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abbysbasement · 2 years ago

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(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)

— PAPI BONES

A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.

content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.

wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)

proofread?; barely.

tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )

synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)

Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table.

Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends.

Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean.

And somehow, despite everything, it worked.

You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago.

“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!”

It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.

“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”

She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off.

“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit.

“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?” She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, I was planning on wa–”

Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.

Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence.

The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.

Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay. She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ‘taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.

You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way.

“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod.

–

“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”

“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.

“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns.

“-And, and! I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.”

Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one.

“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed.

Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”

“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily.

“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest.

Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery.

“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.

“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”

“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed.

That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house.

There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off.

The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.

It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.

You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room.

You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs.

Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.

It’s fun being sardonic sometimes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass. She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.

There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.

There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well. Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell.

–

“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right?

Whatever.

“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.

“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.”

“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”

The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely.

“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.

“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing.

“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”

Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.

“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”

The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body.

Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in.

The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall.

There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies.

Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.

“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”

“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum. Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.

If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up.

You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.

“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line.

“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”

“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”

Shit. She was going to make you say it.

“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.”

Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”

“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity.

“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”

“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”

She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.

It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin.

You jumped.

As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.

“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage.

Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.

“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.”

It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed.

She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants.

Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands.

She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness.

Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips.

You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots.

“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.”

and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real.

“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.

Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly.

Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more.

She obliged.

The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.

It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else.

Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection.

Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly.

Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it.

“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold.

Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow.

She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers.

You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it.

A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again. You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.

She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes.

For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone.

Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile. Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants.

“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips.

She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint.

She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.

Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on.

“Nothing man, we were just talking.”

Maybe she was actually just that charming.

Yeah.

#tiki writes #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby tlou smut #abby smut #abby anderson x female reader

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withacapitalp · 2 years ago

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Hidden Gem Friday

We're back on Hidden Gem Friday lads! How is it Friday again :OOOOO As always I'm still taking recs for these! You can even send them anonymously if you like (That's how I got one o them today!!)

Someone's a Cuddler by not_a_smooth_man recced to me by the author on anon! 6.7k words (COMPLETE) Steddie- Eddie Centric

Summary:

That morning, though, Eddie came to following what was truly a deep, dreamless sleep. He was cocooned by a warmth that was lulling him into a wakeful state. As he regained consciousness, he began to realize that his left arm was numb, trapped under something warm and heavy. He also noticed that his head was perched on said heavy thing, rising and falling gently. That was the moment Eddie finally realized that he was cuddling Steve’s chest. And oh, not just Steve’s chest, but his bare chest. He had wrapped his arms entirely around him, their legs tangling under the thick comforter. Steve’s body must have responded in their sleep because his arms were draped over Eddie’s form. And because it was just his luck, it seemed that Steve was waking up too. “Mmh,” grunted Steve. He yawned. “Morning,” he said, muffled by Eddie’s hair. “Um.” Eddie said intelligently. Eddie felt Steve chuckle, his chest vibrating with the sound. “Someone’s a cuddler,” Steve said, a hint of teasing in his voice, still heavy with sleep. - Or, Eddie Munson is in love with Steve and accidentally cuddles with him.

My Thoughts:

Okay I really enjoyed this one! It has so much sentiment in it but it isn't saccharine? And I feel like this could have very easily gotten very cheesy but not in the good way. I love cheese, but some cheese is a no. I'm digressing but yes this just felt very nice when you're reading it. It's a trope I've seen used a lot, but I'm never disappointed to read it again, and this is a super cute version of it. I love that you sent it to me dear author!!! Techhhhnically it's not exactly a Hidden Gem because it was only published a few days ago, BUT the author asked me if I could tell people about their fic, so since it's under 2k I thought I would put it in here

A Life For Every Year (And One For After) by Kedreeva recced by me but initially shown to me by @horsegirleddiemunson! 4.7k words (Complete) Generic with Steve & Jonathan at core

Summary:

Steve meets her when he is nine years old. She is skin and bones, and fits in the cup of his hands like a tiny, furry tennis ball and her purr rattles against the skin of his palms. ---- Or, the one where baby Steve adopts the same stray kitten as baby Jonathan.

My Thoughts:

Ough THIS FIC. Okay first off I'll just say I LOVE when people take advantage of canon location settings and the fact that Steve and Jonathan lived in the same woods (and probably ran into those woods to escape from their terrible houses a lot if Castle Byers is any indication) is soooooooo yes The way this is written is so. It just feels good. Like so much of it is heartbreaking (the dog, the moment with Steve explaining why he got Daisy spayed, the Max and Daisy) but it's so heartwarming too. I just really enjoyed reading it, and I loved the reread. It has less than 500 hits and that's simply incomprehensible to me

This Is Why I Need You by beestlesandstars recced by me 3k words (Complete) Stobin Platonic Background Steddie

Summary:

It’s three AM and Robin is trying to remember how Steve liked his coffee.

My Thoughts:

Okay so I have not read this elusive glasses fic that apparently everyone has based fics off of, but I have read this one and it hurt me sm. I've written about one of the duo dying but Robin and not Steve, so seeing it flipped is OUCH. It just gives you that weird hollow chest feeling right before tears? Augh anyway painful but I love it . V V V Good and a super short read because you just flow with it

It's a Date by FeatherForARose aka @steddiealltheway also recced by me 2.7k (Complete)- Steddie w some side Stobin

Summary:

Everyone knows that Eddie is into Steve. It's common knowledge like saying the sky is blue. Only Steve is hesitant to believe it, but when he finally makes a move, it does not go as planned.

