#knocked enough out for the first volume
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Horizon Forbidden West items 1/2
#hfw#horizon forbidden west#horizon zero dawn#tenakth#fanart#my art#hehe i already posted a couple of these but they're cute so have them again with more context#usin these bad boys for chapter headings for my bookbinding project of pikapeppa's becoming whole#knocked enough out for the first volume#will i recycle them for the next 3? undecided!#i was trying to do them in more of a pen and ink style with no gray#but i am a graphite guy it turns out#i think i'm going to finish binding vol 1 first and if all goes well i'll finish typesetting and illustrating the rest
245 notes
·
View notes
Text
They're sitting in Eddie's bedroom, Steve propped up in the bed, flipping through some sports magazine, Eddie curled on the floor using his knee as a table as he scrawls notes for Hellfire's next campaign. Metallica spins on the record player, volume low. They're doing this more and more, being together and doing their own thing, music a soft backdrop to it all.
Eddie's deep into his planning, enough so that he manages to forget that Steve Harrington is in his bed. He keeps hearing something, though. It just manages to catch at the edge of his awareness, but when he fully tunes in the only sounds are Steve flipping a page, Ride the Lightning, the shift of blankets as Harrington taps his fingers. It happens a few more times, but when he tries to catch it, it's gone. Steve hasn't reacted at all, to the point Eddie wonders if it's all in his own head.
The next time, he's interrupted before he even gets back into it, that noise again, but this time, now, he's aware enough to see that it's Steve. And he's not, like, reading the magazine out loud to himself. No. He's singing along.
To Metallica.
And he wasn't idly tapping his fingers before. He was tapping along to the beat.
"You're singing along?" He asks before he can stop himself.
Steve looks up, a faint smile on his handsome face. "It's not too bad."
"Not too--Not too bad." Eddie's nearly screeching. Can't wrap his mind around Steve--"You've been listening to Metallica on your own? You've been--you--" He jumps to his feet, notebook spilling onto the floor. Steve's just looking up at him with big eyes and a gentle grin.
"Sure, Munson. You like it, yeah?"
He nods, mutely, unsure how he so thoroughly lost the plot that Steve's been listening to Metallica just because Eddie likes it.
"Got a taste for any other metal bands I should know about, Harrington?" He flops down on the bed, making Steve bounce a little.
"Well, Dio's pretty okay."
This time Eddie does really, actually shriek.
---
Eddie swans into the kitchen to greet Steve, who's already lounging on the couch with a beer. There's another one on the coffee table, waiting for Eddie.
"Just helped yourself, Harrington?" He teases.
Steve shoots him a look. "Wayne grabbed them before he left. What the hell took you so long?"
He can't say it's because he wanted to look nice with Steve coming over, even if they are just getting high and watching movies. Of course taming his hair took so long that he didn't have time to find a shirt, and Steve's knock at the door had him grabbing the first thing he could and jamming it over his head.
"You want chips?" He asks.
"Wait--Eddie--" Steve stands, pointing at Eddie's chest.
"What?"
"That's my--oh my god, I've been looking for that."
And, well, he had thought it was a little strange that the t-shirt he grabbed was gray. He pulls at the fabric, stares at the upside down Hawkins Tiger with a basketball in its mouth.
"It's my favorite sleep shirt. I thought Robin took it and you--"
Eddie's face heats. Steve's shirt. Of course. Steve stayed over one movie night, forgot the shirt, and Eddie. Well. He was going to give it back, but--
"Here, man, my bad." He goes to pull the hem over his head. "I didn't know it was your favorite."
"Nah," Steve says. He's sitting back on the couch. "You should keep it. You look really--" he pauses and takes a sip of beer. "It's nice on you, Munson."
He's sure his blush is a horrendous thing to witness, has to fight the urge to hide in his hands. "Right. Uh. Chips!" He whirls towards the cabinets, refusing to think about the matching pink stripes across Steve's cheeks.
---
"C'mon, Munson, you're hogging the covers." Steve's sleepy mumble cuts through the dawn quiet.
"Mmph," Eddie groans. Rubs the soles of his feet against Steve's shins.
"You're a dick," Steve grumbles. He shimmies closer, which is what finally does the job at fully waking Eddie.
"Wha--huh?" He blinks.
"You stole the blankets, man. If you're not going to share, the least you can do is cuddle."
"Uhh." Eddie is sure he's dreaming, but Steve's warm, strong arm slips around his waist, pulls them together.
Eddie doesn't know what to do. Where he should put his body. Does he relax into it? What do his arms do? They're not usually this rigid, right? But what do they do when he's sleeping? Somewhere in his gay panic, he has the presence of mind to grab the edge of the blanket and throw it over his friend.
