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typingfool · 2 years

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𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 / 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐀 ;; wednesday addams

Pairing ;; Wednesday Addams x gn!winged!Reader

outline —; Confessing to Wednesday Addams is... something else.

word count —: 2.3k

WARNINGS —: cursing, SUGGESTIVE, LIKE VERY.

themes / tags —: reader is gender-neutral. divina is non-binary.

A/N: reblogs and comments are appreciated. there are some other fics i wanted to write for wednesday. have some gender-neutral divina and reader as dorm mates! and some wings too, may i add. enjoy :)

There is no number or word that can describe love. The only way to describe it is to feel it. To be in it. Similarly, love isn’t a never ending circle, going around and saying the same thing. For centuries, science has explained it too – the love for friends, the love for lovers, the love for parents, the love for certain objects.

In history, the Greeks have words for love. Sitting in history lessons in one of the many rooms in Nevermore, your wings folded, your eyes staring directly at the board, as the teacher spoke. A school mate, similar to you with wings of down feathers, smiled in your direction, staring intently.

Some didn’t seem to care about the knowledge they’re learning, some were confused (one of them being you, though, you were just ecstatic that all these people were learning that love isn’t just love). Some were guilty – you knew because you felt them, you felt that they never ‘love’ the way it is expected.

“Ludus is the playful form of love. This may describe your type of romance; teasing, flirting, and teenage love.” The teacher explained, dragging her tone through the room, the class is quiet, accepting the new form of knowledge into their minds.

The first period class really had you smiling. A swelled understandment filled your stomach as if it was thirsty for affection and attention. Who knew the Greeks could understand you? In ways more than one. Besides its occasional tales of myths and legends (that you personally indulge in, though too embarrassed to say anything about it), you were surprised that this knowledge is never passed down unto society.

Only ‘friendship’ and ‘love’ were understood. If the normies altogether had a voice they would probably say; What else is there to it?

The thought made you snicker. Hours passed; preoccupied students were busy shuffling the hallways, getting ready for the falling night. You watched through the infirmary window as the courtyard emptied out. “You bird!” The nurse called, looking at you with wide eyes. This did not surprise you but it did make you jump in your chair, your feathers in alert mode as you felt ants seeping through your skin. “I told you, this girl, here,” She pointed to Yoko, who snickered in response, hiding her laughter. “She is okay! No need to crowd this place! Look at your wings- Giant!” She reached her hand out, pinching a feather, making you hiss in staggerment.

“Okay! Okay! I’m just worried about my friend.” You said, cowering out of the door, waving Yoko a goodbye before she could touch the ends of your feathers too. You huffed, wings fluttering in a shiver. The thumping of your own boots thundered in your ears, silencing any form of thoughts that raced through your mind. Silencing the outside world for a while, walking to your dorm subconsciously.

For a moment, you ceased in a quiet hallway, contemplating whether to comfort Enid in her time of distress. Pending for a second that your wings enclosed in a relaxed position, folding itself. I don’t need to think about this situation, you mentally facepalmed.

You headed to your dorm, waving a slight hello to Divina. They didn’t let you pass the window though, blocking your view of the outside world before you could fly out. Worry flooded their eyes as they frantically blurted out a word. “The nurse wouldn’t let me-”

You intercepted, putting a hand on their shoulder. “Let you see her? Me too but I’ve seen, Tanaka is fine, it’s just an allergic reaction.” You calmly stated, your wings subconsciously wrapping around them into a hug. They wrapped their arms around your shoulders too, unable to decide whether to hold your waist or back. “She’ll be out before you know it.” You pulled away, smiling.

Divina nodded, stepping out of the window. “Tell me how your confession goes.” They teased, opening their closet and picking out a jacket. They headed to the bathroom.

You opened the window, searching for Ophelia Hall in the many buildings until your eyes landed on the half-rainbow cobwebbed window. “Not yours to know,” You yelled in a responsive tone, hands on the railing, keeping your body balanced, poking your head out of the cold air. Making sure that no one is watching, you search left to right as if you were checking a road before crossing. “Nightshades again?” You asked, pushing your head in, grabbing a jacket of your own.

Divina fixed their hair, responding with a nod. “At least look decent, who are you meeting? Enid or Addams?” They blindly asked.

Disbelief left your mouth as a laugh. You loudly shut your closet, running up to the window, shutting it down as if anyone could hear from your own dorm. “Do you think Wednesday would care what I wear?” You emphasized clearly on her name, grabbing a hair brush. You rubbed the back of your neck before remembering the reason for your arrival at their dorm. “And anyway, I wanted to see Enid, she’s upset because of…” Your voice trailed, realizing that Divina is the person you’re talking to. You didn’t want to upset her any further, though luckily, she was busy adjusting her necklace to even listen to you.

Divina smiled playfully. “Well, people say she’s allergic to color. But honestly, she’s pulling off the black and white outfits.” They replied, shrugging. The sneakers they wore dragged a rushed sound. Though it stopped when they turned on their heel to face you again. “Yet, here you are, putting no effort into your fits.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, as you leaned into the mirror. “I’m pretty decent, if you ask me. Or Wednesday.” You happily affirmed.

Divina shrugged in defeat, waving you off. “Just make sure to be there, Bianca hates you.”

Shaking your head, you opened the window again, jumping up the railing, spreading your wings. “Tell her the feeling is mutual.” With that, you leaped out, snickering at the response ‘that’s jackshit, Xavier hates you too’, spreading your wings to bring yourself up to the window once more, satisfied that Divina took in the words you most definitely meant. You carefully pulled down the window, leaving a big enough gap for your hands to fit in.

You flew higher, the cold air reaching your whole body. Jacket or not, the cold bothered you. Though, post-autumn has finally worn out. The start of cold winds were scaring you for the snow. And god, were you thankful that you didn’t have to shovel it all? Yes, of course, you were.

Your feet landed on the cold ground, as wind slightly pushed you back. You flap your wings in the process, creating a whirlwind that nearly knocked out the musical note stand. Thankfully, you weren’t too far to not catch it and disrupt a loud bang. Cold seeped through your footwarmers, each step you took warmed up your body eventually. Since, you couldn’t fit through the window (credits to the wings you carried), instead, you knocked, poking your head in.

“Enid!” You called on excitedly, only to find her bed empty, neatly arranged. Your head turned to her roommate’s bed. Next to it is a dissatisfied Wednesday, her hands briefly above the typewriter. “Where is she?” You asked, emphasizing your question even more as you raised a brow.

Wednesday sighed, standing up from her chair. “Sulking and complaining to Ajax or Divina,” She explained, leading you out of the window by giving your forehead a gentle flick. You mouthed an ‘oh’ shape, knowing where that would lead to. Your mind wandered if Ajax could comfort Enid in such a way, because, knowing him — it would be an easy yet ineffective display, mostly because of his tiny, little serpents.

The scent of Wednesday Addams attained your senses, though, the spinning of the glass window in front of you distracted it. You can see a new addition to the dorm; a giant detective board, with pictures of disgusting pieces of body parts, it almost made you drop and vomit. Almost, not until Wednesday inquired with a furrowed brow (you could tell); “Why is it your concern?”

You turned, glancing to the back of her head. Walking up to her was easy, taking mental note not to stand too far nor too close, figuring that Wednesday didn’t like close and intimate proximities. “She was upset that Yoko got an allergic reaction again.” You answered truthfully. You saw her shake gently. A swift chance of courage shook your presence. “I also came here to talk to you actually.”

Wednesday’s mouth dropped into a firm line, almost frowning. Her solemn face returned, however, when she looked at you. “Make it quick.” She commanded.

You beamed, wings fluttering in excitement, and Wednesday knew it was going to be a long talk, or night, if you made your move. You propped yourself up at the balcony, sitting comfortably, your eyes straightforward. “Don’t you admire your parent’s love for each other?”

Wednesday is right, she mentally prepared herself for her own upcoming answer, a tiny voice in her throat buried itself until she gave it full thought. “I do, why?”

You bit your inner cheeks, nodding to your side, as you cleared your throat. “Their love is called Pragma; long standing love.” Shifting your sentences to something less obvious isn’t something you had me mind. “They might’ve had a friendship too, which is Philia.”

Wednesday raised her brows, an inquiry isn’t something she’ll speak out in these conversations. But then again, she is an Addams, her opinions most likely matter because of the pressure that she instills on them. “Friendship? Before marriage, there’s… friendship?” She tried not to show the hesitant tone that concluded her sentence, a rushed tone dragged the tension.

You shook your head in a ‘no’, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Not just before marriage, no. It’s something you have before any type of romance.” Without the knowledge of whose dropping these words but you, yourself, obliged you to speak more. Wednesday seemed confounded in your knowledge, conflict reached blood, as it ran cold.

The thought of you having experienced a friendship that turned into… whatever her parents had, or, as you called it; Philia and Pragma. She had to admit, bearing that sight is a nightmare.

Grabbing your wrists, Wednesday stood in front of you, holding your waist as you involuntarily yelped without the support of your hand on the cold marble. Her fingers dug into your side, into your jacket, as her eyes trailed in confusion. The girl in front of you blinked, a stricken flick of anger visible in her expressions. “Have you ever loved someone like that?” Wednesday inquired, glancing up at you, she held your gaze, before averting her own.

The pacing of your heart quickened, lup-dup, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub. Without the huffed breaths, you would’ve fallen in peace. You were certain Wednesday couldn’t catch you, so you managed to stay alive. Taking a breath and moving closer, inch to inch with Wednesday Addams; nose nuzzled, minty breath of yours, mixed with the scent of… coffee? Something of the sort, you couldn’t tell due to your proximity. “You.”

Surprisingly, Wednesday didn’t back away when you stepped in closer, she only closed the gap that accompanied the two of you. Catching your lips into hers, moving in sync with your own. Her other hand accompanied your lower back, rubbing it in circles. Your hands found freedom in her jaw, cold fingers against it, underlining the perfect structure.

Wednesday pulled away, catching her breath, forehead against yours. She gave your lips another peck, which you reciprocated. Your eyes gently shut, recalling the last of what you could see was Wednesday’s half-shut eyes. A flooding warm of heat pulled your stomach down as she deepened the kiss.

Ecstasy engulfed you and (hopefully) Wednesday.

Forgetting that breathing existed is something you would’ve never forgotten, afterall, not after this. You needed air although worry didn’t cross your mind, not once, when this is happening. Nothing could be processed actually. The only thoughts that occupy your mind is Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday.

You pulled away, chest heaving up and down for breaths, a still laugh erupting from your throat. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?” You asked, cockiness reached your lips, quirking upwards into a smile. You were pulled up with a jerk of her shoulders, diminishing the cruelty that settled on your lips, which were puffy and pink now.

Wednesday settled in a firm hug, burying her face into your jacket. A quiet sniffle of laughter carefully rolled out of your tongue. She wrinkled her nose, bringing her chin to your shoulders. She responded, bringing her head up. “My parents, they always kiss in front me and my brother.”

You nodded in understanding, a hum vibrating your chest in response. You closed your eyes in the warmth of her body near you, feeling a tug of your jacket with her fingers. The exposure of your warm, clothed skin to the wind did not make you please. Not until Wednesday’s mouth found closure in your skin, her warm tongue and soft lips sucking on it carefully.

This made your eyes open in shock, a kept groan couldn’t contain itself, leaving your mouth with no permission. “Addams,” You meekly called, averting your eyes to the side, though, your head jerked up; giving her more skin to attack. “Someone- someone will notice.” You warned, fingers circling her back as an attempt to call after her.

Wednesday obliged. Though, she smirked at it, noticing the bruise, pulling your jacket back to its place in your neck. A glimpse of visible purple marks accompanied it. An audible groan left your mouth, hiding your face to the side, as your wings wrapped the two of you. “What?” She asked, closely inspecting the wrapped wings that shook slightly. “Be thankful it’s not your lips, it would’ve been far worse.” She concluded.

Goosebumps overtook your body. Jumping down from your spot, cautious as to not step on Wednesday. You hugged her closely. “What are we now?”

Wednesday raised a brow, you were sure a tender smile attended her features. “Pragma and Philia, as you said.”

♡ PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG TO SUPPORT ME.

#pax writes 🕯#'ziah writes — wednesday !#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x yn #wednesday x reader #wednesday fanfic #wednesday fic #wednesday imagine #wednesday fluff

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doctorbrown · 3 months

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MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 7 / 31 * BACK IN TOWN 」

April 13, 1989, 23:51

1646 Riverside Drive

Marty had barely registered the walk in the evening air, his body functioning on autopilot to lead him to his second home, the place he thinks he could navigate to in his sleep. At this hour, not even the birds are awake, and Marty feels the stake of loneliness drive deeper and deeper into his very soul.

Doc should be here, he thinks as he steals the key from its usual hiding spot under the mat. This is where he’d greet me and ask what happened that brought me all the way out here at this hour.

The rhythmic ticking of Doc’s clocks is the only thing that greets him now.

The door screams into the darkness as it swings open and Marty makes a mental note to oil those hinges the next time he comes around. The old garage feels hollow without Doc’s larger-than-life presence filling it and his shoulders sag as he trudges to the couch, plopping himself down on it with a sigh that ages him twelve years.

His home feels like a prison. Jennifer’s asleep by now. He needed somewhere—anywhere—to be and before all this, before this new and improved timeline with a family that pays too much attention and smiles and laughs together so much it’s still a little unsettling, he would come here to escape from the world.

Even without Doc here, he still finds himself doing that.

Maybe one day he’ll come back.

I’ve got a million and one things to tell you, Doc. I wish you were here.

I hope you’re doing okay back there.

He’d checked religiously that first month after coming home for another tombstone popping up in Boot Hill Cemetery, his heart leaping into his throat every time he walked from one to the next, terrified that everything he did was for nothing—that in the end, Doc was fated to die and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now.

November came and went, the names on the tombstones never changed, and after that, Marty had allowed himself to check less and less frequently, limiting his visits to once a week, then once every two weeks until there had been only one visit per month.

Doc was still alive and well and Marty breathed a little easier, finding some small comfort in that fact. At least he wasn’t alone. Clara was back there with him, sharing in the moments of Doc’s life that Marty couldn’t be there for.

All he has left are ghosts of his best friend frozen here in time in this garage, collecting dust.

The time machine plans are safe, even if they’re all but useless now. He’d picked up a thing or two from Doc over the years in the sciences, enough to where he could keep up until he started speaking a second language, diving into fourth-dimensional mechanics that admittedly made his head spin. Three dimensions he understood fine. Four, however, made things confusing—it turned everything on its head, leaving him floundering to try and keep up.

The space-time continuum.

N-dimensional space.

What isn’t yet will be and what is never was.

Sometimes, he thinks about laying out every one of Doc’s meticulously kept notes across every available square inch of his room and burning the formulas into his eyes until something finally clicks into place, allowing him to recreate his best friend’s genius.

Doc had wanted the time machine destroyed—Doc made sure the time machine was destroyed, stranding Marty in a reality without him—but if he stares long and hard enough, he could do it, he could reconstruct it, he could get Doc back—

Sometimes, he wants to throw the entire box into a blazing fire and watch until time crumples before his very eyes, reduced to nothing more than dust and a dream. Time-travel fixed his life. Time-travel had thrown him to hell and back, threatened his existence, warped his entire perception of the world, leaving him a stranger in a strange land he’s only still learning how to navigate, and now it had stolen his best friend from him and ensured that Marty would never see him again.

Tonight is one of those nights where he curses time-travel, where the reality of his and Doc’s situation hit harder than normal, throwing him into a dark cavern he bloodies his hands trying to crawl out of.

“I wish I’d never invented that infernal time machine. It’s caused nothing but disaster.”

—Me too, Doc. Then at least you’d still be here.

April 14, 1989, 01:31

The sound of a mechanical scream rouses Marty from his unintentional slumber with a start and the adrenaline now coursing through his veins makes quick work of any lingering sleep in his eyes and mind. He squints under the lights and grabs for the first thing within reach—a broken piece of pipe Doc had been using for one of his old experiments—preparing himself for the worst.

“Stay back, whoever you are! I’m warning you!”

An all-too-familiar shriek roots Marty where he stands.

“D—” The word catches in his throat and Marty runs through every prayer he knows that he’s not imagining this. “Doc? Is that you?”

Doc recovers in the blink of an eye, turning to face Marty with a bright grin on his face. “Marty! I didn’t think you’d be here—what are you doing here a—you know what, never mind that for now. I’m so happy to see you, Marty. It’s been so long.”

The pipe tumbles out of Marty’s stunned hands and he rubs at his eyes, half-convinced the illusion will disappear right before his eyes and break his heart all over again. Doc is still there, blurred slightly at the edges, and Marty lunges forward, grabbing his best friend in a back-breaking hug.

“Doc, I can’t b—how are you here? I thought I’d never see you again.”

Doc returns the hug with more strength than Marty remembers him having and he grunts slightly, wishing the moment to stretch an eternity to make up for the last four years.

After a beat, Doc breaks the hug, holding him at arm’s length with his hands firmly pressed on his shoulders. Marty knows that look; it’s that same conspiratorial you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you look Doc wore that night at the mall when he’d unveiled the DeLorean.

“We’re moving back to the Twentieth Century. I’m here to check on a few things.”

His breath catches. “You’re—that’s great, Doc, that’s—you mean it? You’re really coming back?”

“That’s right. We’ve still got several things to sort out, but once everything is taken care of, we’ll be moving here. We’ve come to the decision that it’s too potentially dangerous to stay in the Nineteenth Century for the rest of our lives.”

“Wait a minute, Doc—who is we?”

#there is a timeline where doc and the family didn't show up until years down the road - that's not the canon timeline we get but #god i love thinking about it sm #the timeline where marty does live for several years wondering about doc and thinking he's never going to see him again #mcflyjuly #mcfly july 2024 #&; i told queue it would work!#but there's *a lot* that has to be taken care of before the move back on doc's end to ensure that his family will be protected and #nobody gets suspicious of their origins - there are a lot of t's to cross and i's to dot.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years

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Could you do an azriel fic sorta based off the song “Matilda” by Harry Styles? Like the reader lost family after needing to cut them off for her well-being but is struggling with it and finally breaks down or something to her mate? Needing some comfort rn 🥺

Hi! Of course — love this song! Hope you’re okay, love ❤️

Here you go!

—————————————————————————

They Never Showed You Love - Azriel x Reader request

“I just…can’t face it today.”

It was the only explanation you’d offered Azriel. One that you’d spoken with a soft smile on your lips that wasn’t even slightly genuine. The thought of facing a family dinner with the Inner Circle with such a heavy, crowded mind was one you couldn’t even bear right then. Not today.

“You go, though.” You’d told your mate gently. Why should he miss out just because you wanted to hide away from the world?

As soon as the door had closed behind him, you clambered back into bed. Sleep didn’t find you, though. There was no chance of that with such a heavy heart, and the thoughts that were hammering at you like painful pelts of hailstones.

Your mother. Your father. Your siblings. How long had it been since you’d last spoken to them? You weren’t sure. You’d very deliberately busied yourself any way you could since the day you’d stepped out of that door and not looked back.

You loved them — truly, you did. But it had been far too long in a toxic environment. You couldn’t allow yourself to be manipulated anymore. To have your kindness taken for granted by people who were supposed to care about whether you you were happy, or healthy, or whole.

Memories slowly flickered through your mind of arguments, of slamming doors, tones and expressions of disappointment that cut you open inside. You pressed your face into your pillow, blinking away tears.

You’d thought Azriel had been long gone when the bedroom door opened again, and his boots thudded gently over to the bed. He took one look at you, the way you’d curled into yourself as though you were trying to keep yourself in one piece.

“Hey.” He whispered, his eyes flickering over your face.

You sat up, staring back at him — and then the tears broke free. Try as you might to squeeze your eyes shut, to pull your knees tightly into your chest, nothing helped to abate the sobs that began to wrack through your body.

“Hey.” Azriel said again, and the bed dipped beneath his weight.

He sidled behind you, pulling you against the solid planes of his body, just as you liked him to do. An embrace that made you feel safe. Loved. His arms wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your arms as he rocked you through your cries.

“I know they treated me badly.” You whispered. “I know I did right by leaving. But I can’t help but feel like something inside of me is dead.”

He didn’t refute that. It was no reflection on his love for you that you felt incomplete without a family. Because he understood. The gaping, family-shaped hole that such a betrayal left. That couldn’t easily be filled.

He rocked you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I know.” He murmured gently. “I know.”

“They haven’t even tried to contact me.” You laughed humourlessly through your sobs. “That should tell me everything I need to know. So why does it still hurt so much?”

“Look at me.” He kissed your shoulder again.

You did, turning your head to stare at him over your shoulder. Tears clung to your eyelashes, rolling down your cheeks. Az leaned forward, kissing every one of them.

“It hurts,” he whispered, “because you would never dream of treating somebody the way they treated you. Because you are brilliant, and brave, and when we have a family of our own, I know you will do everything to make sure they’re aware of your love for them every damn day.” He brushed his lips against yours. “I’m just sorry you weren’t given that same kind of love. The love you deserved.”

Staring up at him, you broke again. Completely. He pulled you into his chest, allowing you to soak his shirt with your tears as he rocked you, occasionally whispering soft words into your hair.

Long after your tears had ceased, he still held you against him. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes shuttering.

“I can’t change your family for you, my love.” He told you gently. “But I can make sure that you know you’re loved. Always. Just as our own family will be.”

It was the first genuine smile you’d managed that day. Curling up tightly against him, you soaked in the warmth of his presence.

No matter what, with Azriel by your side, things would be okay. Even on the days your past wouldn’t leave you alone.

#ask #request #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar

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hxney-lemcn · 2 years

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A Speed Demon and His Demon Partner — Peter Maximoff x gn! mutant! reader

Summary: Having their life changed by their DNA, reader ends up a to be a mutant. Luckily, Peter Maximoff is by their side and they end up on a wild ride.

tw: cursing, injury, anxiety, claustrophobia (if i missed any, let me know)

a/n: So this is basically a bunch of my daydreams meshed into one story, so don't mind that the transitions between scenes are kinda messy.

wc: 10.5k

(Read it on ao3 here)

You don’t realize what you take for granted until it’s gone. Don’t realize how cruel the world can be until it hurts you. I never understood the hatred towards mutants. I still don’t. They’re people, just like anyone else. People feared what they didn’t understand. It’s a concept as old as time.

What I understand now is how lucky non mutants are. Hell, even mutants with only mental differences even had it better. Of course this isn’t a competition and all mutants have it rough.

