’s shirt is finally undone, you tug it down her shoulders. Your fingers make quick work of the clasp of her bra, letting it drop to the floor with her shirt. Wanda can feel her nipples pebble in the cold air, her stomach clenching as your hands roam over her torso, not touching her where she wanted it most.

Natasha leans back on her stool, hungry eyes still fixed on Wanda’s bare chest. Wanda can see that her breathing has quickened, her pupils dilated with arousal. She felt wanted and it only increased her own arousal.

Your hands finally cup her breasts, the warmth enveloping her as you massage them. She can feel the drag of your palms over her nipples and she can feel her panties growing slick between her legs.

Wanda moans softly as you pinch her nipples between your fingers, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sensation.

“Gosh, you sound so fucking sweet,” you growl into her ear, teeth tugging on the lobe. “I bet you’re just desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Wanda just nods, gasping as one of your hands slaps the side of her breast quickly. She pushes her hips back toward you, legs rubbing together for friction.

“Such a needy thing,” Natasha laughs and Wanda’s eyes open again, finding Natasha’s hand underneath her shirt, unmistakably massaging her own breast. “I think she wants you to fuck her.”

Wanda can feel her cheeks flame at the thought, her whimper completely involuntary.

You chuckle behind her, palming her breast roughly as your other hand trails down to the waistband of her jeans.

“Is that right, sweetheart?” You ask, fingers deftly undoing the button and dragging down the zipper of her pants. “You better ask real nice for it then, you know the deal.”

Wanda was so worked up at this point, so desperate to be touched that her normal timidness was long gone.

“Please,” she gasps as your hand dips inside her panties, finger pressing against her clit. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up and I want you to fuck me till I can’t stand.”

“Such a good girl,” you coo as Natasha smirks at the display in front of her. “Since you asked so nicely I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

You push Wanda’s pants down her legs, her panties following soon after. She kicks them off and you push her legs apart forcefully, her ass jutting out instinctively toward you.

“So sweet,” you admire, hands running over her ass in appreciation.

You give one side a sharp slap, earning a squeak from Wanda. You do it to the other side, watching the skin pink up under your hands.

Wanda can feel your fingers at her entrance, sliding along her folds and gathering her arousal before pushing into her. She moans at the feeling as you thrust them a few times, trying to get her ready.

“So wet for me,” you mumble, your free hand undoing your own pants. “I forgot how much of an eager whore you were when I touch you.”

Wanda just moans at the words, pushing back against your fingers. She whines when you remove them, hips stuttering in the air as she closes her eyes.

She feels your hand at her waist, gripping tightly and she stills, waiting for what would come next.

“Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart,” you tell her as you line your strap up with her entrance. “This one is new and it’s a little bigger than last time.”

Wanda knows she should be worried but she trusts you entirely, taking a deep breath as instructed. She can feel you begin to push into her, moving at a torturously slow pace. Wanda can feel the burn of the stretch, the pleasure mixing with the pain as you inch your way inside.

“That's it,” you encourage her, hand smoothing over her back as you guide yourself in. “Just keep breathing, you’re such a good girl for me.”

Your words cause Wanda to moan out loud, her ass pressing back into you a little more as the toy slips entirely inside. Wanda’s eyes are still clenched shut as you give her time to adjust, hand still comfortingly running over her back.

Wanda hears some rustling in front of her and opens her eyes, watching as Natasha pushes her shorts down her legs. She sits back on the stool, leaning back and resting her legs on the edge of the counter and giving Wanda the perfect view of her glistening pussy.

As Natasha begins to circle her clit with her finger, her other hand on her breast, Wanda feels you pull out slowly. She can feel the drag of the toy inside her, the size meaning she could feel every single bump and ridge.

As you begin to push back in, just as torturously slow, Natasha begins to push her finger into her own entrance. Natasha’s eyes are locked on Wanda’s, the two sets of green orbs connected.

You pull out a little quicker this time, pushing back into Wanda and causing her to cry out in pleasure. Natasha’s own moans are echoing off the kitchen walls, a second finger joining the first.

Wanda’s hands reach out, trying to find purchase on anything as you begin fucking into her, trying to find any kind of leverage to push back against you. Natasha’s free hand has now joined the first, her fingers sliding over her clit messily.

Wanda can see how wet she is, Natasha’s fingers coated in her arousal and Wanda found herself wishing she could lick it up. Your hands are gripping her hips tightly as you thrust into her and Wanda hopes that you’ll leave bruises again.

She always loved seeing the marks on her body, a reminder of feeling completely owned by you.

“Does this get you all worked up, baby?” You ask Natasha, your voice low and gravelly as you continue to fuck Wanda. “You like seeing me fuck some other slut.”

Natasha nods, adding a third finger, her hips lifting to draw them deeper.

“You look so good fucking her,” Natasha moans out, her pace quickening. “I love hearing how wet she gets for you, hearing your cock slide in and out of her desperate cunt. I bet she’s dripping all over her thighs.”

Wanda hates how much the conversation turns her on, how much she wanted to hate how the two of you were talking about her like she wasn’t in the room. But it just spurs her on, her moans growing as you pound into her.

“Do you like that sweetheart?” You ask her, hand striking her ass again as you bend your knees slightly, the new angle pushing her into the counter more. “Do you like hearing about what a greedy pussy you have?”

Wanda just nods, incapable of words as she feels the coil inside of her tightening. Her eyes are still glued to Natasha’s hand, the wet sound of her fingers filling the room.

“You going to cum, baby?” You turn your attention to Natasha again, watching her hips rock in time with her hand, knowing from the volume of her moans that she was close.

“Yes,” Natasha moans out, hand working at a brutal pace. “Please, can I come?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, enjoying watching Natasha try and hold herself back, eyes pleading with you.

“Of course,” you finally say. “Make a mess of your fingers for me.”

Natasha lets out a loud moan and Wanda watches the muscles in her thighs tense, Natasha’s hand becoming soaked in her juices. She slumps back into her chair, eyes heavy-lidded as she comes down from her orgasm.

You’re still pushing into Wanda, her cries growing louder and you help her climb closer to the edge. You reach around her waist, fingers quickly finding her clit and nimbly dancing over it.

“Oh, fuck,’ Wanda whispers, head falling forward as she finds herself approaching her orgasm.

You know she’s close, your hand around her waist supporting a lot of her body weight as her legs start to give out. You angle your hips again, the change in position making Wanda cry out loudly, the muscles in her stomach contracting under your arm.

“I’m gonna-” she pants, hands scrambling to find anything to grab onto.

“Cum for me sweetheart,” you whisper in her ear, never letting up on your assault of her clit. “I want you to cum all over my cock.”

Wanda gasps, her entire body tensing before she lets out a loud moan. You don’t stop pumping into her, your fingers still working over her clit as she shakes underneath you. You can feel her tensing up again, another orgasm washing over her quickly.

She slumps forward as you slow your thrusts, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. You press gentle kisses over her back, giving her a second to calm down.

You pull out of Wanda, your strap coated in her arousal. She shudders at the loss, a low whine escaping her throat. She feels you tug on the back of her hair, pulling her to rest against your chest before pushing on her shoulder.

She gets the hint, dropping to her knees in front of you. You smile down at her, hand gently brushing the hair off her sweat-soaked forehead.

“So obedient,” you praise her and Wanda feels a thrill run through her at the words. “Now be a good girl and clean your mess up.”

You nudge the tip of your strap against her lips and Wanda’s eyes go wide.

She leans forward tentatively, her tongue darting out timidly to lick the tip of the silicone. You watch her for a few moments as she laps at the toy, eyes watching you for guidance.

“Come here,” you beckon Natasha over and Wanda hears the scaping of the stool on the ground.

Wanda listens to the soft pad of Natasha’s feet on the tile, her legs appearing in her peripheral vision. She watches as you cup Natasha’s cheek in your hand, pulling her in for a chaste kiss.

“Teach her how, baby,” you murmur, and Natasha sinks to her knees beside Wanda.

She wastes no time, gripping the base of the strap and sliding her mouth over the tip. She hollows out her cheeks as she takes the length of it into her mouth and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a little turned on by the sight of her boss licking her cum off your strap.

After a few seconds, she pulls off with a popping sound, a string of saliva trailing from her lip to the tip of the fake cock. Wanda acts instinctively, swiping it with her thumb before pressing it to her mouth, savouring the taste of Natasha.

You offer your hands to the two women, Wanda gratefully taking one as she stands. Her legs still feel shaky, her two orgasms had really taken it out of her. When they’re both standing, Wanda looks at you apprehensively, feeling as though she had failed.

“Don’t look so worried,” you reassure her, holding her chin between your thumb and index finger. “You did so well.”

Wanda smiles in return, the relief flowing through her. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint you, wanting to do everything in her power to make you happy.

You smile back at her before leaning in, capturing her lips in your own. The kiss is firm and passionate, your tongue probing Wanda’s mouth as you walk her backward until she brushes against the counter.

“No fair,” Wanda hears Natasha complain and you smile into the kiss, pulling away to roll your eyes at your girlfriend.

“Would you like a turn?” You ask Natasha and she nods, stalking toward Wanda with a wicked glint in her eye.

When Natasha kisses her, Wanda lets out a small squeak at the force behind it. Natasha grips the back of Wanda’s thighs, lifting her quite easily despite being smaller than the brunette. Wanda wraps her legs around Natasha as she is placed on the edge of the counter, the cool stone making her shiver as her overheated flesh makes contact with it.

Wanda can feel your hand in her hair and she breaks the kiss with Natasha to fuse her lips to yours again, feeling dizzy from all the attention.

When you pull away again, you’re both panting into each other's mouths and Wanda can feel the stirrings of arousal settling in her belly again.

“Want some cream, sweetheart?” You ask her, swiping some onto your finger.

Wanda nods eagerly and you smear it over her lips, her tongue darting out to lick it up. She hums at the sweet taste, aware of the eyes watching her every move.

“Want some more?” You ask her and she nods again.

You place it on her lips again but this time before she can lick it off, your tongue is there to do the job. You tug on her bottom lip with your teeth, pulling a whine from Wanda's throat. Once you’re satisfied that her lips are clean, you pull away, Wanda’s lips chasing yours.

“Like I said earlier, fucking delicious.”

Wanda beams at you, preening under the praise you were giving her.

“Would you like to try some too?” You ask, turning your attention to Natasha.

The redhead nods and you place your finger in the bowl once more, collecting the cream on the digit. This time, you don’t place the fluffy mixture on Wanda’s lips but rather, you dollop it onto her breast, her nipple reacting to the cold mixture immediately.

Natasha wastes no time, leaning forward to greedily lap it up with her tongue. Wanda arches her back, pressing her chest closer to Natasha as she showers her breast with attention.

“Want some syrup too?”

You don’t wait for a reply to your question, Wanda can feel the sticky liquid hit her shoulder before it runs down over her collarbone and through the valley between her breasts. Natasha cleans it up, her tongue following the path in reverse, making sure to nibble on Wanda’s collarbones along the way.

You drip the syrup on Wanda again, this time lower down her torso. Natasha follows the trail, her tongue dragging across Wanda’s skin as she leans back on her elbows to watch.

You drip the syrup onto the top of Wanda’s sex, the sticky liquid pooling at the apex of her thighs. Natasha doesn’t waver, making quick work of the clean-up. Your hand is running through Natasha’s hair, encouraging her exploration of Wanda’s body.

When the syrup is clean, Wanda expects Natasha to stand back up but instead, you push her head lower. Wanda sighs as Natasha’s tongue brushes her clit, her green eyes locking with Wanda’s as she lapped at her.

You move to stand behind Natasha and Wanda can see you gripping the base of your strap tightly.

“The louder you make her moan,” you inform Natasha, running the length of the strap along Natasha’s folds to get it nice and wet, “the harder I’ll fuck this pretty pussy of yours.”

Natasha doesn’t respond verbally but the way she pushes two fingers into Wanda’s entrance lets everyone know she heard you.

Wanda moans at the feeling, her body falling back as her arms give out. She grips Natasha’s head in her hands, trying to pull the redhead closer to her. Natasha moans against Wanda, indicating that you had entered her as promised.

Natasha removes her fingers after a few thrusts, instead moving her mouth down to Wanda’s entrance. She can feel Natasha's tongue slip inside her, the rough muscle tracing her most intimate flesh and causing her to moan louder.

Wanda can feel the power of your thrusts, Natasha’s nose bumping against her clit with each press forward of your hips. The redhead is moaning almost as loud as Wanda, even with her voice muffled.

Her nails are digging into Wanda’s thighs and Wanda can tell Natasha is getting close by the almost painful grip she has. Without warning, Wanda topples over the edge, her legs trying to close around Natasha’s head as she continues to lick Wanda through her orgasm.

It’s only a few seconds later that Wanda feels Natasha cry out against her, her tongue letting up for a few moments as she cries out in pleasure at her own release. Her head rests against Wanda’s thigh as she catches her breath, both women thoroughly dishevelled.

Wanda can hear the sound of you unbuckling the harness of the strap despite the blood rushing in her ears. She hears the sound of skin being slapped before Natasha jolts against her, a squeak of surprise escaping her.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you say, the commanding tone of your voice making Wanda clench around nothing.

Natasha leans forward again, attaching her mouth to Wanda’s clit once more. Her fingers join in as well, three of them entering her and setting a quick pace. Wanda tries to shake her head in protest, already feeling overstimulated from the three orgasms she’d had this morning.

“Aw, sweetie,” you coo in a patronising tone, fingers tracing Wanda’s cheek gently. “She stops when I tell her to.”

Wanda watches as you climb onto the counter, legs resting either side of her head. You hover above her, your glistening folds inches from Wanda’s face. You begin to lower yourself down, Wanda’s tongue dutifully sticking out to lap at you.

“And I won’t tell her to stop until that pretty mouth of yours has made me cum at least twice.”

I no longer do taglists but you can follow my library blog and turn on notifications to get alerts when I post a new story @puppiesbrainsandbabieshearts

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda imagine #natasha imagine #wandanat imagine #beckon series #s writes stuff

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saffloure · 2 years ago

Text

ೃ༄HIT DICE (I)

EDDIE MUNSON X HARRINGTON!OC

MASTERLIST

✧chapter one: expectations of a buttercup

↳ word count: 6,8k

↳ spoiler warning: seasons 1-3

↳ other warnings: smoking weed, being high, mildly drastic wound description (regarding the Mind Flayer), mentions of death (minor characters)

↳ mentioned songs/artists: Tears for Fears, Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix, Diary of the Madman by Ozzy Osbourne

↳ a/n: hello lovies! I’ve been working on this piece since the ending of vol.2, trying to bring our boy Edds justice. hope you enjoy my little scribbles! if you want to be notified each time I post — comment or dm me!

Sometimes, expectations can appear exorbitant.

For instance, some may anticipate to pass a strenuous test with flying colors. Others may hope to conduct a trenchant analysis of the nagging emotions, seething inside of them. There are also those, who look forward to obtaining wealth; whether it's spiritual or plainly material.

Those things, however, are significantly more likely to be fulfilled while compared with...

"Steve! I swear, I'm going to fuckin' kill you!"

...the expectations regarding your own siblings.

"Geez! Calm down, booger," Steve Harrington sighed loudly, rolling his eyes at the sound of his younger sister re-entering their house.

A spoon he was eating his cereals with was still in his mouth when he heard a harsh noise of the car keys hitting the surface of their wooden kitchen table.

"I've been telling you for the past four days there's something wrong with my car!" The brunette girl bursted out with an expression of utter anger. The kind, people let themselves express only around the closest family members.

"So, uh, have you considered visiting a mechanic?" Steve answered nonchalantly, completely not bothered by the fit of rage his sister was displaying.

"You've promised me to do it!"

With that, Steve Harrington finally took the metal spoon out of his mouth and with the most blank and carefree expression asked, "Did I?"

It was the final nail in the coffin for the already furious girl. Plucking up unspeakable amounts of strength, she gritted her teeth in hopes of keeping her composure steady...

...or rather what had remained of it at that point.

"On Wednesday, to be precise. It's Friday today," she reminded him, inhaling audibly. Just as her mother always ordered her to do when she wanted to calm herself down.

"Well, that's great then, isn't it?" Steve smirked, getting up from his chair as he sloppily placed the bowl and the spoon in the sink. "Friday, weekend... Lot's of free time, 'ya know? Might as well visit the mechanic yourself," he added deliberately, simply to further annoy his younger sibling.

It wasn't surprising at all when his sister let out another frustrated growl. To be frank, it was exactly what Steve had expected and, as the matter of fact, something he would never get tired of.

"It's not about fixing the car now! It's about you not keeping the promises!" The girl was fuming as she walked up to him. "I'm telling you that there's a problem, you're assuring me you'll help me with it, and what? Each time I start the engine, my pretty baby is wheezing and grunting like goddamn Sloth!"

Steve watched in amusement as his sister throws her hands in the air, only to mumble, "I thought sloths are usually really quiet."

The brunette stopped herself to blink twice at her brother's remark.

"I meant the character in the Goonies. You know, the one with fractured skull... Geez! You work in Family Video! You should've gotten the reference," she explained with a sigh, now anxiously stomping her feet.

"What?" Steve chuckled at the sight of his sister suddenly regaining her usual persona.

"Well, I'm waiting for you to drive me to school, idiot. I need to get there somehow," she answered with an excessive amount of confidence in her voice.

"You can always use your bike," he shrugged casually, grabbing, however, the keys to his BMW as he made his way towards the door. With a victorious grin, his sister followed him, mechanically walking up to the front seat of the car. "Hey! We're picking up Robin as well. You gotta sit in the backseat for being a pain in the ass," he added, watching her once again grimacing in disbelief at his antics.

"We could've not have this conversation if you did what you've promised," she murmured, eventually taking her seat in Steve's car.

A Tears for Fears song resounded when the vehicle started. It was immediately followed by Steve's cheeky humming as he made a U-turn, putting his sunglasses on at the same time.

"That's child endangerment," his sister remarked, noting how the maneuver was done with only one of his hands.

"Yeah, why do you think I did that?" Steve grinned from ear to ear, turning up the volume of the radio.

Bickering was something that often occurred between the Harrington siblings, whether done by sheer malice or purely out of boredom. It was a repetitive theme despite the indisputable status of their parents or, maybe, it was that exact spoken social expectation that made the sibling behave abruptly childish when left alone. Just as the two of them were frantically trying to hold onto the only relatively positive aspect of their lives — their carefree childhood.

It would have been an understatement to claim the Harringtons weren't living a comfortable life — quite the opposite actually. With their parents obtaining respectable positions that guaranteed a certain level of wealth, the siblings couldn't complain about lack of money, nor inability to pursue their hobbies. Neither of them were bullied because their upbringing or a particular item of clothing they decided to wear. Neither of them experienced the downsides of live other children at their age faced with everyday.

Due to all of the advantages the siblings had, it was almost impossible to complain about any inconvenience, no matter how grand. Moreover, that fact was making it excruciatingly hard for them to realize that, in fact, they both faced their own demons.

"Is dad coming home this weekend?" The tone in which the question was spoken utterly differed from the one used in conversation that had happened just a while ago.