"Better?" He asks. His voice is all wrong but maybe Steve will attribute it to tiredness.
"Mmm." Steve's grip tightens around his waist, his nose nuzzling against the nape of Eddie's neck. His breathing is already slow and deep.
Eddie can't imagine sleep finding him anytime soon. Not when Steve, his crush, his best friend, is holding him like this. Not when he now knows what the real thing would be like. Not when it's so impossibly out of his grasp.
---
Steve and Wayne are watching a Cub's game. Eddie's curled up on the couch between them, trying to work on a sketch, but his brain keeps skipping to a song he's writing. The lyrics have been easy, coming to him like nothing, but the melody...he wants it to be heavy, loud, wanting, but it won't fit.
He glances up at Steve, chatting with Wayne about some baseball thing called a ribee. His hair's not done, flopping softly around his forehead, and he's wearing his result-of-too-many-concussions glasses, the yellow sweater from that horrific boat ride, retrieved by one of the kids and painstakingly washed by Karen Wheeler.
Steve looks sweet, soft, relaxed. He laughs at something Wayne says, and Eddie's a lost cause. He's just fucking smiling at the pretty boy on his couch, hanging out with his uncle, too far gone to be able to fight it.
A melody forms in his head, and it's soft. Not sweet, no, but gentle. Almost tender. Nothing like he imagined.
---
It's early, early enough that Wayne's not home yet, but he got tired of trying to sleep. Didn't want to bother Steve, who still softly snored in Eddie's bedroom. So, he grabs his acoustic and his notebook, goes out to the couch to work on the song. It's coming along, really good, one of his best. He hasn't shared it with the guys yet. It's--he's not ready, lays him too bare.
There's a clatter from the kitchen, Steve's voice, deep and sleep rough, says, "Hey, Munson."
He pushes the guitar and notebook aside. "Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet, I'll--"
Steve shakes his head, pads into the living room. He's wearing the yellow sweater, a pair of Eddie's sweatpants, bedhead rampant. He curls up next to Eddie, pulling the couch afghan over his feet. "What're you working on?"
Eddie's ears get hot. "Nothing much. New song I've been noodling on."
"Cool." Steve's smile is little and fond. "Play it for me?"
"Ahh," Eddie says. His hand twitches around the neck of the guitar. "Not sure if it's quite ready for that."
"Oh, yeah." Steve nods. His face does something weird and squiggly that Eddie's never seen. "Just never heard you play before. Thought now might be...you know."
Eddie swallows, hard. "Well, maybe we'll get a show up at the Hideout soon."
"Of course. It's just--this is just you."
He blinks at Steve for a few long seconds, can't believe he's about to do this, but--It's not like Steve will know it's about him, anyway. "It's not a full song yet, alright? Just a verse and half of a chorus, so like. Don't judge it too hard."
"I would never." He can sense Steve's smile but can't look directly at it, knows it would kill him.
He situates the guitar, spins the notebook to read the lyrics like they aren't already burned into his brain, starts to play. His fingers are deft and sure, his voice a little rough, a little raspy with nerves.
The song ends and he's afraid to look at Steve, to see the thoughts written plane on his face. The silence extends, though, and he asks. "So, what did you think?"
"It's--that wasn't what I expected." Steve's voice is weird. Wobbly. Eddie chances half a glance at him, but can't make anything definitive out from his expression. "I didn't think--that's not the kind of music I thought you made."
He licks his lips, swallows. Puts his guitar down. "It's not usually."
"It was a love song." Steve says. His eyes burn into Eddie's.
He can't say anything for seconds that seem to span minutes. "Yeah, Steve," he says in a voice cut with gravel. "It's a love song."
"Eddie," Steve whispers. He reaches out then, thumb tracing along Eddie's jaw, the scars that linger there from the bats. "Is this okay?" He can only nod as Steve's hand twines through his curls.
He's shaking, just a little bit, not because he's inexperienced but because this is Steve, because it's happening, because their lips are meeting and a trembling noise falls from his mouth at the sweet way Steve kisses him.
It's gentle and quick, but they don't part when the kiss ends, stay sharing air as their foreheads rest together. Eddie can't stop smiling.
"Please tell me I'm not dreaming, Stevie" he whispers.
"You dream about me?" Steve asks, eyes blazing.
"I wrote a song about you, and you think dreams are a reach?"
Steve laughs, brushes a kiss against the tip of Eddie's nose. "I loved the song."
"Yeah?"
"Can't wait to hear the whole thing."