My Thoughts:

Omg I read this on Tumblr so long ago and then I found it on ao3 and died reading it all over again. I love common tropes, but I ADORE when writers subvert them. Eddie who didn't know he was gay? Eddie who saw his QPR in Chrissy and didn't realize it wasn't just a crush like Steve didn't realize? ITS SO Augh the recreation of the failed first attempt? Steve using anger as a shield for being upset? Okay I'm just saying plot points but seriously this fic is just such an enjoyable experience from start to finish. Also great characterization of everyone involved :DDD

does it get any easier? by vissers recced by me 5.7k (Complete) Get Dustin and Will w some Dustin and Mike and Dustin and Max

Summary:

“It’s nothing special, just—“ Will began, fighting against the smile that was brewing on his face. He paused, biting down on his lip and squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “God, this is really embarrassing. We’ve been talking about this dumb crush I have. Among other things, obviously, but… yeah.” If the world hadn’t already been rocked by that giant fucking ‘earthquake’, the prospect of Will Byers having a crush would have had the same effect. Dustin was sure of it. --- Dustin and Will talk D&D, PTSD, and unfortunate crushes. (part two of will coming out to the party)

My Thoughts:

Oh my goddddddd. YOU GUYS KNOW I love my boys but damn if party centric fics don't just get me right in my heart. This one is so well done with the characters. They feel like themselves, they joke, they get annoyed, and this is a really good Dustin Centric. It deals with his PTSD about Eddie, and there's all these little details thrown in that are clearly put there with such care but only make the story more intricate. It's so well written, and I love Will here and I just. Yeah read this read it nowwww

#hidden gem friday #fic rec #steddie fic recs #steddie fic #stranger things fic rec #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #Lucas sinclair #Jonathan byers #Robin Buckley #Stobin fic rec #platonic stobin #platonic Steve and robin #Dustin Henderson #Will byers #Liam speaks up

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glamphantasm · 1 year ago

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Prompt 7

MC accidentally touches a book in Satan’s room that casts an illusion over them both that shows MC’s greatest dreams coming true. What are they, how does MC react, can MC get out?

(because I'm a massive d&d nerd, i changed the book up. 1d10 scenes/moments relating to what would be MC's best life/greatest dream. can be activated 1x/day, if it was truly an item in a tabletop game, i'd probably put it as like a DC18 wisdom save.)

Kai shot awake in a bed that was not his own, heart galloping in his chest as he muffled a yelp of terror into the pillow. Eyes wide, he scrambled into a sitting position, trying not to hyperventilate.

(i can feel silk against my legs. i can see a partially open closet. i can smell - )

The process was interrupted as a figure appeared by the divider, dressed casually and holding a cup.

(i can smell coffee)

"Hey, you're awake. Welcome back.", the voice was strangely gentle, lacking its usual brassy bravado. Mammon offered the cup. "Thought you could use this."

Kai offered a hint of a smile as he tried to piece together his fuzzy mind. He cupped the mug in both hands, the porcelain hot enough to burn his palms as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before taking a long drink. The liquid seared a path down his throat, heat pooling in his stomach. The coffee was bitter, but not overly-so.

"Thanks, Mammon." Kai looked up at the demon through his lashes, taking stock of the situation. "Did...?"

A rapid shake of his head made Kai laugh softly. "N-no, no. I slept on the couch.", he stammered, blushing.

"You didn't have to."

A gentle scoff. "You made that pretty clear."

Another sip of coffee. "Next time you can believe me.", he raised his eyes, waiting for the reaction.

Mammon's mouth worked soundlessly, opening and closing a few times. Kai put the cup down, rubbing his heated palms over his face. As he pulled them away, he was surprised to see no trace of the heavy makeup he wore last night staining the skin. "Thank you. For not making me go back -", Kai's throat closed, refusing to utter the word home. "There."

"Y-yeah, ya seemed pretty stubborn about it. I dunno what's goin' on, but uh, you can always hang out. Or whatever."

Kai relaxed back against the headboard, nodding. "Okay. What time is it anyways?", with no windows in the room, it was always impossible to even guess.

"Almost 3. Humans need a lot of sleep, huh?"

"After a long night we do. Last thing I remember was...

(swirling projected lights, music loud enough to vibrate bones, dancing between the brothers sandwiched tightly, smoke and glitter caught on the air, hope, elation, want, desire, need)

the three of us dancing together."

Mammon nodded. "Yeah. We, all... we left a bit after that.", averted eyes, deeply flushed cheeks.

"So what did happen?", Kai brushed his fingers along Mammon's arm. He didn't flinch away, but didn't get closer. Net zero, no damage done.

Mammon looked down, words tumbling out quickly, in a single breath. "So, we got out to the car. You were all over both of us pretty fast. Ju- just like in the club, you were between us. You started talking, not like dirty talk or nothin', but you kept saying how much you missed that, missed us, begged us not to stop, and then after a few minutes broke down crying, saying somethin' like it didn't matter?", he shrugged, confused. "You sobbed the rest of the way home, and that kinda was that. We got you here, got you changed, and in to bed. I sat up with you for a while, you know, to make sure you didn't die or nothin', but you passed out pretty fast."

"Ah.", Kai stared down at his hands, pulse skyrocketing. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I need to apologize to Asmo too... really didn't mean to get sloppy last night. It just...," he broke off, sighing. "Fuck."

A long stretch of silence was broken only by the muffled sounds of the TV on the other side of the wall.

Mammon took Kai's hand in his own, squeezing it gently in lieu of a response.

"You know I wouldn't have been upset if everything had continued, right?"

The grip tightened, became almost painful. "We ain't been demons that long."

Kai made a sound intended to be a laugh, that came out entirely too choked. "LOT of demons in the human realm older than you then."

He was pulled into a tight embrace and simply held, wordlessly.

Kai slowly wrapped an arm around Mammon, leaning in to the hug. The silence this time was comfortable as it stretched. Kai pressed his forehead into Mammon's shoulder, grounding himself a bit more, waiting for the uneasy tremors to fade. There was a familiar buzz on the nearby table, and he flinched away from it with a groan.

"D'ya want me to get that?"

"No. Yes. No. Who is it?" Kai disentangled himself from the demon, reaching again for the coffee.

Mammon picked up the DDD, looking at the missed messages. "That one was Satan, says to stop by an' see him today. And... four from Solomon since about 10 this morning.", the demon's eyes grew wide as he skimmed over them. "Jeez, he think he owns you or what? Wait, who's Vyleon?"

Kai made a face over the rim of the cup. "Vyleon is the incubus who I assume is one of Solomon's 9000 pacts that he decided to send to the club last night to tell me to come home when I ignored his messages."

Mammon whistled low, "Yer shittin' me."

Kai shook his head. "Wish I was. Almost worked too."

"What stopped you?"

"Couple things - It was a big night for Asmo and I didn't want to vanish on him, and when Vyleon referred to the two of you as 'The Angels'. The disrespect pissed me off."

Mammon quirked an eyebrow in faint surprise. "Yer so loyal already." Kai gave a good-natured grumble as his hair was ruffled. "How come?"

The human lowered his eyes. "Same thing I said the other day. You're all like family to me. Know it sounds dumb, but," he paused, voice barely audible. "This is the only place I've ever felt at home."