"No clue. Besides, you're the one that should know. He likes you better," Steve muttered, glancing at his sister's reflection in the back mirror. His answer, however, didn't hold no envy nor jealousy. It was a mere stating of facts, which unfortunately still made his sister feeling a specific type of tingling in her chest.

Guilt.

Rivalry between the Harrington's appeared when they both were attending High School and ended as soon as Steve graduated. While telling his parents he wasn't looking forward to attend a university just yet, they abruptly cut off his allowance, claiming his two options now were to make up his mind, or simply find a job. Steve vividly remembered the agitation on his father's face when this conversation took place. Most importantly, he recalled him and his mother debating whether or not had him to move out. The only thing that made them change their minds was the calm voice of his younger sister, slowly talking them out of the idea. With the politeness of a grand duchess and the debate skills of an Oxford lawyer, the girl singlehandedly stopped a tragedy from happening...

...or that at least he had told Robin the first time she properly met his sister.

Properly, because the two of them were already acquainted with each other. After all, they were peers, attending quite a few classes together for the past three years, now going on four.

"Hi, Dingus... Oh, hi, Stacy!" The door of the car swung open as the voice of Robin Buckley greeted the Harrington siblings. Putting on a seatbelt, she squinted her eyes after ogling her classmate, "Why are you sitting in the backseat?" she asked, amused.

"Ask him, not me," Stacy Harrington shrugged, a sly smirk appearing on her face when she playfully grabbed the sides of her brother's face from behind. "Look at that shit-eating grin. So proud of bullying his little sister," she added with a false notion of hurt.

"Yeah, keep shaking my head. It's not like I'm driving or doing anything else that could potentially cause a car crash," Steve complained in a monotonous tone, causing Stacy to furrow her brow and pretend to choke him, her fingers never touching his neck.

"It's like watching a soap opera with the two of you," Robin exclaimed, her eyes wide open in pure diversion.

"Not my fault he's an airhead," Stacey scoffed.

"Not my fault she's mental," Steve replied in the exact same manner.

It was only a matter of another few minutes when the trio found themselves in the Hawkins High parking lot. With one more insult exchanged between the siblings before saying goodbye, Stacy got out of the car, holding onto her brown leather bag.

"So," Robin started after walking up to her. "Have a good day, Harrington."

The awkwardness with which the sentence was spoken equaled Stacy's response that contained of a quiet, "Yeah..." And even more inaudible, "You too."

Watching the dark-blonde girl disappear into the depth of a school corridor, Stacy tightened the grip on her bag. It had only been a few seconds before her timid expression vanished. The reason for the sudden change? The silhouettes of her classmates appearing on the horizon.

With a polite yet insincere smile she was used to, Stacy waved them hello after fleeing to the bathroom. With a deep sigh, the dark-haired girl rested her palms on the sink that had definitely seen better times.

Another day of being a coward, she thought to herself before she heard the bell ring.

She regretted not chatting with Robin Buckley after they got out of the car. She regretted not being able to drop the role she was still unwillingly pursuing. After all, the two high school seniors were parts of cliques that drastically differed, given not only their social status, but also the general idea of their characters; Robin wasn't popular amongst other students. She was a band geek, who wasn't afraid to reply with a snarky comment. Despite her coyness, she was almost always able to be her most authentic self.

Stacy's role, on the other hand, had been assigned to her the day she enrolled high school. With her brother Steve — formerly known as the King — Harrington, she didn't need to worry about venturing into the extraneous place that contained of stereotypes, social stigmas and, simultaneously, sweaty basketball players, aggressively slamming the door of a locker in front of her face. It came easy to her to find her way in high school after having it already paved by her older brother.

At first, it was like a dream come true — everyone smiling at her sight, not being targeted by the older kids. Herself, Stacy was quite an opinionated and bold teenager. Moreover, she had the audacity to speak her mind without being afraid to be raked over the coals. Therefore, she had gained a fair share of popularity — amongst classmates because of her charisma, and amongst teachers due to her academic skills. A picture perfect scenery, if you were to ask her just two years ago. An ideal high school experience, was what she would have said up until the last summer.

The last summer.

Stacy squinted her eyes in the middle of her math class.

Stacy thought being stuck in the other dimension with her brother and a bunch neighborhood kids last October was bad. She though learning about the existence of the Upside Down was just enough. That, however, did not prepare her for what she was about to witness. Every so often her memory was flooded by the horrid images of the Starcourt Mall massacre. The fire, the gunshots, the ginormous monster made out of the flesh of flayed Hawkins citizens.

And the little pink bow sticking out of its body. The little pink bow that belonged to her classmate, Heather.

Moreover, much like her brother, Stacy Harrington grew up. How could she not? After all, after witnessing what her eyes had seen was enough to mature anyone, especially a preppy girl, whose only concern was what to wear to the pep-rally. Now, her problems oscillated not only in the area of Hawkins High, but also consisted of the emotional trauma she couldn't share with anyone.

She found peace and serenity in cutting herself off of the social life. At least, to the amount that could still held her in favors of the school elite. After all, she saw what happened to her brother when he stopped being friends with Tommy and Carol — he was dethroned. Bullied even. Although King Steve would never admit that. Therefore, Stacy calculated what she needed to do in order to maintain both her peace of mind and the position. That being — occupying herself with school work and claiming she needed to focus on passing the finals flawlessly.

It wasn't a complete lie. Stacy consequently succeeded academically, learning bringing her genuine satisfaction. Now, however, it became an unstoppable coping mechanism. A last thread that was keeping her sane.

Today was no different than what she had gotten herself used to for the past year: get up, argue with Steve, attend classes. This is why she was now in cafeteria, sitting on the opposite side of the table Chrissy Cunningham was located at.

Cheerleaders and preppy girls. Something that used to be Stacy's pride, now ended up being a burden.

Munching on a piece of stale toast, she mindlessly looked up, her eyes trailing down the windows with Halloween decorations still on. Of course no one bothered to take them down, it was just a week after the holiday.

Her stare landed on the theatre kids spot. Stacy always admired the bold accessories some of them used to put on. For instance, today a girl, whose name couldn't pop up in Stacy's mind, was wearing an obnoxiously large black hat with flowers of the same color.

Then, she turned her gaze towards the band geeks amongst which Robin was seated at. All absorbed in a conversation, they shared smiles with each other. Smiles, that were far from sarcastically amused expression of the cheerleaders when they were gossiping.

Finally, her eyes travelled towards the direction of Dustin, Lucas and Mike, who were just about to put their trays down at the Dungeons and Dragons table. Her stare must have been obvious, hence her brother's curly-haired friend waved at her. In response, she raised her hand up, watching the eyes of the infamous Eddie Munson widening. With a chuckle, he gesticulated vividly while starting up a conversation with Henderson.

Returning her attention to her plate, Stacy looked down. There was no possibility she was ever going to be like these kids. Not bothered by anyone's opinion, not worrying about the social status, but most importantly — not being afraid to be themselves.

She, Stacy B. Harrington, was the biggest coward of them all. And the only thing she could do about it was live in never ending regret.

It took her another three classes to came to the conclusion that she couldn't keep her act anymore. Everything was leading to her downfall, and the only thing that could eventually stop her from reaching her breaking point was the notion of her completing the most idiotic plan she could currently came up with.

And Dustin Henderson was to blame for that. If it hadn't been for him waving at her, the idea would've never cluttered her mind.

With the sound of the last bell of the day, Stacy made her way towards her locker, waiting for a certain individual to show up. It took a few minutes for her to notice his silhouette approaching the lockers. To be complete frank, Stacy could've closed her eyes and still know it was him — the sound of a clinking chains attached to his belt was making it impossible to confuse Eddie Munson with any other person from Hawkins High.

There were numerous rumors surrounding his persona, as well as the club he was the leader of. Stacy recalled one of the cheerleaders claiming they sacrifice neighborhood babies for satanic rituals. Although this could be as well a poor joke told by someone of Jason Carver's sort. Disregarding the mass-frightening stories, Stacy could clearly see why people were resentful when it came to Eddie. After all, he did, in fact, repeat senior year once again this year. And that already added to his mysterious and formidable persona.

Yet, being a Harrington concluded Stacy was acting incredibly confident in times of possible danger. It so happened to be awfully extensive to the point where she was plainly making an idiot out of herself.

"Hi," she said as soon as she noticed Eddie closing his locker.

Apparently hearing her voice was so unexpected to him, he blinked rapidly before opening his mouth.

"My, my! Stacy Harrington giving me a heart attack on a Friday afternoon..." he started, the fact she truly scared him covered by his smooth-talk. "Can't say that something I'd ever imagined to happen, though I'm not mad," he chuckled.

Although the words naturally flew from his mouth, Eddie Munson had to admit that conversations with popular people were making him beyond uncomfortable.

"Well, I do have something to ask you for," Stacy replied, entertained by the exaggerated expressions he was displaying as they spoke.

"A few words more and I'll be convinced you weren't staring at our table today because of Henderson, but because of me," he smirked, observing how the girl in pleated blazer opened her mouth to appear slightly offended.

"I wasn't staring at anyone!" she argued in a playful tone, letting out a single giggle at the end of her exclamation.

"Sure. How could I possibly cause Miss Harrington of such things?" Eddie asked, dropping his eyes down for a second. "Anyway... cut to the chase," he added, standing up straight.

" I have this little green problem," she said with a serious tone but furrowed her brow as Eddie did not elaborate. "Purple Haze problem?" she tried to make another reference.

"Oh, you're a Jimi Hendrix fan?" Eddie exclaimed, toying with the fact that both Hendrix's song and a specific type of plant shared the same name.

"Don't make fun of me," Stacy reprimanded him, however, failed in keeping a stone expression.

"I'm not," Eddie defended himself. "It just has to be the weirdest way of someone asking me for some weed."

The girl scoffed, looking away for a brief moment, "Apologies for the lack of professionalism."

Eddie shook his head, maybe to appear more intimidating, maybe to cover the smile that was highly inappropriate for a drug dealer. "Meet me in my car in twenty. Just so, you know, none of your prim girlfriends will see you," he meant the last sentence as a joke, although it hit a bit too close too home for Stacy.

Nodding her head, they parted their ways, so as Stacy found herself once again in the school bathroom today. Glancing at her reflection, she quickly fixed her hair — another thing the Harrington siblings had in common. A neat coiffure, held in place by Farrah Fawcet's hairspray.

The twenty minutes Stacy was supposed to wait were dragging on substantially, equal to what waiting for a parent in a grocery store was like. Finally, after what felt like eternity, Stacy left the school grounds, making her way towards the well-known van. Knocking on the back door, she was immediately greeted by the sound of loud music.

"And that's all from being discrete," she murmured more to herself that to Eddie, taking a look at the insides of the car.

"What do you think about my humble vehicle?" he started up a conversation, placing a black metal box on the table inside.

Stacy placed her hands on her hips, taking a quick look around the van. "Spacious," she murmured.

"Comparing to that 'lil red Chevy of yours? Without a doubt," he smirked, shaking the two plastic bags he had just took out. "Any particular wishes? Let me just warn you, I don't have your Purple Haze," he teased her.

"Anything that's not mostly Incica, really," Stacy answered, taking a few steps closer to her classmate.

"Oh, what a connoisseur," Eddie murmured. Stacy couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Is Pineapple Express fine by you, buttercup?" he asked, showing her one of the bags.

"Yeah," she let out a chuckle at the nickname she was called.

"I normally do twenty bucks for half of an ounce..." Eddie started, getting up from the small table.

"That will do," Stacy interrupted him, opening her bag to search for the bank note.

Eddie tilted his head as he glanced over her. "I was about to give you a discount," he replied bluntly.

"Then keep the change for the splendid customer service," she shrugged.

For a split second Eddie Munson thought the time froze. All he could see was Stacy Harrington, looking up at him with the most genuine smile he had ever seen a girl like her display. The rays of sun that got inside of the van through the patchy blinds illuminated the locks of her hazel hair, causing her to appear almost magical.

So magical, in fact, that he didn't hear her repeating his name over three times by now.

"Sorry. I spaced out," he admitted, shaking his head as a promise of now listening to her clearly.

"Well, I figured it out," Stacy laughed, placing the money before him. "I was asking if you have any rolling papers," she repeated, taking her share of weed.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Eddie blabbered, reaching out to the drawer on top of the seating. Without asking, Stacy sat down the moment the tissue-like paper was handed out to her. Silently exuberant by her staying a while longer, Eddie took a spot beside her, watching as she carefully began rolling the blunt. "So, tell me... since when does Little Miss Perfect smoke dope?" he asked nonchalantly.

An amused grin appeared on Stacy's face before she even got a chance to answer. It was above surprising how much she smiled during her conversation with Eddie. "Since everything took a turn for the worse," she answered evasively.

"Yeah... I expect being on top of the class is really the worst that could happened," Eddie wondered, causing Stacy to immediately look at him.

"You know shit, Munson," she whispered in a defensive tone, sending him a reprimanding stare.

"Fuck, no, I didn't mean it as an insult," he was quick to defend himself the moment he realized he worded his sentence badly. "What I wanted to say is I just can't... imagine that."

His abrupt answer made Stacy's cheeks burn. Of course she exaggerated his words. She often had a tendency to get awfully preserving when it came to people doubting her. Something, that possibly appeared in her life due to not being able to tell others about her problems. After all, Stacy Harrington wasn't a person one could relate to. From the surface she seemed like a terribly shallow person, who didn't differ much from those, whose only intention was to achieve success, no matter the costs.

"Sorry," she muttered, apologizing. "I get really articulate when I'm focused," she added, showing Eddie her perfectly rolled blunt.

And just like the tension was never there, he chuckled, taking it from her to admire it in the better light, "Look at that! And I originally thought you're just a munchkin. You're full of surprises, Miss Harrington."

Getting up and bowing dramatically, Stacy giggled, "Comes in handy."

"Well," Eddie shook his head. "All I have to tell you now is to enjoy the product," he added in the same, over the top manner.

Smiling, Stacy grabbed her bag. However, before she decided to open the van doors, she turned back, facing Eddie, who now wore quite a confused expression.

"Everything's alright? Did you forget something?" he asked her quickly, concerned for the reason of her possible upset.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to smoke together," Stacy answered, watching's Eddie's eyes opening ever wider than before.

Without a word, just with a mere disbelief painted all over his face, he pointed — firstly at himself, then — at her. Not a second later he smirked, his locks covering his face, "You know what they say... don't get high on your own supply," he quoted.

"Like I'll believe you don't use your own stuff," Stacy scoffed. "Besides, you're not Tony Montana... So?"

Eddie shook his head once again, smirking to himself, "How can I refuse a girl, who's just got a Scarface reference?"

"That, my dear, is called a deal breaker," she responded, following Eddie to the front of the van.

"A hit dice," he corrected her, starting his car. "We'll drive just beside that part of the forest. Smoking on the school's parking lot is far too crazy... Even for Eddie the Freak," he explained quickly, spitting out the last part with a notion of sarcasm.

"That's quite a lofty nickname, isn't it?" Stacy asked, causing Eddie to glance at her for a spare second. "Awfully uncreative... but lofty," she corrected herself, smiling at the sounds of a song that just played on the radio.

"Lofty," Eddie repeated in a scoff, only to notice Stacy's hand traveling towards the head unit of his van. "Hey! No changing music in my car. I have full monopoly on what's playing," he stated half threateningly, half jokingly.

"Who said I was going to change it?" Stacy asked, almost like her former intentions were the clearest thing in the world.

"You weren't?"

The brunette giggled in disbelief. "I wanted to turn it up. I like this song... Dairy of a Madman is a good album in general," she admitted, watching Eddie displaying visible shock. "What?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie let out the air he was holding for definitely longer than he should. "There's no way you're listening to Ozzy Osbourne."

"Why?" Stacy asked light-heartedly as they found themselves in a more secluded area.

"Because you're... you," Eddie gesticulated vividly after stopping his car.

With a flick of her hair, Stacy got out of the van, waiting for her companion to join her as she lit up the blunt.

"I am me," she repeated his words. "Munson, you're not even high yet and you're already talking nonsense."

"Anything for you, I guess," he shrugged, inhaling their shared blunt.

"You know what?" Stacy chuckled at the sudden memory flooding her mind. "I do remember you way before high school, actually," she added, watching him scrunching his nose.

"Wasn't expecting to have a stalker. Especially not one in a form of Hawkins' pride and joy," he confessed leaning on the hood of his van.

"Yeah, I'm not sure about that joy part," Stacy chuckled, feeling an unwitting smile entering her face.

"Just look at you, buttercup. All happy and dandy." Eddie pointed at her expression.

"That's just the weed kicking in," she answered, which simultaneously was the worst idea she could possibly have, hence she choked on a huge cloud of smoke.

"Oi, here you had me thinking you were a professional," he teased her, gaining a nudge on the arm.

"Shit happens even to the best, okay?" she responded in the same tone.

A few minutes after, Stacy and Eddie found themselves sitting on the mulching ground, casually exchanging any thoughtful remarks their stimulated minds were telling them to vocalize. It was strangely calming to Stacy how the presence of a person she didn't exchange even a hello before had helped her become utterly tranquil. Of course, it was also the merit of the chemicals that now entered their bodies, however, despite being intoxicated Stacy could've concluded she wouldn't have been in such a positive state if it wasn't for the curly-haired metal head.

"So, you say you remember my little meek persona, huh?" Eddie asked, returning to the conversation they were having beforehand.

In response, Stacy's eyes wandered way above Eddie's head, landing somewhere in between of the branches.

"Yeah," she started in a dreamy tone. "Only your hair was a 'lil bit shorter," she spoke softly, catching with the corner of her eye how a smirk entered his face. "By 'lil bit I mean shittone. Like, way, way shorter. Non-existent even," she corrected herself, thinking his reaction was caused by her unclear response.

She had no idea, however, Eddie's expression was a reaction of a genuine surprise.

"You mean middle school?" He wanted to clarify and succeeded by watching her nod her head. "You're right. That buzz cut was ooglay," he agreed in an exaggerated tone.

"I never said it was ugly." Stacy crossed her arms. "Although I must say, you do look way better with your hair like that," she added, almost like she was complimenting an old friend, not a classmate she had never spoken a word with before.

"You think?" Eddie asked in a challenging tone, abruptly grabbing a handful of his locks as he covered his face with it.

She had forgotten how it felt to genuine laugh at someone's jokes. She had forgotten the feeling of excitement while discussing a certain topic. Moreover, she had forgotten how to relax.

"I like your blazer," Eddie spoke after a few minutes of silence.

"I stole it from my brother back in eight grade," Stacy disclosed, her voice lowered, almost like she was gossiping with her cheerleader friends.

"Oh, yeah, your brother..." he hummed in response, almost like he had completely forgotten about that instance. "How is he, by the way?"

"Just... you know... working," Stacy struggled to form a sentence as her glance was focused on the spot behind Eddie. "Look, I think that's a squirrel," she said confidently, pointing somewhere in front of her.

"Where?" He squinted his eyes in order to adjust his eyesight. "I don't see anything, buttercup. You're delusional," he added after a while.