"Well, stick around for a while."
Steve leans in, kisses him again, longer this time. "Just try to get rid of me, Munson."
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#ficlet#fluff#friends to lovers#domestic fluff#getting together#feelings confession#pre-relationship domesticity#post-canon#love builds in the quiet moments#bed sharing#clothes sharing#songwriter eddie munson#steve and wayne are besties#steve and wayne use baseball lingo
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
What If 141 and the best enemies to lovers line of all time...
"Who did this to you?"
Cue protective instincts and sexiness
hehe I am giggling!! Okay. Listen. I am fully aware that this is an enemies to lovers trope, but I don't think it applies to all of the 141 guys in that manner. Is there protectiveness? Yes. Is there a bit of spice? Yes, if you squint really hard. Is there also some sweetness thrown in? Absolutely there is. I had lots of fun with this one. I hope you enjoy it!
Presented in four double drabbles.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x 141!Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief blood and injury, hurt/comfort, brief suggestive themes, protectiveness, light angst
Word Count: 800
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“Who did this?” Kyle bends forward at the waist, pressing a bag of frozen peas to your face. His concern is genuine. You can see that, but it’s strange. The two of you get on, but this is something else.
Kyle looks…angry like your injury personally offends him.
“It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Things happen during sparing. It’s fine.”
Kyle’s frown only deepens. He doesn’t believe you. And why should he? The person you were placed with took it too far. And it was all to impress him as if putting you in your place would somehow grant his favor.
It’s clearly done the opposite. He could care less about your sparring partner.
“It was your sparring partner, wasn’t it?”
You don’t answer. Just press the peas to your forehead a little harder.
This time, Kyle’s frown turns slightly upward. “Jokes on them, ya?”
You glance at him sideways. “How so?”
Kyle is grinning. It’s stunning. All pearly white teeth.
“Because I have my eye on someone else,” he says simply, as if that answers everything.
Though you cannot see yourself, you feel your face growing hot under Kyle’s gaze.
“You shouldn’t say thing like that,” you reply.
“Why? It’s true.”
John Price
“Who did this?”
“Why do you care so much, John?”
You attempt to pull your face out of his grasp but he holds firm.
“Of course I care,” he replies. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. John is close. Too close. So close he could easily brush his lips against yours.
“I don’t know why,” you murmur.
“You do,” he affirms, authority in his tone.
Do you? Maybe. Perhaps. Deep within yourself you truly know the reason but can’t decide to speak it to the air. That would make this real. Whatever this is between the two of you.
‘Tell me who did this?”
“And do that what?”
“What the fuck I want to them, love.”
“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about it,” you reply, again trying to escape from him.
But John isn’t having it. His other hand hooks around your upper arm, and then you’re pressed closed to him. He is so warm. All strength.
“Let go,” you say, but there is no volume behind it. It is weak. Not even a protest.
“Tell me,” he repeats, head dipping slightly.
Yes. Close enough to kiss.
“Tell me,” he says again, this time softer.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon’s blood beats heavy. It is tinged with metal. A lace of fire that cannot abate.
His boots slap against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights are bright. Clinical. He is a shadow here. A dark specter.
No one stops him. No one glances his way.
And why should they?
He is a man made fury.
There were hands put upon you. A training exercise taken too far. Simon was not there. And he doesn’t know why. Not exactly. But he’s furious. Protective. The fact that he could not stop this only infuriates him further.
To him, this is a failure.
He doesn’t come to a stop. Doesn’t knock. He barges right on in.
The nurse yelps. Spins suddenly. Face red.
You glance up, eyes wide at first but soothing slightly as they land on Simon. You’re bruised. Stitched up.
Fucking hell.
“Out,” barks Simon.
The nurse leaves but stares him down the entire time. He approaches the table, and lightly brushes the backs of his fingers against the wound on your forehead.
“Who did this?” he asks.
“Simon—”
“Which fucker?” he growls, bending forward slightly to look into your eyes.
“Should see the other guy,” you joke, smiling.
John "Soap" MacTavish
Johnny shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. You’re not his. Even if he wishes it were so.
Every swing of his fist sends the building frustration outward, shooting into the massive boxing bag before him. It’s a poor substitute for the face he truly wants to smash. Several faces that is. Two specifically.
Who did this?
The words slipped from him unbidden. An instant anger. You had only scowled. Told him you could handle yourself. And you can. Johnny knows this. But he’s still fucking pissed about it. Still seething.
All the fucker got was a quick slap on the wrist. A promise to not do it again.
That sits sour in Johnny’s belly.