Though my situation was pretty ironic. Growing up in a religious household and all, only to look like the child of satan. Yeah, that’s right. My mutation didn’t happen until I was about 16. I woke up and noticed the fact that my skin was a deep red and my nails were sharp. I looked into the mirror with horror. Two horns protruded through my skull and the roots of my hair were black.

At that moment, it felt like my entire world ended. I was a mutant, and one that couldn’t hide. I had no idea what my family would think, let alone my grandma. I knew my mom was more open to mutants, but I was still worried she would have some stigma about the way my mutation looked.

So I hid myself in my room for as long as possible. I didn’t go to school, I didn’t go out unless everyone was asleep in the house. I know my mom was worried…but I didn’t care. I mean I looked like a literal demon. I knew it would come out sooner or later, but my mom found out. She caught me in the middle of the night while I went to make food. She looked scared at first, I probably looked mortified. Yet she sat me down and told me she would never hate me, mutant or not, and I felt like maybe not everything was terrible for once.

She understood my decision to not see my grandma anymore, but she said something that shattered the happiness. And that was that I would still have to go to school. I felt like a weight was dropped right on top of me. Mutants weren’t illegal, but they were highly hated on, and honestly I was scared for my safety.

So the first day back I wore a hoodie, jeans, boots, hat, sunglasses, anything and everything that could somehow hide my appearance. What I totally forgot that homeroom was my first class and that I was the tutor of someone that tended to be annoying.

The one and only Peter Maximoff. He was seen as a problem child and the class clown, though tutoring him gave me more insight to who he was. He had trouble focusing, and with the way he would fidget made me believe that whole heartedly. Which tended to make our ‘tutoring sessions’ more into time for us to joke around.

Anyways, back to the previous point. When I entered the class I was relieved to see that Peter was nowhere in sight. Only to feel my stomach drop as he plopped into the seat next to me. I kept my face down, staring at the wood patterned plastic.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I could hear the smile in his voice which quickly turned to concern. “You alright? You haven’t been here for a while.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumbled, tugging on my hood. I saw Peter lean in from the corner of my eye, he was trying to make eye contact.

“You sure?” He asked, his voice sounding endearingly soft.

“What are your thoughts on mutants?” I blurted out.

He seemed slightly taken aback, but continued the new topic, “Nothing much.”

“Why? What are yours?” He asked back.

“I think they're fine, don’t get why people hate them so much,” I replied.

Peter was silent for a bit, “Why don’t we talk about this more at my house, we could skip or wait till after school…”

Skipping school seemed tempting. I mean even with as much as I tried hiding myself I could see the stares and hear the whispers as I walked past. For the first time that day, I looked at Peter and his eyes widened in shock. I looked back down.

“Could…could we skip today?” I asked timidly. I mean I’ve skipped before, but it was in between lunch periods so it was pretty easy.

“Of course,” He breathed out. “Wait for the bell to ring and we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

I nodded, not sure what he had in mind, but I trusted him. I felt his hand pat my back awkwardly, but I couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment nonetheless.

Once the bell rang Peter and I headed out to the halls. Kids were bustling, pushing and shoving, before I could glance at Peter, I felt his hand rest on the back of my neck. Then all of a sudden, we were in his basement. I blinked once, then twice. My eyes drifted over to Peter, who was casually laying on the couch eating a hostess cupcake.

At that moment, I was happy to know another mutant, someone who I could vent to without worry. I couldn’t hide the smile that made its way onto my face as I looked to the side.

“You can take all that stuff off now,” Peter mumbled through his food. “This is a safe space.”

I felt my heart warm at the proposition and joked, “Even if I look like the spawn of Satan?”

“I think that just makes you hotter,” Peter shrugged. I felt myself freeze, looking to the side I pulled my hood down and discarded my hat and sunglasses on Peter’s table. I felt his gaze piercing the side of my head but I pretended to ignore it.

I decided to take this chance to glance around and snoop a bit. This was my first time seeing Peter outside of school, and my friends don’t really invite me out too much…not like they go out much either. I glanced over the junk food stash, not even wanting to know what that’s about, and I also conveniently decided to ignore the random items that seemed out of place. Finally, my gaze fell onto the arcade machines. How the hell did he get those…

“So what’s your power?” I asked, breaking the silence. “Teleportation?”

“Super speed,” Peter said nonchalantly, suddenly playing Pong. “Lame, I know.”

“Hey, better than being red,” I said, trying to lighten his mood. But it seemed to do the opposite.

He looked back at me with a frown, “I think you look cool.”

“I think your power is cool too.”

That was the start of our friendship growing deeper. We hung outside of school more, I felt more confident about my mutation because of him. Of course my other friends were surprisingly accepting as well. Overall life was going smoother than I thought it would. Yeah people made comments about my appearance, many older people tried to get me to ‘find God’, and the stares were irritating to say the least, but having people be there to support me was enough for me.

Everything was peachy until one fateful day. It was like any other day, I was hanging out with Peter in his basement when suddenly his mom calls out that the cops are here.

I didn’t even see Peter move when he appeared next to me and whispered, “They’re not cops, rental car, possibly FBI.”

My heart dropped at the last thing he said, “Sh-should I hide?”

“Nah, I think you’re good, don’t seem dangerous,” He smiled, running over and started to play ping pong with himself.

Three men came trekking down the stairs, the first one a medium height compared to the rest, his sideburns were out of control. The second was the tallest, he was scrawny with glasses. Had a nerdy vibe overall. The last was the shortest and wore sunglasses and looked messy overall.

“What do you guys want?” Peter asked, running over and sitting under my legs that still rested on the couch. I shifted slightly, trying to put less weight on him. “I’ve been here all day, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I nodded, not liking how all their attention was now on me.

“Relax, Peter, we’re not cops,” The sideburns guy said. I frowned, how did he know Peter? Why did Peter not seem to recognize him? Were they actually FBI?

“Of course you’re not cops,” Peter shrugged, hands behind his head. “If you were cops you wouldn’t be driving a rental car.”

“How’d you know we’ve got a rental car?” The short guy asked. British accent?

“Checked your registration while you were walking through the door,” Peter replied like it was nothing. “I also had some time to kill so I also went through your rental agreements and you’re from out of town. Are you FBI?” I rolled my eyes, such a show off.

Peter zoomed off and grabbed the short guy's wallet, looking through his stuff, “No, you’re not cops. Hey, what's with this gifted youngsters place?”

“That’s an…old…card,” The short guy said, trying to defend himself.

“Well he’s fascinating,” Nerdy dude said with a smile.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” British guy said, making me scowl at him.

“What, a teleporter?” Nerdy guy asked.

“Super speed,” I spoke up, and they glanced at me again before turning back into their little huddle.

“When I knew him he wasn’t so…young,” Sideburns muttered.

“Young?” Peter asked, back on the couch under my legs handing me a popsicle. “You’re just old.”

“You’re not afraid to show your powers,” Nerdy guy said, sounding amazed.

“Powers? What powers?” Peter asked all innocently looking towards me. “What’s he talking about? You see something strange here?” A smile creeped onto my lips, exposing my canine teeth that seemed to have grown bigger after my mutation appeared.

“Nothing anyone would believe,” I replied with a shrug. His smugness is getting to me now. He smiled back at me, already done with his popsicle.

Zipping over to his pong arcade game he continued, “So who are you? What do you want?”

“We need your help,” Sideburns proposed.

“To what?”

“To break into a highly secured facility and to get someone out,” Sideburns continued. I couldn’t help but stare at them with wide eyes. Who just asks that?

“Prison break?” Peter asked. “That’s illegal, you know.”

I watched as they looked around his room at all his stolen goods and I sighed, I really hope Peter doesn’t agree.

“Only if you get caught,” Sideburns replied.

I felt myself frown as Peter asked, “So what’s in it for me?”

I was about to speak up, ask Peter if he was out of his mind, but British guy beat me to it, “You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon.”

Peter turned around slowly, and I felt my heart drop at the fact that he was actually considering this, “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Cus we’re just like you,” Sideburns said, glancing at me and I shrunk slightly under his gaze.

“Show him,” British guy said.

Sideburns glanced at British guy and held up his fist, three bone claws came out and I winced at the sound.

“That’s cool, but disgusting,” Peter commented.

“Peter,” I called out, shrinking once more as all their gazes fell on me. “Could we like…talk privately for a moment.”

“Uh yeah,” Peter nodded, then zoomed us to a spare bedroom. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re totally gonna do that prison break aren’t you?”

“We’re doing the prison break,” Peter said like he was clarifying.

“I’m sorry?” I asked incredulously. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

“Oh come on, where’s your spirit?” Peter asked, clapping me on the shoulder. “You need to have some spice in your life once in a while.”

“I-” I stammered, unsure where he thought I’d agree to this. “Okay, let's ignore that part. They probably don’t even want me coming. I’ll totally ruin their plan if they even have one. Have you seen me? A literal red flag!”

“Simple, I don't go if you don’t,” Peter shrugged.

“What about my mom?” I asked next, trying to get him to see an ounce of reason.

“What about her?” He shrugged.

Wha- are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Come on, you won’t even have to do anything,” Peter insisted. “Be the getaway driver?”

I felt myself slipping as he gave me puppy dog eyes. I looked off to the side, not believing what came out of my mouth next, “Fine.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pumping his fist in the air. “You’re amazing!” Peter held the sides of my face and brought mine close to his. I felt my breath hitch and tense up.

I failed to mention that the moment I met Peter, the first thing I thought was how he looked cute. Yeah, I know, sue me. Even though I was attracted to him, it didn't mean anything. I didn’t know him so why would I expect anything to go anywhere? And then we started to become really good friends and my feelings slowly grew, creeping through me like vines.

So in this moment, all I could feel was the fact that the room seemed to grow warmer, and I never noticed those pale freckles that ran across his nose. I think he noticed what he was doing and diverted to kissing my forehead. While I wasn’t complaining, I’ve never had a forehead kiss before. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy and…God I’m never gonna stop coming up with scenarios after this.

Then suddenly we’re back in his basement and he’s got his arm around my shoulder as he leans against me casually, “I’m in, as long as she can tag along.”

The strange men looked at each other, almost like having a silent conversation. Then sideburns whispered, “I think we’ll want her there to keep him under wraps.”

Yet I was distracted from them as I felt Peter tap my shoulder to a tune no one could hear. Then I realized the situation I was in, or more like the position. I was tucked into Peter’s side and I could tell he was trying to stay as still as possible.

I was brought out of my little reverie as British dude spoke up, “She can come, but she’ll have to stay in the car.”

“Fine by me,” I shrugged.

With that, we were off driving. I learned their names as Charles, Hank, and Logan. Peter took the middle seat between Charles and I, he could clearly see my anxiety of being in a car of total strangers.

I never realized how annoying it could be to be in a long car ride with Peter. I mean we never had to go on one before so why would I? I just tried to zone out by staring out the window, but it was hard to ignore Peter’s jitters, nonstop questions, and him trying to constantly get my attention.

“What?” I muttered exhaustedly as he poked me for the 100th time.

“I’m just curious if your mutation is more than just your physical appearance,” Peter speed talked. “It’s hard to imagine a mutant who can’t control something.”

This seemed to have grabbed the others attention as Hank spoke up, this clearly being his expertise, “Typically mutants have at least one power, physical appearance is secondary.”

I felt myself grow anxious at not only their stares, but what I could possibly do, “What do you think I can do? How can I find out?”

“Well, sometimes mutations come out when the person is stressed, it’s really hard to tell what someone can do unless they already found out,” Hank explained.

I let out a humorless chuckle, “Well I’m constantly stressed, maybe we’ll find out at any moment.”

After that, it was pretty straightforward. My mind was busy trying to think of powers I could possibly have while they broke whoever they needed out of the Pentagon. I really wish they gave us more information.

I sat in the drivers seat, car key half way in the ignition. I kept glancing around, making sure my appearance was hidden as well as I could. I probably looked sketchy as fuck, but no one bothered me.

I saw the group hustling and quickly turned the car on. They all piled in, Peter being forced to sit on the ground due to lack of seats. Quickly and as inconspicuously as I could, I pulled out and drove off. I felt a rush of adrenaline as guards ran out the door, but they didn’t seem to notice us specifically.

“Drive faster!” Logan whisper shouted. “They’re going to sniff us out with how slow you’re going.”

“If I drive faster their attention will be drawn to us and then we’ll really be caught!” I countered, too nervous about being a literal getaway driver to be scared to talk back.

“She’s right,” The man we broke out nodded. “Besides, they can’t catch us now that I’m out.”

I glanced at the rear view mirror and shifted my eyes back onto the road immediately. Something about him exuded an intimidating aura. Hank directed me to where I needed to go and we ended up at an airstrip with what looked to be a private jet.

You know if they got money to spare I wouldn’t mind them paying me for my time.

Everyone got out of the car, Logan and Erik, as I learned, boarded the jet right away. Charles and Hank stood by it as Peter and I leaned against the car.

“Do a favor and return it for me will you?” Charles asked, nodding in my direction. “And Peter? Take it slow.” Charles smiled slightly at Peter before boarding the jet. Hank nodded at us before following. The jet door closed and Peter turned to me, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

Suddenly I was in the passenger seat and he was turning the car on.

“No!” I exclaimed with wide eyes, trying to exit the car. “I do not trust you out of all people to drive, full offense.”

Peter looked at me and gasped in fake offense, “That truely hurts me (n/n).”

“Good,” I huffed with a fake glare. “Now let me drive.”

Peter pouted at me, trying to give me those puppy dog eyes that make me crumble every time. It may have broke me to participate in a damn prison break, but not getting in a crash.

“I’ll drive safe I promise!”

“No you won’t,” I sighed.

“I won’t you’re right,” Peter grinned. “You know me too well.”

He gave up and let me take over the drivers station. I pulled into the road and went 50 mph, just 5 over like always. Everyone told me I drive like a grandma, but I’d rather drive like a grandma and be alive than drive reckless and die.

I hummed softly with the radio, slightly weirded out at how quiet the car was. I took a quick glance at Peter and he seemed to be lost in thought. I tapped the steering wheel before speaking up, “Something wrong? I’m sorry if I made you feel bad about the whole driving thing…”

“Hm?” Peter perked up. “Oh, no you’re good. I was just thinking about how hungry I am. Why don’t we stop at that diner up ahead.”

“Okay,” I agreed, unsure if that was really the truth. I pulled into the diner parking lot that Peter pointed out. I was a bit nervous going out with how I looked and all, but with Peter by my side I felt more comfortable.

I fidgeted with the car keys in my pocket as I looked around. It was a smallish diner, steady amount of people. With a checkered print that lined the walls, and the pink and blue neon lighting, it gave a real youthful feel. My gaze landed on Peter who now sat in front of me, his eyes scanning the menu so fast I couldn’t even tell he was reading.

I let myself look at the menu, it was mainly burgers, but they also had some chicken options. I found my go to order and decided I’ll stick with it.

“Excuse me,” we both looked up to see a waitress, a frown promanant on her face as she glared down at us, me specifically. “We don’t serve your kind here, you’re making the other guests uncomfortable.”

I felt myself flush in embarrassment as I quickly looked around, seeing people stare and whisper at the encounter that was currently happening. I could quickly feel my eyes water but tried to hold it down. I hate crying, and I don’t want them to see me in such a vulnerable position.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Peter quickly comes to stand up for me. “We just want to eat some food like everyone else, but if this is the way you treat your customers than we’ll just take our money elsewhere.”

Peter stood up, and I stood up too, just wanting to leave this place as fast as possible. Peter took my hand and led me out to the car. I found comfort in the fact that he was holding me, even if it was just our hands. I clenched my free hand and scowled at the ground. I didn’t even notice that I was now in the passenger seat and we were driving off.

“What a bitch,” I spat, all the things I could’ve said to her just now entering my head. “Who gives her the right? No one, that’s who.”

I felt my anger continue to bubble, as all I could think about was what happened previously.

“I can’t believe she had the balls,” Peter scoffed. “I was seriously considering punching her-“

“HOLY SHIT!”

“What?” I asked back in panic, his shout startling me.

He started laughing breathily and pointed out, “Look at your hands!”

I looked down and I felt fear rush through me. My hands were on fire, literally burning. I gasped and lifted my hands up, not wanting to burn my clothes. The fire quickly went out and I stared in a mix of horror and wonder.

“Guess we figured out what your power is,” Peter grinned cheekily.

“That’s…cool but scary,” I replied, anxiety already filling me. “I mean, there’s so much that can go wrong.”

“Hey,” Peter said, nudging me slightly. “I know you’ll be fine.”

I nodded, his words helped me calm down a bit. We ended up getting fast food, not wanting another situation to happen. Then he dropped me off home and that day came to an end.

The closest we ever got to, possibly becoming more, was this day. We ended up actually doing something besides sitting in his basement. I got a sudden taste for a slushie so we ended up at a gas station. And I actually paid for the slushies since I refused to let Peter snatch a few. Since I chose (red/blue) he got the opposite. We sat outside on a bench at a park nearby and I enjoyed the sun warming my skin. Of course Peter had to break the silence.

“Y’know, I kinda want a purple slushie right now,” He said nonchalantly.

I looked at him with furrowed eyebrows while taking a sip from my cup, “There’s a purple slushie-”

“Oh,” I whispered in realization. How did I not get his meaning right away? He grinned mischievously while leaning in close to my face. I felt my heart rate quicken and suddenly it felt hot.

I wanted to pull away, look somewhere else, be somewhere else. But my body knew that I really didn’t mind if he did kiss me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. His warm brown eyes staring into mine so softly. I was waiting for his next move, waiting for him to just close the gap. Hell knows that I wasn’t going too, I felt frozen in place. Yet suddenly he pulled away and wiggled his eyebrows, finishing off his drink. I felt my heart drop, and looked away quickly. How embarrassing, why was I actually expecting him to kiss me? Am I crazy?

I leaned back on the bench and watched the kids run around and play in the playground without a care in the world. Parents would briefly glance at me from time to time but I ignored it. The disappointing feeling that consumed me was my prominent problem. When did my feelings get this out of hand? Did he know what he was doing to me? Or am I really that good at hiding my feelings?

“You okay?” He asked in a hush tone.

“Hm?” I looked back over to him, but seeing his face made the feeling of embarrassment wash over me again, but I tried to put it in the back of my mind. “I’m good, why?”

It wasn’t too long after when we graduated, (Peter just sliding by). And after that a letter arrived. From Xaviar’s School for Gifted children. Charles Xaviar, the man who we helped with a prison break. It was a job offer, and I felt so grateful for the opportunity. So I wrote a letter back, accepting the job. Now to break it to Peter. I didn’t want to leave him, I really didn’t. But to find a job like this? With the way I look? Impossible. As simple as that.

I waited for Charles’ response letter, since he’s agreed to pay for my travels to New York. The letter held all the important flight information and at that moment the situation really sunk in. I kept reading the letter over and over again. Then suddenly the paper was out of my hands and in the speedsters who laid on my bed like it was his own house.

I rubbed my arm awkwardly as he read the letter over. I couldn’t meet his eyes once they left the paper and fell onto me.

“You’re leaving?” He questioned.

“Yeah,” I nodded, shuffling my feet awkwardly. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I wasn’t 100% sure and I was waiting for this letter and-”

“I get it,” He nodded. “I’m happy for you.”

“I could ask if you could work there too,” I offered, I could tell this was hurting him, maybe even more than it hurt me.

“I still have to look after my family,” Peter shrugged. I could tell he was hiding his emotions, or at least trying to, and at that moment I felt like the worst person on Earth. I know things will smooth over once feelings settle, but it still hurts at this moment. I nodded, understanding he may need his space for a bit.

I didn’t see him much after that. Now that we didn’t have school, it’s not like I could just run into him. It hurt. The fact that I was leaving tomorrow and he hadn’t said a peep to me since he found out. I rechecked my suitcases for the umpteenth time. I had as much clothing as I could pack, I had everything I thought was too important to leave. My mom said she’ll hold on to the things I had to leave behind and send anything I may want.

As if my wishes were granted, Peter appeared in my room. Any snarky remark I could come up with left my brain as he stared at my suitcases.

“Hey,” I whispered, happy that I’ll get to say goodbye at least.

“So tomorrow’s the big day huh,” He replied with a cracking smile. I frowned as he tried to hold himself together. I didn’t say a word, instead I opted to just hug him. I felt like crying, but instead I just held him tight. Who knows if I’ll see him again after this.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, squeezing him tighter.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” He muttered back, holding me just as tight. “I’m glad you found somewhere where you’ll be accepted. Just don’t forget little old me back in DC.”

“I could never forget you,” I chuckled lightly. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, a genuine grin finally appearing. For the rest of the day we hung out, trying to savor what was left of our time in DC together. I felt like a weight was lifted off me that day.

When I boarded the plane, I was first astonished at the fact that I was flying first class. Second, when I looked out the window I noticed that a certain silver haired man was waving at me. My jaw went slack for a second, trying to hide my laughter as one of the luggage loaders was trying to go after him. I waved back, already missing him.

Hank greeted me once I got off the flight. He helped with my bags and drove us to the school. I couldn’t help but gape in awe at the size. Hank gave me a brief tour. We ran into Charles and he welcomed me to the school. I was surprised to find him in a wheelchair but didn’t comment on it. Why would I? Hank then showed me my new room and helped me with my suitcases. He then went on to describe my job, since I couldn’t be a teacher, I would be a staff member, kind of like a hall monitor in a way.

Hey, I'm not complaining. I never really was good at talking to people. Hank left me alone as I started to unpack. The room was medium sized, so it wasn’t hard to find a spot for everything. I fell onto my new bed, deciding to rest my eyes after a long trip.

I didn’t see Peter for a long time after that. And our reunion was under unfortunate circumstances. One minute I’m scolding a kid for running down the hall and accidentally hurting another student, then I’m standing outside, Peter standing right next to me.

“Wow,” He breathed out while putting his goggles on top of his head.

“Where did you…” Hank stuttered, out of breath.

“I was looking for the professor,” Peter explained. “I thought he lived here.”

“They took him,” Hank said with wide eyes. I looked over at him with worry.

First the school explodes and now Charles is gone? Taken apparently. And all of a sudden Peter freaking Maximoff is standing right next to me. It was a lot to take in. Our attention was brought to Raven, who was in her natural form. I didn’t know how to feel, on one hand I was happy that the kids could finally meet their role model, on the other, I knew how uncomfortable Raven must feel at the moment. If I could change the way I look in a moment's notice, I’d do it as well.