"You really would stay forever, huh?"

Kai bit the inside of his cheek hard, nodding, not trusting his voice.

"Would be pretty great. Too bad you can't just..."

Kai shook his head. "Not allowed, for some stupid reason. Besides, Simeon & Luke are in the guest room."

Mammon sighed, flopping down across the foot of the bed.

"So, aside from you and Asmo, does anyone else know I'm here?"

"Not that I've heard. Wouldn't be surprised if someone saw us all come in though."

Kai nodded. It wouldn't be a surprise, somehow every moment in the house made the rounds. Grabbing his DDD, he tapped out a quick message: "Asmo, I'm so sorry for the way I ended up last night. Hope that I didn't wreck anything. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me."

The reply came quickly. "I'm not upset, nothing happened? You do need to take it easy though, darling~ visiting your housemate, talk later."

(that can be unpacked later)

After a quick shower and borrowing a clean shirt from Mammon,

("Yer swimmin' in that, but I got nothin' smaller.")

Kai texted Satan back.

"On my way, 20 minutes?"

That long? You're literally down the hall.

Well shit.

"Fine. Five."

I've waited this long. What's a bit longer?

Kai wandered over to Satan's door after a few minutes, knocking lightly.

The door cracked open, and the demon within gave a half-scowl before stepping aside with a gesture.

The biggest change was the lack of books piled along the floors, though the stacks of floor to ceiling shelves were nearly filled to bursting.

(look impressed, you haven't seen this, remember)

Kai gave the room a long appraising look, giving a soft smile. "This is fantastic. If you need more shelf room, I bet you could get a loft alcove up there." Kai pointed up towards a window in a high corner, where he knew that one day a very secluded nook would be.

"That's not a bad idea." Satan held himself tightly wound, arms crossed over his chest.

Kai offered a slight smile. "So, you needed your Attendant?"

"When did you start spending the night?"

Ah, direct as always. "Just last night. Got a bit too drunk at the Fall, they wanted to keep an eye on me."

Bright green eyes narrowed, pupils dilating like a cat's. Kai shrugged.

"You're kind of a wreck."

"Already said I drank too much."

"No. Not that. I mean in general." Satan sat down on an overstuffed wing back chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles.

Kai shrugged, giving another chair a glance, raising an eyebrow curiously. At a nod, he sat down, tucking one leg beneath himself. "Yes, and? I feel like there's more to that statement?"

Satan tapped his fingertips on the arm of the chair, frowning. "There was. I wasn't expecting you to agree."

"What am I going to do? Lie? I'm fucked up. I know that. No reason to hide it when it's obvious.", the human shifted in the chair, getting a bit more comfortable. This had the feel of A Discussion.

Wrath fixed him with a level stare. Kai stared back, refusing to look away first.

(don't flinch, don't look away, this is just a test, you've seen it play out a hundred times, don't fail, don't blink)

"So, did you just want me here to ask me indirectly if I'm fucking your brothers?"

A curl of the lip, almost a sneer twisted the demon's features, he glanced away.

(good job. you didn't break first)

"I'm not. For what it's worth. Yet, anyway."

"Surprising. How'd you manage that?"

"I'm my own worst enemy, and they're still a bit too holy to take advantage when I'm too far gone to know my own name."

Satan coughed, covering a surprised laugh.

"Really? I didn't think that would matter."

"Turns out the human here is worse than at least two of the Lords of the Devildom."

A look of morbid curiosity. "Hard to pin a moral judgment on the one making the offer."

"Precisely."

A short "hm" was the only response.

Kai waited a few moments. "Did you need anything else?"

"No. You confuse me."

It was the human's turn to look baffled. "I'm an open book."

(liar)

"Sometimes. But you tend to insinuate more than you say, and act as though we should understand whatever subtext you imply. The strangest part of it all though?", Satan leaned forward, features darkening. "For whatever reason, sometimes for just a split second, I understand exactly what you mean, but it's like trying to hold on to smoke. Why?"

Kai shrugged. "I can't begin to guess, really. Maybe somehow we are both on the same wavelength?"

The answer was met with a skeptical noise, and rolled eyes.

"You can go. This is pointless."

Nodding at the dismissal, Kai stood, turning towards the door.

"Hand me the book on the top stack to your left before you go."

The human shrugged, nodding as he picked up a heavy leather volume, intending to further irritate Satan by tossing it in his direction.

Two things happened at once.

A sudden alarmed exclamation, "Not that one!"

The room felt as though it twisted on its axis, Kai somehow standing in his own memory, a flash.

The guest room. As it used to, or would someday look. Kai saw himself sitting on the edge of the bed, a younger-seeming self, hair still dark and a single color, ears still blunt and human in appearance, with no bruises at his throat. He cradled his arm close to his chest as Mammon teased him about being accident prone, which was met with a shrug and a sheepish smile. He waited as Mammon and Beelzebub argued quietly about the best way to bandage a human's wrist.

Another shift..

The rhythmic clicking of a train. Deep burnished wood paneling appears as a hazy spectre of a woman comes into view, her voice distant and sad. "...know that one day in the future, he will lose all trust he has placed in you."

A flash.

Solomon's voice in the dark, "You have to act now, before it is too late. Listen carefully, if you want to live, you have to do this! This is the only way - hold this dagger as tight as you can, and thrust it deep into..." "This is the only way to stop it - you have to do this" A sob, and the vision shifts, dagger now pressed to his own chest, knuckles white around the handle, a trickle of blood staining the shirt as a mote of pain flares.

A shimmer.

The cafe of a large bookshop in the human world, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Satan, both heads bent over a large book. The conversation is lively, a friendly debate.

"Do you believe the sacrifice was one of love, anger, or sadness?"

"Does it have to be one exclusively? It seems so much more complex than.. "

A shift.

Luke and Barbatos in the kitchens of Purgatory Hall, chatting quietly as the demon showed the young angel a trick with pastry. There was a moment of delight as Luke mimicked the movement, nearly nailing the results perfectly. Kai paused to watch, on his way elsewhere in the building, smiling, happy.

A flash.

Lucifer's study, a fire roaring in the hearth. The demon himself looming larger than life, a predatory grin stretching across his face as an aura of power rippled around him, pressing the human's back to the wall. "Now listen, and listen well. I will not be your possession. I will not belong to you, you will belong to me." Lucifer stepped closer, the tip of one wing curving to trace along Kai's cheek. "Do you still want to make that pact with me?" The only answer was a soft moan, as trembling fingers wrapped tightly into starched lapels, the human surged up, pulling Lucifer into a deep kiss. A flare of blue violet light tinted the vision before the images dissolved.