But you didn’t cave, no matter how much Johnny insisted that he’d take care of it on your behalf. So he is here, punching the shit out of something that isn’t flesh.
He wishes he could take away your pain. Take away the memory. Give it to himself to carry. You don’t turn on your own. There’s no honor in what happened.
But as much as he wants it to be true, Johnny can do nothing.
You are not his.
Even if he wants to be.
taglist:
@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath
@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett
@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82
@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim
@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000
@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla
@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky
@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos
@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez
@pearljamislife @heeheehoohoohahahihi @eternallyvenus @burn1ngw00d @taysarchive
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#task force reader#task force 141 imagine#task force 141 fanfiction#task force 141 fanfic#task force 141 fic#task force 141 fluff#task force 141 headcanons#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley fanfic#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon ghost riley#price mw2#captain price mw2#price cod#john price imagine#john price x reader#john price cod#john price x you#soap mactavish fanfic#john soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap mactavish#soap cod#soap mw2#kyle garrick x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
cuddling sex w mike. (18+)
one of those rare mornings where he doesn’t have work, waking up from a night where you’d both turned in way earlier than you anticipated. abbys still knocked out, and even if she isn’t she’ll keep to herself drawing or reading for another hour or so. and mike awakes first, he always does. he stirs, just enough to start to pull you from sleep, too. but you don’t come out of it immediately.
you sink back into mike, getting even more comfortable in the warmth that he provides, taking in the scent of detergent on his tee shirt and the slight musk from sleep sweat. it’s not until he starts to kiss at your shoulders that your eyes blink open. when his lips press behind your ear, your muscles beg to be stretched.
when his hand plants itself on your hip, you yawn a “morning” to him. by the time mike slides his palm around your torso, skin pressed against skin since your tee has lifted in your sleep, you’re preparing to slide out of bed. looking at the clock, taking note of how early it is, starting to create plans of breakfast and maybe a walk before having to actually do something.
but mike clearly has different plans. when your legs start to move, he presses his hand flat against your lower stomach, keeping you against him. “let’s stay here for a little.”
and you hum approvingly. but staying in bed for a little is a lot less falling in and out of sleep and maintaining lackluster conversation, and a lot more fucking with attempts to remain silent.
his cock sliding in and out of your walls, one of his rough palms holding your leg up and the other situated under the pillow that your head presses into. his breath is hot against the shell of your ear, his words low and his voice deep as he gently encourages you.
“there you go. taking me so well, baby. i know you just woke up but i had a dream about you, you know. we were just like this, but you’re taking me even better now then you were then. you're always making my dreams come true.”
it’s sweet, domestic even, despite the filthy way his balls slap against you with each thrust that gains strength the longer he goes. you’re thankful that the squeak in his bed is fixed, otherwise you’d be making a hell of a lot more noise at this point.
you find it harder to concentrate on your volume when mike gently nips at your ear, speaking lowly as close to you as he can get. “can you touch yourself for me? help me make my girl cum? hm?”
you nod, afraid that if you speak you’ll be too loud.
mike handles that for you, clearly having better volume control than you. you can hear the smile in his words.
“yeah? you can? go ahead then, baby.”
#mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt smut#mike schmidt#fnaf movie#celeste writes fnaf
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Tyler Owens x Reader: The Storm Inside Your Mind
Request: Anonymous said: "tyler x reader with panic attacks"
Word count: 2k
Warnings: panic attack tw
A/N: obviously stole some of Kate's trauma for this one... I feel like I've written a few fics where reader has panic attacks now, so sorry if this sounds repetitive at all. But as always, thank you all for the kind words, replies, and comments on my work. It's super encouraging and very appreciated!!
The team isn’t chasing today. Instead, you set up the RV and some tents at a campsite, hoping to enjoy what little time you had left of tornado season.
Tyler gets a fire going while Boone and Dexter drag the camp chairs around it. There’s only half an hour or so left of daylight, and the crew decides s’mores will do just fine for dinner.
Boone makes a joke about s’mores meeting all his nutritional food group needs, everyone laughs. Tyler settles into the chair beside you, his knee gently grazing against yours to catch your attention.
When you look at him, he winks. A silent toss of affection. A sweet reminder that it’s you and him, even amongst the chaos of all your friends.
The sun sets, casting a thousand shades of pinks and purples through the sky. It’s mesmerizing– the evening is perfect.
It’s amazing how quickly things can fall apart.
All it takes is one note–
Dani grabs their guitar and begins strumming softly to no tune in particular. Then Boone shouts out a song request that makes your breath catch. You try to be subtle, but you notice Tyler’s eyes lingering on you, because he can read you just as well as he can read any storm.