“They look up to you,” Hank spoke up. “Right now, they need you.”

“That’s not what they need,” Raven replied, changing back into her go to human form.

Suddenly one of Charles’ cars pulls up and a group of teens pile out. I recognized them to be Scott, Jean, Kurt, and Jubilee.

“What happened?” Scott panicked. “Where’s Alex? Where’s my brother?”

“Pretty sure I got everybody,” Peter shrugged, looking around.

“Alex was closest to the blast,” Hank spoke to Peter, and I could feel my heart sink.

Scott booked it towards the rubble, Jean and Kurt not too far behind. I rubbed my arm awkwardly as Hank looked away.

Peter turned towards me, “I…”

I walked over to Peter and pulled him into a giant hug, “It’s been so long!”

Peter hugged me back even tighter, “So, you didn’t forget little ol me?”

“How could I?” I asked, pulling back to reveal my teasing grin. “How could I forget the dumbest person I’ve ever known.”

“Ouch.”

Suddenly helicopters flew in, an announcement going off on repeat, “Please remain calm, medical assistance is on the way.”

My gut was telling me something was off about this. I mean cops never show up this quickly…

When the helicopter landed, army men filed out holding strange looking guns.

“Hey!” Charles’ friend called out, waving her arm. “Moira McTaggert! CIA! Thank god you’re here.”

Peter, Hank, and I walked closer to the men. I couldn’t help the growing anxiety that filled me. If they were here to assist us medically…then why did they look ready to be violent?

“Wait!” Raven shouted from behind us and we turned around. And then everything went black.

A scream startled me awake, and I bolted upright, looking around. I groggily watched as Peter scrambled backwards towards me, helping me up and holding me close to him.

“What?” Raven asked.

“What’s wrong with you?” Peter asked, freaked out. “Is that going to happen to all of us?”

I swatted Peter’s arm with a light scowl on my face. I’ve only seen Hank in his beast form once before, and I could tell he was freaking out, so I just continued on like nothing happened. I could tell that he was insecure about his mutation, I mean, I am as well. So I understand the feeling.

“No I just,” Hank swatted his hand in the air. “Left my meds in the house.”

“What happened?” Moira asked. “Where are we?”

I also noticed that we were in a cell-like room with green lights surrounding us. The green lights would be cool if we weren’t here against our will. I finally noticed a window near the ceiling with a man, the same man from the helicopter watching us.

“Hey!” Raven shouted out, walking closer to the window.

“Hello, Mystique,” The man spoke.

“Major Stryker,” Raven greeted.

“Colonel Stryker,” He corrected. “I wouldn’t get too close to the wall if I were you. It may create some discomfort.”

“I’m Moira Mctaggert,” Moira spoke, walking forward next to Raven. “I’m a senior officer at the CIA.”

“I know who you are, Agent Mctaggert,” Stryker said condescendingly.

“You cannot keep me here, in this…” Moira trailed off.

“Actually I can,” Stryker replied. “A psychic event just destroyed every nuke from here to Moscow. That event emanated from exactly where we found you. At the home of the world’s most powerful psychic. So you are going to tell me, where is Charles Xaviar?”

“It’s not him you should be worried about,” Moira said, and I looked over at her in concern. “There’s someone else. Someone more powerful.”

I’ve only heard the stories of Charles’ powers. He was humble about it, but when you work with kids, rumors spread. So hearing that someone could be more powerful than him was terrifying.

“If you let us out of here, we can help you,” Raven tried to bargain.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Stryker asked. “You can put on any face you want, but I know who you are. What you are.” The man walked off after his rude little rant.

I turned to look back at the others and Hank broke the silence, “Hey, Moira, um…what did you mean when you said someone more powerful than Charles?”

Moira looked off to the side and I noticed how Peter walked over to Raven. I joined him, not wanting to be on my own.

“You know him?” Peter asked her. “Magneto?”

“I used to,” Raven said. “Not so sure anymore.”

“What was he like?” Peter continued. I shifted slightly, knowing that Erik was a sensitive topic with Charles and Hank. Knowing that Charles would mention Raven, I figured he may be a sensitive topic for her too. “Was he uh…like they say he was? Was he…the bad guy?”

“No,” Raven said without hesitation. “I mean, yeah. He was…”

“Why do you care so much?” She asked in a defensive tone. “You see his speech on t.v. or something?”

“Yeah, but, uh…” Peter trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly. “He’s my father.”

“What?” Raven asked in great surprise. I looked at Peter in surprise as well. I know he tended to hide his feelings and thoughts when they ended up being meaningful, but I’m surprised that he kept something that big from me! Normally we tell each other everything over time.

“He and my mom,” Peter started, and I quickly grabbed his wrist when he lifted it, knowing what he was going to do. He glanced at me before finishing, “They did it.”

“No, I know…” Raven sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “He left my mom before I was born. I met him 10 years back with (n/n), but we didn’t know it was him. By the time I figured it out, it was too late. Then, this week I saw him on T.V. again, and I came to that house, looking for him…but by the time I got there…late again. For a guy who moves as fast as me, I always seem to be too late.”

Peter said it like a joke, but I could hear the hurt in the bottom of his tone. I noticed that I was still holding onto his wrist, and deciding to ignore the flustering emotions I felt swoosh through me, I decided to try something I haven’t done before with really anyone. I lowered my hand and held onto his, squeezing it lightly, brushing my thumb over the back of his hand.

“Let’s hope not this time,” Raven replied.

Peter looked towards me for a few seconds, “Yeah.”

Charles’ voice suddenly rang out into my head, “Hear me inhabitants of this world. This is a message. A message to every man, woman, and mutant in the world. You have lost your way. But I have returned. The day of reckoning is here. All your buildings…all of your towers and temples…will fall. And the dawn of the new age will rise, for there is nothing you can do…to stop what is coming. This message is for one reason alone. To tell the strongest among you…those with the greatest power…protect those without.”

“How was Charles doing that without Cerebro?” Hank asked, looking super confused.

“I know that voice,” Stryker suddenly spoke to us once more. “It’s Xaviar, isn’t it? What’s going on?”

“We don’t know!” Raven shouted in frustration.

“We don’t know bro!” Peter backed up. I simply shrugged my shoulders. Stryker walked away, clearly frustrated.

Peter sighed and looked towards me. I could tell he was starting to get antsy just standing around. Especially when he started swinging our still intertwined hands. I raised an eyebrow at him and he just wiggled his eyebrows back. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile that found its way onto my face. It was quickly wiped off my face when alarms started blaring, startling me into covering my ears with my hands, Peter never letting go so it was kinda awkward.

Peter let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around in me instead, which allowed me to cover my ears properly. We all stared up at the men scrambling around.

“What are they doing?” Moira asked worriedly.

“What’s going on?” Hank questioned.

Our gazes turned even more concerned as the men started to back up with their arms in the air. The sound of gunshots rang even through the, what I’m assuming is soundproof, room. We all ran towards the wall that held the window so we would be hidden, Peter tugging me gently closer to him. On any other day that would cause my heart to beat faster, but my heart was beating faster for a whole different reason.

Once everything went silent again, we backed up, trying to see as much as we could. Only to find Kurt running into view. He kept trying to speak to us, but we couldn’t hear him. I pointed at my ear and shook my head, trying to communicate that we couldn’t hear him. Kurt looked down and pressed something.

“Stay away from the…” Kurt cut out.

“What?” We asked.

“The do-” Kurt cut out again. “Stay away from the…”

“Get away from the door!” She shouted as we all scrambled away. I tugged Peter harshly as I ran to the wall.

“On three!” Kurt shouted. “One…two…”

The door exploded and Peter shielded my body, holding me close to his chest. I knew that once this was over, I’d look back on this moment, but I was currently too occupied to deal with any romantic feelings. Although I did enjoy the feeling of being close to him. We rushed to the door to see Jean and Scott.

Jean spoke quickly, “We know where the professor is.”

“I think we might have a way out of here,” Scott chipped in.

“Well you’ve been busy,” Raven commented.

“We had a little help,” Scott replied. “Let’s go!”

They started running and we followed. It was brought to my attention once again that Peter was still holding my hand due to how sweaty my hand felt. I felt embarrassed because I could feel myself sweat due to the running I was currently participating in. Kurt joined us, which scared Scott, but my train of thought was cut off shortly when we entered a hangar. It was filled with huge jets. Raven found flight suits and told us to put them on. Peter gave me a wink as he put his on and I just rolled my eyes. We all entered the jet and took our seats. It was quiet at first, the only sound was Peter chewing and popping his gum. I kept my gaze down at my lap as I thought about what we were heading into.

That was it, we had no idea. And who likes the unknown? No one, it’s something everyone fears whether they’ll admit it or not. I fidgeted with my hands, many scenarios running through my head. I didn’t know much of the situation, everything has been hitting me nonstop, giving me no time to think. Peter knew about just as much as me. I can guess what’s happening, but nothing is definite. Charles was taken, which is common knowledge. Now we’re heading to Cairo, Egypt. So I’m assuming that’s where he is. Everyone also seems prepared to fight, we’ll probably be attacking whoever took Charles. But who were they? What can they do? Will my powers even be useful?

Not too long ago Charles, Hank and I found out I could do more than just summon and manipulate fire. I could also summon a beast. It seemed to be a hellhound. It was a bit bigger than a wolf, its fur as black as charcoal, its eyes a beady red. It huffed out fire when it snarled. And it was honestly the cutest goddamn thing in the world, to me at least. I named it Ammit, after the Egyptian God. Very fitting in this situation, I know. Although my powers furthered my image of a demon, I couldn’t help but embrace it. I mean Ammit was always so sweet to me, how could I say no to a companion?

“Were you scared?” Jean asked, looking towards Raven. “That day in D.C., were you scared?”

“No,” Raven spoke without hesitation once again. She then noticed how anxious we all looked and continued, “But I was scared on my first mission. I was on a plane like this with my friends. About your age.”

She looked at us all before continuing, “We called ourselves the X-Men. Your brother was there. We used to call him Havok. He was a real handful…but when it came down to it, he was very brave.”

“What happened to the rest of the kids?” Kurt asked, and I had a feeling it wasn’t gonna be a happy ending. “Who went with you? The X-Men?”

“Hank and I are the only ones left,” Raven said solemnly. “I couldn’t save the rest of them. I told you, I’m not a hero.”

“Well, you’re a hero to us,” Jean said sternly. “Seeing you that day on t.v. changed my life.”

Kurt chimed in, “Mine too.”

“Mine too,” Peter joined. “I still live in my mom's basement but, you know…everything else is uh…oh it’s pretty much the same.” Peter chuckled, “I’m a total loser.”

Everyone laughed with him, but I swatted his arm gently and gave him a glare while whispering, “What did I say about you making yourself the butt of the joke.”

He looked me in the eye and I noticed him clench his hands from the corner of my eye. I inched my hand closer to him, the nerves I had before suddenly vanishing. He seemed to notice the motion and shifted his fist closer to me. I sucked in a breath and put my hand over his fist, which made him relax. I couldn’t help but stare at how the red pigment of my skin clashed with his pale skin, but I think we fit perfectly together. But that may be my old crush on him coming back full force.

“7th wonder, 12 o’clock,” Hank said, breaking the little world I was stuck in with Peter.

Raven stood up and looked out the front windshield, and when I looked out there from my seat I felt my jaw drop. Metal was flying through the air and buildings were on fire and crumbling. In the middle was a giant pyramid, made out of newer looking materials.

“He has the professor in the center of the pyramid,” Jean spoke, breathing heavily. “He’s going to transfer his consciousness into the professor. If he does that…he’ll have the power to control every mind in the world.”

I felt my breath quicken at the sudden information. I looked around at everyone in slight panic, now being fully brought into the situation. I knew it was bad, but not the end of the world bad. Peter also seemed to be a bit panicked and held my hand fully, intertwining our fingers.

“What the hell is that?” Moira asked as we passed by a giant sphere made of flowing scrap metal.

“It’s Erik,” Raven specified. Peter sped to stand behind Hank and I couldn’t help but let out a gasp as I felt him woosh past me. Raven looked at all of us before coming up with a plan, “You guys help Nightcrawler get into the pyramid. Get Charles. I’ll take care of Erik.”

“How are we gonna get through that?” Hank asked.

“I can get you in there,” Peter spoke up, looking towards Raven. “I came here for him. Let me help you.”

Raven nodded before continuing, “The rest of you, get Charles on this plane and get him out of here.”

“We’re not leaving without you!” Kurt exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch up,” Peter said, winking at me. I looked away, trying not to show him how his stupid joke amused me even in the slightest.

“Hold on,” Hank said, landing the jet. Once he landed, we all exited.

“Hank, you go with the kids,” Raven ordered. “Moira will stay with the plane.”

“Wait,” Scott spoke up before I could say anything.

“What?” Raven asked.

“Not all of us can fully control our powers,” Scott pointed out.

“Then don’t,” She replied. “You need to embrace them, we all do.” With that said, she turned into her true form.

Everyone smiled, but I looked to the side, wishing I didn’t have to ruin the moment, “Excuse me, but should someone stay behind with Moira? I mean…I don’t want to just sit on the side and do nothing, but when it comes to mutants she doesn’t really have a way to defend herself…”

Raven nodded in understanding, “Then you can stay behind with Moira and keep the plane safe.”

I nodded and Peter took off with Raven, the others ran off not much later. I made my way back to the jet, but decided to stay outside. I had a better view around me. I kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, pacing around the jet slowly. Though no one seemed to be targeting the jet, which I can understand. Their priority was to keep Charles in the pyramid.

Though the more time passed, the more I fell into thought. My mind couldn’t help but wander, and of course it ended up with Peter and I’s relationship. It’s always been…unique, to say the least.

It started off innocent enough. I was put as his tutor, my homeroom teacher really cared about Peter, and didn’t want to see him failing. I agreed reluctantly, for the sole reason of not wanting to disappoint the teacher. Which turned into a friendship full of teasing. It was fun, happy. Then it grew, and we opened up to each other more. Our trust in each other was stronger than anything you could even think of comparing. This led to romantic feelings growing in me. Mere attraction turned into something stronger. But then came the crash of the job opportunity that I didn’t hesitate taking. And everything we built seemed to fall apart, burning too fast to even count as unraveling. Now, everything we had seemed to slowly rebuild itself, better and brighter than before. Bolder. It made me nervous. But not exactly the bad kind. It made me hopeful for what we may have in the future.

“(Y/n)!” I heard my name be called from inside the jet. I scrambled into the jet and jumped back as Kurt and Hank were sprawled across the floor in front of me due to Kurt’s teleportation.

“Let’s go!” Hank exclaimed as the door behind me shut. Moira and Hank quickly work the jet off the ground. I noticed that Scott was already on the jet as was Jean and Charles. I took a seat, not wanting to get thrown around. Only hoping that Raven and Peter were going to be alright on their own.

That worry was gone as soon as the sound of thuds on the top of the jet sounded. Then a purple laser sword (?) stuck through the top, cutting the top of the jet.

“Kurt,” Jean said. “Everyone, grab hold of Nightcrawler!”

“I’ve never done it with this many people,” Kurt said, expressing his worry.

“Get us out of here,” Jean commanded.

Everyone took a hold of him, and I reached for his shoulder, not wanting to get left behind. A guy with metal wings jumped into the jet and I felt myself slightly panic, but I knew better than to let that get to me. Jean made the jet fly straight down, giving Kurt more time. He struggled to teleport, but ended up doing it just in the nick of time.

I grunted in pain as I rolled away from the group, breathing heavily.

“Is he okay?” Scott asked as Kurt was passed out.

“It’s his energy,” Jean explained. “He’s drained.”

“Get out,” Charles spoke out.

Jean was at his side in a moment's notice, “Professor it’s okay. You’re with us.” Opening his eyes, he looked around. Jean helped him lean against a wall as Hank tended to Kurt. I made my way to a window, peeking over the edge to keep a lookout.

“Show yourself!” A creepy voice shouted out. “Charles! Show yourself!”

Then I saw a man with bluish gray skin that donned armor. So that must be the man causing all this chaos. It was almost like I could feel his power radiate off him. But my attention was quickly grabbed as I saw a silver blur move back and forth, the armored man flying through the air like a ragdoll. I felt a mix of proudness and fear flow through me, the thought of Peter getting hurt flashing through my mind.

This fear seemed to come to fruition as our enemy used the dirt to hold Peter in place, speaking in a condescending tone, “Foolish child.”

Then he grabbed Peter’s arm, twisting it, only to break his free leg. I let out a choked gasp, tears quickly springing to my eyes as Peter let out the most guttural scream I’ve ever heard. It was like that hurt went straight through my heart. He kept crying out in pain and I was about to run out at that very moment. But one of the guys’ teammates came out, and I knew better than to run out and kill us both. I’ll wait for my moment to get that fucker.

He grabbed Peter by his hair and lifted his head up, making me clench my fists in anger. I would’ve pierced my skin with my sharp nails had it not been for my thicker skin. Though I failed to notice the flames that started to engulf them.

“End him,” The bastard said.

The woman flipped her sword and I closed my eyes, not being able to watch a person I love die in such a dastardly way. Suddenly, I heard the woman gasping and I opened an eye, expecting the worst, only to see the armored guy's neck cut, and the woman being choked by him. His wound quickly healed, and the woman revealed to be Raven as he lifted her up.

“The great hero,” The bastard spoke, like he had any right. He dropped Raven as she passed out.

That was it, I ran outside without a second thought, hiding behind some rubble. I drew a symbol in the sand, pricking a finger with my nail and watching as the sigil lit up, and Ammit rose from fire. He was an immortal beast straight from hell, so I didn’t hesitate to send him out to battle. I knew Ammit had my back, so I ran out to Peter, trying to find a way to get him out and to safety.

The fear in Peter’s eyes hurt, “What are you doing here? Get out while you can!”

“And leave you behind?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Now why in the hell would I do that?”

The look in Peter’s eyes was something I’ve never witnessed before, an emotion I couldn’t put my finger on, but I was distracted when I heard a whimper from behind me. Turning around, I used my body as a barrier as I stared at the damage this monster did to my babies. First Peter, and now Ammit? I snarled, bearing my fangs as I saw Ammit a bloody mess, disappearing in a cloud of black smoke. I threw my hands up, fire bursting out, trying to keep him away from Peter at the very least. He just stood in it, not hurting him a bit. He walked towards me, and I tried to throw a flaming punch, but he caught my fist.

I’ve never felt as feeble as I did at that moment. Not even when my mutation showed. He stared me in the eyes and snarled, punching me so hard I thought I astral projected. I was knocked to the ground and the Earth enclosed me.

“(Y/n)!” Peter shouted in desperation. I felt my breath quicken, panicking since I couldn’t move my arms, or head even. All I could see was the sky, as my face was the only thing not encased. Tears quickly sprung from my eyes as I tried to move, wiggle, just get some movement in.

“You are feeble,” The monster spat. “Just like the others. Charles! Come! Rescue your weaklings! Give your life for theirs!”

I was trying to pay attention, but my claustrophobia was getting the better of me, so I just tried to focus on my breathing. Something, anything to take my mind away from the current situation. Especially since it wasn’t looking so good. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine I was somewhere, anywhere but here.

The feeling of Earth crumbling around me made me open my eyes only to come eye to eye with Hank carrying Raven on his back and Peter on his side. He pulled me out of my mini grave and I took Peter from him so he didn’t have as much weight to carry. Hank and I rested them on some rubble, making sure they were safe, before we both nodded at each other and ran back to battle.

I watched in awe as Erik kept pushing metal into the monster's force field. Scott shoots his beams at him as well. Hank tried to jump at him, but was tossed aside. I focused on all my anger, hatred, and any other negative emotion that was eating at me, and shot out flames, the most powerful I have ever created. I snarled as he threw Scott back in his moment of weakness. Next he went after Erik, but Jean came out of nowhere, walking on air. Suddenly a burst of flames burst out behind her, resembling wings. The monster was quickly brought out of his forcefield and seemed to be falling apart. Hope began to fill me, and I pushed harder, trying to make my flames even hotter. Erik pinned him down with metal, allowing me to get closer. Scott was back in the scene, providing even more support.

His forcefield appeared once more, and I heard Hank mutter something about getting away. Suddenly a woman came in, helping us out by shooting lightning down and ridding him of his forcefield once more. Suddenly he started to disintegrate, mumbling some mumbo jumbo, but I didn’t care. Too focused on keeping my attack going, as I could feel myself get dizzy from how long I was doing my attack. And just like that, it was like he didn’t even exist.

I felt close to collapsing, but I wouldn’t let myself, not until I checked up on Peter. I stumbled back to him, finally falling once he was in front of me. I let out a huff, putting a hand on my head, closing my eyes to try and make the world stop spinning.

“I always said you were hot,” Peter’s voice pierced the air. “But you still manage to blow me away.”

I let out a dry laugh, “I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me, or making an observation of my powers.”

“Kinda the point,” Peter chuckled out breathily. “Maybe it’s a mix of both.”

I felt my heart flutter and I opened my eyes to look at him, his gaze once again filled with an emotion I couldn’t seem to figure out.

“You’re hurt,” I muttered, not being able to actually look at his injury.

“So are you.”

“Not like you are.”

On the way to the wreckage of the mansion, Peter got a cast put on at a hospital, then let us leave as long as we promised to come in for check ups. Then when we got back, Erik and Jean put the mansion back together. Everyone stood around amazed at the power they held. I stood next to Peter. Ororo, as I learned, stood on his other side.

“Mystique told me he is your father,” She said. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I might…” Peter trailed off. “One day. I think for now, I’m just gonna stick around here for a while.” Peter put on his dorky sunglasses and turned to look at me with a giant smile. I smiled back at him, happy that our duo was back together.

“Me too,” Ororo agreed, and I couldn’t be more happy to make a new friend.

That was the start of the X-Men once more.

“Forget everything you think you know,” Raven said sternly. “Whatever lessons you learned in school…whatever lessons your parents taught you. None of that matters! You’re not kids anymore. You’re not students. You’re X-Men.”

With that, our training started. But not everything was business.

“What’s with the sweater?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow while eating a twinkie. Some things never change.

“What’s with the silver…everything?” I retorted. “Are you jealous of how good my fashion is?”

“No,” He said, glancing down once more at my oversized knit green sweater. Suddenly a glorious idea popped into my head.

I took off the sweater, revealing the white button up I was wearing under it. I tossed it to Peter, getting up and finding the green cardigan I owned that matched the sweater.