A shimmer. A large guest room at the castle. The brothers, plus the Future King engaged in a raucous pillow fight, dividing in to teams and egging each other on, the competition dissolving into a feathery tableau. Laughter. Joy. Camaraderie.

The visions cleared, leaving only one lingering reminder, Solomon's voice once again, "Be careful Kai. Remember, you're less powerful now withou -"

The book hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Satan stared coldly at the human, a low growl echoing from his chest as his tail flicked with irritation.

Kai leaned heavily against the table, feeling as though the thoughts had been forcibly torn from his mind, trying to catch his breath before turning to face the demon sitting before him.

They spoke in unison.

"How are those your deepest wishes?"

"Why would you? Those are my memories."

It felt like time stopped as the two untangled each other's words.

"How can they be memories? That's ridiculous. None of that has ever happened." "No. N-not y...", Kai felt his throat close. "What?", the demon snapped "Did you say?"

The human let out an involuntary sound as he was pushed roughly back against the nearest shelves, bones rattling with the impact. As he began to curl in on himself, he felt a now-clawed hand snaking around his throat, in a near-perfect overlay of the damage already there. "S-stay.", the word was barely a croak, with no strength behind it. (looks like this is it, you aren't meant to last, no matter where, there's no way that will work....)

The fingers twitched at his throat, before falling away. Kai looked up into eyes he was unfamiliar with, pools of inky black with only the slightest pinpoint of vibrant green. "Leave.", the demon gritted out, the sound an unnatural rasp.

Kai scrambled away, unwilling to wait for so much as a second word. He fled, the sound of destruction behind him.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me mammon #obey me satan

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adventuresinwonderlust · 4 years ago

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Title: Missing You

Pairing: Idol! Yoongi x Idol! reader (minor appearance via phone call by Jimin)

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), creampie

Rating: 18 and over

Permanent Tag List: @mochilicious-yoongi @heyimtavia

“Are you excited that this is the last show of your tour?” Yoongi asks you over FaceTime. “I am but I think I am going to miss it so much.” “Yeah. I get this way also after our Tours end, but I miss you and I am excited that you’ll be coming home.” “Y/N, five minutes till you take the stage?” “Ok! Yoongi, I have to go, Talk soon.” You say hanging up.

The final show goes off without a hitch and you even give an encore of three additional songs. When the lights go out and you head backstage your phone goes off. Yoongi is Facetiming you again and you can't help but giggle at his genius, knowing exactly what time your show would end. “Y/N, the car is waiting.” “Thank you!” You run, cancelling the FaceTime to catch the car. You are happy to be back at the hotel and freshly showered. It is your last night in Japan and you’ll be flying back to Korea in the morning. You look out the window at the city that has been so good to you. Whispering a sweet thank you to the city you love. You hop into the plush bed and cuddle your pillow tight, thinking of how you can't wait to see Yoongi tomorrow. Your eyes begin to get heavy, the subtle sounds of your phone's vibrations lulling you to sleep.

The following morning is chaos, you and your team had a late start and are running to the airport to catch your flight. Luckily, the gate attendant is kind enough to stall the plane to allow you and your team time to board. By the time you arrive in Korea, you are more than exhausted, sighing deeply when you plop your travel bag down onto the ground. Your first instinct is to become reacquainted with your bed but instead you head for the shower. You allow the warm water to soothe your tired muscles, humming your latest song to yourself, the one you wrote for Yoongi. Suddenly, your eyes pop open. “Yoongi!” You shout, jumping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around yourself.

You head into your bedroom and grab your phone, hitting his number on the FaceTime. You pace back and forth, your heart thumping in your chest. He doesn’t pick up. You try again, and again, still nothing. You decide to call now, whining when it goes to voicemail. “Hi my love. I'm home. I'm sorry I didn’t call you sooner. You must be busy. Call when you can. I love you.” You hang up and toss your phone onto your bed, dressing in an oversized T-shirt Yoongi had left behind. The night progresses and still no word from Yoongi. You begin to worry about him and decide to call another member. “Hello.” “Jimin! Hi! It’s Y/N. How are you?” “Ah wow! How are you? I'm good. It's nice to hear from you. How was the tour? Yoongi- hyung says you’ve been having the time of your life in Japan. Is everything ok?” “Yes of course. The tour was wonderful. I’m happy to be home. Uh, I know this is strange but is Yoongi around?” There is a silence on the phone that makes your stomach turn a bit. “Jimin?” “Uh yeah, sorry. No, he isn't. He left hours ago to go to the studio, and he hasn’t been back. I’m sorry. I can tell him to call you when he gets back.” “No, that’s ok. I’ve left him a message. I was sure he was busy, but I am just so excited to see him, I wanted to make sure he was ok.” “Yes, of course. Not a problem. Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him you called?” “Yes, I'm sure. Thank you. It was good to hear your voice. I am happy you are well. We will talk soon.” “Ok. Have a goodnight.” “You too.” You hang up and have a terrible lump in your throat. Was Yoongi avoiding you? He always responded even when he was in the studio. Was Jimin hiding something? You shook your head of these thoughts, opting to go to sleep. It would be better to tackle these things in the morning with a fresh take on things.

You roll over in your bed, the sun peeking through the curtains and shining on your face has you grumbling in annoyance. You lift your head from the pillow, the scent of coffee in the air. You sit up quickly looking around for your phone, its 8am, no missed calls. You unlock your phone and dial Yoongi, jumping out of bed when you hear his ringtone come from just outside your bedroom. “Yoongi?” You call, walking towards the sound of the ringing. You emerge from your bedroom to find a fresh faced Yoongi moving about in your kitchen. He stops when he sees you smiling softly. “Good morning jagi. I was hoping to have breakfast made before you woke up.” You feel the butterflies' flurry in your tummy, and you run over to him, throwing your body into his. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck you squeeze him close to you. “I missed you so much. I thought, you don’t even want to know what I thought.” You whisper into his neck. He breathes you in for a moment and then pulls away to look you over. “I do actually because I want to tell you what I thought.”