"No, I'm not, Eddie! I swear that squirrel was there just a moment ago!" Stacy argued, however, not being able to stop laughing.

"Well, you surely scared it with your screaming by now... Where are you going?"

"Go through your things and look for some snacks," she replied innocently and jumped back in the vehicle.

"You won't find anything despite a few molded sandwiches!" Eddie called after her, adding to himself, "...and possibly some drugs."

Not a moment later he heard a noise of something metal hitting the ground.

"I didn't break anything!" Stacy reassured him. "Everything's under control!"

She had no idea that the last sentence would so hauntingly occupy her mind the day next.

It was a Saturday. One of the warmest one this November, actually. Her brown locks were sprawled across her back as she managed to finally unscrew the top part of the metal lid, covering the air filter. It was just around four in the evening when she returned from the mechanic with a newly bought substitute — a stark white filtering compartment, covered by silver pieces made to secure the device.

It was excruciatingly bold of her to presume she would manage to change it without anyone's help. But, with her persistent will and stupendous motivation caused by neither her father nor Steve being currently at home, Stacy Harrington gritted her teeth, calming herself down with the, "Everything's under control." In reality, however, she was silently cursing out whoever, who tightened the screws so hard, her knuckles were becoming white from trying to loosen them.

Ever since she could remember, Stacy was drawn to manual work such as preparing a volcano model for her middle school's talent show or plainly helping to fix the kitchen sink. Maybe that sudden enjoyment was the culprit of her current interest in science.

This, however, wasn't the case of today, considering the fact Stacy was now aggressively wiping off the grease she managed to get herself dirty with just a moment ago. Not being keen on smearing her Walkman with it, she rubbed the substance in her old jean shorts. Reaching just above her knees, the piece of clothing was completely out of style — something, her friends would immediately tease her about if she were to leave her house in them. To her benefit, today she could allow herself to look drastically different from usual; her hair were tied in a ponytail that already started to fell apart, the loose strands of hair making her appear like she had just rolled out of her bed. A flannel shirt she was wearing previously belonged to her father, therefore it was awfully big on her. In addition, its condition was far from satisfying. Holes in it were certainly contradicting her always-ironed shirts.

Stacy didn't expect to see anyone than her brother today. After all, their parents weren't going to be home this weekend. Therefore, she let out a loud gag of surprise the moment she heard a car pulling up. At first, she thought maybe it Steve, who ended his shift earlier. Yet she didn't even need to look up to know she was wrong — she could've flawlessly recognized the sound of his BMW engine. Then she came up with an idea someone had mistakenly driven near her house, stopping the car to ask for directions. Grabbing the hood of her car, simply to see the unexpected visitor, a grin appeared on her face the moment she noticed a van, parked just by the side of her driveway.

"Missed me already?" Stacy called teasingly.

"Sure I did, sweetheart," Eddie Munson answered. The confidence in Stacy's tone was so magnetizing, he couldn't help but smile with each step he took. "You forgot your blazer yesterday," he added, watching an expression of surprise paint all over her face.

"I did?" She asked in an over-dramatic tone, wiping her hands before taking her belongings from him. "Sorry for the trouble," she added, nodding towards the direction of his car.

"'S fine," he muttered, shoving his hands to his pockets. "It was a good excuse, though."

Stacy scrunched her nose, giggling silently, "Care to elaborate?"

"You know, just to see what Miss Hawkins does on her free time," he answered nonchalantly, glancing over her shoulder to take a look under the hood of her Chevrolet. "Again, that's the last thing I would've expected... Always thought girls like you..."

"Girls like me, huh?" Stacy smirked, interrupting him. "Is it somewhat a nice way of telling me I look like shit today?"

"Well, you look... different," Eddie responded with a shrug, yet immediately realized how his answer may have sounded. "I-It's a compliment, though," he corrected himself, vividly gesturing with one of his hands.

Stacy bursted into laughter the second she noticed how terrified his face look. Just as he was afraid to be faced with her being offended.

"No worries, I'm used to having and older brother, who insults me all of the time," she added while re-doing her ponytail.

Instead of thinking of an answer, Eddie carefully watched her every movement, captivated by the smoothness of it. He didn't know if it was the shorts with grease stains on them or her easygoing persona that caused her to appear more... reachable.

Eddie Munson wasn't a person, who took enjoyment in talking with popular kids. Quite the opposite, actually — the only times he found himself conversing with them were the short moments in the school's canteen. They mostly consisted of mutual short comments on each other differences — a response to bullying he had received ever since he could remember. It was exactly bullying that made his opinion on them unanimous, forming his approach towards them as hostile.

It was this exact fact that made him feel so off-track during those past two days. He expected Stacy Harrington to be just like the rest of her friends — mean and scary. After all he only recognized her from being a popular straight-A student, whose class he happened to find himself in when he failed his senior year. Again.

Yet, to his surprise, Stacy was standing right in front of him, laughing not at him, but because of him.

"Geez, this filter looks crusty," he commented, glancing over the already exchanged device, laying next to the red Chevrolet.

"And I was wondering why my car was making strange noises... Well, here's the culprit," Stacy chuckled, kicking the old air filter.

There was a moment of silence during which Eddie wondered if he should already leave. After all, he arrived here just to give back Stacy her blazer she left in his van while hazed by the weed they smoked yesterday. Yet, something —he couldn't exactly place what — made him want to stay just for a while longer. Purely to enjoy the presence of a girl, who caught his attention in such a peculiar way.

"How did I even manage to forget that?" Stacy laughed, pointing towards the direction of the blazer she messily threw behind the hood of the car.

"Actually, you did almost break the table inside," Eddie chuckled, watching an overly hurt expression paint on Stacy's face.

"I did not! I simply stumbled and..."

"Hey, Stace!" Both Stacy and Eddie turned towards the figure that just entered the Harrington's front yard.

"Oh, hi, Steve," the girl responded, wondering how she didn't notice her brother's car that was now parked just beside Eddie's van. "You got off duty early?" She added, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Yeah..." Steve narrowed his eyes. "What's Munson doing here?" he asked the question that was on his mind the moment he left his car.

"I-uh, he came here to hand me my blazer," Stacy explained quickly, hoping the odd feeling of tension will leave her as soon as it appeared.

"Yup, the blazer," Eddie confirmed, sensing how strangely Stacy's persona changed as soon as she saw her brother.

"It's not drugs or anything, right?" Steve furrowed his brow even more, eyeing the curly-haired man. "Cause I swear to god, Stace, if you..."

"Jesus, why are you so weird about it?" His sister bursted out, just like she wasn't the one creating this specific atmosphere.

"Because how did he know it was yours?" Steve argued in a child-like tone, crossing his arms.

"It has your name written on the fucking tag!" Stacy replied, grabbing the clothing that previously belonged to her brother. The tag showed his name in a messy handwriting. The e's being the only letters written in lowercase.

"Yeah, of course," he snorted, shaking his head rapidly.

"Honestly, man, you need to cool down. It's not that big of a deal," Eddie inputed, however, his respond failed in resolving the strange exchange of words between the siblings. "She left it in..."

"School. In the English classroom," Stacy rapidly interrupted, not giving him a chance to finish.

"Yeah..." Eddie confirmed her lie, suddenly looking down to look at his boots that now were toying with the rocks on the driveway. "'S not like we're friends or anything. I mean, how could we? She's Miss Hawkins and I'm just your local drug dealer, right?"

It was his attempted joke that caused everything in Stacy body to stop function. Eddie was right — the two of them had completely different backgrounds. Moreover, the idea of them hanging out was one of the most abstract things one could imagine.

Yet still — his sudden change of tone, the lack of eye contact and, most importantly, the fact Stacy truly took liking to him made his answer something she couldn't bare.

But then, it hit her like a speeding train.

She couldn't object.

Not because she shared reservation towards Eddie Munson, but because she couldn't bring herself to admit her whole persona was a lie.

Had it be a streak of confidence, a mere ray of bravery that could let her be herself. That could let her be, who she truly wanted to be without caring about what others said. Without being afraid they'd exclude her.

Even if they meant her own brother right now.

Seemingly insignificant interaction put her in the most uncomfortable place she could possibly find herself in. Because agreeing on Eddie's explanation stopped being an excuse and started being the vocal factor of her inability to express her own self. A thing she couldn't come clear with from the moment she started giving doubts about her own social role.

With Steve's quiet whatever and him leaving the two alone, Stacy swallowed the gulp in her throat to prepare for apologizing to Eddie for the cumbersome instance. Yet, none of the things she wanted to say came out. Not even a single word.

Because of that, Eddie felt like he needed to be the one to break the silence that now became quite gruesome.

"Sorry... I'll stop bothering you, buttercup," he muttered, turning on his heel with an apologetic smile.

Stacy wanted to stop him. She wanted to reassure him he was not being a burden.

But instead of that, she murmured a silent bye, watching as he got into his van and drove away.

Sometimes, expectation could appear quite exorbitant. Especially when being the one that cannot bear their own cowardliness.

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson death #stranger things thoughts #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x harrington!oc #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic

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cinnamonest · 3 years ago

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Lupophobia

Yandere "Escape Attempt" prompt - Razor

-------------------- Words: 8,944 Warnings:-fem reader, attempted noncon beastiality (none actually happens), yandere/captivity, noncon, biting, breeding, brief gendered themes/tones involving animal mating. Heavily inspired by my degrees of lewdity "deviant"/beastiality playthrough. I applied things I learned in college linguistics for this. Truly putting my education to a good purpose. --------------------- The fortunate thing about animals, and their adjacents, was that they were very easy to deceive, and no matter what, they would fall for the same trick, time and time again. "You see it girl? You want it?" You grimaced at the slimy texture on your fingers, wiggling the fatty slab in your grip and swallowing the sickness that came from looking at it. Out of, you supposed, ingrained social habits, you gave an awkward smile as you wiggled the meat. In contrast, the wolf had the opposite reaction, her ears immediately perked up, and she leaped into a playful position, front half low to the ground as her tail stuck up, and a low whine escaped her throat, eyes fixated on the meat. Yes, unlike with people, who had a greater capacity for pattern recognition and learning, who followed the fool me once, fool me twice mantra, you could count on animals to be easily deceived over and over without having to change the way you deceived them. This was far from the first time you had pulled this exact move, nor was it difficult to do -- you merely waited for a spare moment to rip out a chunk of the meat and hid it away for a little while while the rest of the pack was not looking, too absorbed in their own gorging to even cast a glance in your direction. "You want it...?" You repeated, wiggling the slab again in front of the wolf's eyes. Drool spilled out of the side of her mouth between her sharp, glistening teeth, and she let out another whine.

This was not the first time this trick had worked. This was not the first time you'd managed to steal and hide a hunk of meat away while the animals gorged themselves on the remains of whatever poor creature fell victim to them. Hell, this wasn't even the first time that this specific trick had worked on this specific individual wolf. You'd come to recognize each of them with time, even assigned them little names in your head by identifiers. She was a mother, one of the wolves that remained behind at the little den while the others went out for hunting, leaving only the nursing females, the smallest pups, and, well, yourself. Albeit in a weakened state in nursing, they were still easily capable of overpowering you, and, through means you honestly did not understand, they somehow knew they were supposed to prevent you from leaving. Even when you stood up, one or more of them would immediately pick their heads up, ears falling flat and even letting out the softest of warning growls.

She whined in front of you, eyes fixated on the slab. You wiggled it again. It was an easy deceit to pull off. "You want it... then go... get it!"

You hurled the hunk of red flesh as far as your arms could manage, and, exactly per plan, the she-wolf immediately bolted in the direction of the throw. And likewise, you turned on your heel and began the now-routine dash in the opposite direction -- the direction of human civilization. That had been the easy part.