You offer him the best, most reassuring smile that you can– and it must be good enough, because he looks back towards the fire.
You pick at the skin around your nails, because it’s always been a good distraction. But even that isn’t enough when Dani plays the first note–
“Took my love and I took it down,” they sing softly.
And then suddenly, you can’t breathe. All you can hear is your best friend asking you to turn up the volume to her favorite song when it had come on the radio only minutes before everything had gone so, so wrong.
Normally, you can talk yourself down from these moments, you can practice all the grounding exercises your therapist taught you and move on. But you feel the sense of panic creeping up your throat and it’s strong and fast. You don’t think you can deep breathe your way out of this one without anyone noticing.
In a rush, you stand up from your camp chair and mumble something incoherent about needing to go. It’s not very subtle, but it’s all you can manage before stumbling into the RV– aiming for the bathroom.
Tyler calls your name, but all you hear is the sound of your friend screaming it over the increasing winds as they reached for you.
From there it only gets worse–
It comes in waves– memories of Fleetwood Mac still playing from the radio while you sat in the car and frantically tried to decide which way to run– the realization that no matter where you went, the tornado was going to consume you– knowing that the overpass was the worst place to go, but your alternative was remaining out in the open. Your name tumbling from your friend's lips as she begged you to help pull her up the ramp because her shoes kept slipping. The sound of her scream when the chunk of debris sent her flying into the storm. You losing sight of her body after only a second–
The bathroom door rattles. “Y/N?” Tyler calls with a knock. “What happened?”
“What happened?” your friend’s dad had asked with tears spilling down his cheeks after the officer told them that their daughter was dead. “What the hell happened?”
“There’s no storm,” you whisper to yourself. “The skies are clear– there’s no storm.”
Tyler calls your name a second time and knocks harder– the door rattles. You grip the edge of the sink and bite down harshly on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. Because despite the calm conditions outside, the storm inside your mind is here– it’s rattling the door and shaking the RV– it’s creating dark clouds, and causing them swirling around in every corner of your body– winds are flying through your stomach and your chest, the air is heavy, it’s harder to breathe–
You put your hands over your ears and sink to the floor helplessly.
“Y/N, answer me,” Tyler’s panicked– you can hear it in his voice. “I swear to God, I’m gonna kick this door down–”
You try to inhale– to tell him not to do that– that repairing a door will be expensive. But instead of finding your words, all you can do is choke out a desperate sob. The storm has stolen all your air– it’s sucked it right from your lungs���
Before you can try again, the entire bathroom shakes when the hinges on the door break loose with a bang. Tyler’s eyes land on you– huddled on the floor, gasping for the breath you can’t find.
Except– it’s not Tyler. It’s your friend’s dad. He’s come to get you– to kill you like you killed his daughter.
You attempt to push yourself backwards on the floor, but the bathroom is small and soon, you've only managed to wedge yourself between the toilet and the wall. You try to speak again– to tell him how sorry you are for getting his daughter killed– but you can’t. Clutching desperately at your chest, you heave and heave, squeezing your eyes shut.
The storm inside your mind causes the clouds to start swirling around chaotically–
The storm inside your mind rips trees right from the roots–
The storm inside your mind destroys everything in its path–
“Baby–” a familiar warm voice cuts through the fog. And then, suddenly, someone grips your knee, causing your entire body to seize.
“It’s me,” a gentle voice murmurs. "Hey, it’s me.“
Through your foggy haze, you recognize Tyler’s touch– and when you open your eyes, you see him squatting down to get on your level.
But your knees– you open your mouth to say, except all that comes out is a gasp– a plea for help.
“Okay, it’s okay. Look at me, baby,” he says. “It’s okay– you’re okay.”
“I– can’t–” you gasp, your own hands flying up to grip his forearms for some sort of lifeline to reality. “I can’t– breathe–”
“Okay, okay, okay,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm, but you can hear the uneasiness in his voice. “With me.”
He gives a deep, methodical inhale before letting out a slow, intentional exhale. “Just do it with me. Slow, like this.”
He continues, and you try to match his pace– to breathe with him, but it feels like the storm has stolen your lungs– ripped them right out of your chest–
“Tyler–” you beg, your voice hoarse. “I can’t–”
“C’mon, with me,” he repeats earnestly. He’s looking at you with terror in his eyes, but you find comfort in their familiarity just the same. “We’ve done this before, you know how to do this.”
“I– I–” you stammer, but the words won’t form.
“Shh, with me. Everything’s okay. I’m here. We’re both okay,” he assures you. His gaze is just so tender and soft and careful while his thumb grazes your cheek.