He moves back toward the stove, setting up the pan just right before moving to the coffee machine, pouring two cups of coffee over ice. He hands you a glass and nods to move to the living area, taking a seat beside you on the couch. For some reason, you have a bought of anxiety at what he wants to say. “I thought,” he begins, sipping his coffee, “That you had forgotten about me. In all the time we’ve been together, all the tours, the distance, you’ve never once not called me. When you went on this recent tour of Japan and you kept telling me how much you loved it and how you could see yourself living there forever, I was nervous that I was losing you. You could imagine the other members trying to console me.” He chuckles, shifting awkwardly in his seat. You move to speak but he shakes his head. “When you didn’t call me these last couple of days, I thought the worse. Like, oh no, she’s trying to figure out a way to tell me it’s over. That she’s moving to Japan or something terrible. It’s why I didn’t pick up your calls. Jimin was the one who convinced me to come see you today.” He smiles. “Jimin?” You whisper. “He told me you called him and told him how much you missed me. That you were worried about me. I felt foolish having thought the worse. I guess I let my mind run wild. I just missed you so much. Why didn't you call me jagi?”

He looks at you with tears stinging his eyes. You gasp, your heart dropping to your stomach at the thought that he could ever think you would leave him without a word. “Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” You move towards him, straddling him and wrapping the entirety of your body around his, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I would never ever leave you in such a cold way. I love you so much! How could you ever think that I would even want to break up or move away?” You squeeze him tightly as he nestles into your chest. “I don’t know jagi. I guess I let my mind get the best of me.” He whispers into you. You dig your hands into his plush locks, lifting his head so you are both face to face. “I have no intentions of moving away, just as I have no intentions of leaving you. I loved Japan, it was beautiful, and everyone was so good to me, but I love you and what we have here more.” He nods, never breaking eye contact with you. “I’m sorry I doubted you jagi.” “It’s ok, I'm just happy that we talked it out and you didn’t avoid me forever.” “I could never avoid you forever.” He smirks, running his hand up your thigh, under your oversized shirt, gripping your bare ass. His brows raise and you can't help but giggle. “No underwear?” He scoffs. “I was so exhausted last night after my shower, there was no time for underwear.” You pout, rocking into his stirring length. “Well, I’m grateful.” He groans, gripping your bottom with both of his large hands.

He takes your mouth with his, pouring all his passion into this one kiss, whispering how much he missed you between each entanglement. You bite and suck at his pout, swirling your tongue with his, panting desperately as you tear his shirt from his body. He wraps his arm around your waist to lift you, but you grip the couch behind him in protest. “No, let me show you how much I missed you.” You lift your shirt over your head and toss it to the side, lifting a bit to push Yoongi’s sweats from his hip, his cock springing free. You grip his length, stroking him a bit, a hiss escaping his lips. “Jagi, please, don’t tease.” You smirk, lifting again to line him up with your entrance. You lower yourself on his rigid member, loud moans echoing through your living space by the both of you. “God, I’ve missed you. Missed how you feel wrapped around me.” He groans when you begin to thrust along his thick member. “I’ve missed how you feel inside me. How well you fill me. I never want to stop.” You grunt, dropping down as low as you can, until Yoongi’s member fills you to the hilt.

He growls unabashedly, latching his hot mouth onto your neck to leave his mark on your flesh. You cry out, raising yourself up and down along his cock quickly now, his tip massaging the soft bundle of nerves deep inside your warmth. You wrap your arms around his neck, digging your knees into his hip for leverage as your pace hastens. “Yoongi!” You cry out, not sure how much longer you can hold on. Yoongi hums in approval, having made his way along your collar bone, leave mark after mark along your skin. He moves lower, latching onto the tender flesh of your breast, and begins to suckle. You all the while bucking into him wildly. He soon releases your mound, resting his forehead against your chest and wrapping both arms around your hips to assist your desperate pace. You feel your core heat, drenching Yoongi’s cock with your arousal. Your pants and grunts that filled the quiet space are now accompanied by the lurid sounds of your connection.

Your bodies are slick with sweat and you have to reach behind Yoongi to grab the couch to keep from losing your grip. Your coil is wound so tight and your pace falters as your climax builds. “Oh Yoongi, I'm so close!” You mewl, rocking faster and faster along Yoongi’s hot manhood. “It’s ok jagi, just let go for me. Cum on my cock.” He grunts, thrusting upward into your cunt relentlessly until your head falls back, your orgasm exploding through you. You release an animal like cry, not slowing your thrusts as you ride out your high. Your walls contracting hard around Yoongi who is freely moaning and mewling now, his own climax rising. “Jagi, I’m going to cum.” “Yes, fill me up Yoongi. Please.” His eyes screw shut, and he cries out, exploding into your core. He falters for a moment and then continues to thrust into you, his seed soon spilling out at the seams. He leans back, taking you with him, your bodies still wrapped in one another. “I love you jagi. I love you so much.” He kisses you hard, pushing your matted hair from your face. “I love you too so much. Forever.” You kiss him again. “Forever.” He whispers. You smile, kissing his plump cheek.

#bts smut #suga x you #suga x reader #yoongi smut #🌊 anon

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atsunflower · 4 years ago

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Semi Eita x Reader

Rated: SFW — Angst, cursing, traffic accident, injury descriptions, slight mentions of anxiety and post traumatic stress.

Word count: 2070

Author notes: and here is the second part of our F.L.Y collab. I want to thank all the girls from Knights of the coconut and in particular, both @mooshua and @neonghxst who were pretty patient with me and helped me a lot throughout this process. You guys are amazing and I can't thank you enough. I guess that's all. Please enjoy your reading!

F.L.Y Masterlist

If this can no longer resonate/ No longer make my heart vibrate/ Then like this may be how/ I die my first death

He felt suffocated as the breath hitched on his throat.

Staring at his hands, the male recalled how said limbs brought the best time of his life:

A setter position at Shiratorizawa Volleyball club.

A desk job at the public department.

A promise as a rising star along his band, under a label with a contract too good to be true.

Roaming through his memories, he remembers that every single one of his achievements were accompanied by lights:

The reflectors on the court.

The white lamps from his office.

The blinding lights from the stage.

Once had he everything he wanted. Now it was all out of his grasp — And lights, very similar to the last ones, now plagued his thoughts.

After all, he remembers when they blinded him before the car came crashing onto his body. Chills ran down his spine every time he recalled how the headlights of the vehicle were the last thing he saw before blacking out.

All it took was one second and then, a month at the hospital that turned into a lifetime of pain — it took only an accident for his life never be the same again.