It was the rest of the way that would be difficult. This time of day was the only opportunity you had to pull this whole thing off, but the sun was quickly setting, and unlike the wolves, you were not exactly gifted with night vision. You likened the route to an obstacle course, a puzzle -- repeated actions that became muscle memory. The first few times, you'd merely stumbled around in the woods for a few minutes. With each successive attempt, you retained more knowledge of the path, could clear a longer distance in increasingly shorter times, memorized landmarks, remembered little helpful actions and hindrances, and with each successive attempt, you found yourself making it closer and closer to the end of the woods than the time before. There wasn't much else to go by, so you used trees that stood out to you. The huge tree with the hollowed out hole in the center was the first landmark -- go right. The tree that had an oddly-angled branch came next. So on and so on. You measured success by how many of said landmarks you could pass in time, striving to make each a longer and longer venture every time. Just when despair had been finally getting the better of you, the last attempt had had you finding a footpath used by the Springvale hunters, and that meant you were close. If you could just find that again -- there. To say flat ground was a welcome feeling to your bare feet was an understatement. The slimy dirt texture of the forest floor and prickly leaves and pine needles was not a pleasant sensation. Nonetheless, there was no time to savor it or anything, soon, soon, you'd walk on paved streets, and floors, and, and... You stopped for a mere moment, panting, desperately taking in deep breaths to soothe the exhaustion burning in your chest. You darted your head from side to side. There was no sign of anything coming your way. No footsteps or growls in the distance behind you. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, as much from physical exertion as it was from a blooming, disbelieving excitement. I might actually make it. Your legs felt weak at the prospect, and you steadied your stumbling against a tree. You were certain you'd never made it this far before. It was difficult to process, almost surreal. After so, so, so many times, over the course of months and months, you were so used to being stopped by this point that your brain half-expected it at any moment. You'd really reached a point at which the escape attempts were almost done with a knowing futility, you no longer really had much hope when setting out, merely running on principle and the faint chance that was now so real. You could be stopped any moment. And yet, after a few more breaths, nothing happened. You shook your head to clear the dizziness, taking a deep breath and squinting forward in the twilight. You nearly felt your heart stop when you processed a shape in the distance -- a building. Springvale. It was distant and downhill, but visible. Right there within your reach, and all you had to do was go to it, so you steadied your breath and took off as fast as-- The world suddenly spun around you as something snatched at your ankle. Your shriek echoed off the trees, reverberating until it grew silent. A clanging of metallic sounds accompanied it, rattling hollowed objects triggered into motion. Everything began to settle, the sudden flooding of stimuli to your eyes and the feeling of sudden movement both slowing to a gentle sway. You were unbreathing, unblinking, heart pounding as your vision spun and, in a panicked haze, you desperately darted your eyes and head each way, struggling to process your senses. Your head felt suddenly tight and tense, your upper half heavy, and a burning pain wrapped around your ankle. Everything was... upside down. You looked down -- no, up -- at your feet. One was bent at the knee, falling in the direction of gravity towards your head, the other was extended perfectly straight, tense and unable to move. A cord was snagged around your ankle, a perfect tightened knot that wrapped around the flesh. You looked up -- no, again, down -- at the ground. Nausea lurched in your stomach as you did, seeing the forest floor a good drop below. You took a moment to process. You followed the trail of the rope from where it tugged painfully at your ankle, followed it to the branch it looped over, and down the trunk to the base of the tree, where it was securely tied around a knotted root. The metallic sound had come from what appeared to be collected garbage, metal scraps, a glass bottle or two, and some metal tools and cans all tied up in a net and secured to the spot where the rope met the branch, an alert that the trap had been set off. Your mouth hung open, you blinked over and over, before finally, bitter anger burst in your chest. "Ghhhhh!" You let out a frustrated, furious cry, thrashing wildly and pulling at your scalp. You kicked and struggled, but only succeeded in making yourself swing, making the nausea and dizziness worse. A trap. Of course. The furthest you've ever gotten, and you were stopped by a fucking hunting trap. Damn those Springvale hunters for coming this far out into the woods. It could be worse, you tried to console yourself. It could have been a bear trap, which would have more or less destroyed your leg, possibly taken it clean off. But nonetheless, misery and frustration bubbled up in your chest as you swung back and forth, slowing down to stillness. You'd never made it this close to town before. You could see the road as well, albeit just barely, a few hundred yards in the distance. You could make out where the dirt path became gravel in the distance, upside-down in the last light of the quickly-setting sun, and, as tears filled your eyes, you reached a hand out to it, miserably grasping your hand shut before letting your arm fall. It was so, so close! Now you were trapped, stuck here in this miserable, humiliating predicament, and you'd have to wait to be saved, and inevitably dragged back the way you'd come. You thrashed again, trying and failing to curl your body up and reach your foot. Your fingers just barely grazed the knot of the rope, but even if you could reach it, it was designed for your body weight to hold the knot in place to begin with. You let out a shaky sigh and a small sob, tears dripping directly out of your eyes and falling downward with gravity. You wiped your eyes, and a thought made a bit of nervous, daring hope light up in your chest. You were close to Springvale, right? Maybe you could be heard. This trap was set by the Springvale hunters themselves, right? You'd seen these types before, a snare that, when tripped, released on one side and whipped around the center of the force that tripped the rope, forming a perfect, tight knot around the ankle of the prey before hauling it upwards by use of weight. You took a deep breath and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Help!" You called out, straining out the vowel as long as you could, before inhaling a ragged breath and repeating the action. As the echoes quieted, you waited, but nothing happened. You wriggled and writhed, but only succeeded in making the net of metal rattle. You supposed it helped the hunters hear animals struggling, and led them to the source. But the hunters wouldn't be back out until tomorrow, you couldn't afford to wait for them to come rescue you on their own. You waited a moment, trying again and again to yell. The Springvale hunters, a traveler on the road, hell, you'd accept help from treasure hoarders if they hung out in this part of the wilderness. Anyone, anyone human. Well, except one, preferably, but still. Any other human being. You couldn't even remember the last human interaction you'd had. At least, a fully human interaction, without any licks or whines or growls or other canid behaviors you'd become far too accustomed to. But nobody came. You waited. Tried again. And again. And again. No response. Your head was beginning to pound and throb. You'd black out if you stayed like this much longer, and you were pretty certain it could even kill you. But nothing was responding to your cries for help. You wracked your brain in panic for a solution. An idea popped into your head. You'd seen Razor do it before, and the wolves responded to him even though he produced the sound with a human voice, so maybe you too could... It was embarrassing, but worth a try. You didn't exactly have many options. You jerked your bodyweight in the other direction, making yourself turn to face the woods in the direction you'd come from instead of Springvale. You reached your quickly-numbing arms up and cupped your hands around your mouth, forming your lips into an "o" shape, and, well, swallowed your pride. You didn't have any better ideas. "Awooooo--" You tried to mimic the howls you'd heard so many times as accurately as you could manage, but it came out a bit strained and comical. You waited a moment, and, receiving no response, whimpered in your desperation and tried a second time. Your voice echoed throughout the trees. You weren't certain exactly how it worked, you were pretty certain they had different tones they used, some for aggression, some as a cry of distress, but you weren't capable of telling them apart. You could only hope for the best. It wasn't really as if they could help you, but at the very least, they would probably go find Razor for you. They'd done so before, after another humiliating failure when you'd fallen into a hole in the earth during a past attempt. You'd learned they were far more intelligent than you once thought, and they understood things like that, at least. But gods, did this make you feel dumb. Your face heated with embarrassment with each attempt. You inhaled to try a third time, but as you did, a shrill howl pierced the air from a distance. A response. Your heartrate picked up as a little spark of relief and hope -- albeit dread that lurked in the back of your head -- made you shudder. You howled again, and received a second response. It carried on for a few minutes that way, sounding back and forth, and it sounded like the other was getting closer. Finally, you heard steps, and anticipation swelled in your chest. You were pretty sure that the response howls had been that of an actual wolf -- even you, in your time in these woods, had learned to tell the difference between Razor's vocalizations and that of the wolves. There were simply some aspects of the canid sounds that human vocal chords could only mimic, but not recreate to a perfect likeness, and thus his vocalizations were a bit distinct. Still, you could be wrong, or, even better, perhaps the footsteps coming close to you weren't an animal at all, but perhaps a different figure, maybe a hunter...? No, that was definitely a four-legged gait. That, too, was something you had learned to tell apart, a two-legged gait versus a four-legged one. It kind of came in handy when you were trying to to hide or run and needed to gauge exactly what was hunting you down. You craned your neck to the best of your ability in the direction of the sound. A creature emerged from the trees. You took a sharp breath. ...It was merely a very large, brownish-greyish wolf. It gazed up at you with big black eyes and ears perked up in alertness. You squinted. You'd never seen this wolf before. You were fairly certain of this much; during your time in the woods, you'd learned to distinguish between them pretty well. You learned the little differences -- this one was bigger, this one had a scratch on its ear, this one had a scar on its hip, this one was more brown and this one was more grey, and so on it went. This one was different from all the wolves you'd become familiar with. The wolf sat down, tilting its head at you, tongue lolling out as it panted. It was huge, muscular looking. "Help," you whimpered. As aware as you were that it obviously did not understand, you couldn't think of anything else to do. You flailed a bit in your desperation, and pointed towards the spot where the rope was tied to the tree. "Help me... Come on, please..." The wolf actually followed the line of your pointing, eyes settling on the base of the trap. And, miraculously, moved towards it. Your heart pounded. Did it actually understand? Would it help? It walked over and bit at the rope, shaking its head rapidly in the same way you'd witnessed the wolves kill small prey, or how dogs played with toys. It was helping! You shuddered again, hope burning in your chest, and a tear of relief dripping from your eyes upside-down to the ground below. And if this wolf wasn't from the pack, it wouldn't take you back, right? How, you weren't certain, but the other wolves seemed to understand the... arrangement going on. Many of your escape attempts had been thwarted not by your captor himself, but by the pack -- surrounding you in a circle, barking and growling and snapping at you until you were forced to turn back, even tackling you as you ran, biting your clothes and arms to drag you back. But this wolf would let you go, right? .... Wait a second. Cold dread suddenly made your stomach lurch. This wolf had no reason to help you, and no reason to drag you back. It had every reason to see you as easy prey. Any relief or hope you'd felt was immediately replaced with a chilling rush of panic. Yes, you would be easy prey, right there for the taking. You thrashed about, trying again to reach up and loosen the knot on your foot, but failing. Fuck. You were trapped between two unpleasant options. There was a chance the wolf was just helping, but in the end, it was an animal, not a person, with instincts of goodwill or benevolence. It would follow its instincts. Once you hit the ground, you'd have to run. That was the only solution. But... it also occurred to you only then that you were hanging a good fifteen feet or so in the air. Upside down. What if the fall knocked you out? Hell, what if it broke your legs? What if it broke your spine? If it were Razor himself, he'd lower you down slowly, but the wolf lacked the sense or ability to do so. You'd just drop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a thick coating of leaves on the ground, which would hopefully help, and this part of the forest had soft, clay-like ground rather than hard rock, but nonetheless, it was a long drop. Dammit! Your body wracked with a sob of frustration, anger, and panic. Why did all of this have to happen to you? You'd asked yourself that that plenty of times. You didn't do anything to deserve-- There was a snapping sound. You shrieked as gravity immediately sent you crashing down, world spinning around you, and you collided with the earth with crash that took the breath from your lungs; the sound flooded your ears, echoed as your head went numb. You landed directly on your back, eyes looking up at the trees and the sky beyond then as the world spun around you and your vision darkened. Pain ran through your body on impact, a rough, blunt sort of pain that ached through your flesh and meat and bones. You groaned in pain, teeth clenched as it flooded your senses, trembling as it slowly began to ebb away after the initial blow. The wolf's face popping into your vision sent you jolting back to awareness. It was startling, it's cold wet nose pressing against your own, and after a moment, it lapped its tongue against your face. Panic seized your entire body, and you were frozen, unable to move, not even breathing, eyes wide in terror. And then it licked you again, letting out a soft, tender whine. It was being friendly. You let out a shuddering sigh as relief washed over you again, and you thanked whatever god was looking out for you for granting you your life. "Th-thank you," you murmured, reaching a trembling hand up to pat the wolf's head, wincing at the soreness in your arm. It whined again, bumping its head against yours. Wolves were far, far larger than you were certain most people realized. Back home, you'd always thought that the howls you heard at night from within the safety of Mondstadt's walls were from creatures no bigger than the large hunting dogs you'd seen in Springvale. In reality, that was not the case. Even the smallest of the wolves were massive in comparison to those dogs, their heads easily twice the size of your own. You'd been utterly terrified of them in the beginning, bursting into frightened tears whenever one made its way over to sniff you in their curiosity, or dump an offering of a small creature's carcass at your feet in a show of friendliness (an unsettling experience, no matter how many time you were told it's good, 'cause they like (y/n)), or lick your face in an attempt to show affection. You'd grown used to it with time. But this wolf was even larger than the majority you'd seen, easily thrice your size in every capacity. Likely a loner separated from its pack. You were aware there were sometimes conflicts between the larger, stronger pack males that ultimately ended in the loser leaving the pack and heading off on its own, although it seemed nearly incomprehensible that a wolf of this size would lose to anything. Had it chosen the route of violence, you wouldn't have stood a chance. You laid there for a moment, head spinning as you took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down and regain your sense of control over your body. You curled your fingers and toes, flexed the muscles in your arms and legs. You were a bit scraped up and your entire body still ached from the impact, but miraculously, nothing seemed broken. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze and the wet tongue that was repeatedly lapping at your face. Finally, after a moment, with a groan at the ache in your body, you pushed yourself upward with your elbows, flipping over to your hands and knees, pulling your leg forward to stand-- The breath was knocked out of you yet again as a massive weight crashed down onto your body. You clawed at the ground, gasping to regain oxygen, body going tense. "Wh-what-" The creature let his bodyweight fall down on your frame, and you grunted as your upper half slammed into the ground. It rendered you entirely immobile, this wolf was both massive and heavy, you could barely breathe under the sheer mass of its body. You struggled to push yourself back up onto your elbows. "H-hey, what are you--" With a whine, it rutted its hips forward. Oh, fuck. "N-no!" You tried to rear up, pushing your upper half upward on your elbows as hard as you could, to no avail. Its weight was crushing. "B-bad! Bad dog! Stop!" You clawed at the dirt, gasping as it thrust again. "Get off!" It only let out the same high, throaty whine, thrusting its hips several times in quick succession, humping your ass with desperation. You could feel its blunt-ended cock digging into the flesh, making your blood run cold. When it rutted forward, the motion hiked your ragged little dress up, bunching up the fabric and exposing your cunt. You whimpered with fear, desperately trying to drag yourself forward. "Stop, stop, get off!" You thrashed again, achieving nothing by the action. The worst part, the dread that was quickly overtaking your thoughts, was that you knew it was futile. You'd learned a long time ago that your resistance would mean nothing, not by the brutal laws of the world outside of the fragile sense of safety human society provided. It was expected. It happened among the wolves themselves all the time -- the mates were not something that were chosen in the same way humans did. Too many times you'd witnessed the ritual -- the males would fight, snarling and growling and lunging at each other until one would give up and run scurrying away, tail tucked between its legs. Growing up with all the knowledge you'd learned from books and what humans generally observed of the animals, you'd always assumed that from that point, the she-wolves would then gladly and willingly copulate with the victor, but, you'd quickly learned, that was not the case. It had shocked you the first few times, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping open as you witnessed the poor females get tackled, mounted, their whimpers as teeth sank into their shoulders and kept them in place. It was brutal, and yet, you'd come to understand and accept it was simply the way things were. Perhaps the part that had shocked you the most was how accepted it was -- the other wolves would simply look on, adjusted to what was normal among them, and the brutalized female would, from that point on, act as a normal mate to what more or less was originally her assailant -- licking and grooming each other, sleeping next to one another, spending time with each other, all as if such a thing made sense. Given the acceptant, compliant state you sometimes found yourself slipping into, you supposed you weren't too different in that way. Because they're strong, you'd been told. Beating the other male and forcibly mating the female herself signified strength. They were supposed to try to run and fight, and the male was supposed to forcibly overpower them, a display of strength, of suitableness as a partner. That was why fighting back didn't matter -- it was supposed to be that way, in the minds of the animals, and thus they were content with that setup. The present moment was anything but content. Another rut of the wolf's hips brought you snapping out of your brief thought, back to the moment at hand. The forest was quiet aside from your own struggling, the last rays of light were fading from the sky, the moon hanging high in place of their light. You let out a shrill, squeaking cry, thrashing with renewed effort, but, predictably, not even budging. "Get off! Get off me! Stop it, bad dog!" No matter how you tried, you couldn't move your body in the slightest, perfectly pinned still. "Fuck..." It let out another whine, not even seeming to notice your struggles, grasping at your shoulder with its teeth, and you feared that if it bit down, it might shatter your shoulder. It rutted forward, and this time you froze, entire body going tense as the blunt head of its cock pressed firmly against your exposed slit. You finally managed to claw at the leaf-covered ground enough to pull yourself forward, if but just an inch -- and the wolf, snarling, thrust its own body forward to push you back into the same position. One of its front paws reached forward and clawed onto your shoulder, and you squealed as it pulled you back, forming a tiny cut in the flesh of your jugular. Your began to nearly hyperventilate, trembling, breaths shallow and quick. "S-stop..." Your plea was defeatedly quiet, realizing that further protest would only hurt you. Tears gathered in your eyes. Your back was bent at an angle under the sheer weight of the furry mass that kept you pinned, and it felt like your very lungs were crushed, breathing quickly becoming difficult. You began to feel your body tingling with numbness. It was so heavy and difficult to breathe you weren't certain you'd even survive if it fucked you. Panic seized your brain, overriding any coherent thought. There was a snarling, growling sort of noise that cut through the surrounding stillness. It wasn't coming from the creature mounted on your body. It didn't sound canid. It was human. Much like the howls, you had learned, with time, how to distinguish between the real and the imitation, those sounds that, no matter how long of a lifetime of practice one had, could simply not match the vocals of another species. The wolf stopped its motions, turning its head, and likewise immediately transitioned its entire demeanor, tensing up and returning the sound, a low snarl, baring its teeth as its snout wrinkled up. It dismounted your body and lowered itself to the ground, hips and shoulders raised as its core sank low, a preparatory stance ready to lunge. You fell forward, face crashing into the leaves, before scrambling upwards and falling back on your ass, propped up with your hands behind you and your knees bent as you froze, unable to move a muscle, eyes open wide and gasping for breath as air burned in your lungs. You could see red-orange eyes glaring in the moonlight from a short distance, and for once, the face of the wolf-boy made a wave of relief come crashing down, rather than panic at being found. He made another low sound in his throat, a snarling growl. His shoulders hunched up in a similar motion to the wolf, baring his teeth, glare locked on the transgressor. He didn't have a weapon on him, so his hands clenched into fists at his side. You'd witnessed this plenty of times in the past by now, but never before with him as one of the participants. The other male wolves within the pack hadn't exactly taken an interest in you, rather, simultaneously accepted you as one of their own, while seeming to recognize you as something of an "other," as they did him. Among them, though, these conflicts were regularly occurring, a constantly shifting hierarchal dynamic that was weighted in blood and pure brute strength. Your heartrate picked up anew. Strong as Razor may be, this thing was massive. And he didn't have his claymore, you remembered he'd left it near the den earlier, before going on his daily routine to check the various animal traps. This wolf could kill him. And given that it wasn't a pack member, it wouldn't hesitate to do so. The wolf took a few heavy steps forward, growling all the while, and the wolf-boy reciprocated the action, a deep low growl in his throat as he stomped forward, fingers curling into a claw-like shape, not exhibiting so much as the slightest hesitation to show aggression against the massive creature. You tried to stand on your shaking legs, but fell on your ass again. "W-wait, no, r-run," you stammered, words spewing out of your mouth before you could process them, "he'll hurt you--" Your vision went white, bright light exploded all around, a crashing, booming sort of sound cutting off your words. There was a heat to it that you could feel on your skin, but it blinded your vision, leaving you blinking as, in a mere moment, the electric energy faded to a purplish glow that sparked with a buzz in the palm of his hand. The wolf leaped back in terrified shock, immediately flattening its ears, turning and tucking its tail between its legs, scrambling with fear into the darkness of the trees. And just like that, the threat was gone. You were left slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, trembling and panting as you watched it disappear, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until they could no longer be heard. Instead, the leaves to your side crunched in a two-legged pattern as the figure drew closer, and then dropped down to his knees to get on a face-to-face level. You turned your head and your eyes met. His eyes were wide and pupils blown even wider, mouth slightly open, looking you over. His eyes had always had a softness to them, full of light. After a moment, he reached up, slowly, and wiped the tears from your eyes, a soft, unthinking gesture, and leaned forward. He nuzzled his face against yours, and, after a moment, licked a few quick, short laps up the side of your face. It was nothing you weren't very well used to, and you merely sat numbly as he did so. His eyes trailed downward, widening as they met the gash that had been created on your neck by the massive wolf's claws, and he leaned forward again, lapping at your skin. You inhaled a sharp breath at the sting of his tongue on the wound, but you knew it actually was helpful in terms of clotting, so you didn't resist. You sat like that for a moment, silent, still, letting him clean up the wound, saliva naturally helping the healing process. It was bizarrely intimate in its own way, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped in that way with a wound. It stopped stinging after a moment, blood clotting under the wet warmth. He pulled his head back, looking over you again as if to ascertain your unharmed state, eyes wide and expression flat, looking directly at your face - your weary face, trembling lip, expression still uneasy from the remaining shock. "You... Okay?" There was a softness to his face, a wide-eyed look of innocent concern. You did your best to nod. Any hope you'd had left had been crushed at some point in the adrenaline of the encounter, and thus, all chances of escaping gone, defeat and weariness washed over your body, and you slumped forward in exhaustion. Of course, he was unaware of and most likely did not even consider why you suddenly fell against him, he tended to take any action you made at face value and accepted it as simply what it was, and likewise, every action he made was easily interpreted the same way. It was, you sometimes consoled yourself, a rather welcome simplicity in contrast to the hidden and subtle meanings that humans often portrayed through their actions, and you never had to worry about an innocent action being misinterpreted maliciously, nor did you worry that your emotions were too transparent in your actions. Instead, he merely seemed pleased by the gesture, eagerly wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling your closer, rubbing his head up and down so the sides of your faces nuzzled together, squeezing you tightly. "I heard you," he said, a cheerful sort of pride in his voice. "Came to help." You swallowed. "Th-thank you..." As much as his sudden appearance crushed any chance you had of reaching Springvale, you couldn't help but feel a genuine relief, even gratitude, for saving you from what would have undoubted been a highly painful and traumatizing experience, if you'd survived the lack of oxygen. Not that you weren't already getting your fair share of traumatizing experiences out here, but, well, none quite like what your experience would have been had he not shown up. After a still, silent moment of embrace, he released you, shifted and stood up, but then suddenly tensed, and his eyes widened with what seemed like surprise, or perhaps realization, mouth opening slightly. His eyes were cast downward, settled on the cord that was still tightly tied around your ankle, and reached down to loosen the knot, slipping it off and tossing the remaining cord to the side. You made a small sound as if to start speaking, but cut off and fell silent, shutting your mouth. And then, as he came back up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and processing, mouth slightly open as he looked a bit to one side, then the other, to you, and up to the tree from which you'd hung. The wheels were turning. Finally, after a moment, it seemed to click, his eyes went wide with realization for a split second before he turned his head back towards you and narrowed his eyes in a glare. His "angry" face had always been a bit difficult to take seriously, he had maintained a baby face despite his age, big eyes and soft features making it look like more of a pout than anything, but in time you'd learned the rightful amount of fear to have at seeing it. Your heart sank in your chest. "You ran away again." His voice was a bitter, grumpy mumble. You'd feared that when you noticed the surprising lack of anger up until a few moments ago. That it hadn't yet clicked with him, until now, exactly why you were out here, how you got out here, in the first place. He might have thought the larger wolf had dragged you out here, or, perhaps more likely, it had not crossed his mind at all in the intensity of the previous moments, too focused on conflict and comfort. "I..." You trailed off, trembling. There was a moment of silence. You couldn't exactly argue against it. It was true that he was rather gullible, and would often believe rather ridiculous excuses or explanations that anyone else would never buy, but there were limits to that, and at the present moment, you couldn't think of any excuse that even he would believe. Even if the wolf had come in to drag you away, the she-wolf set to guard you would have made a noise to alert the others, and he knew that. There was a moment of silence, and, not receiving any objection to his claim, he exhaled a frustrated huff through his nostrils. "I'm mad." As nice as it was that you didn't have to worry about being misinterpreted, another pro to your situation was that your captor was easily the most transparent person you'd ever met, bluntly honest, so much so it sometimes worked against him. You were pretty sure he couldn't be indirect or subtle with his words if he tried. Passive-aggressiveness or anything of the sort was foreign. "I'm sorry," you murmured, hoping to ease his anger, but you knew by now those words didn't really hold any meaning to him. He opened his mouth, that same pout on his face, and took a breath as if to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, opened again, repeated the process, and again, before roughly shaking his head, head hanging and expression falling to something like irritation and disappointment. With other people, you'd feel more intimidated by silence, silence meant someone was angry and trying to get under your skin. And while he made no attempt to hide being angry, you knew the silence wasn't an intentional passive-aggressive act, but rather, just lacking the proper words. It was a process you went through frequently, and to some degree, you felt bad for him. Having feelings, having complex thoughts, but lacking the knowledge or ability to articulate them, being unable to adequately express what you thought and felt, limited to such simple terms as sad and mad, words that could only convey incredibly simple feelings... you could only imagine how frustrating that would be. He knew that those words weren't enough, but didn't have any other ones to use. You understood why, then, he grunted in frustration, kicking at the ground, sending a few leaves scattering. But you also knew that if he could not express himself with words, actions would have to suffice. You knew better than to expect any different. This routine, despite its variances in the specifics of how the events went down, went like clockwork from this point onward, the moment of defeat. They say humans are, after all, creatures of habit. You nonetheless let out a little surprised sound at the suddenness with which you were lifted by the armpits, quickly moved a few steps to the side and unceremoniously pushed forward, facing one of the many boulders that dotted the forest floor. Instinctively, releasing an exhale of defeat and acceptance, braced yourself against it, hands pressed into the rock. You were technically standing, but leaning far forward, bodyweight resting mostly onto the rock you were bending over on. His front pressed against you, hand pushing your back down into an arch, latching arms around your waist. There was no hesitation, no preparation, merely pulling the fabric of your dress up with one swift motion, and the waist of his pants down in another, all in a matter of a single moment, and rutting against you, once, twice, cock slipping against your folds, and on the third thrust, it actually slid in, pushing about halfway in with harsh force with no warning. You gasped at the sting, clawing at the rock as your face twisted with the slight pain, but his hand gripped hard on your shoulder. "Stay... Still." It was honestly impressive, you sometimes thought, to manage to get a cock inside you so easily with hip angling alone. He'd never thought to use his hands to do so, you guessed due to merely mimicking what he observed, as all humans did. Nonetheless, you let out a mewl at the feeling of friction against your walls as it dragged, pulling out a bit before slamming back in. Then again, faster. And again, faster still. And finally, setting into a rhythm, quick and harsh, your body lurching forward at the force. Defeat and despond had fully set in, and you made no movement to fight back, instead attempting to ease the discomfort by pushing back with the thrusts. And then, after a moment, it stopped. It often did -- again, a set pattern, a routine. Increasingly often these days, he changed his mind at this point, initially going with the instinctive, natural option, but it would take a moment to remember that there was an alternative. You shuddered at the sliding feeling and emptiness as he pulled back out, but even though you braced yourself, the air was knocked out of you as you were flipped over, back hitting the rock -- and this time aching as the bruising flesh from the earlier fall was hit again -- now leaning your weight onto the rock on your back, facing forward. The roughness with which you were tossed about and maneuvered was, you knew, not intentional, nor out of malice, but it always left you disoriented as your vision spun a bit. And it was only a single second before you were filled again, gasping a deep breath and reaching your hands out to claw at his back as you felt yourself stretched apart all in one motion, and your legs fell into the routine position of hooking over his arms. He liked it this way. The human way, he called it, with you on your back in some form rather than on your hands and knees, facing him rather than turning away, which had been the only way you'd done it -- you supposed the only way he had been familiar with -- for a good while. You'd introduced the position once when your arms and legs were exhausted from strain, and, perhaps to your relief, it became the most common way that the routine went down. You supposed that, deep down, no matter the way in which a person was raised, there were certain innate needs and instincts that could not be overridden, woven into the very biology of a person. For humans, intimacy, the feeling of affection, and you supposed that that itch was met for him more adequately this way. And he liked to mimic normal behaviors in that regard. You recalled a time ago, back before you were brought out here for good, the wide-eyed fascination with which he'd watch passing couples of people on the road and streets, would make an attempt to imitate the same actions, albeit lacking in the same gentleness, technique, or appropriate timing. Reaching out to grab and hold your hand (with a crushing grip) as you walked, awkwardly pressing your mouths together (so firmly that your teeth clacked and your jaw hurt). That, at least, had gotten better. Now, it was somewhat gentle, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Gentle, but still very awkward, lacking in the rhythmic motions with which you'd expect, more like holding still but pressing firmly against you, but lapping a quick lick to your lips. You could taste blood on his lips and tongue, a permanent coppery taste that never went away. That didn't last long. It was hard to maintain the mouth contact when he started rutting into you, causing your body to rock in jerking motions up and down on the surface, and his face buried itself into your shoulder, panting shallow breaths that were warm against your flesh. And again, like clockwork, you knew how the issue of your body rocking back and forth, disrupting the rhythm, would be solved, and you inhaled as you braced yourself, first for the tightening grip of arms around your waist, and then-- You gasped a sharp breath despite your mental preparation as teeth sunk into your jugular, opposite the one with the injury, further locking your bodies together. He growled, a low throaty sound. Teeth gnawed at your shoulder before releasing and sinking down in a different spot, digging into the flesh just short of the force it would take to break it. You cursed whichever god thought it would be funny to give him abnormally sharp canines. Even with your weight leaning against the rock, a good portion of it was still being supported by his arms, which, with any normal human being, you would hope would cause enough strain to perhaps slow down the actual thrusting, but you knew better by now. Nor did you expect any kind of buildup or anything, no, you gritted your teeth at the immediate fast pace that dragged against your insides, raw and with little fluid to lessen the friction. The quickness and suddenness always left you sore, your internal parts not having enough time or stimulation to expand or prepare, so each thrust that slammed into the top of your insides sparked a shock of pain and pleasure sensation so strong your entire body jolted with the feeling. The bruising soreness of the recent abuse to the same spot -- how many times earlier today, three, four? -- heightened the sensitivity. And, as with the rest of the routine, you didn't expect words. You couldn't blame him -- talking was hard enough when he was focused, you imagined it was much harder when preoccupied with sensation, and with less blood in the brain. It also made sense that he didn't seem to process anything you said either -- any slow down or wait fell on deaf ears, or rather, non-comprehending ears. Eventually you, too, fell into the same state- "I-- hah, ah, w-wait, mnn-" -- unable to form words, unable to take in anything around you, pure sensation clouding your brain of any and all thoughts. You heard your own little cries ring out and echo through the empty forest, and soft, pleasured whines in your ear, hot breath from panting that grew faster and faster as the thrusts became more erratic and harder, slamming in and out, the wet, slapping sound ringing out with your own voice. It pushed against all the right spots, stretching you incomprehensibly full, overloading your brain with the feeling, and the harder your nails sank into his back, the harder his teeth bit down into your neck. The sparks of pain from the feeling felt small, distant, erased by the overwhelming good feeling created by adrenaline and pleasure, and the thought of how badly it would hurt later was the furthest thing from your mind in the moment. And because you knew words meant nothing in the heat of these moments, you had learned that announcing or warning for orgasm didn't matter. Neither of you needed words -- as with many things, you could communicate it without them just fine. He could still sense it, the way you clenched and your hands grasped at his hair and raked down his spine, and in response, the thrusting somehow grew harder and faster still. A perfect and clearly understood communication as clear as any verbal exchange. The squealing you made, the way your body spasmed and your back arched, was better than anything you could have said, really. You weren't... actually fully certain he understood the action as anything other than communication, like a message indicating "cum now." You assumed that was what it meant to him, since, as always, you felt the movement stop, panting as he pushed into your one more time, holding your hips as close as possible as you felt a twitching inside. It was always perfectly coordinated like that. The peak was always too short, always that same burst of feeling that you wished could last just a moment longer, leaving you panting. Heavy breaths in and out, shuddering, sweaty flesh clinging to each other. You could feel the arms that held your legs up shaking with aftershock, forehead falling to rest against the spot between the mounds of your chest. Then, after a moment, a nuzzle, slowly rubbing a cheek against your collarbones. As soon as that stopped, his head popped up again, looking up at your face with those same wide amber eyes, soft and somehow, despite everything, they always seemed so innocent and bright. A curious, but fairly neutral, content sort of wide-eyed gaze. Anger resolved. Sometimes you were grateful it was that easy. "Ok. You're... good, now." You understood without needing it explained. "Good" indicated something along the lines of fixed or resolved, the phrase "you're good" indicating, in this context, resolution. You assumed it had originated from listening to others in some context or another. You swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in fighting now. A sort of numbing aftershock had set in, and your head was spinning so much that even if you ran, you might fall over on your own without the inevitable tackling. It was a struggle for another day... the same conclusion this always, always resulted in, a conclusion you reached more and more quickly each time, but you tried to put the concern that thought sparked away, merely standing on trembling legs. "...Stupid hunting trap," you muttered, giving the remains of cord a kick into the leaves. He tilted his head and made a soft hm? of confusion. "Th-the trap," your voice was raspy. "They laid out traps for - for catching animals, the hunters, you know." He blinked for a moment as he processed your words, then shook his head, but smiled, beaming with pride. "Mm-nn, I made it. Put lots of them around here." You squinted, head jerking up to scan the treeline - sure enough, now that you looked closer, you could see several treetops dotted with similar nets full of scraps set to make a sound when triggered and struggled against. In fact, the more you gazed around, you realized there were easily dozens and dozens of similar traps, some of different styles and shapes, all perfectly lining the edge of the woods before the road. "...You won't catch things like that," you muttered. "It's too close to the end of the woods." Another slightly confused stare. He shook his head. "Traps are... for you." You could always count on him for two things. Undying loyalty, and obtuse honesty. You blinked at him, expression flat in blunt surprise, then, with a crooked smile, you let out a single huff of bitter, tired laughter. You were numbed to the point that you were, at the very least, able to recognize the humor of it all. Another way of coping, perhaps. It only occurred to you then, as your thoughts cleared, how relief had washed over you when the lone wolf had run out into the night, but your mind had not been focused on your own violation. You remembered your words. Run, he'll hurt you. Your only concern in that moment had been his safety. The thought set off some sort of alarm bell in your head, but the utter exhaustion made it difficult to place much concern in anything.