“I- I can’t-” you choke again, “Please–”
“Shh-” he soothes. “Look at me, nothing else, just me.”
Your wide, desperate eyes meet his. You don’t say anything, just shudder and gasp frantically.
“With me,” he repeats.
Tyler slow and calming, in and out breathes. After a few seconds, you latch onto the sound, mimicking it, and then finally follow along.
“There you go,” he whispers.
Your facial features slowly start to relax as you’re able to breathe properly. Without your loud, choking sobs, you’re able to hear your heartbeat pounding in your chest frantically.
“Good job,” Tyler sighs. “Look, it’s just you and me, we’re okay, we're both safe–”
But he can’t even finish his sentence before you lean forward and reach for him. Tyler takes advantage of your gesture and quickly grips under your arms, yanking you from the corner and pulling you forward. He sits back on the floor, back resting against the door frame while he rests you on his lap. As soon as he’s settled, you wind your arms around his neck– desperate and longing for some sort of comfort.
Strong, sturdy arms wrap around you as you hide your face into his chest. You breathe him in, letting his familiar scent wash over you. The sound of his heartbeat races in your ear (bum, bum, bum, bum). It reminds you that you’re both here– right now. Not stuck in an underpass, not chasing a tornado. But here– on the floor in the RV bathroom.
“It’s okay,” Tyler soothes. Upon feeling your shaky body pressed against his, he squeezes tighter. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you.”
You melt against him in response, bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fist, trying to communicate just how badly you need him to hold you right now.
And that’s exactly what he does— until you can finally breathe on your own again.
And then the wave of guilt comes.
Suddenly the realization of everything hit you– what a basketcase you’ve been, running off like that, having a meltdown in front of everyone– you probably scared the shit out of them. And then there’s the door– broken right from the hinges.
Slowly, you pull back.
“Are you okay?” Tyler says before you can even open your mouth. He brushes the strands of loose hair from your face.
You exhale a deep, shuddering breath that you can feel down your entire body. “I’m okay,” you say, your voice raw.
“Baby, you don’t have to run from me when you’re having a panic attack. I’m here for you, you know that.”
“I know,” you whimper. “I know– I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to freak out–”
“Shh. Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” Tyler says. “You don’t have to apologize. I just– I want you to come to me when you’re struggling. I want to be able to help you.”
“I just—” you start, but you stop when you notice how choked up your voice sounds. You take a slow breath. “I can't think clearly when they come. All I could think about was getting away. I didn't want to scare you– I wanted to prove to you that I was doing better– that I wasn’t going to freak out all the time. But it–”
As soon as you feel the tears burning behind your eyes, you dig the heels of your palms into them frustratedly, like you were physically trying to push them away.
“It was the music. That was her favorite song.” You didn’t even have to say your friend’s name for Tyler to know what you were talking about. “I just… I heard that first note and I panicked– I just felt like I had to get away.”
Tyler nodded in understanding. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispered. “Next time, you drag me to the bathroom with you and we’ll get through it together, okay? I think that’ll save us many doors in the future.”
You exhale a puff of air, your best attempt at laughter.
“I’m just sorry you have to deal with me all the time. You have enough on your plate,” you groan, rubbing your tired eyes.
Tyler sighs. “Baby, I drive around and chase tornadoes– shoot some fireworks into the air when I’m really feelin’ it. I think I can handle being there for you on top of that,” he says. “I love you. And I want you to be okay, always. That’s all I’ll ever want.”
Nodding slowly, you lean forward and rest your forehead on Tyler’s chest.
Strong, warm arms anchor you to safety. You hold on to Tyler– letting the sound of his heartbeat (bum, bum, bum, bum) block out any noise from the raging storms inside your mind.
#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens imagine#tyler owens fic#tyler owens x reader fic#tyler owens x reader imagine#tyler owens#twister imagine#twister fic#twister x reader
976 notes
·
View notes
Text
୨୧. 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥
: ̗̀➛ when was the last time this man got a good night's sleep? pairing: toji x fem!reader. fluff, fluff, fluff...
an: just needed to get this out before i do my hw lol. i picture this as like pre-relationship :P wc: ~600
toji recalls one of the moments he realized he was whipped.
after hopping from place to place, staying in shitty motels and abandoned train stations, he got his first true and proper rest with you.
he’s used to waking up to the sight of an empty bed, a dirty ceiling or, hell, even the open sky when things got really rough.
so when he opens his eyes, refreshed, one of his arms draped across your waist, the assassin is a bit dumbfounded. toji is quick to settle, blinking a couple of times until you come into focus.