"Maybe this is what they call first death" He muttered to himself, the words tasting bitter in his mouth as he took on his surroundings.

The constant tapping the secretary made on the keyboard left his nerves on edge and, added to the sterile scent hanging on the air, it felt like a reminder of the folder that sat heavy on his lap. In addition, the curious, pitying, eyes trained to his figure did nothing to soothe his anxiety.

Well, it's not everyday you see a rockstar sitting in a clinic waiting room, after he almost died, the man mused in distaste.

"Semi Eita?" The voice called from the door across the lounge. There, a male stood eyeing him as he made his way to the office.

The room was spacious, with a desk, cabinets, a stretcher and some anatomic models. A typical physiotherapist office, he guessed — not like Semi had ever been into one before, though.

"Make yourself comfortable, Semi-san" The brunette said as he organized some papers on the desk surface "I see it's your first time here. I'm Ennoshita Chikara, the physiotherapist who will take care of your condition from now on" They both shook hands as Semi sat on the chair. He cursed internally as he felt no force on his right hand.

"So, what brings you here today, Semi-san?" Ennoshita asked, eyeing Semi's right hand.

The grey haired male gulped before handing the folder to the physiotherapist.

"Here, this is the medical report. Shirabu-sensei made sure to specify everything regarding my hand." The brunette hummed before taking it. Semi couldn't muster up the courage to talk about his condition.

"I know, Semi-san. But I need to hear it for the history taking and you may know acceptance can help you through the recovery process" The apologetic tone made him sick.

"I don't want to talk about it. Could you please just proceed with the therapy?"

"Look, I know it's a sensitive topic but—" The therapist was interrupted mid sentence when Semi stood. The chair screeched on the floor at the sudden movement before the male tried to snatch the folder from the other.

Tried.

The paper sheets scattered on the floor, since he couldn't take a proper grip on them.

Tears of frustration welled up on his eyes, as he murmured a meek apology only to storm out of the place.

Semi Eita felt the pitying eyes following him all the way back to his house.

At home, he felt in peace.

No sympathetic gazes and no condescending words. Just him alone with his own demons.

I need a bath. And a beer, the gray haired man decided as the weak hand carded through his hair locks. He flinched at the touch, feeling how dull it was — tactless, even. Just a bundle of flesh and bones hanging from his wrist. Nothing like it used to be.

Ignoring the pang on his chest, the man walked through the corridor. By his left, he saw a shining glass door and immediately, a sensation of longing crawled up his spine and clawed at his heart. He opened the tinted surface, entering the room.

The music studio was the same way he left on the accident day: the gray hoodie thrown over the chair, the paper cups of coffee scattered over his desk and the Moleskine with the lyrics he wrote that night. They resembled three months of hard work and the whole place, a sanctuary built of his dreams.

Too bad the room now felt like his own private purgatory.

Running his index finger over the notebook's leathery spine, memories invaded his mind. Regret gnawed on him even though he wasn't at fault — well, who would have predicted that going to get cigarettes late at the night would end up in a near-death experience? Who would've guessed that, on the way back to his condo, a drunk fucker would hit him with his car and vanish from the scene, without calling an ambulance?

If the medical help came sooner, would things be different? He often wondered, even though he knew it couldn't be helped. His friend, doctor Shirabu, said the damage on his arm was too extensive with a chance of recovery little to nonexistent. His heart stopped beating when he heard those words.

Looking back at it, Semi Eita regretted getting out of his house for such a trivial thing. Before, the musician had his dreams to push him through. Now, all he had left was a medical report — written in a horrendous handwriting, if he may add — stating that patient Semi Eita suffered a minor brain damage and multiple broken bones that caused a lower motor neuron syndrome with wallerian degeneration on the median nerve of his right arm — he didn't understand a shit about the medical terms, but he knew it was bad. Well, it's not like paralysed fingers in the form of 'the hand of benediction' could be a good outcome of an accident.

Benediction? More like a curse, he scowled.

Snapping out of his internal turmoil, brown orbs wandered over the music studio, eyeing all his equipment, as the man drowned on the nostalgic feeling.

On the far corner of the room, white tiles smiled at him — Though, it wasn't a sign of sympathy: in the far corner of the room, the black piano was smiling in mockery, as if it laughed at him, knowing his condition.

You'll never play again, The piano said

"I know!" He retorted.

Your career is dead, the piano chanted.

"I know!"

So pitiful, it snickered — and that was the last straw before despair washed through his body.

Semi spotted the electric guitar by his left. Grabbing the instrument by its neck, he threw it at the other. The wooden body crashed onto the keyboard, the ivory keys agonized at the violence.

Not that he cared, though. He was hurting a lot more than the piano did.

And the tears running down his face were proof enough of it.

Absorbed in his self-conscious state, he didn't see you entering the room, eyes roaming over the mess he made.

"Oh my, Eita!" And his body crashed into yours, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Eita, love" You said softly, testing the waters.

"Get out" He pleaded weakly, both of you still slumped over the carpet of his studio. Your boyfriend stopped crying long ago, but sorrow still covered his face.

The sight was heartbreaking.

"You know I won't" You said, holding him tighter.

"[Name], get the fuck out!" He said an octave louder, pushing you away "The last thing I want now is your pity. And I don't want you to see me like this, either" Ever the proud man he was, hatred laced his voice — and even though you knew it wasn't directed at you and that he didn't mean it, it still hurted.

"I won't leave you. And I don't pity you" You sincerely stated.

"So why the fuck you're looking at me like this?" Hazel irises squinted at you, the hands clutching your shoulder tightened their grip — the hold on your right felt a lot more stronger.

"I'm worried" And then, he laughed.

Hysterically.

Almost scaringly.

"Why waste your time, huh?" You tried to retort, he beated you to it.

"Why bother with a failure for a boyfriend, hm?"

"Eita"

"What's left to you, huh? I bet you're leaving me now that my fucking career went downhill and I won't be famous anymore" The venom of his words scorched your ears.

Throwing insults at you, Semi didn't measure his words and nor did you measure your actions. A second after, all the two of you felt was the stinging flesh.

Of your hand.

Of his cheek.

"So you'll just sit here and cry?" You grabbed him by the collar, eyes boring into his "Shirabu himself said there was a chance. Are you giving up this easily?"

"Shirabu said there was a slight chance" He corrected you, saliva was sprayed over your skin when he screamed at your face.