Your legs were trembling in aftershock, numb and heavy, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Even as you briefly put a hand to the stone beside you to lean your weight onto in an effort to stand, you knew you wouldn't be walking anyway, that wasn't part of the routine. And sure enough, as you got about halfway upward, arms wrapped around your waist instead, and you were roughly maneuvered, tossed like a ragdoll, knocking the breath out of you as you were tossed over his shoulder. "Okay, we're going home, now." He started taking a few heavy steps forward, not even struggling in the slightest to carry your full bodyweight, instead walking as if you were light as air. You didn't protest. You slumped over defeatedly, merely casting your gaze all around, trying desperately to memorize the locations of at least a few of the traps in the dark, but knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd never get past them all. No matter how you may outsmart them, you could never win. It occurred to you that, in a way, you were the one falling for the same trick over and over, continuously placing a ridiculous hope in escape and falling for your own foolishness time and time again. Perhaps that made you a bit more like the animals than you liked to admit.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader

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tonesplash · 4 years ago

Text

its thanksgiving get nasty (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

summary: you get bored at thanksgiving dinner. unfortunately for edward you wore sandals

warnings: smut,brief footjob, thanksgiving dinner, edward kind of chokes on corn, reader doesn’t like their family, mild injury, fingering, innappropriate use of vampire speed, technically exhibitionism and public sex?? bad dirty talk, and cousin-shaming, reader is afab and might be described as female im not sure

a/n: i wrote this in 24 hours so any sloppiness is not my fault

masterlist

(c/n)= cousins name

When you told him thanksgiving with your family would be boring, you’d meant it’d be for him, looking forward to his reaction to being on the receiving end of your bloodlines ridiculousness while you’d get dinner and a show. But, as it turns out, your family just so happens to get along with Edward much better than they do with you.

The seating situation is a little unconventional, since because your boyfriend-snatching cousin stole the open seat next to Edward before you even made it back from the bathroom, leaving your only viable option directly opposite of him. On the bright side, you had the option of kicking his leg when he’d said something to embarrass you.

Bless his soul, he’d done his best to bring you into the conversation but apparently, anything you had to say about your relationship had been relayed verbatim to the family group chat you weren't even in by your mother. So, after the third time you’re talked over by the aforementioned horny cousin or some other nosy relative on you’re bored out of your mind.

Everyone had gotten over your piss poor table manners years ago, or were just completely ignoring you at this point because there were no protests when they’d brought the turkey out and you’d stayed slumped low in your seat like a child in church.

Twitter had stopped refreshing ten minutes ago, and when you finally resigned yourself to tuning back into the conversation, your mother was showing Edward your baby pictures again. Idly swinging one bare foot under the table, your bare toe grazes the drape of his dress slacks under the table when you get an idea.

You’d lost a sandal earlier after Edward had pinned it under his shoe in a vain attempt to stop your pinching and dirtying of his slacks with your filthy soles. You scoot a little further forward in your seat to reach out and press your arch flat against his shin.

Edward doesn’t visibly react, just shifts his leg away, leaving yours to slip to the floor until you reach up again to plant your heel on the seat of the chair. The conversation lulls for a moment as everyone says grace, and he uses the opportunity to grab your ankle and send you a warning glare over the top of your phone.

You meet his gaze and boorishly eat a spoon of mashed potatoes, shrugging as if he couldn’t read in your mind exactly what you were about to do.

Your cousin asks about his mom car again and when you roll your eyes Edward flicks the outside of your fibula, sure to bruise, and you crinkle your nose, pinching his marble thigh between your toes as best you can through the material.

“Well my father thought it was necessary for my siblings and I to-”

While he talks, he's soothing the spot he flicked, playing in the stubble leftover from your shoddy shave job this morning, and the absent affection gives you the final motivation to further push your luck. You tease the seam of his left leg with the very tips of your toes, coaxing the unnatural heat of the venom to build in the crotch of his pants, the coolness of the rest of him making it seem even hotter in comparison.

He inhales on a forkful of corn, almost taking it down the wrong pipe, and you fight a smile around the bowl of the spoon as he flawlessly recovers and finishes the thought. You idly wonder if you could be that smooth someday. For now, you press further, pressing a toe against the seam over his cock, stroking up and down as slowly and consistently as you can while stretched under a table because who would’ve thought that footjobs are kind of an athletic feat.

Edward taps insistently at your leg, harder than he normally would, and you have to hold back a laugh at the idea of him splitting the table because he can’t take a little footsie action. You press forward again, arch encompassing his hardness through the fabric, toes curling against his pubic bone when-

“Ho-oly shit!” Searing pain shoots up from your ankle, and you double over, using everything in you not to shout, Edwards dawning mortification going unnoticed as everyone at the table turns to you at your unexpected outburst.

“(Y/n)?” Your mother doesn’t seem that happy to have dinner interrupted, and you clutch your stomach as a quick cover.

“Uh, my bad.” You snicker nervously at the sudden attention, bravado gone. Your face feels red-hot. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I think,” you lick your lips and slide out of your chair. “Lady problems.”

The table erupts in a cacophony of gags and groans as the notion of a menstrual cycle is brought up in casual conversation, and it gives you the perfect cover to retreat to the upstairs bathroom. It takes you a minute to make it up the stairs without causing a scene, and just as soon as you close and lock the door behind you and settle down to weep in peace, he’s there, jiggling the doorknob like it’s a drug bust.

“Let me in.”

You’re apparently taking too long because as soon as your injured foot touches the floor, he forces the lock and slips in, shutting the door a little too fast to pass as human.

“Jesus! Edward, are you trying to lose our deposit?” You lean around him to check for a handprint but he doesn’t respond, wordlessly setting you up on the counter, kneeling to examine your injured ankle, cool fingers soothing to the sore skin. You sit in silence, idly swinging your other leg to distract yourself.

“How'd you make it out?” You can't imagine they’d let the guest of honor go so easily.

“You forgot your bag, I told them I’d just bringing it up to you.” He places your bag next to you as evidence. “Maybe you should start carrying menstrual products for when you actually need them.”

Of course, he breaks your foot and wants to lecture you on responsible uterus care. Edward sighs, taking your foot with the gentlest touch and whispering a kiss into the skin. “It’s only a sprain, but I’m still sorry.”

“S’Okay.” Your face burns, not expecting his guilt. “Serves me right, huh?” You titter, poking his side with your uninjured foot. He swipes it up before you can start again, halfheartedly laughing with you.

“Let me wrap it before you get any more ideas.” You hand him the compression wrap from the medicine cabinet, and he gets to work. The wince you give at the pressure is more reflex than anything, but the anxious expression on his face tells you he wasn't going to let this go easily.

“Y’know…” You poke at him again. The playful contempt in his golden eyes gives you the go-ahead to make your case. “If you’re really feeling torn up about it, seeing you wow my family like that got me a little riled up.”

“Really.” Edward kisses the secured wrapping and releases you, standing to frame you against the counter.

“I’m serious, impressing them isn’t easy, (C/n) is probably shaving in the guest room to steal you from me right now, just thinking about it has got me a little hot under the collar.” You run your hands over his back and through his hair, nuzzling into the crook of his throat.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?” His hands smooth over your exposed thighs sending a shiver up your spine. You think you've got him, but he's such a tease sometimes you can never really be sure.

“Depends. Is it working?” You still, bracing for some line about ‘responsibility’ and ‘your family waiting for you.’

But then his hands are under your skirt, hooking into the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your thighs, leaving them to free-fall to your feet. You clutch his auburn hair in your fingers at the shock of open-air against your cunt.

“Do you think I could let you go back to that table smelling like this?” His sweet breath washes against your ear as he huffs a soft laugh. “I’d rather not go downstairs and pretend to care about football when I know you’re here, hot and ready for me.”

You can’t resist him any longer, pulling him close and kissing him with the desperation of a woman who needs to be back downstairs before dessert. His thumb teases over your cunt at first, swirling over your swelling clit and teasing your hole before he finds a focus, using the thumb of his free hand to hold your hood back as his slicked fingers grind the bud into a frenzy while he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

It’s all you can do to hold your breath while he touches you, cool fingers building a knot in your belly, smooth and steady as they batter you up into a frenzy. He adjusts his hand, his ring finger pressing into you and bringing a low ache from rushed preparation, but you welcome it, thighs shaking with the effort to stay open for him as your mouth falls open in a shaky gasp. Edward breaks the kiss to let you breathe , seemingly unbothered until-

“(C/n) is coming.”

“Wha-” A particularly deep stroke has you biting your lip as you struggle to concentrate. “What the fuck does she want?”

“She’s going to ask you where I am.” His expression doesn’t match his words, still completely concentrated on ruining you despite the obvious issue.

“And what am I supposed to tell her?!” You hiss back right as she reaches the door. His mouth closes over your pulse point and you don't think you've clenched that hard before in your life.

“Hey (Y/n)? Have you seen Edward?” Her voice is enough of a mood killer that you have to shove your face into his throat to ground yourself in the moment. He adds a second finger, gaining speed, and you pray and hope to any god listening to this that she can't hear the squelches through the door.

“N-no.” You rack your mind for an excuse. His scent is making it harder to concentrate. “I think he went out for a smoke?” Nice one.

“Really? I didn't smell anything on him...” If all your blood flow hadn't been centralized below the waist at this point you'd’ve asked how the hell she knows what he smells like. He's fully abandoned your clit now, leaving it to pulse in the open air while three of his fingers push and pull at your pelvic floor.

“That's cause he unh-” You slap a hand over your mouth to stop the moan before it can be recognized for what it is.“-he vapes!” Edward pulls back from your throat to look at you incredulously, but it's a little hard to be ashamed when he's nearly wrist deep inside you.

“Oh… Well, let him know if you see him that they’re playing charades and I need a partner. You know how it is.”

You forget to reply, too enthralled watching him spit onto his unoccupied fingers and mash the coolness against your clit, causing you to nearly spasm off the counter, losing the sensation as he silently laughs at having to hold you steady. She seemed to have taken your silence as an admission, as you can hear the door at the stoop of the stairs swinging shut after her. Thank God.

“Rub your spot, Sweet, come on, we have to be quick.” He kisses your temple and laughs a bit maniacally at the little whimper that escapes when you bring a hand down to your clit. “Surprisingly, she’s having trouble picturing me in a vape shop.”

You whine around a bitten lip, too far gone to listen to his ribbing. You’re building up to overstimulation with the sloppy way you’re rubbing yourself, and he must feel it too, because in the next second, his fingers are vibrating.