“Go change,” I ordered Peter. “I’d offer you the button up but I don’t think it’d fit you.”

“Wha-” Peter mumbled, clearly surprised.

“Go on, I need to change too,” I said, shooing him out of my room.

“Okay, okay,” Peter surrendered, putting his hands up and walking out of my room backwards.

I put on a beige shirt and threw the cardigan over it. I looked in the mirror and messed with my hair a bit before nodding in satisfaction. Opening my room door, Peter was already changed into the sweater and even changed his pants so it would match the look. I smiled proudly, putting my hands on my hips.

“Now we match,” I grinned brightly.

Who knew that the great, flirty Peter Maximoff could be made speechless. It seems that I’ve done the impossible as his face turned a dark red. I couldn’t help but admire the tint that found its way onto him, but hid my admiration when Peter flipped his hair back.

“O-of course you’d want to show me off to everyone,” Peter stumbled over his words slightly. “But why don’t you take me out to dinner first?”

For some reason, seeing Peter in my clothes made me feel more confident, “Okay, 7pm tomorrow night?” I gave him a wink, probably looked really forced but I’ll just have to work on it. This seemed to have made him even more flustered and I patted myself on the back for a job well done.

“Seriously?” He whispered out. And suddenly, my confidence left me. I felt myself fluster at the situation I got me in, but I nodded my head in agreement.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “If you’re serious, that is.”

Suddenly I was pulled into a hug. A smile tugged at my lips as I hugged him back. I felt him set a kiss to the top of my head before pulling away. He kept an arm around my shoulders and walked the two of us out into one of the living areas. Which so happened to have Jean, Scott, Kurt, and Jubilee.

Jean and Jubilee looked at each other with knowing glances while Scott just raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What’s going on here?” Scott asked cheekily.

“Someone’s got himself a date,” Peter replied smugly.

“Matching outfits already?” Jean spoke up. “And I thought Scott and I were bad.”

“Hey!”

“I-” I stumbled. “Those two things weren’t planned.”

“Not what she meant,” Jubilee murmured, and I shrunk into Peter’s side.

“I’m so happy for you!” Kurt exclaimed happily.

I may look different. I may have the powers of a demon. People may fear me. But that’s not what matters. I have people who care for me. I have people who will take care of me. And most importantly, I have Peter, the love of my life. Who could ask for anything more?

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #peter #maximoff #x reader #xmen #x men #imagines #imagine #peter maximoff imagines #x men days of future past #x men apocalypse #peitro maximoff #pietro maximoff #evan peters #evan peters x reader

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caffeinated-fan · 1 month

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Desktop>logs>Iceman

Chapter 2

Summary:

A glimpse into a slow day at Top Gun, complete with minor inconveniences and lonely wallowing, hurray!

Notes:

This is my first real attempt at a long fic, and trying to come up with a story. This chapter was started over *checks notes* 267 days ago.... I've spent that past (almost) year reading RoosterForMe fics on tumblr and trying wrangle a similar vibe for this. If you want to read *chef's kiss* TG:M fics I cannot recommend her works enough. <3<3<3

Tuesday morning, 10th June.

Laundry, and sweeping. Groceries-MILK and creamer

I was writing my day plans out, my coffee getting colder next to me. Scribbling in the dates of upcoming appointments and services. My pen settled on the square for Saturday, scribbled in hasty pencil marks was ‘Dinner w/ Kazansky, Kans. Barbeque’.

This would be fine, it wasn’t going to suck. Barbeque is good, and therefore things around barbeque are also good.

“That’s a normal thing to think,” I mumbled to myself, taking a sip of coffee. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being around other people, quite the opposite.

It’s fine, no one would look at an archivist and assume they’re a party animal. Tom seemed to enjoy my company, he somehow made it easier to talk to him. Like he understood when to give me space to talk, not bowling me over to finish what I was saying.

I stowed my journal in my backpack and set out to work. Stopping by my door to plop my basil plant outside.

“Bye, Boski Boo!” I hollered at the small aquarium in the living room before shutting the door.

I drove up to the MA at the base’s gate, holding out my ID, and sliding my bag to the front to let him check it. The ammunition pouches on his kevlar vest sagged inward without clips to hold them open, but the clip in his gun kept the impression that he very much would shoot me if he had to. I drove past him, continuing down a road leading along the edge of base. Despite working here for almost a year I had rarely seen further into the base, my clearance only allowing me a few blocks in. But, I still got to see the buzz of military life in the distance. I had started getting used to the sound of aircraft zipping overhead and buzzing buildings when they came in to land. Although it made calling people while on base a nightmare with jet engines often drowning out both ends of the line.

I hopped out of my car slinging my bag over my shoulder. The brick building stood in the middle of a perfectly kept green, the paved paths clean and swept. As I walked up the path I remembered my first week here, I would cut the corner and step across the grass. Finally I noticed each time I did a sailor would wince or grimace to themselves. One finally told me they’d had it beaten into them to Never EVER walk on the grass. Apparently one of the Officers liked to make sailors who broke that rule crawl on all fours on the grass next to the paved path.

The doors to the archival building stuck as I moved inside, the sea air eating away at the metal. I waved quickly at the receptionist (Katy?) making a b-line for my office. I pushed the power switch on my computer and set about emptying my bag while it booted up. Digging through the mail for any updates on requested materials and orders for copies.

...

Stacking file-boxes full of newly printed copies, I pushed through my office door towards the archives. Walking down the aisles, carefully returning the cassettes to their boxes along with their CD copies. I’d finished up the day after Tom came by. I'd spent the rest of that day thinking about him sitting quietly, flipping through manila folders. ___

I sat clicking my pen, glancing up at Tom through the open doors. His head was bowed, nose almost touching the papers he was looking at. Leaning on his forearms, his hands cradling his head.

“We have magnifying glasses if you need one,” I softly called out. Tom's head popped up, still hunched over the paper.

“That'd be great, thank you.” He pushed up and rubbed at his eyes. I pulled open a desk drawer, grabbed what I needed and headed over.

“I'm surprised you don't need glasses,” I joked, handing him the magnifying glass.

“Hm. Not yet, but I don't doubt that grandpa reading glasses are in my future.” The mental image of Tom with glasses popped into my head. Oh. That's not bad at all…Maybe he's a horn-rimmed glasses guy, maybe more classic chic,

....

Okay, she's definitely thinking about me in glasses, now. I had no intent on telling her the grandpa glasses were fully in use already. Thankfully I'd only ruined my near sight from shoving my nose in books all day. I'm not sure I could survive Mav knowing I need glasses.

“I'm sure you'll look very distinguished when the day comes.” I felt her hand land on my shoulder before she walked away. Back through the two doorways to sit behind her desk. My face a little warm at the thought of someone finding my glasses attractive

My eyes dropped down to the papers in front of me. A-5 Vigilante variable geometry and their wind tunnel results. My brain goes back to running its two trains of thought. Half of my mind was focusing on the words, the other half combing through ideas to get her to come back over. I cleared my throat, leaning towards the doorway.

“There's one configuration for the A-5 that's an almost wingless design..” ___

The quiet of the archival room pressed against my ears. Layers of paper and cardboard softening the outside world as it slips through the roof and chatters along the metal I-beams.

“Weh, Wil, WILLIAMS! James E.,” my shout of triumph cut through the silence like a knife careening through a window. Pulling down the box I gently laid the cassettes and CDs onto a new cardboard divider and closed the box. My eyes cast around the large, quiet room as I gathered up the box to put it away. The desk by the door, the foldout steel chair looking morose and empty. He’d even pushed it back in. The magnifying glass neatly tucked against the wall. I hadn't had anyone come into records just to read for leisure in a few months. Mostly older sailors coming in on a slow day to peruse photographs and battle plans. I huffed and pushed the box onto the shelf and headed back to my office.

My open notebook caught my attention as I sat back down, Dinner w/ Tom circled in red on the 14th. The day before catching my eye, Friday 13th, making me smile. If I made it through that BBQ would be a nice reward for not getting murdered.

…

“Lieutenant Kazansky to tower, pre-flight checklist complete, awaiting orders.”

“Acknowledged, await further instructions,” the operator’s voice took on a less professional tone as she continued, “Get comfy, Ice, the engineers are still checking the runway for debris.” A jet had come in after hitting some birds and had left some nasty gifts for the ground crews, no one was injured thankfully. I shoved my head back as much as the crowded cockpit would let me. I'd gladly spend all day in my jet but for God's sake usually I was flying. I felt Slider jostle around behind me as he sat forward in his seat.

“Since we have some time to ourselves, let me tell you about that blonde, Rachel,” Slider said, his mask clunking against my chair.

“Is this the dumb one or the pretty dumb one?” I joked, remembering the two from last week. We'd gone to a bar far enough off base that the girls were excited to see a pilot but not total tag chasers. Slider had spent the night with a blonde on each arm like he was weighing his decision on who to stick with me. He was a hell of a RIO, and a decent wingman. Meaning he'd figure out fast if I wanted a girl that night and happily take home both if I didn't.

“Ha-Ha. Condescending laugh. She was plenty smart, works as a receptionist for some big company. Likes old planes. Anyway, she's got a friend, a stewardesses, coming in to visit next week who just adores the strong silent type. Said she'd love to set you up on a double date with us.”

“She sounds less like a hit it and quit it and more like a date, Slider,” I joked. He huffed and sat back in his seat. I waited for him to say some snappy comeback.

“Slider?...She was a one nighter, right?”

“...”

“Oh-ho-ho, Cupid landed a shot last night? That's great Slide, why the hell'd ya keep it from me?” Slider wasn't some chauvinistic prick who'd rather die than say he gets the warm fuzzies.

“Well, she was, a one night, ya'know. I spent the night-,” “Nice.” “I was going to head back home but she offered to order some food and we started talking. Then in the morning she said there was a nice brunch place on the way back to the bar. Her car is cool too, shitty driver though. It just kinda smacked into me, she's so cool, man. I was like some dopey highschooler, cracking jokes and being terrified I'd annoy her somehow.”

“You? Annoy someone? Impossible, you only chew all your pencils and think out loud, have awful hygiene…” I joked, Slider pushing against my chair, before continuing. “I'd love to meet her, blind double date be damned.”

“Tower to Lieutenants, clear to proceed to the runway.”

…

This sucked. Okay not suck-sucks, but I was getting tired of this E-3 and his adherence to Not Helping Me. The wobbly stool was not helping me either, threatening to tip over as I grabbed boxes from the top shelf. He had been courteous when he’d told me what he needed from the archives, though his kindness ended there. Letting me climb up and down to retrieve the hefty boxes.

“Why weren’t you given a ladder? Shouldn’t there be a ladder just for this room?” he asked, shifting the boxes next to him with his foot. He reached up and steadied my back as I climbed down.

“No, there isn’t. The building flooded a few years back and it rusted. Now, we have stools.” I dusted down my shirt and took the box from him. “S’That everything? Good.” GET OUT. He pulled a smile and lead the way out. Catching the door with his shoulder and nodding me past.

I dropped the box I was holding in his arms (probably harder than I should given the contents), pulled a smile, and went to my office. “Thank you, Ma'm. I'll be sure to get these back to you, all papers present.” He flashed a grin and adjusted the boxes to keep them stacked.

“Hope this isn’t the only trip you take over here,” the receptionist, (Katy, no Kathy?) said, pushing her chair back to get the main doors.

“Oh, I don’t think my CO will ever stop sending me here, ‘course you could always come see me.”

I pulled my door closed to avoid hearing them flirt. Kathy (I’ve decided that had to be it) liked uniforms more than the person in them, always chasing around the sailors who’d recently been stationed here. I sat back in my chair with a sigh, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t be upset. That E-3 wasn’t doing anything wrong. I had no real reason to be annoyed with him. A small flush of guilt spread up my neck. I hated being mad, I hated losing control over myself, I hated how people treated me like a child when I got upset. I blew out a breath, leaned forward, and started typing in the logged out materials.

…

My keys slid into the lock as I shoved my body weight against it. I dropped my bag inside the door, and scooped up my basil plant. The door clicked shut behind me, shutting out the last bit of light. The light of Boski’s tank barely lit up the room as I walked over to him. Boski, my comet goldfish, stared in my general direction from his tank as he swam slowly around. I watched with a small smile as he passed under the sign I hung above his cave, “Lord Byron Boksilous the Spacious”.

“Well, Boski-nova, I had a very boring day, I don’t know how you manage.” I sat down on the floor then let my body fall flat on the carpet. I really did like this job, the hours were fine, pay was decent. My dad had told me stories about how good it was to be contracted by the military in some way. While I wasn’t directly contracted I still had nice benefits.

“Only reason they're so good is no one else is there. It’s one of the largest on base repositories and they hired one person, Boski.” The hand I had raised to make my point clear to Boski flopped down beside me.

“One, angry, lonely person…” Drowning in a little pity pool sounded like a good ending to this day. I layed there watching the reflections of the tank on the walls.

…

My truck's engine rumbled against my back as I stood across from Cary in some hotel parking lot. I’d driven her back after Slider went home with Rachel again, leaving Cary to get a cab. She’d hesitantly accepted my offer to drive her and I’d spent the whole time salvaging my image. It'd been a rocky start to our double date. I spent a good while getting back into the swing of flirting. Cary’d spent the date flicking her attention from me to the first round college game over my shoulder. Slider was right, the two women did enjoy aviation talk. We'd regaled them with training tales and finished with our great tale of flying with Mav, I embellished his prowess for the night, no use adding to his reputation. Now, she stood a few feet away smoking under a half-alive lamppost, the sickly green light making her dress look a weird ocean blue.

“Are you leaving or do you wanna come up?” She’d been smoking in silence for so long I jumped a little. Her eyes were locked on me, her expression was fixed between boredom and bedroom eyes. Or just tired. She’d told me how little sleep she got when she worked, catching a few hours in a cramped hotel room with three other girls. I weighed my options, the evening was awkward and she wasn’t as nice as Rachel was. She wasn’t bratty, she just didn’t care to work around feelings. Preferring to speak as frankly as she could without being overly rude. She was hot, pretty tall, and seemed to have gotten over my rocky start.

She walked to the hotel door and threw away her cigarette, standing by the side entrance. I opened my truck's cab, turned the engine off and put the key in my jacket. My legs carried me to her side as she opened the door, leading me inside.

The door’s lock clicks closed softly

#top gun #top gun iceman #top gun fanfiction #tom iceman kazansky #caffe writes

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alfavictor · 1 year

Text

Absent Plans

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan

Warnings: None, Rated T because its SnK.

Relationships: minor Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, Reiner Braun & Annie Leonhart

Summary:

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Armin. I’m sure you have a plan. You had one to corner me.”

Annie regretted what she had to do when she got to Paradis, but she did what had to be done. She had hoped that the scouts would never have to make the same choice. Annie’s thoughts before the attack on the Jaegerist Port.

They made an odd group, Annie mused. Two groups, an ocean, culture, and centuries apart, once comrades, then enemies, and now as of a day ago, reluctant allies. She had saved, spared, and tried to kill them all at one point or another. Still, she was glad to have the backup after seeing the port.

“We have no choice but to kill them all with our first strike. That’s the only way we can secure the flying boat” Annie laid out the situation. It was better in a way; it had been so long since she had been part of a straightforward military operation with clear enemy combatants. Away from the treachery, lies, and sneaking around that had dominated her experience on the island.

“To pull this off, everyone has to be in sync. Our titan power with your firepower. Understood?” A simple plan straight out of a Marleyan military textbook. Titans to create a foothold supported by infantry for a crushing first strike.

Expecting quick acknowledgement, Annie looked around curiously when silence greeted her. Not a single one of the scouts could meet her eyes. Connie of course, was the first one to speak up, voice quivering with a mix of frustration and desperation., “Just hold on a second.”

“What's the problem?” Annie replied tersely. Connie simply sighed and looked at his boots.

Mikasa stepped in. “They’re holding all the Azumabito hostage. We need to keep them out of the line of fire.”

Annie bit back a scoff. “You expect us to care about that? We won’t protect people who attacked our homeland just because they’re your distant cousins.”

“Slow down Annie. If the hostages are killed, the rest of the plan falls apart.” Pieck cautiously interjected. Annie blinked. She hadn’t thought about the mechanics needed to get the flying boat operational, so focused on getting back home and seeing her father. And when the conversation drifted to Onynakopon, and the group began discussing the necessity of the Azumabito, Annie let her mind wander. Pieck didn’t know the scouts, but she had spent three years training with them. And she knew that their hesitation about the plan didn’t stem from saving a few hostages.

Were they scared? But they’re a bunch of principled, fearless idiots. They chose to join the survey corps, fighting titans with swords for a chance of a better future for what they thought was the entirety of humanity. They’re giving up an ensured, total victory to work with people who have betrayed, lied, and killed their friends to do what they feel is right. What could get them so hesitant?

When Annie realized, she almost laughed at the absurdity. How naive could they be?

“I get it.” Annie spoke up, the group turning their attention on her. “But to confirm, you’re asking us to protect the Azumabito technicians from the Jaegerists long enough to get the boat plane ready to fly.” A couple of hesitant nods to that. Annie’s tone turned mocking. “And let me guess. You want us to hold the enemy off for this unknown amount of time? Without killing any of them?”

Jean, as always, ignored the cutting tone and took her question at face value. “Yeah, I don’t want to kill any of them. Hell, we trained with most of them, fought alongside them in the Survey Corps all these years.”

Did all the Paradisans turn stupid in the last four years? “Then I’m sure you’ve got a plan. Think you can fill me in? You must have a bright idea to keep all those Jaegerists away indefinitely without killing them?” Annie rhetorically asked, knowing this sentiment was nothing more than a desperate wish.

Annie turned to Armin, the mastermind of the Survey Corps. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Armin. I’m sure you have a plan.” Armin met her eyes, blue orbs once full of dreams now turned heavy. Bitterness turned her speech acrid and falsely soft as she crossed her arms. “You had one to corner me.” Armin looked away, his eyes filling with an emotion Annie couldn’t quite identify.

Annie knew her anger wasn’t exactly fair. Her betrayal had come first and had been the most cutting. She had barely been convinced by Armin’s laughable excuses all those years ago in Stohess. But she had chosen to spare Armin, had chosen to spare the boy with kind eyes and dreams of seeing the ocean, and she had paid the price.

“Hold on. We know this is a long shot, but we’re doing this to save lives!” Connie had always been the loudest, the most outspoken, the one with the least filter between his heart and his mouth outside of Eren. “You’re telling me we’ll have to gun down a bunch of our friends to save the world? That’s so messed up!” Connie’s face had become stricken at the end of his outburst, glazed in a mix of horror, fear, and anguish.

Annie's throat tightened uncomfortably, and a deep sense of dread settled heavily in her chest. She had seen that expression before. She’d seen it on Reiner and Bertolt’s face on the rooftops of Trost. Maybe it had been etched on her face as well.

Annie closed her eyes, willing herself into control. Instead unbidden memories that she had seen countless times welled up.

A freckled face that had only shown kindness to her, now filled with fear and confusion. Pleading, begging, and crying.

“What are you doing!? Annie, I thought we were friends?”

“Please, please! I don’t want to die here. Please don’t kill me!”

“...we haven’t even talked about this!”

Inhuman, desperate screams as the titan tore him apart. Broken remnants of his body strewn across the cobblestone in the ash covered city.

“I’m sorry.” Annie breathed out. I’m sorry Marco. I’m sorry I killed you. I’m sorry Armin. I’m sorry for being a traitor, a liar, a monster. I’m sorry for not being the person you all thought I was. Now, she couldn’t bear to meet the eyes of any of the scouts. “This will be a pretty ugly operation. We can’t expect you to take part in this.” Annie’s words were no carefully longer considered, she simply said what felt right, whatever made her chest feel slightly lighter. “We don’t even have the right to ask you to make that choice.”

They were good people, and she was not. “You’re not like us. If it had been you in our place, you probably would have chosen differently than we did that day. You wouldn’t have breached the wall,” and killed Armin’s only family, a traitorous little voice reminded, the one that held onto every single one of Armin’s words for four years.

If a Marleyan instructor had heard her, they would have cut her from the Warrior program for sabotaging a good operational plan to save the conscience of the Paradisan Devils. If her father had heard her, he would have beat her until she knew to never show mercy or kindness again.

To her surprise, Reiner's voice broke the silence from beside her, and he stepped forward. “None of you need to join this battle. Stick with Gabi and Falco, stay at a safe distance and observe. You’ll have to defend yourself if the Jaegerists spot you, so be prepared to fight. But for now, just stay out of it.” Annie glanced at Reiner, whose face was set with the guilt of past actions but also a protective resolve.

Maybe Annie shouldn’t have been surprised. Out of all of them, Reiner and Annie were maybe the only ones who could understand, the only ones who were both at a time Marleyan Warriors and Paradisan Soldiers, both Titans and Titan fighters, no matter how ill-suited they may be at the role. How laughable that they were now the glue that might hold the group together. It should have been Bertolt. Sweet, shy, attentive Bertolt, who always listened to each side. Who was friendly without a hint of malice. Not Reiner, who couldn’t seem to decide between wanting to see all the Paradisans live long, happy and fulfilling lives or seeing them all dead for the glory of Marley. Not Annie, who would do anything to accomplish her mission and return to that house in the woods to the man who had only acted like her father once.

This plan was objectively terrible. The part of Annie that had been bred into a specialized weapon for Marley—the one that saw all life, including her own, as disposable—protested. But it felt right, and Annie couldn't find it in herself to speak up against it.

Of course, the scouts knew it too. “...And let you guys kill each other while we sit back and watch?” Connie questioned. Just be selfish for once in your short lives idiots.

“Would that work? Could Titans even win this even without infantry backing them up?” Jean followed. Take the way out. Don’t force yourselves to make this choice. None of you deserve that Annie pleaded.

As General Magath and the commander of the survey corps—Hange, if memory served—approached to persuade the scouts, Annie felt the return of dread, its weight settling once again. And when Armin spoke for the group and agreed to fight, her stomach plummeted. They would all be damned now, just like her, Reiner, and Bertolt. She looked once more into Armin’s eyes; she always seemed to return to them. Perhaps a habit built out of years of using his voice as an anchor in a lonely, dark prison. They were filled with desperation, yes, but now a tinge of resignation, an acceptance of what type of person he was about to become.