"And you'll just take it, giving up without a try?" You were so done. The Semi you knew wasn't a spineless man who gave up so easily.

"You don't know how it feels!" He cracked again, the cry went past his mouth, wavering on the air. Your features softened as your hands moved upwards, cradling his face.

"I don't" The words came ragged "But please, don't give up without pulling out a good fight. You're not acting like yourself"

"It's just so hard. You don't get how empty I feel" The man before you was nothing like your Eita.

"For fuck's sake, Eita. Try the surgery and if it doesn't work, wait for the physical therapy results. If it still doesn't work, learn to play with the other hand, goddammit" You leaned onto him, joining your foreheads "Just don't give up. Back to our Shiratorizawa years, you said you wanted to rely on your own strength to show you abilities, because you desire to do things were always too strong. You prided yourself for being free when showing off, then why are you letting this situation hold you down?"

"It's hard. It's like I'm dying, but feels much more worse than that" Words came in a whisper, still reluctant to consider the options.

"But did you die? Did your talent die?" You lightly shook his body, trying to infuse some energy into it "Did you, all of sudden, forget how to make music?" And he saw determination painted in the hue of your irises.

"But—" He tried to argue.

"No buts, even if you can't play in the band, you can still be a producer. Don't let life reap your art away from you" You pleaded, hoping your words could somehow touch him.

Peeking into his face, you observed its features softening as you felt his muscles relaxing under your palms and your boyfriend reciprocating your loving touches.

Your heart was finally at ease.

"How come you always know what to say in the right time, even if it's cliché as fuck?" Eyelids covered the orbs you loved so much as the words were spoken in a serene mode.

Semi Eita felt peace.

You tucked the broader body inside of your arms, caressing the lean muscles of his shoulders.

"There's a reason why, other than my pretty face, I'm your muse" He playfully scoffed at you, tightening the hold on your waist.

"Who said you are?" You ignored his words, paying attention to the hair locks under your chin "[Name]?" He started uncertain.

"Hm?"

"You're right. Guess if I didn't die in the accident, it's only fair if I don't let my life as an artist go away either" His soft-spoken words meant everything to you.

Relief washed over you as your heartbeat increased in your chest. But the most important was how you could feel Semi's heart beating again.

I'm in my workroom, it's my studio/ The waves go darkly by in a throe/ But I'll never get dragged away again

Taglist: @anseoo @keiijiis @inarizakikoukou @deerixiie @bristil @maramalademadara @thedreadthreadanomaly @catharsisbabey @aprettyfruit @ttsukii @chasekudo @kenmashoe @daijoubuyuki @krusty-cheetahs @ohmythatmiya

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crystxlclear · 4 years ago

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sudden desire

chapter three: so, maybe i’m not okay

part four of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

word count: 2.5k (short lil chapter today!)

warnings: mentions of illness? other than that, none that i can think of? maybe the tiniest smidge of angst if you squint

Coraline has always been close to her father. One of her very first memories involved her perched on his shoulders at a Fleetwood Mac gig. He'd managed to sneak Cora, her brother, Daniel, and her heavily pregnant mom side-stage — the perks of him managing the venue at the time, in between jobs — and he'd cried when he'd heard her singing along to his favourite band. The show was all she'd talked about for a solid two weeks. Sure, the memories were a little grainy and probably warped by a crackly VHS tape of her mother's that she used to watch almost every day, but they were memories she held onto it as tightly as she could.

It was her father who took her first (dreadful) headshots, and him who she'd turned to when her sister died, and him who'd persuaded her that leaving everything and everyone she knew and loved back in Michigan to settle down in California (and then, later, D.C.) was a good idea. She owes her dad a lot, which is why the phone call has been playing on her mind all day.

The call came at 3am. She'd only fallen asleep two hours earlier, after Loren had arrived to pick up Maisie an hour late, hair a mess and rushing to apologise. Marcus had left a little while later and she'd practically collapsed into bed a few minutes later. She'd been woken by the low humming of her phone vibrating against her bedside table as it shot light through her dimly lit bedroom. She'd groaned uncomfortably and reached for it, cheek wedged awkwardly between her pillows and the mattress and legs tangled wildly in the sheets (Scott had always said she wriggled a lot in her sleep, but she'd always assumed he was exaggerating, until she slept alone).

She'd scowled when she'd seen it was her dad; he knew her schedule, and she'd told him she was up early when they'd spoken earlier that day. He never rings her late and it takes a moment for the frustration of being woken early by her phone to bleed away into worry and concern.

"Hello?" She'd croaked our groggily. "Are you okay? Is mom okay?"

She'd been met with a chuckle. His voice was low and gruff when it came, unusually thick and strangled. "Hey, Corrie." There was shuffling on the other end, hushed voices floating in and out of focus, until the phone went silent enough to think that maybe he'd hung up and hadn't meant to disturb her at all.

She'd scowled but her phone assured her he was still on the line. "Dad?" She'd called out to him. The panic had begun to rise when it wasn't his voice that replied.

"Coraline," her mother's soft voice breathed out. It was like a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you." Her French accent tipped the corner of her words. It always got stronger when she was upset or worried or scared, and it was especially thick now.

"What's wrong?"

Another pause. "Your father is in the hospital."

"What?" She’s suddenly holy upright, fear turning her blood to ice.

"He's fine, don't worry." She'd assured her. "He’s had some problems with his breathing again. They're doing some tests."

She'd almost booked a flight back to Michigan, almost abandoned filming and ran back home to make sure her dad was okay. The last time he'd been in hospital, it had been touch and go, and they'd spent an entire day huddled at his bedside in fear, just in case he'd stopped breathing. It was touch and go, and she couldn't live with herself if the worst happened and she never got to say goodbye to the man she owed so much to. She'd been in the process of scanning over the next flights on her laptop when her dad had taken the phone back from her mom and practically demanded that she stay in D.C.

Eventually, she'd relented. He'd promised to update her and she'd told them she loved them both before hanging up. But the phone call had sent her entire day into a tailspin.

She’d tried to sleep the extra hour and a half before she had to haul herself to work but her mind was running too wild for that. Even despite the reassurances, worry was plaguing her thoughts and panic was forcing her eyes open. Everything was just too much.

The last time it had happened, she'd had Scott. It was back when things were good, and he'd held her as she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up against him in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

But, now, he’s gone. Now, then, she was stood on set alone, trying her best to bite back a yawn and the tears, with so much concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes that she can feel it clinging desperately to her skin. And, of course, life had picked the day when they had the most action scenes to film to deprive her of sleep.