“Come on, (Y/n), don't you want to finish up here and mop the floor with them?” You hadn’t even realized how hazy your vision had gotten until he grabs your chin and levels your lidded eyes with his and says your name again. You nod sluggishly for him, not hearing a word. He laughs again, smiles wide. His teeth are pretty.

“If you cum right now;” The buzzing grows stronger, your free arm spasming under you as you support yourself. “I’ll rub you raw after on the ride home. You just need to come right now and win charades with me.”

The buzzing inside grows too strong, and your vision goes white, pulsing in long pulls around his fingers as hot waves of sensation spread from your head to your toes.

Edward kisses you, soft and slow, swallowing any whimpers tempted to escape as you come down, abandoning the counter to clutch his sleeve as the twitching reduces to a tremor.

“Oh my god.“ You laugh, planting your face into his collar as you catch your breath. “I can't believe you used charades to make me come, I'm never gonna forgive you.”

“I heard the top prize is a ten dollar gift card to…” He squints and checks again. “The Google Play Store.”

“Ew, what could you even do with tha-”

“(Y/N) come help with plates!” Your mother shouts up the stairwell, totally fucking up any release you just had.

“I guess I should run down to the corner store;” Edward smiles, helping you to stand on wobbly legs and smoothing your skirt down. “Don't want to blow your cover.”

“(Y/N)! Plates!”

“Oh my god;” Your eyes may never return from the back of your skull. “Meet you downstairs?”

He kisses you sweetly one last time, pulling you close and wiping the sheen of sweat off of your face.

“Downstairs.”

With that, he heaves himself out of the narrow sill, and you busy yourself cleaning up as fast as you can.

You just catch him hopping off the roof, and coming around to the front yard. He'll hear you no matter the volume, but you still shout the warning;

“Stay away from my cousin!”

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen #Twilight FanFic #twilight smut #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #twilight x you #the twilight saga #reader insert smut #reader insert fluff #reader #thanksgiving #dinner with parents

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wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years ago

Text

Darkest Secrets

Requested by @mcmorgan9794

Summary: Keeping this secret from Wanda has been hard, but you don't have a choice but to come clean when everything is brought to light.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,446

You’d always wanted to tell Wanda your deepest, darkest secret. You had been with her for well over a year, after all. A secret like the one you harboured wasn’t something that you should keep from someone you loved so dearly. But your secret was the ugliest part of yourself. It was something you hated, lurking deep within every inch of your body. It brewed in your blood and rested in your bones, uncontrolled at the best of times and unstoppable at the worst. It was a burden you’d never wanted to place upon the girl you loved.

Yet, keeping it from her hurt too. She’d look at you with those soft green eyes, spilling everything to you. Tears would stream down her cheeks as she’d tell you all about how much she hated the powers she’d been given. You’d hold her close and whisper soft words of comfort, wiping her tears away with the pad of your thumb, refusing to tell her you felt the same about your own. She would tell you everything. You wouldn’t tell her anything. You couldn’t tell her anything. She thought she was a monster. In reality, you were the monster. If she knew that, her heart would shatter.

Sometimes, these facts were all you could think about. It was the quiet moments. Wanda was away getting coffee with Natasha, Tony and Bruce were in the lab, Thor was on Asgard, and Clint was home with his family. You were left alone at the compound. You hardly ventured out of your own room. While silence screamed in the dark room, you tried to distract yourself with a book or a movie, but it didn’t last. Instead, the weight of your secret was crushing the oxygen out of your lungs. It always did. You longed to have Wanda back, to have her by your side and thread your fingers through hers. She didn’t know how agonizing solitude could be.

You curled up in your armchair, pulling your knees up to your chest and curling your arms around them. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you could will the overwhelming thoughts out of your head. They were screaming at you. They were reminding you of the monster that lay dormant in your very soul, cackling as they pushed images of what you were capable of. Then you imagined Wanda. You could do her so much harm and she didn’t even know it. Were you putting her in danger every day you lay by her side? You swallowed as you tried to force back the tears.

The dark thoughts came next. They always did. You wondered how much better off the world would be without you. You wondered how much better off she would be without you. She loved you. Losing you would break her heart, but she’d be okay eventually. If you hurt her in the way only you knew you were capable of, you knew she would never be okay again. None of them would. The dam broke and tears spilled down your cheeks. Hurting Wanda Maximoff would kill you.

And as you were about to imagine all the ways you could take yourself and your monster out of this world, your phone rang.

You grabbed the phone off the table, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a steadying breath before you even dared look down at the screen. The first thing you noticed wasn’t the person who was calling, but the time. It hadn’t felt like it had been as long as it had since the other had left you alone in the compound. The darkness in your head could do that. You lost track of time often when you reached that place. An hour could pass, then two, and then six.

It was Natasha’s face that was flashing on your screen. Worry filled your gut. Was Wanda okay? She had to be okay. You forced a deep breath in, and then out. Her phone had probably died. The Sokovian was notorious for remembering to plug the charger into her phone, but forgetting to plug it into the wall on the other end. After reminding yourself of that a few times, you finally found the ability to slide the answer button and hold the phone up to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Thank god,” Natasha’s voice said. There was a loud screech in the background, the sound of metal grinding against metal. “Listen you need to get to the hospital.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Oxygen caught in your throat and you were barely able to let words squeeze past the lump that had formed. “The hospital?”

“The ambulance is almost there. She’s hurt bad. Don’t come anywhere near Midtown.”

You didn’t even bother to respond. In fact, you didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. You simply slammed it down on the table that you’d only just picked it up from, heading for the elevator. A million thoughts were racing through your head. There were so many emotions tugging at your heart that you could hardly decipher one from the next. Fear, anger, and worry were all fighting to take over every one of your senses. You couldn’t breathe. It was as if on autopilot that you made it to the garage and hotwired one of Tony’s cars.

Scenery was flashing by you, mere streaks outside the windows of the car. The pedal was on the floor beneath your foot. You flexed your fingers; knuckles having gone white with the force of your grip on the steering wheel. Your brain was showing you visuals of Wanda lying on the table, shining green eyes dulled in the absence of life. Head too wrapped up in the thoughts that ran through it, you didn’t realize you weren’t headed for the hospital at all. You were headed toward midtown, exactly where Natasha had told you not to go.

You’d never been an Avenger. You would never be an Avenger. Maybe it was selfish, refusing to help others when you had the ability to. People died and you might have been able to stop it. Your own powers scared you too much to allow you to. It was something you’d decided long ago. The lives of every civilian that you could have saved were worth it. You couldn’t unleash that sinister thing that lived inside you. Yet, here you were, rushing toward the fight like you were Tony Stark in his suit of armour, or Steve Rogers with a vibranium shield strapped to your back.

The car screeched as you slammed your foot down on the brake. The seatbelt dug so hard into your ribs that you weren’t sure a few hadn’t snapped beneath the pressure. The adrenaline pumping through your veins assured you wouldn’t feel it even if they did. You fought to keep your breathing under control as you stepped out of the car and took in the destruction around you. Someone here had hurt Wanda, and, honestly, you couldn’t find it in you to care which one it had been. You’d kill every single one.

Gravel and rubble crunched beneath your feet as you ventured further and further into the warzone that had broken out in Midtown New York. They looked human, whoever they were. They were armed to the teeth and attacking every moving thing in sight. None of them had noticed you yet. That was better for both of you, for the time being. You shut your eyes for a brief moment and listen to the sounds around you. Civilians were screaming and car alarms were blaring and explosions roared. Then there was running, and it stopped at your side.

“I told you not to come here. Wanda’s at the hospital.”

You opened your eyes. Natasha was at your side. Blood trickled down her temple, staining her pale skin. She flinched as she put weight on her left leg to move a little closer to you. Wanda might have been the woman you called your own, but the Avengers were your family. Seeing one of them hurting in the way Natasha was only stoked the fire that was beginning to burn hotter and hotter inside of you. Your gaze moved away from her and back to the oncoming forces. They were getting closer.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Tony’s cars have trackers. We got an alert the second you left the compound and another as you came here. Get to the hospital.”

But you’d already stopped listening. The incoming threat had gotten close enough to notice you now. Green eyes followed your gaze until she, too, noticed the men approaching the two of you. She raised her arm, the gun still clutched tight in her grip. You could tell by the bewildered expression on her face that she hadn’t at all been expecting you to stop her. Your hand grabbed her wrist, lowering her arm until it was back against her side. You suspected it was the crimson gleam in your eyes that was the only thing that was keeping her weapon lowered.

You turned back to her once more. Surprise was written across every feature on her face… no, it was fear. She was afraid. She should be scared of you. Your skin began to blacken as you began to fade into nothing. Her eyes were still able to find yours, glowing bright as ever. She flinched when you reached out, backing up as you reached for her hand in an attempt for a final goodbye. You bowed your head, wishing she’d let you feel the warmth of her skin beneath your hand one final time.

“I’m sorry, Natasha.”

Then you turned away from her. The last of your human form faded away. It was hard to make out any shape in the tall, dark shadow that you’d become. Haunting golden eyes cast to the men that were racing toward you. As if to match the scene, a dark cloud rolled in front of the sun. Its shadow cast down onto the city, the darkness concealing you even further and making your eyes glow seemingly brighter. They continued to approach. They didn’t know their mistake. You did. You were dangerous at any time. You were more dangerous now that they’d hurt the person you loved more than you had ever loved before.

You raised your arms into the sky, feet leaving the ground. When your feet had been touching the concrete below them, you’d already been towering over the oncoming men. Now, you looked down upon them. Guns raised to where you hovered in the sky. It was almost comical. One of them screamed, and suddenly they were all firing. Their bullets tore through you, yet they didn’t touch you. Your head tilted to the side ever so slightly as an unsettling grin appeared in your dark shadow, disrupted by the whiz of dozens of bullets flying through it.

“Knock knock,” you said. Even your voice was sinister, a deep rumble that felt like it emanated from every direction, or deep inside of any listener.

The laughter that burst from their chests was strange, at first. It seemed out of place in such a setting. Confusion flickered across each of their faces. Then they laughed harder, and harder. Guns fell to the ground and they howled with laughter, but it contrasted their eyes. There was no sparkle of amusement in even one. It was pure, unbridled fear that you could see shining in them. One by one they fell to their knees, clawing at their throats as they tried to stop. One had tears streaming down his cheeks as he covered his ears, trying to block out the sounds that were torn from his own throat.

They couldn’t get in their comms to tell their men to keep away.

The next group that came for you met the same fate. Soon they, too, were on the ground. You got some sort of sick satisfaction as you watched them fall, unable to control their bodies. You’d taken over, grabbing hold of their heads and their bodies. You’d grabbed onto their lungs and ripped laughter from their chests, absolutely uncontrollable. When they lost control of that, that was when the fear started to take over. Fear would grip at them; you could feel it emanating off them. It would only get worse. You’d watched men take their lives as they lost their minds.

There was a reason you never used your powers. You were afraid of them, sure. The reason you were afraid of them, however, wasn’t because of their strength. Their strength could have saved lives. It wasn’t even because you couldn’t control them. You were addicted to your own powers. You took pride in watching grown men reduced to tears, curled up on the ground, shaking like an abused puppy. Your sick satisfaction was what you feared.

Was this what it felt like to be an Avenger? Were you taking pride in watching the civilians able to run from the scene, or was your pride in the fact that they no longer feared the invading forces, but you instead? The men were rendered immobile as the New Yorkers ran far from the scene. There you were in the centre of it, arms outstretched eyes gleaming, and grin growing wider and ever more evil. Natasha was still hovering just outside of your reach. You could feel her. You turned to face her. You could tell by the look in her eyes that she no longer recognized you. She put her lips to her comm.

“Evacuate the area. Don’t come down this way. Clint, go check on Wanda.”

Wanda.

Your powers ceased. No one rose right away. It would take some time for them to recover. They were gasping for breath. Their arms were too preoccupied hugging themselves tight to bother even trying to wipe the tears that covered many of their faces. Some of them were even rocking back and forth as the effect wore off. You dropped to the ground, human form taking back over. Your eyes were back to normal as you looked to Natasha once more. Neither of you said anything, but you took off running.

You pulled your hood up further, gaze locked to your black running shoes. You couldn’t help but feel like every set of eyes was on you. That’s how it felt, you supposed, being wanted by every agency on the planet. With the ability to change your form, though, it was pretty easy to hide in plain sight. Your footsteps echoed on the hard floor beneath your feet as you kept forward. Anyone who saw you would know you were on a mission. You knew exactly where you were going.

She was sleeping when you arrived. The cuts on her body had been stitched and bandaged, and her broken arm had been cast. Sam’s signature was already present on the red material, accompanied by a bad drawing of a bird. You couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself at that. Hopefully, it had kept a smile on her face as her world fell into turmoil, something undoubtedly caused by you. That simple fact would always break your heart. You had to turn to the window to keep the tears at bay.

When you turned back to Wanda, her green eyes were on you. There was something in her eyes that you couldn’t quite read. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at you, in a form that would be unrecognizable. It wasn’t just hiding you from the authorities, but it was hiding you from her. It was protecting her from you. She didn’t need to know that it was you, the woman who had never for a single second deserved to love her or be loved by her. A small smile grew on her lips.

“You forget I can read minds, my love.”

Of course. Wanda had always promised you she’d never read your mind. She would never violate your privacy like that. Right now, though, standing in her hospital room, you hadn’t been you. Obviously, she’d found it appropriate to peek into the mind of the stranger who had been watching her sleep. You should have been mortified. You’d never wanted her to know that you were here. Instead, a large part of you was relieved.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she breathed out. “So, that was quite the secret.”

Even though you deserved it, it still felt like a knife to the heart when she said it aloud. You nodded slowly, cracking your knuckles nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

You studied her face. Wanda really was a saint, with powers like the ones she had. She was kind, thoughtful, and respectful. You were sure if you’d had her powers right then, you’d be digging through her mind trying to find out what she was thinking. Her eyes weren’t showing you enough. They were calm, though, and it was keeping you calm. Your breathing was level and your head was steady on your shoulders, something you wouldn’t have had been able to say only five short minutes ago.

“Are you afraid?” You managed.

“No,” she assured instantly. “Confused. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You breathed out slowly. “I didn’t want to hurt you. My powers? They’ll hurt you.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Never!” You insisted. “I… I only hurt them because they hurt you.”

She smiled. “Then I’m not afraid.”

She beckoned you. You padded slowly toward the bed, watching as she stared up at you with an amount of love and adoration that you didn't deserve. Wanda glanced at the door, making sure no one was there to see, and then took your hand in hers, tugging on it to get you to sit down next to her. Instant calm washed over you, drowning out any negative, scared thoughts that had been in your head for days previous. It was like her hand was a lifeline, keeping you anchored on the spot. In the last few days, you’d been anything but calm and present.

You’d been a wreck without her, not knowing if she’d hate you… if you even saw her again. You didn’t know if you’d be able to feel her touch again, to feel her hands on your cheeks or to feel her grab onto you and pull you into a searing kiss the way she did. But you had seen her again, and, somehow, she didn’t hate you. Now, it seemed now you could get oxygen flowing through your body again. Still, you were uncertain.

“And can you forgive me?” You asked, voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. “Can you ever love me again?”

Wanda took her free hand and put it on the underside of your chin, tilting your gaze up to hers. “I see nothing that has to be forgiven.” She brushed her thumb across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “I love you. I will never, ever stop loving you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you,” she assured.

She leaned forward and then her lips were on yours. It took you a second to realize the salty taste was from the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, but it didn’t seem to be bothering the Sokovian. Both of your hands found hers and you held tight, as if afraid you’d never see her again if you dared to let go. She slipped one hand out of yours as she pulled back, using it to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” you muttered.

“I’m sorry you were so scared all alone.”

Your heart swelled. You really had found the perfect woman. “You’re really too good to me. You know that?”

Wanda laughed. “You deserve the world. You know that?”

With the way you tucked yourself against her in a hug, it was obvious she knew you felt the same of her. Her hand stroked your hair as you finally, for the first time ever, felt absolute ease and a sense of peace. Hiding that secret from Wanda had been the second hardest thing you’d ever done. The hardest had been coming clean with it. You snuggled a little closer to her, burying your head into the crook of her neck and mumbling against her skin.

“I’ll never hide anything from you again. I promise.”

Wanda pulled you away so she could look at you. “While we’re revealing secrets, I suppose I should tell you about the engagement ring in my jacket pocket.”

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda x reader #marvel #mcu #lesbian #wlw

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mercurygguk · 4 years ago

Text

what a man gotta do? | kth

genre; established relationship au, fluff

pairing; kim taehyung x female reader

summary; what a man gotta do when his girlfriend is insanely adorable when she’s drunk and doesn’t take no for an answer?

word count; 2,488

warnings; mentions of alcohol, a tiny bit of swearing, just soft tae and oc being a cute ass couple that i really adore

a/n; saw a text quote on tumblr, my brain popped an idea. this is it. also, i know nothing about gaming, so if anything i’ve written doesn’t make sense, just ignore it lol. please love it a lot and enjoy!! ps. please tell me what you think, thanks x

There is something so oddly pleasing about having the entire apartment to oneself on a Friday evening. Taehyung has been looking forward to this evening for a week and it is finally here. An entire evening for himself with his gaming console, his friends in his headphones and a big bowl of popcorn beside him. It’s quiet in the apartment as he sets up his gaming spot, fluffing the pillows and setting them up nicely on the couch so he can sit comfortably for the next many hours of nonstop gaming with his bestest friends.

The reason for his night alone is because his girlfriend’s (you) best friend just got promoted to a higher rank in the law firm she works at. She then went on to invite all her friends out for drinks which, of course, included you. Taehyung had fought to keep in his excitement when you had told him of your plans a week ago. You had eyed him down then, noticing the small exciting smile forming on his lips as he listened to your words carefully as if he actually cared. He was just overly excited to finally be able to have a gaming night without interruptions. And it’s not that he wants to sound ungrateful or like he enjoyed that you weren’t at home. He loved spending his Friday nights cuddled up with you, hell, that was his favorite Friday nights. But he’s only a boy, really. And a boy has needs. Gaming needs.

So he walks to the kitchen with a pep in his step as the microwave finishes with a loud ping! He pours the popcorn into a bowl and heads back to the couch where his gaming spot has been set up to perfection, everything in place and ready for him to have a relaxing night of games. He sits back in the mountain of pillows, sighing in content as he places the popcorn beside him before grabbing his headset. He sets it atop of his head, checking the sound and mic. Seconds later there’s an incoming call from his group of friends.

He picks up with a grin on his face. “Hey guys!”

Seokjin gasps from the other end. “What the hell? Got a night off from the wife?”

Taehyung scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully, a small smile on his lips. “She’s out for drinks,” he explains, “best friend got promoted.”

“Em got promoted?” Jimin then asks, just now hearing about the news of his long-time crush.

A smirk appears on Taehyung’s face. “Yeah, like a week ago. She didn’t tell you?”