It was cruel, Annie decided, that kind, good people would be forced to do the same things people like her had done. Her father’s mantra echoed through her mind, a persistent reminder that “What must be done, must be done, no matter what. Complete your mission.” Yet now, instead of offering its usual comfort and resolve, the mantra only fueled her exhaustion; the weight of its truth felt heavier than ever.

A/N:

Finally got the motivation and passion to write a fanfic after a decade of reading and hundreds of AruAni fics. I feel like this scene found in S4P2E10 is really overlooked from a character development standpoint. If you didn’t watch the OVA, this is really the first time that Annie shows some level of regret over her actions, and Reiner turns his regret into actual actions to try to benefit the scouts. Yes, I took dialogue from the sub, dub, and manga translations. At some points, I felt that the dub had better translations than the sub (the figures of speech feel a lot more accurate and less awkward), but I wanted to keep the iconic “corner me” line that the sub has, leading to this mish mash. Also loved the potential for some AruAni development, because while I think Annie would understand why Armin tried to trap her, there would be some feelings associated with Stohess that would need to be worked through. I found literally 0 fics about this scene, so I decided to write one myself. It was honestly really helpful already having a framework of dialogue to work off of, really just allowed me to think about the characters.

Honestly, after looking at the OVA, I kind of wished SnK had a better way of integrating character centric episodes into the main storyline. I feel like a lot of fans missed the OVA even though they provide critical characterization for Levi, Annie, and Mikasa. Annie’s OVA especially made me rethink her character, she really goes from psychopathic killing machine to someone who deeply regrets her actions in the span of the first 30 seconds. Once again, this is where the sub and dub diverge in characterization. The dub version of Wall Sina: Goodbye has a more regretful tone (Annie immediately questions how many more people she would have to kill) while the sub is more of a statement, that Annie knows that she’ll have to kill plenty of people to finish her mission. Also, the dub version of Marco’s death lines are quite a bit more impactful in my opinion.

I wanted to really focus on being able to characterize everyone realistically. I’m going to be real, it’s been a while since I’ve watched the entirety of SnK, so characterizations of Connie and Jean are a bit rough around the edges. The main thing about Annie that I wanted to show is that she’s got conflict that’s buried deep under the facade of getting the mission done. I feel pretty confident about her regretting killing Marco (just look at her face during that scene, plus she has nightmares about it). I’m less sure about any of her other regrets. I also wanted to show that she admires people with principles, that underneath her cold exterior there’s a person who wants to be kind and do right. Really this was inspired by an AruAni oneshot I read, I think the author described it similarly. I think this is shown in canon by her admiration of Eren (suicidal blockhead and all that), her interactions with Marlowe in season 1, and of course the classic “good person” discussion with Armin in Stohess in S1 and the Boat in S4P3. And given that's the foundation, why not extend a bit of the admiration to the rest of the scouting corps? I hope that the self-criticism I wrote wasn’t too much.

I had intended this to be more AruAni centric, but I realized that the conversation really didn’t line up with that goal, and I didn’t want to force a romantic moment where it didn’t fit. So now we have something that can be read as platonic or romantic (I see it as romantic lol).

I’m thinking of following this up with an Armin PoV chapter of him apologizing to Annie about trapping her, maybe a couple days after the Rumbling. This would more heavily lean into the pairing since it’ll just be the two of them. I’m a bit hesitant to tackle this given it’ll require some truly creative output, and I have no idea whether I can write reconciliation well, but I want them to be happy and this currently ends on quite a bitter tone.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I’d love any and all feedback you have.

#aruani #aruani fic #aruani fanfiction #armin x annie #armin arlert #annie leonhart

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seemslegitflapjacks · 2 years

Text

Another AU

WARNING! This contains mentions of things such as sa, abuse, violence, blood, and murder. Please put your mental safety above reading this.

These events occur in the year 2006.

The setting is in a made up town ins Northern California called Redwood that borders Oregon.

Jeff has lived here for a while, since first grade.

Met Randy in third grade and they became friends with on another.

They were very close in their younger years, and Randy would often stay over with Jeff. It was like he was a third child to the Wood’s family.

Troy and Keith would later tag along, and Liu would occasionally hang out with them as well.

At this time they’re in their senior year of highschool.

Randy begins to experience very obsessive feelings for Jeff

Keith and Jeff started secretly going out with one another. Jeff kept it a secret for his reputation, since he was popular among the student body and participated in soccer and cheer. Keith understood this, since people didn’t like his goth style of dressing. They made it work.

Not too long after Randy would put two and two together and realize what was happening between his crush and friend.

Jeff is well known for throwing tailgate parties, ones that include underage drinking, alcohol supplied by his father who in his words “I don’t give a shit iff you drink just do it on the property.”

Randy attempts to make moves on Jeff, clearly way too drunk.

He shoved Jeff into the side of his ruck and forcefully made out with him.

In a panic Jeff broke the beer bottle he was holding onto and threatened him, saying; “Get the fuck out of my tailgate before I turn your eyes into bloody kaleidoscopes!”

That was enough to scare Randy off and make Jeff chase the other party goers off his land. Jeff would later drunkenly tell Keith what had happened over the phone in tears.

Keith was upset and went over to comfort his boyfriend and sober him up. In the morning Jeff had begged him not to tell anyone, since he was afraid of rumors and putting his scholarships in jeopardy.

Keith reluctantly agreed, even though he hated the fact Randy would legally get away with it.

Later on Keith would beat the snot out of Randy, but didn’t mention any of what he knew had happened.

That officially ended Randy’s friendship with Keith. However Jeff had never confronted him about what had happened at that tailgate.

That Christmas break Jeff stays home while his family goes out to a party. Randy lets himself in since he’s bored and is tired of being around his own family since he’s sidelined by his older brother, Adam.

They lounged around together despite Jeff’s discomfort and fear.

That night Randy had wound up having a few drinks as well.

He was tired of rejection, and the fact everyone seemed to overshadow him. He was slowly getting pissed as he reflected on the fact Jeff had kicked him to the side like his own family and even seemed to replace him in some ways.

He’d taken his friends, popularity, and respect. Not only that but he faced a very violent rejection and Jeff’s tailgate party when Randy attempted to get intimate with him.

Randy led Jeff’s dog, a large German shepherd named Cujo, to the upstairs bedroom and locked him in a bathroom.

Randy went back down to the kitchen where he faked a struggle and thrashed the back door open, alerting Jeff.

Jeff asked what happened, and Randy explained that Cujo had accidentally gotten out.

Reasonably pissed, Jeff shoves on some boots and runs outside to fetch his dog. He hadn’t checked to see that the snow was smooth, there were no paw prints.

Randy took his opening and grabbed the pocket knife from his jeans, running after Jeff. He tackled Jeff and began to stab him.

Jeff was left with over 26 stab wounds, and was also left with injuries likely made from blunt force cause by punching or kicking.

Not bothering to his the body or check if he was dead, Randy went to his car and drove off.

Jeff had managed the strength to try and crawl back.

His bloody handprints were found int the snow, Jeff had tried to clean his hands off before he reached the house.

Jeff didn’t make it to the driveway before he died.

His official cause of death was bloodloss.

The morning after when his family returned, Liu had been the on to find him.

Police were called, and Liu was left with the scarring image of his brothers bloody body in the snow.

Randy did get away with it, until he couldn’t take the guilt and turned himself in.

In the end Randy was charged with second degree murder and sexual battery.

He was sentenced to life in prison.

#creepypasta #jtk #jeff the killer #creepypasta jtk #jeff woods #liu woods #randy warren #randy jtk #alternate universe #alt universe #keith daviss #Keith JTK #tw mentions of violence #tw murder #tw assualt #tw sa #tw implied sa #read at your own risk

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hansensgirl · 3 years

Text

not all who wander are lost.

summary. | He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering.

warnings. | Strangers to lovers, smut, naive reader, mentions of trauma, angst, fluff, slight violence, slight dub/con, slight blasphemy, drinking, DD/LG, daddy kink, corruption kink, ring/hand kink, size kink, creampie kink, teasing, spanking, choking, spitting, manhandling, praise, male masturbation, handjob, degradation, a bit of humiliation, oral sex, virginity loss, marking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 11k

pairings. | Daddy!Destroyer!Chris x Little!Reader.

a/n. | one of the few fics inspired/based off of chemtrails over the country club. please heed the warnings and don’t forget to reblog. ily! thank you so much to @dragon-of-dreams @mypoisonedvine @tenuntilfightcall and everyone else for helping me out with some information! and thank you to my bb sara @asadmarveltrashbag for beta-ing and being there for me during this insane month, ilysm!!

The first time he laid eyes on you, was six months ago.

Meadows like the ones that surround him only exist in movies and Instagram posts. But even those need editing for perfection. Yet, the ones around him made him feel as though he has camera lenses for his eyes. Each piece of grass is a beautiful green, and some had flowers between them. His thighs may hurt but the view is a reward for all the trouble he just went through. A cute cottage lies on the hill he stands on. It resembles one from a Pinterest board but he doesn’t mind.

Birds chirp, sheep bleat, cows low and chickens cluck amongst Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of Summertime. Chris walks a few more steps and onto the porch he goes. This isn’t his destination. Well, technically, it is. But he isn’t supposed to be knocking on your door like he is now, and his heart shouldn’t be beating out of his chest. To the right of this cottage — Chris’s right — is another cottage.

It’s more modern than he’d prefer it to be. It only looks so because inside lives a drug lord who is on the run. It’s truly unfortunate his girlfriend sold him out for immunity. He knocks on the wooden door and takes a step back. Who knows what kind of person is behind it. “Coming!” your sweet voice calls. Chris doesn’t let go of his grip on his gun that’s down the waist of his pants.

Even the sweetest seeming things can always end up being sour.

You struggle not to trip over your own dress. The tail of it drags behind you and sweeps the floor, too. But it makes you feel just like a princess, so you don’t care. On your hip is a basket, and inside is Cotton. Your bunny. She’s been your company for years, and you don’t know what you’d do without her. Barely anyone visits anymore, only because cars can’t handle the long drive up and many people hate nature. But when the occasional knock on your door echoes throughout the house, you can barely keep your excitement inside.

You open the door and gasp. The man… is brooding. And he’s not the type of broody that would grumble insults under his breath or the type that would stalk people, either. He’s the dreamy type, the man your parents say is bad news when really he just needs love. You take in his form. You can tell he’s slightly tired and you just have to give him credit for walking up to your home. He has no flaws, except for the dirt that stains his clothing.

“Hi, do you live here?” the strange man asks, looking around the inside of your home. You jump and you’re not sure why but your skin raises with goosebumps. His voice is deep yet so soft-spoken. For some odd reason, his hand is reaching backwards and you assume that it’s because he has some sort of ache from the walk. You finally register his words and look up at him.

“Y- yes, do you live here?” you stupidly ask. You don’t even realize what you just said until you noticed his puzzled look. “Oh, sorry,” you look down and notice that his black boots are covered in pollen, something that can be oh so bothersome. “‘S’alright, I was hiking a- and I don’t have anywhere to go… Do you think you could let me stay here?” he asks, letting go of the gun. “Uhm, s- sure, what’s your name?” you ask him, moving out of the way.

Naive, so fucking naive.

“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks, stepping inside. You give him your name and he nods. He goes to wipe his shoes on the rug in front of the door but there is no rug. You hand him a rag and he gratefully takes him, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ “Are you a tourist?” you ask him, setting your basket down onto the floor. Cotton hops out of it and runs off to the kitchen, probably to chew on your apron. “No…” he solemnly answers. He hands you the rag back and you shyly take it.

“O- okay… Are you a photographer? I’ll tell you God’s truth, the most beautiful photos are taken when the sun rises, when it sets and when it’s raining,” you pointedly inform him. You drop the rag into your basket and turn back around, your dress spinning in a slight swirl. His eyes rake your body up and down, taking in every inch of your body. Red cloth with white polka dots covers your body and your mushroom earrings bring the entire outfit together. Chris has to assume that the heavens above or whatever the fuck else is there have handcrafted you to absolute perfection.

He’s never read any stories about Greek gods, but he knows that Zeus would be absolutely infatuated with you. He takes note of how your body tenses up when he makes eye contact with you, and he gives you a small smile.

“I’m not a photographer,” he clarifies, looking around. He can’t believe you let him in just like that, but the more he found, the more he understood why. A lonely, innocent little girl like you doesn’t have anyone to tell you right from wrong. “Then what are you, sir? Are you lost? I can call the Consulate if you’d like,” you offer, walking towards him. “I’m not lost… I’m a wanderer,” he whispers almost hesitatingly.

“But you only ever wander when you’re lost, no?” you confusingly ask him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, before peering out of the window. Luckily, he has a direct view of the other cottage. He really did hit the jackpot. “Not all who wander are lost, little girl. Now tell me, why would you let a stranger inside your home?” he asks you.

Cotton hops from the kitchen to your bedroom, and you stand in place. “I… Well, I’m not sure. You didn’t give me any reason to not let you in or to make me believe you’re dangerous, sorry…” you shyly tell him. “Don’t apologize, just know that not everyone in this world is good. There’s always going to be someone with a little more darkness than the rest of us…”

Chris unzips his duffle bag, and you let out a giggle. “Quite ominous of you, but then again, it suits your whole aesthetic. The cool, bearded man, with his cool words,” you smile at him, but it carries a bit of sadness. “Treat this place as your own, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, I’m always here.”

Chris stays at the window for most of his days. Always with a pair of binoculars and a pack of saltine crackers. Sometimes, he pulls a juice bottle out of his duffle bag, You’ve countlessly offered him something that’s actually filling, such as angel cake and sandwiches. He rejects them all, and you wonder if he’s some sort of super-human. But technology hasn’t invented wireless technology yet, so it’s impossible.

“Uhm, Mr. Chris-Sir? I don’t think those crackers are good for you, they’re all you eat…” you sheepishly admit, carrying a cup of water to him. The mug has a little frog painted on it, but the green paint has chipped away over seven years. You set it down gently, onto the table next to him and Chris just stares out at the cottage. “Bird-watching is so cool, isn’t it? If you see a robin, let me know, they’re so beautiful,” you tell him, before walking off.

At first, he doesn’t take in your words. But once they’ve settled deep in his mind and sunk in, he realizes that you assume he’s bird-watching. He’d honestly take any other assumption, but at least you don’t know he’s spying on the criminal next door. He looks down at the table with a sigh and then notices what you’ve done. Not only did you set a cup of water down, but you also gave him two slices of toast. One has strawberry jam on it, and the other has melted butter.

His mouth surprisingly salivates, but it also doesn’t shock him. Every day he sits there, basking in the beautiful smell of your food and humming. His personal favourite is the smell of focaccia bread being baked. He watches and waits until you leave the room to go tend to the chickens. Apparently, one of them laid a few eggs. He quickly shovels the two slices of toast into his mouth and downs the glass of water like a starved man. Because he is one.

Cotton hopes around once again but all Chris sees is a fluffy white blur. He recalls his memories from when he was younger. Younger him always wanted a pet. Even a fish that would die in the span of two weeks would suffice. But his mom couldn’t afford it, so he dropped the idea. Sometimes, he wishes he had dropped other ideas, as well. Like the idea that he’d enjoy life as an undercover agent, or the idea of sacrificing himself for Erin.

His fingers are sticky with jam. He hates the feeling. He spreads his fingers out and goes to get up from his seat. “Shit,” he curses, realizing that something may happen while he’s away from the window. He stands there, contemplating whether or not he should risk his mission just to wash the fucking jam off of his stupid fucking hands. He calls your name, loudly, hoping you’ll hear him all the way outside the cottage.

“Is everything alright?” you shout, running inside the house. He didn’t expect that reaction, but he’ll take it. You’re holding onto the corner of two walls, slightly bent over. Your chest, your beautiful chest, is the first thing Chris lays his eyes on. He nearly chokes on his saliva, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. “Uh, hi, I need help,” he gruffly says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He clears his throat with a loud ‘ahem’ and you begin to stand up straight, much to his dismay.

But he doesn’t think the image of your tits nearly falling out of your dress will leave his mind any time soon.

“Of course… Did you enjoy the toast? I can make you some more if you’d like,” you shyly offer him. “It was good, but I’m fine, thanks though. Can you stay here, right at the window, while I go wash my hands? If anything happens, you have to tell me.” Chris doesn’t leave any room for argument, but your curiosity and naivety get the best of you as always.

“What happens if I don’t tell you?” you ask him, walking towards the window. He blocks your path and suddenly personal space is no longer a thing you need. “You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do if you don’t, little girl,” he warns with a hint of lust in his tone. You nod your head and feel tingles bloom just above your core. You’re not sure whether they’re butterflies or those tingles.

Chris walks past you and you quickly rush to the window. You never realized how beautiful this view is until now. The sun is bright, angled in the most perfect manner so that it doesn’t shine directly in your eyes. The sky is so clear, even with the occasional fluffy cloud that always manages to look like some animal. The window blows gently, shaking the sheer curtains that frame you. You sigh and fold your arms, resting them on the windowsill.

You lay your head on your arms and stare out the window with joy filling your heart.

Chris watches you as you look out the window. You’re slightly bent over, once again. Your ass sticks out, and you subconsciously sway your hips side to side, almost purposefully teasing him. Your white dress has a few strings hanging from the hem, but it doesn’t make you look any less gorgeous. He feels like he’s in a dream.

Not only because of the beautiful scenery, and the beautiful woman in front of him but also because he’s trying his hardest to wash his hands quickly, but his movements are so slow. He looks down and rubs his hands together at a furious pace. Chris hears you gasp and he looks up. “Did you see something?” he asks you, turning off the sink.

“Yeah, my neighbour! I haven’t seen him in months, I need to go say hi,” you tell Chris, before rushing out the door. He only then registers your words once you’ve run out of the house and into the unknown. “Fuck- Wait!” he yells after you. He runs behind you and is so grateful when he notices you haven’t gone too far. But you’re still running and Chris’s target is about ten meters away, so he decides to do what he does best.

He decides to save you.

Chris’s feet hit the ground harshly, crushing the flowers beneath him. Running in socks isn’t fun, but at least he has something to protect him. He calls your name and crashes into you with all the force in his body. You both go down and hit the ground from his fierce tackling technique. You go to cry out in pain and lose your mind, but Chris clams his hand over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. You’re not hurt, okay? I’m sorry I had to do that, but you can’t go running off like that,” he lectures, throwing his right leg over your body. He frames you down, and you don’t have much room to move. You’re frozen in place, chest heaving, and you furrow your eyebrows at his words.

“Listen, I need you to listen. You may not know me and I may not know you, but when I tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. Understood?” he chastised with a harsh tone. You nod meekly, like a little kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “And just so you know, that sweet neighbour of yours over there is wanted by the Feds.” Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see the man there anymore, so he begrudgingly climbs off of your body.

You gulp thickly, out of fear and nervousness. Chris doesn’t seem to want to add on to this newfound information, so your anxiety makes work of it. For all you know, your neighbour could be a murderer. Chris senses your nervousness and gives you a pat on the head, almost as if you’re his pet.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of you under him, helpless and with his hand clamped over your mouth is something that gets his blood (and hand) pumping. He helps you up, and you don’t even realize it until he brushes some dandelion seeds out of your hair. “Thank you… and thank you for saving me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” you shyly speak to him. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, finding an old cigarette from before he quit.

“‘S’alright, I just need a few things from you,” he gruffly reassured. “O- Of course, anything for my guest and for the man who saved my life,” you beam with a small giggle punctuating your words. He basks in it, almost as though it’s sunlight over a beach. “Ah, you flatter me. Just tell me about yourself, I’m going to be staying for a while,” he says as he turns around to walk back inside.

A bottle of gin is in Chris’s hands. The colourless yet pale yellow liquid swishes inside its rightful bottle. It’s half full, only because last night, he downed the rest. He hasn’t drunk in a while. Since he got over being left for dead. And that’s only six months ago.

He’s shirtless. Only left in his grey jeans and jewelry. His rings clink against the glass bottle and his bracelets hang a little past his wrist. The gunshot wound on his left side had a faint scar on it. He hates it. Every single time he stares in the mirror, that fucking scar just stares back at him.

His father told him it makes him seem more ‘manly’, but it just feels like a point of weakness. Maybe if he was a little quicker, he would’ve saved that bank teller. He would’ve gotten Silas behind bars. He would’ve been able to be proud of himself.

Chris groans at the memories and spins the cap off of the bottle. It flies somewhere across the room, probably hitting one of the wood walls. He mumbles a ‘fucking hell’ and brings the bottle to his lips. The last time he drank like this was three months ago, and he ended up fucking the bartender.

She was bent over the counter, her tits spilled out of her bra and his cock pummeled into her sloppily.

She ended up kicking him out after they were done.

Chris groans again and sits down on the bed, kicking his legs up. His pants are stained with the pigment of dandelions and grass. The splotchy stains are juxtaposed to the grey of his old jeans. They have wear and tear all over them, but he doesn’t care.

Every now and then, he sighs — he sighs quite deeply. The puffs of air come from deep inside his chest. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to earlier today. He smiles to himself, recalling the way you looked so innocent beneath him.

He’s only known you for a few days, and he already has lewd thoughts for you. Fuck. He just can’t help himself, though. Especially with your innocent doe eyes and pretty little dresses. He closes his eyes slowly, using that memory to fuel his much-needed mental images.

You’re beneath him once again, but you’re naked. His hand is wrapped around your throat, and he’s naked too. His cock is slowly driving in and out of you. He’s teasing you. Your pulsating, wet walls hug his fat cock, and you’re both moaning softly.

“Daddy…” you whisper to him, clenching around his cock. “What’s wrong, baby?” he softly asks you. “Please fuck me harder, please, Daddy,” you beg to him, before biting down onto your bottom lip. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take my cock like that, baby,” he shakes his head.

“I can take it, Daddy, I’m your good girl.”

Chris opens his eyes and his right hand has found its way down his boxers. His cock is all swollen and hard, hard as a rock. He places the bottle of gin down on the bedside table and gets himself all comfortable. Chris slowly begins to stroke himself gently. He goes from the base all the way to the top, and then back down. His thumb occasionally swipes against his leaking tip and all he can think of is teaching you how to make him — your Daddy — feel good.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, feeling a vein throat against his hand. He moans your name and speeds up his movements. His fingers are slightly sticky, but it’s the type of sticky he doesn’t mind. He begins to slow his hand down, and he sighs, not wanting to come just yet. He hasn’t been this hard in ages, and touching himself feels so fucking good.