Her entire body ached. She isn't sure how she's still standing after the first hour of work, with her legs protesting with every movement. Two hours of sleep and the running and the jumping and the endless stunts had sapped every last scrap of energy from her bones. She'd carried on stoically for most of the morning but she's truly never been more grateful for a lunch hour before, when she finds herself curled up against the couch in her trailer, passing out even despite the panic still swelling in her chest. She'd been surprised when she hadn't cried — maybe she was just too exhausted and her body simply couldn't muster the tears — but she's grateful she manages to keep the tears in because she doesn't want to haul herself back to set with mascara tears on her cheeks.

She’s even more grateful when she makes it home after a day that feels like five rolled into one and the scattered couch cushions look far too inviting for her to ignore.

It's an uncomfortable sleep and she wakes with the beginnings of a headache thrumming through her skull and a stiffness in her spine that she can't seem to straighten out. She's not sure how long she's managed to sleep — barely half an hour, she assumes — because she's woken by a soft knock on the door instead of the alarm she'd set on her phone. It wakes her with a jolt and she can't help but groan at the aching protests her limbs give when she stands. She shuffles across the apartment to the door and Marcus is stood there, smiling, his suit jacket and tie draped across his arm.

She's half dressed too - only he looks a damn sight better than she does, because his hair isn't dishevelled and messy and his shirt isn't twisted half way around his torso. She shouldn't have slept in her clothes but at least she had the hindsight to take off the stiff jeans. Except, now, she’s startlingly aware she’s standing before Marcus in nothing but her underwear and an unforgivably tight tank top.

"Good evening, Sunshine." He grins, that smile that makes her think that maybe he should be the one she called 'Sunshine'. "I brought you coffee." An odd offering at nine on a Wednesday evening but she’d been complaining, via text, about the lack of quality caffeine all day. Marcus offers her a polystyrene takeout cup as he steps inside.

"Lifesaver," she mumbles as she grabs it by the flimsy top and shuffles towards the kitchen to pour it into her unused Death Cab for Cutie mug — the mug her brother bought her three birthdays ago — and sips on the coffee. It's far too hot but she doesn't care; she needs the caffeine just to keep her eyes open. She grabs the blanket that she’s been sleeping under and wraps it around her waist, hyper-aware that she’s still wandering around in her underwear. She’s almost too tired to care.

"Are you okay?" It’s almost like he can tell. Though, she’s sure it probably has something to do with the dark bags beneath her eyes. She’s sure it probably looks like she’s been punched square in the face.

She shrugs. "I'll be fine. 'm just tired," She hums. Coraline slumps back against the couch cushions, pulls a thick blanket back over her body and lets her eyes flutter shut again. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Bad night sleep?" There’s bags and piles of fresh laundry piled on the chair he usually sits on, a product of Coraline’s half-hearted attempt at productivity. Instead, he resigns and sits down beside her at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her legs absentmindedly to rest in his lap, sipping on his own drink, and smiling at her sympathetically as she stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.

Her eyes drag towards him when she opens them again. They rest on his face, studying everything from the softness of his brow and the curve of his prominent nose, to the scattering of facial hair that dances across his jaw, small patches of grey poking through at the edges. She’s glad he kept it after whatever undercover work he’d been assigned to before they’d even met. "If I tell you it was the worst night sleep I'd ever had, in my entire life, would that make me sound dramatic?"

"You? Dramatic?" Marcus scoffs and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. His free hand rests on her leg; he draws patterns against her skin but she’s not even sure he realises he’s doing it. "Never."

“Shut up.” Coraline glares at him but smiles, regardless. "Well, I think I'm allowed a pass today."

His face falls at her words. "What happened?"

She sighs and takes a hand through her hair. "My dad-" She eyes him as he watches her intently, brown eyes soft and comforting. "-he's ill again."

Cora had told him about her dad's illness, about how she worried he'd wind up back there again, in the hospital, that things would be worse this time. He'd listened to her like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world and she'd almost cried when he'd held her in a hug a little longer than usual. It was that night that she’d tried to ask him about his past; she wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid telling her because he didn’t trust her or because it held things he didn’t want to relive. She half-hoped it was the latter, but she hated to think that he might be bottling things up, things he didn’t want her to know or didn’t feel comfortable sharing.

She wishes he’d tell her things. She’ll understand, no matter what it was. She’ll listen, like he does to her, for as long as he needs, as long as he wants.

It’s almost comical how different they are in that sense. Marcus is reserved, closed off, but in way that doesn’t suit him. It’s like whatever exists there, whatever memories lingered, had been withered by sadness, by something or someone, until there’s a barrier guarding his secrets and story that he hasn’t meant to build. She sees the softness in his eyes when she tells him her stories or shares her fears, like his heart is aching to spill the details of his past. Like he can’t let it out. It works for his job — undercover work, secrets, classified information — but somehow it doesn’t suit the smile and the softness of his words as he illuminates Coraline’s darkness.

Coraline, on the other hand, finds her words spilling from her chest before she can even hold them back. She’s not sure if it’s just him — the reassuring smiles, the soft brush of a hand, the gentle voice — but they pour from her at an almost embarrassing speed, like a waterfall of words cascading at regrettable speed. She’s not even entirely sure that she won’t spill her secrets to the next stranger in the street who offers her a smile. But that works for her job; people prying, picking her apart like vultures, scavengers of information found tucked away out of reach. It’s the worst part of the job description, to expect someone to know every detail of your private life, but she often thinks she’s open enough to sate them, until they leave her alone at last.

On paper, they make no sense. Jobs, the polar opposite, necessary privacy mixed with relentless publicity. Open and closed doors. But Coraline thinks, perhaps, that’s why they work. It balances them both out.

Marcus reaches over and catches her hand in his. There's barely any space between them because of the way they’re sat, with her feet prodding at his knees. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispers, his thumb running over her knuckles softly.

After a shaky smile, gazes locked for maybe a little too long, Coraline stands up and smooths out her shirt. As much as she appreciates it, and appreciates him, she doesn't want to cry. Not today. "It'll be okay." She scrapes her thumb under her eyes, brushing away the black smudges that she's sure have formed underneath her eyes, and finishes the last of her coffee. "Everything will be okay."

Cora isn't entirely sure she believes that.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader

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