“oh, you’re up.” you smile, leaning comfortably against the headboard. "welcome back, sleeping beauty."
why’re you awake? he thinks. usually he’s the one up and at ‘em, rising before the sun.
by the looks of it, you’ve been up for a while. the television was on, playing one of your favorite shows, the volume lowered. you have a mug in your hands, your eyes brighter than any sunrise he’s seen thus far.
he lifts his head and props himself up on one of his elbows, his hair a mess of black strands pointing in all sorts of directions. “yeah.” he yawns, running his fingers across his scalp before he grumbles. “i’m up, i’m up.”
fuck, is this what actual sleep felt like? he hadn’t felt this good in a while.
his eyes catch sight of your alarm clock and he has to rub the excess sleep out of them to make sure he isn’t dreaming.
“eight in the morning?” he sits up, his shoulder brushing against yours as he rests his weight on the headboard. that's a good three, maybe four hours later than he's used to.
you look at him like he has two heads, unable to keep from letting out a light laugh.
"it's not that late." you pause, keeping a tease from slipping past your teeth as your fingers come up to wipe some dried up drool from the scarred corner of his lip. "you were knocked out."
he clicks his tongue, gently swatting your hand away and finishing the job himself. since when did he drool? "yeah, yeah, i'm not a damn baby."
the bed creaks as he adjusts his position, crossing his legs at the ankle and stealing the mug of coffee in your other hand. his nose wrinkles at the sweetness, at that little splash of creamer you usually add.
"you could've fooled me." you retort, taking back your coffee. "plus, it's sunday, so just go back to sleep or something. i already got breakfast on the way."
toji doesn't know what's worse, the fact that you expect him to stay or the fact that, fuck, he wants to.
his response is just a grunt, a stubborn sound of acceptance. the bed is still warm, the company is good and he knows there's no where else he'd rather be.
he'll think about that later, or maybe he wont. for now, he won't deny himself an extra few minutes of rest while you continue to watch your shows.
he lays back down, blanket over his shoulders, and drapes his arm over your lap, head resting against your hip. "you got extra meat, right?" comes his gruff inquiry, more child than man.
"extra meat." you affirm, one hand bringing that sweet caffeine to your lips while the other laxly combs through his hair.
with that, he seems satisfied enough, finding it odd that his head is feeling so heavy. when he drifts off into sleep, his shoulders rising and falling at a steady pace, he dreams of a big breakfast and the promise of a lazy day with you.
#jjk fluff#toji fluff#toji fushiguro x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji x reader#toji x y/n#toji x you#hitting the shinji chair pose as i publish this#i want to [redacted]
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Die With A Smile
Outbreak Day with ex-girlfriend Abby?
a/n: idk what lady gaga and bruno put in this song fr. I should have been studying for an Ochem exam but here we are lol.
"Government officials met today to discuss the recent spikes in hospitalizations all across the globe over the past week, with talks of setting up government run quarantine zones in all major cities."
You perk up from your spot on the couch, trading the carton of ice cream in your hands for the TV remote. The local newswoman's voice fills the quiet space as the volume increases. You immediately recognize the hospital in the background.
"Hospital staff everywhere are overwhelmed with the influx of patients coming in with symptoms of this mysterious virus. For the time being it is highly recommended that any travel plans be postponed. International flights have started being cancelled, leaving hundred of people stranded. The CDC advises everyone to remain calm and continue to follow your city's imposed emergency curfews as they work towards finding the cause."
The face-mask you'd slathered on earlier hardens as she lists off the symptoms to look out for: sudden mood changes, muscle spasms, and slurred speech. You can't wrap your mind around a simple virus causing all this. Your stomach sinks in realization, this is definitely more serious than anybody was letting on.
Without even thinking you reach for your phone, quickly scrolling through your contact list until you land on the one person you've been avoiding. Abby, your ex girlfriend of six months. Your finger hovers over her number, wondering if this was worth breaking three months of no contact when loud screams come from the television. You look up just in time to see the blast of an explosion before the screen goes blank. Static stares back you.
Your finger mashes down on the touchscreen with zero hesitation as you run to the sink, hands desperately scrubbing at your face while you wait for her to answer. You don't even stop to consider you might be blocked.
Please pick up, please pick up, please.
"Hello?" Abby's panicked voice sounds through the phone.
"Oh my god Abs. Are you okay?" You ramble. "I just saw the news and I- there was an explosion."
"I had to home to change. " Her voice is shaky, turn signal clicks faintly in the background. "I was still close enough to- OH MY GOD!" The sound of tires screeching drown out Abby's curses. A loud boom sounds off outside, this one feels closer. "I'm....to...you" Is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead.