“Did you say my name? Is everything alright?” you ask, barging into his room. He jumps and his hand flies out of his pants. You both stare at each other, not even daring to blink. You eventually break eye contact and notice the bottle of gin sitting on the bedside table. There’s only a sixth of it left, and you frown. You don’t like it when people you care about drink. “Uhm…” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and then takes in your form.

You’re in a nightgown, and it’s sheer as fuck. The gin gets to him and his mind has a slight buzz to it. His heart beats rapidly and his cock throbs with want and need. Chris’s eyes rake up and down your body like how they usually do whenever you’re in front of him. His mother would scold him for ogling at you, but he just doesn’t care anymore.

“I- I am so so so sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just thought you needed help with something because I heard you say my name, but sometimes I just tend to hear random things, so sorry,” you apologize in a panicking manner. You slowly walk back to the door, but you don’t turn around. Your bare feet leave a faint imprint on the floor from the cold sweats that have taken over your body.

“Come back here,” he orders, sitting up on the bed. Chris’s unbuckled belt clanks quietly, and he begins to remove it in one quick motion. You gulp thickly and exhale shakily. You slowly walk to where Chris is sitting, and he pats the spot next to him. You’ve never had such an interaction with anyone, ever. You sit down next to him, but you keep your distance.

Alcohol should not be called alcohol in Chris’s utmost humble opinion. No, it should just stick to its nickname ‘liquid courage’ because it’s more accurate than anything else. He may not seem like it, but he’s just a man who doesn’t have the heart to do much. Adrenaline doesn’t exist for him anymore, not since the incident.

Chris turns his head and stares at your pretty face. You look down, unable to make eye contact with such a God-like man. You have to assume that even Apollo is envious of Chris’s beauty. “How’d you hear me? Because I know these walls aren’t thin enough, and I know I wasn’t being loud, so tell me; How’d you hear me?” he interrogates you like one of Silas’s companions, but this time is slightly different.

Lust is what’s pumping through his veins, not rage.

“Uhm, well… My room was right there, and I wasn’t doing anything but thinking, and since your bed is against the wall, I- I heard you say my name,” you explain shyly. He hums, and you’re not sure whether it’s a hum of delight or disbelief. “Thinking of what?” he presses, inching his body closer to yours.

You continue to stare at his hand, even though you can feel his heavy breathing against your face. “I… Well- I was uh,” you stutter embarrassingly, and it makes you burn up with shame. “Spit it out, little girl, and don’t think of lying to me,” he growls, placing his hand on your thigh. Your gaze follows his movements, and you take in the set of rings that adorn his fingers.

They’re all black and of similar styles. One has a skull, one is completely plain, one has a cross on it and the last one has the word ‘Daddy’ engraved on it. His veins are so prominent. They bulge out with intensity, and you’d just love to trail your fingers along each of them. “Am I going to have to force an answer out of you?” he roughly asks. His other hand goes to the back of your head and he brings your gaze to his face.

You quickly shake your head in objection, and he raises his eyebrows for you to spit your answer out. “I was thinking about you, and the way you tackled me…” you admit to him in a low and soft voice. “You liked the way I was on you, little girl?” he asks, moving his hand to the back of your neck. “Y- Yeah, made me feel all… Tingly…” you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it, little girl,” Chris ushers, squeezing the back of your neck slightly. “I liked the way you were on top of me…” you tell him breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises in a slightly deep voice. He pulls you onto his lap and you gasp. His hard, wanting cock is right under your thighs, and you exhale nervously.

“You feel that, little girl? That’s all because of you, you did this to me. And you’re proud of it, aren’t you? Got me so fucking hard just because of you.” Chris squeezes your waist, and you really can feel it all. He’s not wrong, either. You’re so proud that you’ve made a man like him so desperate for you. “Do you know what I was doing, little girl? I was jerking off to the thought of fucking that cunny of yours until you’re begging me to stop,” he growls in your ear.

You moan softly, and the picture comes to mind, making your pussy gush with want. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, placing his hand on your inner thigh. You nod, and he raises his eyebrows in warning again. “Yeah, I want that so bad,” you murmur to him. You and your pussy want him so bad. Chris’s hand inches further up your thighs until he’s just an inch away from your bare pussy.

Your thighs are already slightly sticky from your arousal. “Do you know what jerking off is, little girl?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a pathetic, child-like whine, and he begins to lift up your nightgown until he sees your naked body. “Kind of… Isn’t that when a man touches himself? Like how women touch their… down there?” you innocently ask him.

Chris chuckles at how cute you are. So innocent yet oh so slutty. “Have you ever touched yourself, little girl?” he asks, lifting the nightgown over your head. It’s strewn across the floor behind you, and neither of you cares. But you quickly use your hands to cover your most precious, most private parts. “No, no, I don’t want to see any of that. You’re so beautiful, baby, you’re built like an absolute angel,” he husks, and you feel so flustered that you can’t help but giggle.

“T- Thank you… And I’ve done it a few times,” you inform him. Chris nods and smirks, catching the way your nipples have pebbled up. “Have you ever made someone feel good before?” he questions, trailing his broad hands up and down your body. “N- No, it’s pretty lonely up here…” you almost-ashamedly admit. He coos at you. “Do you want me to teach you how to make me feel good, little girl?” he questions, palming your tits.

You moan softly and rub your thighs together as he pinches and pulls at your hard nipples. You’re so small in his large hands, it makes him even harder. You nod your head fervently, wanting to make Chris feel so fucking good. Chris takes his hands away from your body and shifts you in his lap. He reaches down his pants and pulls his cock out of his boxers.

You gasp, having never seen something as big as that. He smirks and uses his right hand to grasp the base of his thick cock. Chris brings your dominant hand down to where his cock is and guides you to wrap your fingers around him. Chris shudders at your soft touch, and he moans softly. “Good girl, yeah,” he praises. “Wrap your hand around me a bit tighter, baby,” he urges, and you do exactly that.

He groans loudly and a small smile stretches across your lips. “N- Now, you’ve got to move your hand up and down. Start off slowly, go all the way to the tip, and then back down,” he instructs, even though he’s helping you out. His hand brings yours all the way to the tip, and then back down; just like he said. His hand leaves yours and goes back to feeling up your pretty body.

“Now do it by yourself, but in a twisting motion, little girl.”

You listen to his words and jerk him off, feeling yourself get wet as his cock twitches in your hand. Your clit throbs and so do the veins on the side of his shaft. Chris curses, and you bite down on your bottom lip. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good around me,” he moans, squeezing your waist. You focus on his cock, watching as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down the side of his dick.

It drips onto your slow-moving hand, and you exhale as your movements grow a bit faster. You look at him, watching as his pupils darken with lust. You can tell — it’s written on his face — he wants you to go faster. Your hand speeds up around his cock, making him a moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. You like making me feel good, don’t you? So eager to please like the good little girl you are,” Chris husks.

His praise goes straight to your needy cunt and he knows this because he can just tell. Your thighs rub together, your breath hitches, you let out a giggle and squeeze a little tighter around his cock. Chris’s hand goes up to your head and smashes your lips against his. You both moan into the kiss, and you straddle both his thighs to get more comfortable.

You place your other hand on his cock and mimic your dominant hand’s movements. You try to keep up with the kiss, but you just can’t. Teeth clash and so do tongues as Chris moves his mouth against yours. He pants and his chest heaves as you continue to stroke him. “Go faster, baby,” he urges, and he pulls his mouth away from yours. He can feel you soaking his jeans, your wetness joining the abundant amount of rips and tears in the material.

Your hand moves faster, twisting perfectly and occasionally squeezing his most sensitive spots as well. Chris pushes your hands away abruptly, and you’re confused. Did you do something wrong? Does he not like you anymore? What happened? “Shit, wrap your mouth around the tip, little girl. Trust me, you’re gonna fucking love it,” he says, and you quickly do so.

You’ll do anything to please him. His mushroom tip is leaking and a raging red. It’s the same red as the rest of his cock, and you could swear it’s almost purplish. You can tell he’s aching because you’ve been through a similar thing. You drop down to the floor and kneel in front of Chris. Your lips smooth around the tip of his hard cock, and you can taste him as soon as he hits your tongue.

He tastes of musk and manliness, along with a hint of saltiness, and it’s oh so addicting. You keep the tip of his cock in your mouth like it’s one of your favourite lollipops and smile around him. Chris smiles and wraps his hand around himself. He jerks himself off quickly, desperate to come in your mouth. “Fucking shit– god, you’re such a good fucking girl,” Chris rasps as he reaches his climax.,

His balls tighten up and his blue eyes roll back into his skull. White, hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip and fill your mouth. You’re not sure why, but a moan escapes past your throat, and it only makes Chris’s high much better. Chris places both hands on the sides of your head and holds you there, gently. You swallow all his cum as it fills your mouth and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Chris so desperately wants to push your head farther down his cock, but he knows he shouldn’t. Plus, there’s always going to be more time for things like that. He pulls your head away from his cock and watches as a string of saliva tries to keep the two of you connected. You gently lick your lips, still savouring his taste and he smiles down at you. You can’t lie — you feel giddy. Giddy in a way in which you crave his praise and approval like no other.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Thank you for helping me out… I do suppose I should return the favour, right?” he teasingly says, lifting you up into his lap. You shake your head out of nervousness. “No? … Why not, baby?” Chris asks, and you gulp thickly. “Don’t wanna rush it… I- never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” you look down and fiddle with your fingers.

The grooves of your nails are smoothed over by your pointer finger. Some dips and rises make you cringe, and others satisfy you. He looks down at your hands and notices the skin picked on the sides. He knows how painful those can be, and he doesn’t want you to feel any pain at all. “I’ll try to understand, darling, but if you don’t tell me, then I’ll be completely clueless,” he speaks to you lowly. “I like the way your words make me feel…” you shyly admit to him.

“Aw, how do they make you feel, baby?” Chris presses, grasping your two hands together. “All warm and small… makes me feel like I have it all. Hey, that rhymes!” you exclaim, bubbling in the utmost adorable giggles ever. “You’re a natural poet, darling. But tell me more…” he urges, rubbing his coarse thumbs against your soft skin. “I get butterflies, and I feel all shy and safe. Your words make me so comfortable yet so vulnerable…” you describe to him even though words can’t describe what you feel.

“Is that right, baby? You’re so cute… Do you- Do you get all tingly and babyish when I use my words?” Chris hesitatingly asks. His voice is so gentle and soft, a low whisper that is so soothing to your ears and rough edges. You nod meekly and smile to yourself. Your cheeks may hurt from all the laughter he caused earlier today but that doesn’t refrain you from hiding your smile.

Now, Chris is no doctor. He’s no professional, he’s no master. He’s just a broken man, but he knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he won’t explain what it is, because he needs you to learn on your own. Maybe with some guidance from him, but he won’t trick you into thinking something completely off base.

“Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we’ll sleep, you need the rest. We both do.”

He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering. But he isn’t. He was never. The stick-and-poke tattoo may seem a bit much, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Your name is written in your pretty handwriting. The ink is in his skin, and he’s practically marked as yours, now.

The days go by slower, much slower than he’d like them to. But it doesn’t matter now, because his mission is over, and he’ll be leaving soon. But Chris doesn’t want to leave. His wanderlust has found an end as he finally has a place where he’s meant to be. He’s found heaven in the hills, and between your legs.

“D- Daddy…” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear. Your hands are locked with his, and they rest at your sides. You’re just in a small bralette, and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your ankles lace together behind his head. Your neck aches from the angle your body is in, but the pleasure blooming from your core is much more powerful.

Chris is between your legs, and he hums against your wet, throbbing pussy. You moan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling. He sucks on your clit harshly, and wetness seeps from your hole. “Feels so good… Oh, my…” you pant. Your hips gyrate and you subconsciously grind your wet cunt against Chris’s face. He pulls his face away from your pussy and licks a broad stripe against you.

You moan again and squeeze his hands tighter. His tongue swirls around your swollen and throbbing clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your taste is addictive, and he could stay between your legs for hours on end, if not for eternities. His beautiful, lovely rings dig into the sides of your fingers, but you don’t care. Chris may treat you like a delicate doll, but he should know how much you love it when he’s rough with you.

“I think I’m gonna come, Daddy…” you cry out to him before a strangled moan leaves your mouth. Chris pulls away from your pussy once again, but this time he spits on your lips. His saliva drops down your cunt and mixes with your wetness, and he goes back to devouring you. He eats you out like a starved man, and you’re squealing at the overwhelming pleasure.

If he was on death row, he’d have your sweet pussy as his last meal.

His tongue works over your clit and brings you closer and closer to your release. It’s coming fast. A searing, heated feeling takes over your body and abdomen as your back arches off your couch. Chris is as hard as a rock, staring you directly in the eyes, and he makes you come on his mouth.

“Oh- Daddy!” you cry out loudly, your mouth falling open into a silent, voiceless scream. Your eyes roll back into your skull and in Chris’s past words, you look like a brain-dead slut. Your wetness gushes out of your drooling hole, and he laps it all up with no problem. He drinks up everything you give him, and then some. Your hands are still laced with his and your chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

“Shh… You did amazing, little one. Taste so fucking sweet, just like nectar,” he hums like a hummingbird, before smacking his lips. You slowly come down from your high as he strokes your hands with his thumbs. Your lids are slightly heavy, but you don’t want to get any shut-eye. Time away from Chris is practically a sin in your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” you gratefully reply.

“You’re welcome, little one. Got me so hard,” he husks as he moves to get up. He carefully handles your body and pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. They’ve been washed and scrubbed but there are still faint dandelion and pollen stains that he just doesn’t care enough about. Though the adorable face you were making whilst washing them is something that’ll never leave his mind.

Just like the mental image of you coming undone beneath him.

“Can I make you feel good, Daddy? Pretty please?” you ask sweetly and Chris knows he could say yes, but he doesn’t want to. Making you feel good pleases him, but he doesn’t want to sound so poetic so he chuckles. “Soon, little one, I need to clean you up properly,” he tells you and you jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He coos at you and you scrunch your nose up at the attention.

“But I’m all clean, Daddy!” you reason, reaching over to palm his hard cock through his jeans. Chris chokes on his saliva at the feeling of your touch. “In a bit, little one, you need to listen to Daddy. Okay?” he rasps with a warning in his voice. “Okay, Dada…” you trail off with a deep sigh punctuating your sentence. You fiddle with your fingers as Chris carefully cleans up your pussy.

The damp washcloth is gentle against your sensitive skin. Each movement of his is carried by gentleness and love. “I have a question, Daddy,” you hum after a few seconds of silence. “Go ahead, mushy one,” he says with a smile. You giggle at the nickname before calming yourself down. “Were you really wandering?” you bluntly ask him. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and you gasp.

“What do you mean, little one?” he asks, looking up at you. “Well… You said you were a wanderer! And that’s how you found me! But you don’t seem like a wanderer, you’re too clever to be one,” you explain with a smile on your face. Chris begins to chew on the inside of his cheek, and the skin has already been filled with bite marks and scars. At this point, he should tell you, right? You already know the deepest, most darkest pieces and part of him.

You’ll love him no matter what.

“Well, I wasn’t wandering. You’re so smart, little one. The smartest baby in the world!” he cheers and moves to get up. He sits in the empty spot next to you and lifts you into his lap. You’re still naked and Chris has his shirt off (as usual), so the skin-on-skin contact has you feeling even sleepier. “Sometimes, we lie to protect people. I lied, to protect you, along with many other people. Myself included, of course,” he starts.

“I was sent here with the sole purpose of bringing in your criminal neighbour,” he pauses “and I did.” You nod along with his words, your mind only allowing the most important phrases to sink in. “I arrested him around a month ago, and I was supposed to leave three weeks ago,” he sadly sighs. You look up in a panic, and you’re in shock. “Two weeks ago, I turned in my resignation. I’m not going anywhere,” he quickly adds and your face lights up.

“I’m staying with my best girl, okay?” Chris smiles and leans in to kiss you. You let him do so because God-damn, you’d let him do anything he wants to you. “T- Thank you so much, Daddy!” you squeal and hug him tightly. He laughs in a beautiful cacophony of sounds, and it’s right in your ear.

Chris feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders as you writhe around in his arms. You wiggle around on his hard cock and Chris suppresses a groan. His hands trail from your shoulders to your waist, down to your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and excitement runs in your veins at his touch. Your head rolls back and you exhale shakily. He grips your hips tightly, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his crotch.

Both you and Chris moan before he moves both his hands to your ass. He gropes you roughly, feeling a bit of your wetness on his fingers. “Oh, baby… What’s all that for? Hm? Didn’t Daddy just eat your sweet little pussy out?” he asks in a slightly worried tone. “Y- Yeah… But I can’t help it, Daddy, you always make me so tingly…” you admit to him, shyly.

“Mmm, I like knowing I do this to you. Gets me so fucking hard,” he groans, slapping your ass. You yelp in surprise, but it gets cut off by a whimper. Chris caresses the hit skin and soothes you down from the shock. He smiles at you and then lands another hit. Then another, and then another.

The sting is addictive, just like he is. It leaves you writhing in both pain and pleasure and yet you still want more. “M- more, please,” you quietly beg and Chris coos at you as if you're a pet. And the truth isn’t far off. The coolness of his rings is both brutal and comforting. It soothes you yet acts as if they didn’t just hurt you. “You want more, baby?” he asks in that sweet yet sultry condescending tone of his.

You nod your head and chew on your bottom lip. “‘S too bad you’re gonna have to take what I give you and keep quiet, baby,” he husks, and you whine loudly. Chris flips your bodies around and suddenly you’re on your back, and he’s leaning over you. He locks lips with you and you try your hardest to keep up with the kiss.

His lips move sloppily against yours, but you don’t mind because you’ll take anything he gives you. You moan into true kiss and Chris wedges his knee between your legs. You’d hump him like a bunny because that’s what the demon on your shoulder is telling you to do. But the last time you did something without his permission, you weren’t allowed to make him come for a week.

You just know you’re soaking his jeans but neither of you cares. Chris kisses the corner of your mouth and trails down to your neck, peppering kisses behind as if he’s leaving a trail on your body for when he’s going to explore you later. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw tickles you and Chris falls even more in love with you as your laughter fills the air.

“D- Dada…” you whisper to him as you tilt your head back. His lips land on that sweet spot of yours and your back arches off the couch. Chris smiles against your skin and begins to suck on that sweet spot. Your breath hitches as he bites, licks and sucks on your skin. He marks you up like no other, and you know how much he loves to know that you’re all his.

“Dada… No teasing, please,” you sweetly ask in your soft tone. And how can he turn you down? “In a bit, little girl, be patient for Daddy.” Chris continues to mark you up until he’s satisfied. The feeling of his teeth against your neck and collar bones makes you even wetter than you already are. Possessiveness is carried in his movements, and it only drives you to be needier.

Chris moves further down from your collar bones to the valley of your breasts. Each curve of yours makes him want to sin without any repentance afterwards. He places a kiss there and then looks up at you. “Please, Daddy,” you whisper so quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize what you’ve said. Chris’s hand wraps around your body to your back.

He slowly unclasps your bralette and drags it away from your body at the same pace. You both maintain eye contact all whilst he undresses you to your vulnerability. Chris throws your bra somewhere behind him and places his hands on your body. “Aw, baby… You’re so cute and small,” he sweetly says in an almost shocking manner. Almost as if he doesn't use the size difference as a weapon to make you all soft and mushy.

“Hm, thank you, Daddy,” you tell him because good girls always have manners. “So good, using your manners for Daddy,” he praises, and you wonder if he can read your mind. Your Daddy can do anything, so it would be no surprise if he can. Chris sits upon his knees, but he remains in his towering position. Gently, and with care, he spreads your legs open until he’s satisfied.

He watches as you clench your needy pussy. He just knows your clit is throbbing, and you’re tingly because he just has that effect on you. “Poor baby… Is this all for Daddy?” he asks, and you quickly nod. “Say it, tell me it’s all because of me,” he growls placing his hands on your thighs. Chris slowly moves his hands further down your thighs. His touch is gentle, and he can feel the goosebumps on your thighs beginning to raise.

“‘S all yours, daddy. It’s all because of you,” you tell him breathlessly. “And this pussy is all mine, isn’t it, little girl?” he asks, inching closer to your wet pussy. “Mhm, only yours, Daddy!” you happily assure him, and he smirks at you. “That’s right, little girl. And since it’s all mine, doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want with it?” he questions, and you nod with no hesitance at all.

Chris traces your wet pussy with his ring-donned pointer finger. “Oh my…” you gasp at the feeling. It may not be much, but your sensitive little pussy struggles to handle it. You clench around nothing again, and he watches, before chuckling at you. “Such a pretty pussy you have, baby, I can’t fucking wait to ruin it,” Chris growls, and you whimper. “Gonna fill you up with my cum after I fuck you, little girl,” he promises, and you never wanted to be fucked so badly until now.

He wonders if his cock could even fit inside you. Usually, he’d want to eat you out and finger you to prepare you. But he’s now thinking with what’s between his legs, and not what’s between his ears. He trails that same pointer finger on your pussy, and becomes mesmerized with the sight. Chris watches as your hole drools with want and need, whilst you watch him.

His already dark eyes are blown out with lust, and it only turns you on even more. Chris knows you’re watching him. He’s not one of the best agents in the FBI for no reason. He looks up at you, and you lock eyes with each other. He smirks and pulls his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a whine, but you still pout in disappointment. Chris begins to unbuckle his pants, and you’re filled with eagerness.

You smile widely, and he coos. “Aw, you’re such a desperate little slut, it’s adorable,” he chuckles, and you shy away. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers slowly. Chris takes off his jeans and boxers completely, and throws them somewhere around the house. You watch as his cock bounces up and leaks with pre-cum. You just know he’s aching because of how red his cock is.

He’s big, and you already know that. But seeing him in all his naked glory is just something else. The simple yet not so simple idea of Chris’s cock being inside of you is electrifying. It’s both terrifying and exciting. He grabs the base of his cock and the prickly hair pokes the soft skin of his hands, but he doesn’t care. His left hand goes back to your pussy, and begins to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh… Daddy,” you moan quietly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, so you involuntarily try to shut your legs and keep Chris out. Your knees touch for a brief moment, and he’s having none of that. He separates your legs and climbs on top of you, all while staring you directly in the eyes. His cock drags against your inner thigh. “Oh, is it too much for you, little one?” he asks with faux pity in his tone. You nod and clench your fists to control yourself.