Jimin falls silent at his question. Taehyung wants to tell his best friend to get out of his misery and just ask the girl out. He’s a hundred percent sure she’d say yes within a heartbeat. In fact, when Em is here visiting you and Taehyung, she talks about Jimin more often than she’d ever admit.

“Just ask her out already!” Seokjin groans annoyed, causing Jimin to tell him to ‘fuck off’. Taehyung grins, having missed gaming and talking with his friends like this. He saw them a few days ago in person which was nice too, but gaming with them is just so different and fun. It’s been a long time since he has had the opportunity to game for an entire night with Seokjin and Jimin.

“Well,” Taehyung captures the attention of his two best friends, “shall we get started?”

And that’s how the next three hours pass. There’s bickering, arguing because Seokjin didn’t manage to cover for Taehyung which caused Taehyung to get killed. “Come on, hyung! You were supposed to cover for me!”

Seokjin sighs deeply on the other end, calming his temper. “You think I’m a mind reader? How was I supposed to know you’d-”

Taehyung’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls the phone from his pocket to look at the caller-id. Your photo flashes across his screen, the wide smile on your face on a snowy day in December. A photo Taehyung snapped one day before Christmas, a day you had dragged him outside and into the snow. The first snow in Seoul in years and you had been so happy that you couldn’t stop smiling, so Taehyung saw it fit to snap a photo of you with his vintage camera which he had brought along.

“Hyung, one second,” he cuts off Seokjin’s rambling, removing his headset to answer your call.

“Hey babe,” Taehyung greets who he thinks is you. He stills, confused as Em greets him back in a rather serious, tired-sounding tone. “Oh, hey Em, did something happen?”

Em sighs deeply. “____ is drunk off her ass. Can you come get her?”

Drunk of her ass? You haven’t been drunk off your ass in months, which is why you being drunk so drunk right now doesn’t come as a shock to him. It’s been a while since you went out drinking like you’ve done tonight, so your body has gotten used to not fighting alcohol. Taehyung runs a hand through his dark black hair, removing it from his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come by. Where you at?”

With the information from Em, he hangs up and grabs his headset to put it back on. “Hey, guys, I gotta go.”

Jimin sounds like an unsatisfied child as he whines. Taehyung can imagine the pout. “What? Why?”

“Em just called,” he tells his best friend, “____ is drunk as hell. I have to go get her.”

Jimin mutters an ‘oh’ and so does Seokjin. They tell each other goodbye before Taehyung is shutting off his gaming console and heading for the front door. He grabs a coat from the closet in the hallway, throwing it over the white t-shirt and the green unbuttoned flannel he’s wearing. He jumps into a pair of boots and grabs his keys before heading out of the apartment.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath as he steps outside, into the cold air of January. He takes long strides towards his car, getting in and turning the key in the ignition. The heat is immediately turned on before he pulls out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of the bar Em told him you’re at. “One night,” he mumbles lowly to himself as he slowly drives around the parking lot behind the bar to find an empty spot, “one freaking night.”

The bar is filled with people, some drunk and some just barely tipsy. The aura in there is happy, void of any worries these people might have on regular days. Taehyung skims the darkness of the bar, trying his best to spot you in the crowd. Soon enough his eyes zoom in on Em who’s waving at him. He glances to her right side, spotting you sitting there with your head resting on Em’s shoulder. You look like you’re passed out and Taehyung immediately finds himself worrying a bit more than he originally had. You never pass out, you just always end up being a slur who laughs a bit too much at anything you find funny in the moment.

“Hey,” Em greets Taehyung. He nods at her in a greeting as he stops in front of them, immediately squatting down to be at your level. He reaches out, brushing your hair out of your face. You look at him, eyes blank and unfocused as you take him in. Thank god, you’re not passed out, just closing your eyes for a few seconds for a short nap.

“Hi baby,” Taehyung coos, thumb brushing across your cheek. You smile sheepishly, a very soft and drunken smile. Your boyfriend has to stifle a laugh as you almost fall over as you sit up. He catches your shoulder with his warm palm, steadying you as he tries to catch your eyes with his own. “Wanna go home?”

You nod, not muttering a simple word other than a low hum as he helps you to your feet. You’re leaning against his chest, cuddling into the warmth of him as he talks to Em for a moment.

“Thanks for calling,” he tells her.

Em nods with a grin and pats your shoulder as if to say goodbye. “Get her to bed,” she smirks, “she’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

Taehyung chuckles and nods in agreement. He bids Em and your other friends goodbye before leaving the bar with you cuddled up against his chest. You’re stumbling alongside him, finding it rather difficult to stand on your own two feet.

“Baby,” Taehyung softly calls, “could you use your legs for a second? You’re way heavier when you’re not cooperating, you know?”

You mumble in response, nuzzling your body even closer to him. “I wuv y-you,” you hum, smiling with your eyes closed as you hug him tightly. The man holding you up can’t help but laugh at you, his heart swelling twice it’s size as you drunkenly confess how you feel for him. Even though he already knew that. Good thing it’s love confessions and not some other kind of confession that slips from your drunk mind.

Taehyung struggles to get you into the passenger seat but he manages. He helps you take a sip of the water bottle Em had gotten for you at the bar. Your head falls back against the headrest of the seat, eyes still closed and lips moving on in another round of mumbles and humming. Taehyung buckles you up before moving to his own seat behind the wheel. He glances at you as he ignites the car. You’re really a sight to see right now. Completely unfazed as you sit in a weird position in the passenger seat, your head lulling from side to side because you have absolutely no control over it at the moment.

“God, you’re drunk,” Taehyung sighs deeply, “let’s get you home.”

If Taehyung thought getting you in the passenger seat was hard, then he had another thing coming. Getting you out of the passenger, however, is a completely different ordeal and then getting you inside the apartment building and into the elevator was probably more exercise than Taehyung has ever done in one day. Ugh, he really hates going to the gym.

The front door is soon unlocked and you’re back home in the warmth of your shared apartment. After the elevator ride up, it’s almost as if you’ve sobered up again. You’re walking better, still holding onto Taehyung, but walking. You’re blabbering now, talking about how you and Em had tested who could drink the most shots in 30 seconds and who could chug a beer down the fastest. Taehyung listens with a small smile, shaking his head in amusement because this is so very much unlike you. But he’s happy you had fun with your friends.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the way I chugged down those shots,” you laugh, plopping down onto the couch as Taehyung kneels down to take off your shoes. “Em could not catch me at all!”

“I’m sure you were ace, baby,” Taehyung hums, grinning now because you’re way too cute when you’re drunk. He’s not even mad that you spoiled his gaming night because you’re too drunk to get home by yourself. This is a sight he would’ve hated to miss out on.

“My head hurts though,” you mumble, frowning. Taehyung matches your frown as he glances up at you while unclasping your heels from your feet.

Once your shoes are off, he gets back up. He cups your cheek, brushing a stray eyelash off it with the pad of his thumb. “Just gonna get a makeup wipe and some pills for your headache, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nod, smiling up at him. He pecks your forehead quickly before heading for the bathroom. Taehyung glances back at you to see you sitting there silently, wiggling your bare feet and hugging a pillow to your chest. He chuckles as he enters the bathroom to retrieve painkillers and a makeup wipe to clean your face. A few minutes after rummaging through the cabinets and the drawers, he exits the bathroom and heads back to you. He stops in his tracks when he notices you’re gone from your spot. He skims the living room, not finding you anywhere. What he does find though is something he hasn’t seen since he was like eight years old. Right there by the dining table behind the couch, you’re currently putting up a blanket fort, a wide grin on your face.

“Baby,” Taehyung catches your attention right away, “whatcha’ doing?”

You smile, looking back at the project you’ve started. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s a blanket fort!”

Taehyung steps closer, nodding. “I can see that.”

It doesn’t take long for you to finish setting it up before you’re grabbing pillows from the couch, throwing them inside the blanket fort. You’re way too good at this. Something tells Taehyung that you’ve made a lot of these as a child. You emerge from the fort to motion at him, beckoning him to join you. “Come on,” you insist.

Your boyfriend looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind, when really, you’re just tipsy as hell. “____, shouldn’t we just go to bed? I mean, this is-”

“Just get in the fucking blanket fort.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as you stare back at him with hard eyes. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in surrender, painkillers in one and a makeup wipe in the other, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

The hard stare turns into a wide, content smile and Taehyung seriously thinks he’ll get a whiplash from how fast you can switch between facial expressions. You’re already inside the blanket fort when Taehyung stands in front of the opening to it. He squats down, looking inside. It did look insanely inviting and cozy in there. You pat the spot next to you on the blanket, still smiling. Taehyung sighs as he knows you won’t give up until he’s inside your blanket fort. You really don’t take no for an answer.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” Taehyung shakes his head before crawling inside the fort, plopping down beside you. You lay on your side facing him with a grin. “I haven’t been in a blanket fort since I was eight.”

You laugh, reaching for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Then we must make blanket forts more often.”

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Family Ties // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: hey lovie!! i wanna start by saying i adore your writing for bridgerton and harry potter and i always find myself coming back to it,, if you’re up for it, would you mind writing a benedict imagine? i was thinking something sweet and domestic?? like maybe him and the reader have kids and they’re going to visit the rest of the family? take it however you want!! <3 - @ddaeng-danvers

A/N: Thank you so much!! I truly hope you like this. This is the first thing I've written in close to a month now and I love how happy it is. There’s love, and family, and fluff. I am so happy with it. This features characters seen in the prequel books ‘The Rokesby’s’ - I finished reading book 2 today and I think I'm going to own all of Quinn’s books by the time we reach summer.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: children, marriage, fluff, female reader, she/her pronouns, bridgertons being bridgertons, family fluff, love, romance, kissing, cute, mentions of pregnancy. SPOILERS FOR THE PREQUEL SERIES BUT I CANT BE SORRY, I LOVE GEORGE TOO MUCH.

Word count: 3.3k

Giggles and gasps lighten the morning air as you take those first steps outside. The grass is still wet with morning dew and it dampens the hem of your dress, but you cannot bring yourself to care as the laughter of your children surrounds you.

“You can’t catch me!” Your daughter declares, laughing loudly as her steps quicken on the slick grass.

A quiet smile crosses your face as you watch the scene unfold in front of you.

Your daughter, Violet, continues to laugh wildly as Benedict grabs her from behind, lifting her onto his shoulders. She settles there quickly; having spent a lot of time on Benedict’s shoulders when her little legs wore themselves out from running and exploring.

“My love,” Benedict greets, smiling widely at you, “Did you sleep well?”

“I did until I realised I was alone.”

Benedict casts his eyes upwards, gesturing to the four year old currently busying herself with trying to tidy the permanently messy locks of her father. “Someone,” Benedict emphasises with another glance upwards, “Woke up too early and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Your body warms at the obvious love in Benedict’s voice – for you, for his daughter. Close to a decade being married and he has every capacity to reduce you to a lovestruck fool. It’s perfect, really.

Chuckling, you gaze lovingly at your daughter. “Did you wake your father up?”

She nods; not an ounce of apology on her small face as she continues to mess up Benedict’s hair. “I couldn’t sleep anymore,” she defends, “I’m excited to see Grandma Violet.”

“I’m sure she’s excited to see you too,” Benedict comments, reaching for his pocket watch to check the time. “We’ll have to be setting off soon. Are we all packed?”

You nod, meeting the loving eyes of your husband. “The footmen have everything covered. Where is John?”

Benedict gestures to the overgrowth behind him. “He joined us when Violet wouldn’t keep quiet. He shouldn’t be too far behind.”

“I’ll go in search. Get Violet ready for me?”

Benedict nods, smiling down at you before dropping the first kiss of many to your lips. You watch the pair leave; Violet chattering away about the birds singing in the trees before heading off in search for your eldest child.

“John Edmund Bridgerton,” you call out, voice loud in the quiet garden, “Where have you gotten to?”

“I’m over here,” John calls; his dark brown curls popping up between the rose bushes.

“Shall we head inside? We need to get ready to make the journey to London.”

John smiles, making his way to your side. “You look more like your father every day,” You comment absentmindedly, running a hand through your son’s hair.

John flushes at the compliment; his father was an exceptionally strong man as well as incredibly talented in whatever he pursues. “Thank you,” John replies, reaching for your hand to begin the walk back to your home.

---------

Bridgerton House had always grown violet hyacinths; they perfumed the air, making every inhale sweeter than the last. The door to the Bridgerton London home is opened before you get chance to place your feet on the ground after stepping down from the carriage.

Benedict steadies you as you straighten your skirts whilst trying to keep an eye on your children, making sure they hadn’t fallen out of the carriage. The laughter of your children floating on air has the tightness in your chest relaxing.

You take a moment to stand beside your husband, enjoying the feel of his hands on your waist. It had been so long since a moment alone had been found between the two of you; one of you running after Violet before she scared off another governess. Her stubbornness was to be admired, but it made it hard to teach her the basics in terms of literacy.

“Are you alright?” Benedict asks, noticing your hesitancy.

You smile widely at the love of your life. “I’m fine, my love. I just wanted to be close to you.”

Benedict’s face softens at your confession; he would be the first to admit that he found himself missing you even when he was sat next to you. There were no problems in your marriage but being so busy meant that there was little time for the two of you.

Benedict takes your hand; dropping a kiss to the back of it before turning it over and placing a lingering kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point. You gasp at the intimacy of it, your toes curling at the promise in his eyes.

“Mama!” Violet cries, taking your hand and dragging you through the house in the direction of the portrait gallery with all her might.

You chuckle, turning to Benedict with a helpless look on your face. He holds his hands up, letting you take the lead with your headstrong daughter. “I shall announce our arrival,” Benedict laughs, blue eyes focused on the way his daughter’s slippers slip and slide on the marble tiles of the entrance hall. “John,” He calls, “Would you like to join me?”

Imperceptibly, John takes a step in your direction. An incredibly smart but shy boy from birth, you sometimes worried over his place in the loud, boisterous family of the Bridgertons. “If it’s okay, I want to see where mother and Violet are going.”

“Of course,” Benedict smiles, ruffling John’s hair, knowing how he needed to get used to a new environment before feeling comfortable.

Benedict presses a kiss to your mouth and then to your cheek before taking the steps two at a time to hurry to the drawing room where he can greet his mother and siblings before answering their questions about your whereabouts.

Letting yourself be led through the ornate home of Violet Bridgerton, you can’t help but smile at the determinedness of your daughter. Her little feet stomping away on the marble tiles as she pulls you to the portrait gallery – her favourite place in the whole house bar her grandmother’s knee.

The gallery hasn’t had a new addition to its walls in years; the last painting being of Anthony and Kate on their fifth anniversary. Violet saw it as fitting that their London home had an up to date portrait of Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton. Anthony had argued, but one look from his mother had him falling silent – knowing a losing battle when he sees one.

Generations of Bridgertons line the walls; their famous blue eyes watching the latest generation walk the halls of their once home. John remains silent by your side as he meets the gaze of the men of which his name is descended; if he feels their pressure at such a young age, he doesn’t say.

One painting catches your eye. A young woman and her husband; his hand is resting on her shoulder as she remains seated. They both stare out of the painting; their eyes filled with the stories of generations passed but utterly silent on the matter.

“Who is this?” Violet asks, effectively distracted by the bright colours of the painting.

“That’s your Great Aunt Billie and her husband,” You comment absently, mind occupied with Billie Bridgerton’s eyes.

“Have we met her?” John asks, hand reaching for yours.

“You have, John. She and the Rokesby clan came to your christening. I doubt you remember, you were so young, my darling.”

John flushes at your use of his childhood pet name. Not even ten years old and he was already growing too old for such things, but you didn’t care – he would always be your darling, your first born, the very boy that made you a mother.

“Where are they now?”

“I suppose they are still at Crake House in Kent. We should have to pay them a visit the next time we visit your Uncle Anthony.”

“Can we?” Violet asks, her Bridgerton blue eyes wide with promise and excitement.

“If your father allows it, I see no problem with it.”

The children seem placated at that. With their hands in yours, you make your way to the drawing room where the rest of the family have gathered. Benedict spies you immediately despite being deep in conversation with Colin and Hyacinth; his body and soul finetuned to your presence – feeling uplifted when you’re beside him, feeling as if he was missing a vital part of himself in your absence.

“Grandma Violet!” Your youngest child cries, launching herself for the skirts of the Bridgerton matriarch. Her small arms barely make their way around the legs of the elderly woman who cannot contain her amused giggle at the exploits of her granddaughter. Instead, she gathers young Violet in her arms, placing her on her knee to get a better look at her.

“You have grown,” The matriarch murmurs, brushing back the dark brown hair of her granddaughter.

“John!” Anthony calls, drawing the attention of his nephew. Releasing your hand, John crosses the room to talk to his beloved uncle; the topic of conversation, you know not but they both look incredibly animated and devoted to the matter.

“Where were you?” A low voice sounds in your ears, making you jump. The voice turns amused as a low chortle escapes your husband’s mouth. “I’m sorry, my love,” he offers in apology as an arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you closer to him.

“If you must know, we were in the portrait gallery.”

“What drew you there?”

“Your daughter,” You comment, tone amused.

Benedict moves to inquire further but is cut off but the gong signalling that dinner has been served. At once, the family moves as one – all ravenous and desperate to begin their meal.

“(Y/N)!” Colin calls out, catching up to you on the way to the dining room.

“Colin,” You greet fondly, “How is married life?”

“Wonderful,” Colin sighs, “Penelope is… Penelope is wonderful.”

You laugh, elbowing the third eldest Bridgerton. “Surely, you remember the early days of your marriage,” Colin states, “The honeymoon period.”

“It doesn’t leave you,” You reply, catching sight of the love of your life just ahead of you. His head is bent as he reaches for the hand of your daughter; her whole hand wrapped around one of his fingers. It sends your heart into a tizzy as you inhale sharply; the love you feel for Benedict Bridgerton could rival the love of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, of the sonnets written by William Shakespeare himself.

“No,” Colin comments, glancing between you and Benedict, “I don’t suppose it does.”

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

Dinner with a large Bridgerton crowd was never a quiet feat; conversations flowed in every direction. Societal propriety non-existent as everyone spoke over each other; happy to have the company of their siblings, nieces and nephews, sons and daughters.

“Anthony,” You begin, reaching for your glass as you draw the attention of the head of the family, “When would you next be at Aubrey Hall?”

“Kate, the children, and I travel back in two days. Why?”

“We were in the portrait gallery earlier. Violet was rather taken with a portrait of Billie Bridgerton and her husband, George. If Benedict has no qualms, could we travel with you? I think Violet would like to meet them.”

Anthony beams; rather liking the idea of bringing the Rokesby’s back into their lives once more. “I must admit that I haven’t travelled to Crake House in a long time. What a terrible nephew I must seem.”

Violet frowns, picking at the food on her plate. “What a terrible sister-in-law, I must be. It must be close to a year, probably longer since I’ve seen Billie and George. Longer since I’ve seen Edward and Cecilia.”

“That does it,” Anthony declares, “We shall all travel to Aubrey Hall before dropping in on Crake House.”

Meeting Benedict’s eyes across the table you smile at the clear affection written on his face. “You have no objections do you, my love?”