“Too fucking bad, you’re gonna take whatever I give you, and you’re not gonna complain. Isn’t that right, little girl?” he sneers, and you gasp. Usually, you can’t handle someone who raises their voice in the slightest. But hearing Chris do it makes the butterflies in your stomach fly. “Yes, Daddy,” you hum delightfully, and he smiles. “Good girl,” he praises. Chris presses harder on your sensitive pearl of nerves and rubs you in faster circles.

“Daddy…” You moan and it goes straight to his cock. He looks up at you and just knows you’re beginning to drive up that cliff. He slows down his ministrations on your nub, and you bite back a loud whine. “You’re so needy, baby… Already so close to coming, it’s kind of pathetic…” he trails off and more wetness leaks out of you. You’re absolutely soaked and are a little bit ashamed of it.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close, I’ll do anything,” you beg, but he just doesn’t buy it. “You’ll already do anything I tell you, baby, begging is so useless,” Chris chortles. You let out a small huff and move your hips in a circle, grinding against his thumb. In a flash of blurry moments, Chris pulls his hand away from your pussy and wraps around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, and you gasp quite loudly.

He raises his eyebrow in warning, and you nod in understanding. “Good girl, I don’t want to put you over my knee when I’m feeling so gracious,” he assures, and you smile. Chris brings the tip of his cock to your swollen, needy clit and his pre-cum begins to mix with your wetness. You both moan softly as he rubs his tip on your clit. Your bottom lip finds a home between your teeth and Chris’s tongue swipes over his.

The sight and feeling of his cock on your silky pussy make him so weak in the knees. “Fuck, baby, do you like that? You like it when Daddy makes you feel good with his cock?” Chris asks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yeah, Daddy… love it so much…” you tell him through a mushy haze of pleasure.

“You’re getting all dumb and stupid already? You’re so cute, little one,” he purrs, and you giggle at his words even though there’s nothing funny about them. “Do you want my cock, little baby? Say it, tell Daddy you want his cock,” he urges, and you look down to where you’re both nearly connected.

“I wan’ your cock, Daddy. Want it so bad, I need it, Daddy,” you beg, and Chris hums. “Just a little more, little girl, it’s like music to my ears,” he smirks, and you bite your bottom lip. “Sing for me, hummingbird,” he pushes, and you just go with whatever your neediness tells you to do.

“I wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy. I want your cum to fill me up until I’m leaking and all stupid. Please, Daddy, please fuck me. I really want your cock, I need it,” you beg and blood rushes to his face and cock. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll give you my fucking cock, and you better take it like the good girl you are,” he growls, and you whimper. Chris slowly drags the fat tip of his shaft down to your drooling, slutty hole.

You whimper loudly, and he looks back at you. Fear is written all over that pretty face of yours, and Chris knows the exact reason why. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle, okay? If you want to stop just say so, and I’ll listen. I won’t hurt you, darling. I promise,” he gently reassures you. You sigh with an almost heavy yet full heart.

You then nod and Chris thanks you for allowing him to fully make you his. “Wanna hold your hand, Dada… Please,” you ask pleasantly, and he nods. “In a bit, little girl, I just need to be careful,” he whispers. Chris slowly begins to push into your wet, tight cunt. You swallow him slowly, and the sight is mesmerizing.

The tightness of your cunt squeezes him in a strong hug, and he wishes he could be buried deep inside you for the rest of his life. “Fuck- Baby, you feeling so fucking good,” he moans while trying to compose himself. You’re still whimpering from the pain, and your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace.

“C- Can I push all the way in, little one? It’ll only hurt for a bit,” he asks, and he looks deep into your eyes. “Mhm… Wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy, please,” you beg, and Chris tries his hardest not to come right here, right now. He thrusts his hips forward, and bottoms out inside you completely.

Your mouth falls open, and you’re silently screaming. The pain isn’t too much, but you feel as though the wind is being knocked out of you. Chris shifts a bit, and that’s when you start to feel it more. He’s so deep inside you, and he’s splitting you in two. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says.

You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s no wonder why your heart was beating out of your chest. “You’re doing so- so well, darling. Your little cunny looks so nice when it’s stuffed full with my cock,” he groans, and you whimper. “Dada, is hurtin’...” you whisper, and Chris wants to pull out because he can’t stand the thought of his little girl being hurt.

“Do you want me to stop, little one?” he asks, but you quickly shake your head in objection. Even though the pressure in your core is dwindling, and even though you feel a little too full, you don’t want him to stop. “No stopping, Daddy, please,” you whine and flail your arms towards him. He shushes you soothingly, and you calm down as soon as he flashes a stern look.

The pain soon burns away into nothing but dust and ash, and you finally see why he was so desperate to shove his cock inside of your cunt. It turns into pleasure and your pussy leaks around him. You’re soaking Chris’s cock with no shame at all. “Oh, fuck, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he moans, and you follow with a gasp. “I like the way y- you feel inside me, Daddy, makes me all tingly…” you admit shyly, and Chris chuckles.

“Yeah? Bet it makes you want to be fucked stupid, right, baby?” he questions with a playful smirk on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan. You’re never aware of your surroundings because you’re too caught up in the moments. It’s something Chris scolds you for, but you never learn. But in this moment, you can feel everything. The veins on his cock throb against your silky walls, and you can feel his balls against your ass. His hot breath fans over you as Chris struggles to compose himself.

He slowly drags his hips backwards, pulling out of your pussy until his tip is the only thing in your cunt. The sudden almost-emptiness is surprising, but you quickly get used to it. Chris then pushes back into your pussy, and you moan loudly. “Fucking hell, little one,” he curses under his breath as he bottoms out again. He begins to fuck into you slowly and gently, careful to not hurt you. Even if he wants to fuck you until you’re crying.

The sound of skin on skin is quiet and almost unintelligible. The squelching sounds from your wet pussy and moans fill the room. Chris gently grips your hips and watches as your face contorts into a frown of pleasure and not pain. “Daddy…” you pant softly as you look up at Chris. “Yeah, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks out of worry. “N-No, it feels so good…” you trail off as one particular thrust lands near your g-spot. And he knows that.

“Wan’ you to fuck me hard, wan’ you to destroy me, Daddy. Please fuck me like the slut I am…” you gently beg and Chris halts his thrusts. His cock twitches inside of you because of your words. Only he can corrupt an innocent angel such as yourself. “Shit- Little one, I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m being so gentle,” Chris explains, but you shake your head. “You could never hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need you,” you beg for one last time, unaware of what you’ve done to him.

Chris roughly pushes his cock back into your cunt without warning. “Awe, I see. My little princess wants to be fucked like the whore she is, hm? Well, whatever princess wants, she gets,” he growls because beginning to fuck you roughly. You moan loudly at the feeling as with each thrust, his cock pummels against your sweet spot roughly. His pelvic bone rubs against your swollen clit and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Daddy!” you cry out as Chris pounds into your poor pussy. The room fills with moans, groans, curse words and wet sounds that all come from the art you two are making. “Aw, what’s wrong, little girl? Can’t take daddy’s cock anymore? Hm? Well, I don’t really give a fuck, you’re just gonna lie there, and take what I give you like a good fucking girl,” he sneers, and you push at his chest.

“It’s so sensitive!” you wail like a little bitch in heat. “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Chris asks as a moan bleeds past his plump lips. “Uh-uh, please don’t stop, Daddy!” you squeal after a harsh thrust. The stretch of Chris’s cock is amazing, and you never want the feeling to stop. Chris’s hand leaves your hip and crawls all the way up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat, and squeezes the sides, making you clench tightly around his big, thick cock.

He lowers his face to yours and watches as you react to the way he’s being rough with you. “Oh, God!” you cry out as he makes his thrusts more powerful. “Actually, it’s just ‘Daddy’, but I’m fine with that too,” he slyly smirks. You’re too fucked out to even laugh at his joke. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back begins to arch off of the couch. “Awe, are you gonna come around my big fat cock already, slut? How cute,” Chris mocks.

You nod your head and begin babbling like a baby. “But remember, little girl, I have to give you permission to come, okay?” he reminds you, and you whine. Chris’s hand around your throat moves up to grab your jaw, and he stops thrusting into you. “None of that is allowed. Don’t forget your place, little girl,” Chris warns with fury seething through his words. You mumble an apology, trying to formulate the proper words to speak.

“Seems like I really did fuck you stupid,” he chuckles, and you moan at his words. You clamp down on his cock, tempting him to do what you want, like a siren using her voice to lure men into the sea. “Open your mouth up first, little girl,” he orders, and you obediently listen. The searing arousal in your core begins to fade away, and you feel a panic beginning to rise inside you.

Chris drags his hand back down to your throat and rests it there. You watch as he puckers his lips up, and suddenly, he spits into your mouth. You open your mouth even wider and stretch your tongue out. His saliva lands directly on your tongue, and you wait for further instructions before you give in to your desires.

“Swallow it, little girl,” he instructs, and you do exactly so. You open your mouth back up just to earn some praise. “Good fucking girl. The best baby ever,” he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Daddy! … Can I have cummies now?” you lovingly ask your Daddy.

“Of course, little one,” he says as he smiles down at you. Chris begins to fuck into you again, deep and hard. With each thrust, he pounds your g-spot and his balls slap against your ass. His remaining hand on your hip moves down to your clit, rubbing your little button with rough circles.

“Daddy… ‘m gonna come!” you moan loudly and Chris fucks you harder. “Come one, baby, come all over my big cock like the good girl you are,” he urges. The building feeling inside you increases, and you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Fucking come, little girl, wanna hear you sing for me,” he growls. And with one specific thrust, you find yourself coming undone beneath him.

The sight is so fucking beautiful. Watching you as your eyes turn up, your mouth falls open and your cunt hugging his cock just gets him going, and he wishes he could take a picture of you right now. “D- Daddy! Oh, my-” You cut yourself off with a loud moan and Chris keeps on rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm.

You soak his cock until it’s dripping and even then you’re still coming. You moan loudly and Chris can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm. His balls begin to tighten up and a droplet of sweat drips from his neck down to his chest. “Daddy, are you gonna come?” you sweetly ask as he fucks you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own.

“Yeah, baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up with his cum. I’m gonna leave you leaking with my seed,” Chris growls as he fucks you faster. “Please, Daddy… Please, I want your cum so badly! Please fill me up with your cum, Daddy,” you beg and Chris tosses his head back.

“Fuck, yes, yes yes,” he shouts as his balls tighten up again. He quickens his pace until white, hot, thick ropes of cum spurts out from his aching tip. He fulfills his promise and your wish, filling you up with his cum until there’s nothing left. His cum mixes with your juices as he paints your walls with no expertise whatsoever. Chris slumps on top of your body, engulfing you in a bear hug as his cock remains buried inside of you.

You’re both panting and struggling to come down from the euphoric feelings. You look up at Chris make lock eyes with him for the nth time. There’ll never be a day where you don’t get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful. “You did so fucking good, little one,” he praises, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Thank you very, very much, Daddy,” you slur, feeling yourself beginning to sleep into little space. “Daddy?” you call out, tapping his bicep after a few seconds. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, lifting himself up to get a better view of your face. “Will you really stay?” you ask with a bit of worry in your voice. He sighs with a full heart.

“Always.”

2K notes · View notes

wandaromanova · 3 years

Text

Life Support

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, toxic relationship (?)

A/N: hello! happy reading <3

anon requested: Hi! Can I please request Nat always being on missions 24/7 and not spending time w reader and reader understands at first but after being constantly alone she finally confronts Nat when she’s getting ready to leave again so reader says “if you walk out of that door we’re done” then “please don’t walk out of that door” then Nat walks out so then they’re broken up. Sorry if it’s too specific💕

Summary: All good things must come to an end.

Word Count: 2K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

If there was one thing you were certain of, it was this; dating an Avenger wasn’t easy.

You were in a relationship with Natasha Romanoff, and have been for the better part of two years now. At first, everything had been absolutely incredible. The redhead would come to your apartment every night, her body entangled with yours beneath your bedsheets. You would wake up to Natasha sleeping soundly beside you, her arms wrapped around your waist as she held you close. Her warm breath would fan against the side of your neck as you took in her features.

Natasha would slowly stir awake, her eyes moving side-to-side behind her closed eyelids before fluttering open. She would be met with your wide smile shining down at her, your fingers slowly combing through her tresses. The redhead would pull you down by the neck, placing a tender kiss against your lips.

When she pulled back from the kiss, her eyes would travel down to your neck and admire the dark purple marks that were littered across your skin. It was exhilarating to her, knowing that you were hers. Natasha felt a sense of pride and couldn’t resist a smirk from taking over her face.

You would cook breakfast in the kitchen while Natasha sat on the counter, ranting about the events of the day before. Your laughs filling the space as she mimicked Steve and Tony’s voices, mocking their ridiculous arguments. Eventually, the redhead would hop off of the counter and come up behind you, her front pressed against your back as she held you by the waist.

Once the food was cooked, you would sit on Natasha’s lap at the table, your hands linked behind the back of her neck. She would eat and occasionally feed you, holding the spoon up to your mouth and purposely missing your mouth, effectively getting food on your face. Natasha would laugh as an annoyed look would cross your face, a pout gracing your lips.

The Russian would wipe off the food with the pad of her thumb, sucking it off of her digit before kissing your pouty lips. She wouldn’t stop kissing you until your pout was replaced with a smile. You were in euphoria each time Natasha would visit, but all good things must come to an end.

A feeling of sadness would wash over you each time she would walk out the door, unsure of when she’d return. Seeing her leave never got any easier. All you wanted to do was beg her to stay in your arms, but you knew that wasn’t an option.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You weren’t the only person that needed Natasha and you understood that.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Despite the feeling of despair that would creep into your chest, you never complained. You were aware of how selfish it would seem if you were to even so much as bring up the topic of Natasha staying for longer than a night. She was a vital part of the Avengers, a team that saved the world from threats on a daily.

You had handled the arbitrariness of Natasha’s profession pretty well and settled for it. Having Natasha in your life occasionally was a lot better than not having her at all. However, there was only so much you could take. And one night, you had finally had enough.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

For the past six months, you had seen Natasha a total of ten times. It seemed as if she had been taking on more missions that varied in their durations. She was gone for weeks at a time and wouldn’t contact you the entire time, unaware of when she was due to return. You would only find out when she was back home when she was already knocking at your front door.

To say you missed Natasha would be the understatement of the century; you missed her like fucking crazy.

You would spend the weeks she was away, sleeping in bed alone as you clutched her pillow close to your chest. You practically lived in the sweaters she left at your apartment, the faint smell of her perfume lingering on the articles of clothing. The day you realized her scent had faded, you almost burst out into tears.

It made you feel disgusted with yourself. You were waiting around like a lost puppy, desperate for Natasha’s return. You couldn’t focus at work either. Your thoughts were focused on Natasha.

Will she come home soon? Is she okay? Is the mission she’s on super dangerous? Is she not replying to your texts because she’s busy or because she isn’t alive to do so? Or what if she had been home and just didn’t care to see you? What if she didn’t love you anymore?

These questions circulated your mind in each time of Natasha’s absence. You knew that you had to confront her, but didn’t know how to go about the situation. What? Are you supposed to go up to her and say ‘Stop saving the world to spend time with me’? Obviously fucking not.

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous you felt. Natasha was out risking her life for humanity and here you were, moping over not being able to see her. Pathetic.

Regardless of how absurd you thought your concerns were, they didn’t stop you from finally confronting your never-present girlfriend.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You had been sat on the couch when a knock sounded at the door. You immediately sprang up and rushed toward the door, hoping to see the woman that’s been plaguing your mind. To your surprise, you were met with red locks and green eyes shining with joy.

You had to fight the urge to leap into her arms and shower her face with little kisses. Natasha’s happiness turned to confusion when you wordlessly moved to the side, giving her some room to enter. The sound of her heavy combat boots hitting the hardwood floor resounded throughout your apartment.

You shut the door slowly, leaning your forehead against it with a sigh. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to confront the woman if you laid eyes on her. Natasha had you wrapped around her finger and you couldn’t help but feel like she capitalized on your weakness at times.

“Y/N? What’s wrong, moya lyubov (my love)?” Natasha’s raspy voice met your ears and you let out a shaky breath. “The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong IS what’s wrong.” Your voice came out small and you couldn’t see it, but Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You heard her footsteps approaching you and you quickly turned around, coming face-to-face with your girlfriend, “What are you talking about?” Natasha’s hands moved up to cup your cheeks, but you swatted her hands away.

“You’re never here, Natasha. That is what I’m talking about.” You walked past her and paced around the living room. The redhead was glued to her spot, her eyes following your every move. Your shoulders were tensed, your eyes were fixated on the floor as you walked around. Natasha had never seen you so serious before, and she wouldn’t admit it, but she was terrified.

“I’m here whenever I can be. Is that not enough for you?” Your movements came to an abrupt halt and you whipped around to stare at your girlfriend as if she had grown two heads. “No! It may be enough for you, but it isn’t for me! I’m alone for weeks on end without so much as a fucking text from you!” You raised your voice and Natasha felt irritation arise within her.

“I can’t stop in the middle of a shootout or an interrogation to message you! I’m sorry that I’m away all the time and can’t give you details, but it’s my fucking job! You knew what you were getting into when you got involved with me.” Natasha moved until she stood directly in front of you, chest rising and falling quickly as she took shallow breaths. Her eyes were trained on yours with an intimidating glare, but you weren’t scared of her.

“My job is a priority.” The redhead gritted out through clenched teeth. You felt your own anger expand at her words. “And I’m not?” You questioned Natasha challengingly and she shook her head with a dark chuckle.

“No. You’re not.” You felt your heart shatter completely. Her tone was emotionless and she spoke as if she didn’t care at all; like you were a stranger.

“My job comes before anything, including you. I can’t let the world fall apart just because you’re a needy bitch that can’t spend a fucking minute without me.”

Natasha was relentless and you couldn’t handle it. Tears rapidly fell from your eyes as your chest constricted, making it hard to breathe.

People who said that words couldn’t physically hurt you; were full of shit. Each word that fell from her lips felt like a stab to the heart. And as everyone knew, Natasha Romanoff was very good with knives.

“What? You’re not gonna say anything now? You sure as hell had a lot of shit to talk a minute ago.”

Natasha’s tone was cold and you hated yourself for still trying to find the warmth that you used to soak in, but you couldn’t find it. All you were met with was a blistering wind that sent shivers up your spine.

You remained silent, focusing on containing the harsh sobs that threatened to wrack your body. Natasha rolled her eyes at you and turned around, heading straight for the door. An alarm sounded in your head as you watched her walk away.

“If you walk out of that door, we’re done.” Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke. Natasha froze, her hand on the doorknob going still. She stayed there for a minute, contemplating her next move. Of course, you didn’t think the redhead would actually leave, but she was always full of surprises.

Your eyes widened as she twisted the knob, pulling the door open. “Wait! Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry.” Honestly, you didn’t really know why you were apologizing. If anything, the roles should’ve been reversed in this moment, but you were willing to say or do anything if it meant Natasha would stay.

Natasha ignored your pleas and took one step out of the door before you hastily rushed after her. You gripped her wrist for dear life and her head whipped around, a look of annoyance on her face.

“Let go of me.” Natasha tore her hand out of your hand easily, considering she was much stronger than you were. You remained in the doorway as you watched the redhead strut down the hall until she reached the staircase. As soon as you lost sight of her, you slammed the door and fell to your knees.

You had no intention of destroying your relationship. All you wanted to do was voice your concerns to Natasha. You were expecting endless reassurances as she wrapped her strong arms around your body.

But instead, you were crying on the cold floor of your apartment, her harsh words echoing throughout your mind. Part of you was waiting for her to knock on the door and apologize profusely for leaving, but Natasha was lots of things, and stubborn was one of them.

Once Natasha came to a decision, there wasn’t much that could change her mind. That’s what hurt the most. You were positive that the redhead loved you just as much as you did her. You felt as though nothing could sever the unbreakable connection that brought you two together. The possibility of Natasha willingly leaving you had never crossed your mind. Nothing could’ve ever prepared you for this outcome.

Natasha Romanoff was your everything. Her cocky smirk and infectious laughter were the oxygen that filled your lungs each time you took a breath. Her shiny green eyes and red locks were the chemical reactions of your brain that produced dopamine.

Her love coursed through your bloodstream and kept your heart pumping. But now, she was gone. The minute she walked out, the light in your eyes disappeared and your skin slowly turned to dust. Without the woman you loved, you were nothing but a withering corpse going through the decomposition process.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Natasha was your life support and she decided it ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ was time to pull the plug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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496 notes · View notes

bonkie-barnes · 3 years

Text

Spoons

natasha romanoff x gn!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: chronic illness, mention of medicine, self deprecating thoughts

A/N: this is me 1000% projecting about my guilt that comes with my chronic illnesses. they're kicking my ass rn. this is a vent fic, but if you resonate with this at all, i hope you enjoy :)

- - -

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table has been going off for a full minute already. You merely roll over and cover your head with Natasha’s pillow. It smells like her.

You have absolutely no energy to get up, let alone reach across the bed to turn the alarm off. Your head feels heavy and your body aches something terrible.

The list of chores you have to do around the house today sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind. The list of friends who have texted you about making plans to hang out sits there too. The idea of staying in bed all day sounds more and more appealing by the second. You know this because the alarm is still blaring into the otherwise peaceful morning air.

Just as you’re gathering the strength to sit up and turn the alarm off, Natasha walks in. She looks at her watch and her brow furrows in confusion.

“What are you doing, sleepyhead?” she asks you with a little smirk. There is concern in her eyes, though she masks it well.

You’re both fully aware the alarm has been going off for seven minutes straight now.

“Just tired, love. You know how much work it takes to reach over,” you say in a joking manner, hopeful that you can get past this without worrying her too much.

Natasha eyes you suspiciously for a second before giving in.

“How was your workout?” you ask her sincerely.

As she starts rambling about her morning activities, you feel a sense of shame. You’ve barely managed to wake up in the time it’s taken her to complete a full workout routine. Hell, you couldn’t even find it in you to turn the alarm off.

You finally focus on her rant as it comes to an end. Natasha is looking at you expectantly. Shit. She’s asked you a question.

“Huh?” you grunt.

She chuckles before answering, “I asked if you were ever going to get up and get in the shower, stinky.”

You put on a fake smile but fail to meet her eyes, the shame eating you up. It has been a few days since your last shower, but it’s just so hard to find the strength and energy to get up and stand in one place for more than a minute or two.

If Natasha notices the far away look in your eyes and the grimace on your mouth, she doesn’t say anything.

After one of the quickest and most unproductive showers you’ve ever taken, you find Natasha waiting for you in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make breakfast for you both.

You kiss her cheek and thank her as you sit down at the table. The warm cup of coffee she sets down in front of you is a godsend. The warmth emitting from the cup helps to diminish the pain in your knuckles, if only slightly. You send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the caffeine will help with the fatigue today instead of making you sick.

Natasha sits down in the chair next to you with her own plate. She runs her eyes over you in a scrutinizing manner. She wants to think you don’t notice, but you do.

Clearing your throat in hopes to take her focus off you, you ask about her plans for the day.

“Oh, you know, mostly just busy work. I have a ton of paperwork to get through,” she tells you through an exaggerated sigh. “What about you?”

The list of chores screams at you again. “Mostly just some things around the house. Grocery shopping, laundry, boring shit like that.”

Natasha hums around a sip of her coffee. It surprised you just how much cream and sugar she takes in hers. It’s just one of the many unpredictable things about her that made you fall in love.

“Super exciting. I hate to miss out,” she teases you.

You crack a smile to appease her. Inside, though, you realize just how little she understands. These errands seem so simple to her, when to you, they are the most daunting of tasks.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Natasha standing up to take her plate to the sink. She comes back to kiss your cheek and let you know she’s going to go get ready, before walking out of the room.

You suspect the amount of housework you’ll get done today will be minimal, so you decide to at least make Natasha some lunch. Maybe it will lessen the disappointment she feels when she comes home to see everything exactly as it was when she left, you think.

Your plan is halted as you’re making her sandwich. The stupid cover on the peanut butter jar is stuck. You can’t open it for the life of you. The guilt comes in like a tidal wave. You can’t even do something as simple as make lunch for her, your brain supplies for you.

Natasha returns from getting ready to see you standing in the kitchen with a glare on your tired face.

“What’d the peanut butter do to you this time,” she jokes.

“I can’t.” Tears well up in your eyes.

She comes up to wrap you in a hug from behind. She softly asks, “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t open the jar,” you mutter softly, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, love. Let me help,” she tells you delicately before kissing the spot under your ear. She can tell this is affecting you more than usual and wishes for nothing more than to be able to take away your distress.

You mutter a thank you before continuing to make her sandwich. You pack everything into a bag and write a small note to finish it off. You know Natasha loves the little messages you leave her periodically, and nothing will stop you from trying to make her as happy as you can.

Goodbyes are said as you both wander closer to the door. Natasha makes sure to hold you longer and tighter than usual. You don’t comment on that.

The silence that encompasses the room as soon as the love of your life leaves is suffocating. You can feel the exhaustion from purely getting up and getting ready creeping up on you. Logically, you know that you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but the shame is eating you up. Already on a roll, might as well keep on going, you think to yourself.

You go back to your mental to-do list and debate what to start with. The grocery store doesn’t sound terrible. Some sun would do you some good. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen the world that exists outside of your house.

Wandering back to the bedroom to get your phone and shoes, you try to push the fatigue from your mind. In your attempt to block out the tiredness, you fail to recognize the ever-present pain in your joints increasing. It’s only when you sit down and bend over to put your shoes on that you register the feeling. Your hips ache severely; so much so, that you can’t hold your position long enough to get your shoe on your foot.

This seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, seeing as you immediately burst into tears. The pain mixed with your inability to do basic, everyday activities completely overwhelms you as you break down.

There’s absolutely no chance that you’re going to complete this task, let alone all the other ones on your list. You let out a sigh as you stand up and shuffle to your room, phone and shoes forgotten in the living room.

You let the weight of your emotions crush you as you climb into bed and under the covers, your wife’s pillow clutched closely to your chest.

Your tears cease to stop, even as you succumb to the sleep you so desperately wished to hold onto this morning.

- - -

Natasha comes home to an eerily silent house. On any typical day, she would come home to the noise of your favorite show or music softly playing, whether it be from a speaker or from your guitar. Your shared house consistently was filled with life and sound. It was one of her favorite parts of her day; coming home to you in your own element, laughing or singing. You are her home.

This newfound silence has her exceptionally worried. Even on your bad days, there was at least a laugh track coming from the TV or the smell of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Now, there’s absolutely nothing. For a split second, Natasha thinks that you may never have come back from the grocery. Her heart rate spikes. The sight of your phone on the coffee table and your shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor puts those worries to rest.

“Darling?” she calls from the entryway. There is no response. She carefully removes her boots and coat before moving through every room in the house, calling out for you softly in each.

She makes her way to the bedroom, lightly knocking on the door as she lets herself in. She sees the rise and fall of your chest and is filled with a sense of relief she didn't know she needed.

"Love? Are you awake?"

You grumble out an answer that could be understood as a 'yes'.

Natasha carefully sits down on the side of the bed that you are facing.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" she requests softly, in fear of upsetting the quiet environment of the bedroom and making things worse.

The tears that started up again when you wife called out the first time get even heavier somehow.

"Oh love, come here."

She carefully gathers you in her arms and rests your head on her chest.

"Does this have anything to do with the peanut butter jar this morning?"

You nod. One of your favorite things about your wife is her ability to observe and understand what you're going through.

"I just can't do anything today. Everything hurts and I'm so, so tired," you whisper, followed by a heartbreaking sob.

"It's okay love. Please don't cry," Natasha whispers back.

"But it's not! It's not okay!" You sit up from her chest to let out your rant. "You've done so much today and I could barely wake up. You work so hard and I should be able to do stuff around the house so you can come home and not have to worry about anything," you finish with a sigh.

Your wife puts her hand under your chin, forcing you to look in her direction. "Love, look at me. Believe me when I say that I don't care about the state of the laundry or if the pantry has been stocked. All I care about is you. All I want is for you to be okay. It's killing me that you feel like this and I can't do anything to take it away from you. What I can do, though, is tell you just how proud I am of you. You are the strongest person I know, and I work with the Avengers."

You giggled at that. Natasha smiles at your small second of happiness.

"Are you sure? Because I was going to get so much done today and I was trying to-"

Natasha cuts you off with a soft kiss.

"My love. Listen to me. All I care about is your health and happiness. If staying in bed and catching up on sleep is what you needed today, then that's all I expect from you. I never want you to hurt yourself trying to do more than you can. We all have limits. It’s okay to need a break some days. I love you and I am so very, very proud of you."

With a long look into her eyes, all you find is love and adoration directed towards you. There's no disgust or disappointment as you had anticipated.

"I love you too," you utter quietly.

Natasha smiles and leaves a long kiss on your forehead. "What if we got some pain killers and some food in you? We can even put on your favorite movie. Does that sound good?"

You nod. Natasha gets up to get you some medicine and to order some food, while you get your favorite movie loaded on the TV.

Later that night, when both your stomachs are full and your wife is obnoxiously singing along to the songs in the movie just to make you laugh, you realize just how loved you are.

You don't know how tomorrow will treat you, or the day after that. What you do know, however, is that Natasha will always be there to support and love you. Your pain level and ability to function is always an uncertainty, but your wife's love will never be.

- - -

A/N: as always, i try to keep it gender neutral. if you find a mistake, please let me know! feedback is appreciated! to all my chronic illness buddies out there: i love you, you've got this :)

taglist: @007giu

#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #my fic #natasha romanoff x reader

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royalsunshinehotel · 3 years

Note

hey love! i hope you’re ok and feeling good!! i love your work on Owen, and was was wondering if maybe i could request some smut👀 maybe reader and Owen getting down on the table in the kitchen while everyone is out or something!

I love your fics!!!! Was wondering if you could do an Owen Sharma smut where he is kinda jealous? Maybe out of character for him but stilllll 😚

A/N: Thank you both so much for reading, I hope this is similar to what you had in mind.

Jumpstarted (Owen Sharma x fem!reader, 18+)

If you had been a few years younger, maybe Peter Quint’s “charms” might have worked. As in, to say, actually born yesterday. Any word that man spoke was a trap, whether you fell into it now or later. The benefit of someone with such an ego, is that, once identified, they’re always able to be handled.

To handle him, you simply laugh at his jokes, return a few barbs of your own, and then make a hasty exit, and say it’s about “laundry”. You, the maid of Bly Manor, had come for the quiet, and weren’t a target of value for a social climber like Peter.

You were mostly certain that Mrs. Grose understood, and Jamie definitely did, but Owen had completely slipped your mind. In the trips that Henry Wingrave made to Bly Manor, Owen had been in the kitchen, doing what he does best. He wouldn’t have had a clue for that dynamic you’d cultivated with your employer’s assistant.

Jamie had left that morning for a “plant expo”, and Henry, Hannah, and the Children had gone into town to the cinema.

This left one option to entertain Peter, you.

He had begun with his usual prods, talking about himself, etc, all while you went about your duties of cleaning and tidying the house. You give the occasional “mhm”s and “oh totally”s because even if you could shrug him off, he’d likely pour poison into Mr. Wingrave’s ear, and you’d be out of a job.

So you let him trail after you, in that special way men do when a woman doesn’t want them, right into the kitchen. You’d normally straighten up, and serve as Owen’s “taste tester” for dinner that night, and spend the rest of the day in the kitchen with him until the children returned or Mrs. Grose needed something fixed. Owen, one of the sweetest men you knew, would never admit to a certain disdain of Peter Quint, so you thought it prudent to keep them both separated.

But, like an expensive vase, you break. Luring Peter to the front of the foyer, you let your feelings be known.

“Fuck’s sake Quint, I’ve already got a shadow.” You make a mental note to tell Jamie everything that was about to happen. If she was here, she’d be nipping at Peter’s heels, and you wouldn’t be in this mess. Owen had stepped out of the kitchen, your dessert in hand, because you’re usually working on the foyer at this time. Quint be damned, this is a ritual.

Seeing you with him made something in Owen’s chest burn, so he doesn’t say a word, he just steps behind a corner.

“Why can’t I seem to find your key?” Peter asks, seemingly no one.

“Key to what? Are you trying to figure me out?” You snap, wagging a finger in his face. For once, Peter Quint, is speechless, “Peter love, keep dreaming. Talk to an analyst!”

“YN, you’re breaking my heart.” That makes two of us mate, thinks Owen bitterly, only for a moment.

“It’s what I do best. Here’s your coat.” Owen muffled a laugh into his hand as he stuck his head out around the corner just enough to see you throw Peter his overcoat and boot him out the front door, closing it with a large clang.

But the humor is short-lived. He carries your creme brulee back to the kitchen in record speed.

Owen didn’t consider himself a jealous man. Sure, he had come back to Bly to care for his Mother, that’s just how life worked out. He could be spiteful that he was the only one who could get the job done, but he wasn’t. He loves his Mum, and that’s it.

But then there’s you. Your laugh, your clear, bright smile, and the softness in your eyes…directed at Peter. He’d be lying if he said I didn’t have to breathe deeply. It’s not your fault you’re angelic, nor is it Peter’s that he’s a Rake. People are what they are.

He stews for a moment, trying to figure out what specifically about this made him so upset, finding a conclusion when he finished chopping a comically large cucumber.

Peter gets to talk to you. He’s got the nerve to look at you directly and speak. Peter helped himself to the privilege of your time, and that was something Owen still had to find the nerve to do.

You pause, crouching beside a smaller window to watch Peter pull away in that gaudy yellow car. Smile across your face, you make your way to the kitchen.

“Alright Mr. Sharma, what’ve you got for me?” You chirp as you walk through the swinging door,

“Quint’s gone?” Asks Owen, smoothing a hand over his striped apron. It wasn’t as if you knew he was listening, but he had to play dumb to be sure.

“Yeah!” You’re so bright, it’s like staring into the sun. You walk over to a vacant counter and hop right up, as you do every day. It’s a ritual, it’s normal.

“A crème Brule.” You furrow your brow at Owen’s gravelly tone.

“Oh thank you!” You beam as he hands you a white cup and an ornate silver spoon. Owen’s eyes flick down as your thumb traces the etchings of the handle, and he wishes he was a spoon, only for a moment.

“Are you alright, Owen?” You question, and he stiffens, not quite looking you in the face.

“Yeah, why?” If you weren’t concerned for him, you’d be laughing at how bad of a liar he is.

“Normally you do that chef thing where you explain food to the person eating it.” You crack the shell of your treat and take a bite of the caramelized sugar.

“And you always roll your eyes.”

“And you tell me what you made anyway.” You take a spoonful of the vanilla bean creme and smile, he can’t help but smile right back.

Owen sighs, “Alright, here we’ve got a creme brulee, a classic, something steady that you can rely on. I’ve caramelized the sugar on top for a good, classic crunch, and the creme underneath is vanilla bean-based, because I know you like it better than vanilla. It doesn’t look like much, but it holds up in competition.”

“Oh.” You think to yourself, a warm feeling creeping in your chest like paint in water.

“Are you still talking about the creme brulee?” You ask, putting your cup down to the side. Your hands are a little shaky, and Owen notices.

“No,” he breathes, “I don’t think I am.” You turn your head away, and give your dessert a small stir, combining sugar with vanilla.

“Look, Peter Quint is handsome,” it was hard to admit, but you did it, “tenacious,” terrifyingly so, “sharp, very tough from what I’ve seen, but a reliable assistant to Mr. Wingrave.”

“I’m . . .” Owen pauses, tilting his head down, “not Peter Quint.”

“Of course not, you're much better looking.” You scoot closer to him on the counter, and put your hands on each of his shoulders, “Is that really what this is about?”

If he looks up at you, he’ll see two big soft eyes looking into his soul, and he’ll have to kiss you, so he keeps his head down.

“I just don’t see why you’d choose a bag of Malteesers over a…creme brulee.” Owen huffs at himself, wondering why he went with food comparisons, as Malteesers were, by most accounts, an excellent candy.

“Owen, I haven’t chosen anything.” You smack his arm lightly, “And if I did, you’d be the first to know.”

Your cheeks flush at the admission. He’d be the first to know because there isn’t a world where you weren’t with him first.

“Oh,” he thinks, blood rushing to his head. You were sweet to sit there and comfort him over something you didn’t even know the truth of, but it hadn't occurred to him that you wanted him back. And you do, want him back.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as Owen straightens up to his full height. It’s hard to remember, but he's tall, broad, and currently closer to you than he’d ever been.

You’re suddenly quite aware of your heartbeat.

“Can I kiss you?” rasps Owen, feeling a bit of elation as you move his hands to your waist, taking charge, “I mean, may I?”

He lowers his forehead to yours, and you rest for a moment, breathing each other in.

“Yes, you may.” You whisper, as Owen doesn’t wait, lowering his face to yours. It takes a moment to fully comprehend, but you’re focused on the scratch of his scruff. It starts soft, his mouth pressed chastely to yours, but in an instant, he’s got you wrapped around him, your legs keeping him trapped against you. He’s so tall and broad, it makes your skin start to buzz. He’s putting his hands on you slowly and gently, taking his time.

Eternity passes, Owen determined to take his time exploring your mouth, and you're more than willing to let him, tugging on his hair. When you both need to come up for air, he doesn’t go far, keeping his mouth resting against your cheek.

“Owen,” you whine, as he’s buried his face into the crook of your neck,” have I ever said Creme Brulee is my favorite?” You feel him huff against your clavicle.

“You may have mentioned it.”

You have a wide smile across your face, digging your nails into his thick bicep, “you’re sweet.” You say quietly. But Owen’s back on you in an instant, licking into your mouth with a hint of possessiveness, just enough to make your hair stand up on end.

Between the attention and the wandering hands, Owen replies “You are too.” Likely referring to the caramelized sugar, but you can’t help but laugh, just a little but.

Owen starts working his way down your neck, tugging the sensitive skin gently between his teeth. If you asked, he’d tell you it’s to make up for lost time, but the truth was, whenever Peter Quint returned, he wanted Peter to understand you were taken. You would have been fine with the second answer, but he keeps it to himself regardless.

You let out a gasp as Owen brings a large, warm hand to the side of your face, almost demanding you to look him in the eyes, “I want to touch you.”

You practically jerk into his hands at the earnest tone, “Yes, please.” You rasp, before pulling him back into you. Owen warms, and you hum into his mouth as his hands truly start to wander.

“Closer, please.” You whine, brain starting to go fuzzy as you grind your pelvis forward into his. You faintly feel the scratch of his apron against your covered heat, and it’s not enough.

At this point, you're too hot. You’re simply too hot and something had to be done about it. You lower one leg down to kick the cabinet, because, for a moment, Owen pulled back to watch you. At the sound of your kick, you’ve got him right back, wrapping your legs around him. It gets harder and harder not to get lost in him, the smell of his skin, and his hands. You just…he’d given up so much. You want to tell him to be greedy for once, but he just muffles your mouth with his own.

“Alright, I’m eager too,” he stops to sooth your whines, “‘s gonna be alright love.” An excited chill runs up your spine and you just can’t stop smiling.

You’ll tell him later.

“Owen, I want you.” You declare, one of his hands cupping your face gently. With four simple words, it was as if the whole of Bly Manor ceased to make a sound. No insects buzzing outside, no far-off creaks of the house settling.

Just silence.

One of his hands goes to cup your face, while the other gently runs down your size, his fingers making your skin burn with tiny little sparks. Owen doesn’t pause, you let out a sweet gasp when his hand starts working at the buttons of your uniform, making its way upwards.

He’s handling you like you're delicate, and you start to throb with desire for him. He could throw you down anywhere, and take you, but he wouldn’t. That’s just not Owen. You take a tight grip on his hair, and you feel a hum through his chest.

Owen’s warm hands grace the edge of your bra, but he pulls back for a moment, “Is this r-”, and he’s cut off, by you pulling him back into you.

His eyes are dark, “Owen I need you,” you declare, trying to seem stalwart and tough, but you’re so cute he can’t take it seriously. You try your best to give him the puppy dog eyes, and he just laughs.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart. I need to get you warmed up for me, would you like that?”

“Finally.” You sniff, bitterly, not fully registering his hands wandering to the buttons of your shirt, undoing enough to get to your bra. You’re too busy planning to throw a fit. Your chef was a tease.

“Oh- finally she says?” He mocks, taking his sweet time drawing circles, kneading you like he’d been thinking of doing for months now. You could tell, he was deliberate with his hands, he’d thought of this before.

You had too.

“Shh, ‘s gonna take care of you. Lie back.” He slurs, eyes heavy, and you obey, leaning flat against the marble counters. He’s a furnace, and you moan in anticipation as he pushes up your skirt, the cold of the counter a contrast to his touch.

Your tree bends for you, positioning himself between your legs, planting soft kisses between your thighs, and kneading the flesh there too.

“What about your knees!?” You exclaim, as you’d been bugging the man to get mats for the kitchen. He wasn’t the type to complain about such things, but you could practically hear his knees rattling from across the room. He needed support!

“What about them?” He questions from between your legs, his hot breath on the damp fabric, holding himself together.

“Won’t they hurt?” Your legs quiver feeling him so close. You had tried to resent Owen for making you feel this way, but it simply didn’t work. Now that he was close to you, it was as if all the patience and the pining had been worth it somehow.

“I won’t be down here that long.” Owen’s tone is even, deadpan, and if you had the nerve to look down, you’d see a man who looked like he’d been starved.

“Oh I’m-”

“No not-,” he stutters, “What I mean is, I’ll survive.” He eekes out, and you roll back, because when Owen says something, he means it.

At your concern, or his own desire, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs before directing them firmly apart.

You can’t help but shiver as the cool air makes itself known. You’re laid out on a counter, your most intimate parts exposed, but his mouth is back on you before nerves could set in.

Owen almost laughs as he hears you mewling and rock into his face, he playfully taps at your clit before taking it into a firm kiss. Peter Quint couldn’t do this. Peter couldn’t make you feel like this. Peter Quint wasn’t capable of making anyone feel like this, and he never would be.

You’re spread out like a fucking meal for him, wet folds only getting slicker at his attention. Peter Quint would never see you like this.

Owen reaches his other hand up, running a hand up your torso, only to have it stolen by you, to lick and bite as he laps at you. When his tongue finds your clit again, he sucks, making you dizzy.

No one had ever made you dizzy, and Owen had you buzzing in his hands, making the room feel small and warmer than it actually was.

But your chef isn’t done. He carefully inserts his first finger into you, making good on his word to “warm you up”. The thought of you being warmed up for more later…was almost too much. He’s mindful, observant, and you want to tell him he doesn’t have to be. He’s watching close for any sign of discomfort

He's making you angry, the way he adds a second thick finger, stretching you slowly, and curling them to lightly tease that soft spot inside you.

He adds a third in conjunction with his tongue around your clit, and it’s over. Your sweet Chef, your dear friend, reduces you to a quivering mess. You just had let your mind go and accept that you had him. All of this was real, and you had him.

“Owen!” You squirm in his gasp, but he puts a hand on your stomach to keep you in place. You want to tell him how bad you need him, but he’s clearly busy, and you’re just so close to the end you can’t be bothered with much of anything.

Your chef comes up for air, making sure to purposely scratch you with his facial hair. He gives a few lazy flicks of his tongue, and you’re shattered, eyes rolling, absolutely gone. He keeps his hands on you, as you squirm and wiggle in his grip, faintly feeling his fingers play with you, driving you higher until your vision goes spotty.

It takes either a minute or an hour to recover.

You’re somewhere else, you don’t recognize Owen standing up by the way. He pulls out his fingers, and he sits you up, and pulls you close. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, pulling you into his chest, like you would be safe there. And you are.

A few heartbeats pass, and he doesn’t let you go, and you don’t want him to.

“Hey Owen,” you smile, “we have the house to ourselves.

“How convenient.” He breathes, glasses falling down his nose.

Hours later, it’s still the two of you, home alone. Owen’s in your room, a modest size in the west wing of the house, and he’s resisting the urge to question you about every picture you’ve stuck on your burgundy walls. At some point, he misplaced his glasses, but he doesn’t need them in bed with you. Clothes have long been discarded, and Owen’s hair stands, seemingly doubled in size.

He considered Hannah, Jamie, and the children, family, so what did that make the two of you? Every version of the life he’d fantasized about had you in it, so what could he do to actually get there?

You, on the other hand, are not so introspective. You’re recovering, spread out over his chest, resting a hand over his heart. You’re humming to yourself, and Owen feels his eyelids grow heavy. He rests a hand in your hair, playing with it gently. All is well, at least for now.

#owen sharma #the haunting of bly manor #rahul kohli #rahul kohli imagine #rahul kohli smut

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