He shakes his head. “Never, my love.”

Turning your attention to Anthony, you nod your affirmation. “Should we write in advance of leaving here?”

Anthony wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I’ll send a missive with the morning messenger; if I tip generously then there shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Violet adds absently, “I just can’t believe I’ve left it this long. I’m so rarely in Kent and they never journey to London.”

Colin reaches to his right, placing his hand on top of his mother’s. “They will more than understand. Aunt Billie was father’s sister after all. I think even Aunt Billie finds it hard to return to Aubrey Hall.”

“Then it’s decided,” Benedict smiles, “We shall journey to Aubrey Hall and get settled there before descending on Crake House.”

“Do you think Gregory would like to join us?” You ask, thinking of your youngest brother-in-law.

“He’s in his final term at Oxford,” Colin replies, “He’s sitting all number of exams right now, I don’t think he’ll have the time.”

“A shame,” Anthony comments, thinking of his youngest brother and the stress he must be under, “But I’m sure he can complete the journey in the summer.”

“He always was Aunt Billie’s favourite,” Benedict states darkly. You raise your eyebrows at your husband in question. “Gregory struggled with the pronunciation of some plants when he was a child; Aunt Billie thought it was adorable,” He explains, sounding far off as if trapped in a memory of his youth.

Smiling widely at your husband’s tone, you coo, “I’m sure Violet will be her new favourite when we explain what inspired our visit.”

Dismissing all social expectations, Benedict rounds the table, reaching for your hand, pressing a long kiss to the back of it before stating loudly. “You, my love, are a genius.”

“It has been said before,” You laugh, watching your husband return to his seat with promises of the night alight in his eyes. His eyes remain bright as he gazes at you over the rim of his wine glass, no longer paying attention to the conversation pertaining to the history of the Bridgertons and Rokesbys. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you as he thinks of all the good you have brought to his life – loving him, marrying him, bearing his children. His love for you is endless, and he’ll spend the rest of his life proving that to you.

--------

Crake House was just as grand as Aubrey Hall. The Rokesby’s gaining the favour of the monarch in the seventeenth century leading to an earldom and a rather large estate that bordered on the Bridgerton’s at Aubrey Hall. From then, the two families had been intertwined – as close as two families could get.

“It’s very big,” John comments quietly to Benedict as they leave the carriage.

“Don’t let that intimidate you, John,” Benedict says, “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

As Benedict finishes his sentence, the door to Crake House is pulled open by a strong hand. Deep blue skirts are the first thing you see, and you know that Billie Rokesby nee Bridgerton has arrived.

“Bridgertons!” A feminine voice cries, “I have Bridgertons on my doorstep once more!”

“Billie,” Violet sighs, a fond smile on her face as if the sound of her sister-in-law’s voice has transported her back to times long thought of as memories.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” Billie admonishes as she hurries down the stairs, her elderly frame not a hindrance to her speed whatsoever. “How long have you taken residence in Aubrey Hall? How long has it been since you came to see me?”

“Aunt Billie,” Anthony murmurs, “I don’t suppose you could ever forgive me.”

Billie Rokesby nee Bridgerton eyes her nephew; looking him up and down before taking his face in her strong hands. “Are you well, my boy?”

For a moment, tears shine in Anthony’s eyes as he is reminded of his departed father. He nods wordlessly; trying to get a grip on the feelings rushing through him at the love that emanates from Billie. “I’m well, Aunt Billie.”

Billie nods, stepping back, clearly happy at the information offered by Anthony. She casts her shrewd gaze over her brother’s family; happiness alight in her eyes as she takes sight of your daughter, hiding behind your skirts.

“Who do we have here?” She asks, stepping closer to Benedict and yourself.

“You met John when he was just a babe in arms, but Violet is our youngest,” Benedict introduces, an arm wrapped loosely around your waist.

“Violet?” Billie gasps, dipping at the waist, “Violet Bridgerton, it is an honour to meet you.”

Violet giggles from where she has her face hidden in your legs. You reach down, tapping her on the shoulder. “Come now, sweetheart. Let’s say hello.”

Violet peeks her face out of your skirts, her blue eyes meeting the kind, aged ones of Billie. Violet curtsies, remembering her manners despite her age. “I saw your painting at Grandma’s house.”

“Which one?” Billie asks gently, eyes flickering to the Bridgerton matriarch. “Please tell me it wasn’t the one that Edmund commissioned as an anniversary gift for George and myself.”

Violet Bridgerton covers her mouth to stem the laughter that threatens to bubble over. “The very same.”

Billie huffs, turning to you, “I was six months pregnant, and Edmund thought I would want nothing more than to sit for a whole day with nothing to keep me company.”

“I think you look wonderful,” Your daughter compliments, tripping up on her pronunciation of ‘wonderful’.

Billie’s eyes shine with happiness, “Thank you, my dear.”

“I think our guests might like some tea,” An exasperated but fond voice calls from the doorway. Billie’s face softens at the sound of it; she turns to her husband, finding him watching her with a loving smile on his face.

“They aren’t guests, George. They are my family, and by marriage, your family.”

“All the same, I’m sure they would like something to drink and to rest a little.”

Billie pouts, knowing a losing fight when she saw one. You take in the sight of the pair; their hair had greyed over time, their face becoming wrinkled but their love – it was so palpable, it could be felt in every aspect of their conversation and every expression they sent each other.

Billie and George manage to wrangle the whole Bridgerton clan into their drawing room with promises of food, tea and stories of their mother’s youth. Violet pales at such a promise but Billie’s hand on her arm steadies her.

Your children, John and Violet, join their many cousins on the carpet. They all sit cross legged, eyes intently focused on the elderly couple sitting on the pale green couch. Billie gestures animatedly as she begins one of her many adventurous stories. George leans further back into the cushions, happy to let his wife regale his extended family with the very story of how they had fallen in love. A story told many times, but a story he would never tire of hearing, especially not from his beloved wife’s lips.

You watch all of this from where you sit, perched on the window seat. You smile at the sight of Anthony, Colin and Hyacinth watching Billie with nothing short of wonder written on their faces as they are reminded of the aunt that had explained the way of the land before they had truly understood what it meant to be part of a family with such a large responsibility.

Benedict joins you on the window seat, crossing his legs at the ankles as his heart sings at the sound of his children’s laughter. Silently, he reaches over to take your hand in his. He rests your tangled hands on his thigh; needing you close for a reason he cannot seem to find the words to explain.

“I love you,” You whisper, needing him to hear the words that have begged to be released since you had rolled up to Crake House.

“I love you too,” Benedict responds, his hand tightening around yours.

*********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #Benedict bridgerton imagines #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic

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angellissy · 3 years ago

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Hey :) I’ve never requested anything before so I’m sorry if i do it wrong hahah

But could I request something where instead of ward faking his death it’s rafe who has to do it and none of the pouges know about your relationship until it’s you crying in the dock instead of Sarah. And when you and the piggies go on the “rescue” mission to get Sarah off of the boat you see rafe and eventually end up staying with him and leaving your friends

I’m sorry if this is really long xx thank you for taking the time to read my request

R E A C H I N G F O R T H E S U R F A C E

SEASON TWO SPOILERS!

rafe Cameron x Reader

warnings: angst with a big a, canon rafe (maybe a bit softer), toxic relationship, rafe playing the victim card, death and talks of suicide.

a/n: I feel like it is of importance that I tell you all that I have done everything in my power not to romanticize the rafe cameron character and if I have then please kindly let me know because sometimes it can be hard. However I still need to say that I am writing through the eyes of the “reader” who very much still cares for this boy, which also means that the way the reader deals with things might not have been your way. If any more warnings should be included in the beginning, feel free to let me know. I hope you enjoy this fic which I am actually very proud of. A big thanks to @snkkat who is my proof reading buddy. Also thanks for sending in the request, I LOVED writing it! <3

They say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but how about when you watch someone else die? For as you watched him die, the life and moments the two of you had shared flashed before your eyes like a string of reminders of a life and love lost. It felt as if there was no air for you to breathe, you weren’t even sure how long it had been since you managed to take a full breath. Your mind was running in circles, trying to grasp what had just occurred, replaying the scene over and over again until you were not even sure what reality you were in. With a hammering heart and a split soul, you were kneeling on the dock, just minutes after watching your first love take his own life. You could not even remember how you had gotten out here in the first place, you just wished that you would have stayed behind as all your friends rushed toward a disaster in waiting. Perhaps that would have spared you some of the heartbreak, spared you from hearing him scream that he loved you one last time, spared you from seeing his boat go up in flames. But no, you were sure that for as long as you lived, you would see that blazing inferno whenever you closed your eyes.

There were arms around you, an attempt to soothe your shaking body, it only made you feel more trapped in a memory you would never escape. Those arms lifted you up and suddenly you were walking, mixed in all the anger and sadness there was a surprise that your body was even able to function. It felt as if you were outside of your body watching everything occur, you watched as Kiara and JJ helped you sit down on a sofa and as they draped a blanket over your shoulders. You watched it unfold, but you couldn’t feel it and there was no way that you would be able to respond to their worried questions. Instead, you were stuck in a mind that replayed everything Rafe had ever said or done to you as if that somehow could manifest him back to life. That stuck-up boy with the golden hair had been your first boyfriend, complicated as the relationship may have been, it had been the first time you ever experienced something close to love. Just days ago you had stood before him, tears in your eyes and heart in your throat as you called the relationship off. For a very long time, he had not been the boy you fell for, but rather a ghost of who he once was. Where he had once been sweet and tender with you, there had only been cold stares and words sharp enough to cut through ice. You were not oblivious to the fact that he struggled with issues you could never comprehend, but you refused to be an accomplice in his undoing. Time after time you had tried to be the person he could cling to when the world sat heavily upon his shoulders, but you soon realized that love and affection could not solve all problems. Oh, and you had loved him so much that you would have done anything for him to smile at you the way he had when he uttered those big three words for the first time. He had watched you with eyes that held so much adoration that you thought that they would never dim, that they would shine brighter for each time his eyes found yours. But eventually, they had dulled, and so you had realized that you would not sacrifice yourself no matter how much you cared for him. It did not matter that you had called things off with him or that you had decided to leave him in order to save yourself, for the knowledge that he was actually gone made it feel like someone was clawing at your heart and trying to rip it apart. It felt like no time in the world would be able to heal the pain in your chest or dry the tears falling from your eyes.

Time was indeed a funny thing, how seconds turned into minutes and how then those minutes became hours. Hours that you spent reminiscing over a life you thought you had given up before it was lost forever. You clung to the memories of him as if they were the lifebuoy keeping an anchor from pulling you down in a sea made up of your own sorrow. You knew that you were staying in your own made-up memories of a relationship with more bad times than good, but a part of you felt that you could not grieve the person he had become. For he had been vile and horrid, and if you acknowledged that, you would feel guilty for the sadness overwhelming you. So yes, you stayed in your made-up reality and wept for the boy that could have been. As hours turned into days, your friends made every effort to comfort you and try to get you out of the room that had become your place of mourning. Their tries aggravated you, for they did not understand the feelings rushing through your body at such speed it made you lightheaded. Each one of them had hated Rafe Cameron with at least one bone in their body and you knew how some of them had looked the day he died as if they were content that he was finally gone. Relieved that he could no longer plague them with taunts and threats that might have become reality was it not for his passing. You might have understood this, had it not been for the grief and guilt plaguing every bone in your body.

As days turned into weeks, you eventually came to appreciate their efforts to help you. It was like your vision was starting to clear and you could finally start trying to live your life again, and the first step to doing that was always to surround yourself with people that made you roar with laughter. Their ventures to try and find the Cross of Santo Domingo, were helpful, to say the least. Those adventures were as distracting as they were terrifying since the outcome was never given. Your mixed friend group of pogues and kooks had actually found that damn cross as well. Who would have thought that a bunch of high school kids would be able to find a historic relic? The answer would have been no one, and that is why you don’t underestimate kids with no limits. The cross had been in your grasp until a greedy and manipulative Ward Cameron came along and grabbed it. Ever since that particular happening, things started going south fast and it all ended up with Sarah being kidnapped by her own guardians. It also ended up with the rest of you stowed away like cargo on the ship she was on. While John B and Pope carried out their plan to find Sarah and the famous cross, you, JJ, and Kie sweated from every pore as you waited to hear from them. You had zoned out, staring mindlessly into one of the walls of the container, in the background you could hear your two friends talk about their dreams for the future. Something about going on several surfing trips at various destinations with each other, and that part made your heart ache. Sure, after everything he had done, a future with Rafe had not been one of your dreams. Still, as you listened to your friends talk, you could only remember a time where he had been everything you wanted in life. You pressed your palms upon your face as if you somehow could force every memory of him to remain in that little part of your brain where you were hoping they would become forgotten. A loud clank dragged you out of your thoughts and you looked up just in time to see Pope and John B climb in through that small window opening, followed by a woman you had never ever seen. Shortly after that, problems started to arise and soon all of you were scrambling out of the container in hopes of not being detected by the workers on the boat. They were in obvious search of all of you, which made you sweat even more than you had done inside the container. All of you received different plans on how to tackle the situation, yours was to act as a lookout for John B as he searched for Sarah.

You followed him down to what you could only assume was the boiler room since steam was thick in the air and you took your place by the door as he ventured further down. His desperate cries for Sarah echoed through the room and you dearly wished for a response to be heard, but there was nothing except the sound of his shoes against the floor. Thump, thump, thump and then utter silence until John B utters a name that made it feel as if the floor was pulled away from under your feet.

“Rafe.”

One of your hands finds the doorframe, a poor attempt to steady yourself as you try to figure out if this is a trick played by your grieving mind. You take a few breaths and as the silence is once again interrupted by two raised voices, you follow John B’s path down into the room. The heart in your chest is beating so hard that it feels like you are going to throw up, and it only gets worse the nearer you come. At first, you only see your friend, but then you look past him

and

your

heart

stops.

Rafe Cameron had died in front of your very eyes, so either the gods were playing a nasty cruel joke or you had lost the battle with your mind. You shut your eyes just to open them again, and no matter how many times you did it, he still remained. What happened next was a bit peculiar to you, for weeks you had drowned in grief where sadness was the constant emotion, but as you looked him in the eye and saw that he was very much alive, rage and anger crushed into you with the force of a thousand waves. You stepped toward him, only for an arm to shoot out to stop you, and John B added to his gesture by saying “Don’t”. Laughter bubbled in your throat, for who was he to tell you what you could or could not say to your “dead” ex-boyfriend who seemed to never stop causing you grief.

“Find Sarah.” John B hesitated for a few moments before following your unspoken order to leave you and Rafe alone. It wasn’t surprising considering that his worry for Sarah would always overpower anything else. Once again you looked into Rafe’s blue eyes, remembering a time when you used to stare in them for so long you would see specks of green and grey. Had you searched for those colors now, you would probably have found them. However, you were trying to decipher whatever feeling that was shining in them, was it anger? No, his other features were too soft for that and the hand holding his weapon had gone slack as he watched you. Maybe it was relief? No that was not it either, for why would he be relieved to see you? You were not the one who had died and left the other behind. You stepped even closer to him, the simmering anger inside of your veins made your hands shake and he looked at them briefly as if he wanted to take them in his. Your hands clenched into fists and you watched as his shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, and suddenly you knew exactly what was shining in his eyes.

Love, and sadness. Your heart started to speed up again, and you knew that once you opened your mouth, the anger and grief that had become part of you, would tumble out in words that you would never be able to take back. But he had done something much worse, so he would listen, you would make sure of it. Your lips parted slightly and he must have seen it for his words came first.

“I- fuck I am sorry okay? But I had to do it, you wouldn’t understand but I had to do it, it was the best for everyone.” As he says this you can’t help the sound that slips through your lips, it was supposed to be a laugh but it sounds more like a sob. His eyes flicker between you and everything else in the room as if there was anything in here that could save him for this conversation. You move your hands toward your chest and his eyes watch as you press them hard against your chest, against the heart that won’t stop breaking.

“Best for everyone?” Your voice is the combination of a whisper and a ragged breath “Did you have my best interest in mind when you let me believe you had blown yourself up?” He winces and makes an attempt to say something but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Did it ever occur to you how your little stunt would affect the one person who still, despite everything, loved you?” This time, your voice has started to rise towards something like a scream, and how could you not scream when there is so much sadness inside of you that it felt like just looking at him would turn your body into a pool of water.

“You broke up with me, so don’t start acting like a victim where you aren’t one.” His features are starting to morph into those he carries when anger overcomes him, but you will not back away from this. Your hands are in your hair, pulling at it as if that would help you make sense of this situation. “You broke my heart long before I broke yours.” You can’t help the way your voice breaks or the tears that start falling from your eyes.“You needed and still need help and until you receive that help, you are prone to hurt anyone in your vicinity.” Now it is his turn to drag his hands through his hair and his breaths come faster and faster until you realize that he is starting to hyperventilate. He sinks to the floor and you follow, not sure how to help when it feels like his state is mirroring your own. With cautious movements, you place your hands on his shoulders, and the shaking of his body sends trembles throughout yours. For a while nothing happens, you just sit there with your hands on his body and watch him fall apart. Perhaps you should have been glad that he was suffering, after everything he had done to you he deserved it. But you couldn’t feel anything other than anguish and as a sob escaped his body every restraint you had kept on yourself broke and you hugged him towards your chest. You could never save him, but he clung to you as if you had the power to undo every wrong he had ever done. After a while, he looks up at your tear-streaked face and one of his hands reaches up to cup it. You want to look away because you can see everything in those eyes of his, every regret and every wish he has ever had. His forehead leans towards you and you feel his hot breath against your skin. As you breathe in the scent of cologne and feel his skin against yours, you feel overwhelmed by the fact that he is actually here. You notice that his lips part and for a second you are scared that he is going to kiss you, but he must know that there is a limit to your patience with him so he just whispers words with the promise of what could have been. “I wanted to be good for you.” A small smile takes place on your lips and you close your eyes as you try to restrain the well of emotions inside of you. “I know Rafe, I know.” He breathes out a little, almost as if he is relieved that you are aware that he tried in a world and with a mind constantly working against him. You knew, but you also knew that there was someone else out there for you. Someone who would love you in a way that Rafe would never be able to, in a way that would not send the two of you to the bottom of the ocean. Whoever was out there would make you swim. For so long you had wanted to believe that Rafe was the one, despite all his flaws you would have given anything for him to be your future. It was a relief to know that you could and deserved to have more. But you also knew that you needed to do something before that could happen.

“I will stay-.” Before you could even finish your sentence he whipped his head up to look at you with such hope you never wanted to continue talking. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to go on. “I will stay with you just to make sure you receive the help you need.” His whole body deflated and you had to bite your lip in order not to cry again. Eventually, he nodded and you closed your eyes in relief. You knew that this had to be the right move, no one else would listen to him or make sure he got help, so you needed to be the one to did. Just enough so that you finally could start swimming towards the surface.

#rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron headcanon #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x you #drew starkey #outer banks x reader #outer banks #outer banks season 2 #outer banks imagine #obx #obx season 2 #obx spoilers #obx fanfiction

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