You throw the phone across the room, a string of curses leaving your mouth. The open window of your living room lets you hear the chaos outside before you can see it. Helicopters fly overhead and sirens sound off in the near distance. One by one, porch lights come on as your neighbors step out of their homes, confusion etched on their faces.
The sound of a door slamming open catches everyone's attention. Out of the corner of your eye you see the outlines of two people moving towards the road. Your neighbor, Claire, yells as her husband chases after her. His movements far too quick and erratic for someone his age.
Everyone watches in shock as he catches up to her, mouth attacking the side of her neck, effectively silencing her screams. The sight is gory. You stand frozen as some of the braver ones try to help, only to be met with a similar fate before he runs off into the middle of the road, searching for his next victim. Chaos quickly ensues, people run off back to their homes, garages pop open as some try to make a quick escape. You stagger back, knocking into the side table beside the couch. A picture frame falls over, shattering loudly on wood floor.
To your absolute horror, his head snaps to your window. For the first time, you're able to catch a glimpse of him up close. Gone was the sweet old man who would help you with yard work in those first few months after Abby moved out. The skin of his face is molted, almost as if something was eating away at it. Once sparkling blue eyes are completely glazed over. The bloodthirsty look on his face sends you reeling.
His mouth parts open letting out a loud screech, ready to lunge through the thin window screen when a familiar black truck slams into him. Abby hops out, mouth moving quickly as she shouts something at you. Between the ringing in your ears and the loud screams outside you don't register what she says. Your eyes blink rapidly, hoping the sight of your elderly neighbor under her front tire is just your imagination. In your peripheral you see the front door swing open, Abby's keychain hanging from the lock.
Strong hands grip you by the shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor. "Baby what are you doing? We have to go!"
Her woodsy scent envelopes you as she scoops you up and carries you out bridal style before tossing you in the passenger seat. Fingers clench into the leather as the truck reverses, disturbing the once perfect lawn. Your flowerbeds and mailbox becoming casualties in the process too.
You peel your eyes off the dash, looking out the window as she flies through residential neighborhoods. More and more people are starting to trickle out from the safety of their homes. Some running with only the clothes on their backs, others quickly shoving personal belongings in their vehicles.
Your voice is shaky when you finally speak up. "What's going on Abigail?"
She exhales heavily, looking exhausted. "I don't know."
"Are they all like that?"
Her jaw clenches. "The ones I've been treating are in the early stages of their symptoms, but beds are full. We've been told to turn people away to recover at home." She huffs. "I don't even wanna know how many of them are out there running around like that."
You hesitantly rub her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, slowly pulling back when she tenses. Her throat clears and the skin of her knuckles turns white as she tightens her grip on the wheel.
"So what are we doing?"
You're shocked when she shrugs her shoulders. Abby always had a plan. You wrack your brain, trying to think of something.
"My parent's cabin up north! We could go there." You suggest. "Y'know until everything settles down."
She makes a sharp right, following the signs pointing her to the nearest on ramp. Her fist slams against the wheel when you pull up to the main highway just five minutes later. It seems like everyone had the same idea. Cars are honking, people are screaming. Nobody is moving. The thought of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic right now doesn't sound like a smart idea.
"My apartment's in the city." Abby suddenly states. "They were setting up barricades when I left for work this morning. Flyers talking about a quarantine zone."
She doesn't wait for your approval, sending the truck speeding towards her place. The closer you get to the city, the more erratic Abby's driving becomes. It's clear your little suburban bubble was late to the news of the outbreak. Downtown Seattle is absolute madness. Everywhere you look there's something happening. Those infected chase people up and down the streets, tackling the ones too slow to outrun them. Shops that you can remember being there your whole life are now ablaze.
You grip onto the handle above your head watching wide eyed as Abby plows through debris in the street. Bile rises in your throat when you realize she most likely driving over the dead bodies left behind.
The truck slows to a crawl. Concrete barricades were placed closer together here, making it impossible to get through. She silently curses at the fact that you're gonna have to leave the safety of the car and make the rest of the journey on foot. She grabs your face between her hand, forcing you to look her in the eye.
"Get ready to run baby."
Your hand is on the handle when something crashes into your door. A scream gets caught in your throat as the infected bangs on the glass of your window before setting it's sights on the blonde. She's halfway out of the truck when she gets tackled to the ground. Her hands shoot out using all her strength to keep it from attacking her
"Abby!"
She screams at you to run. Her arms are getting tired of holding this ridiculously strong freak back. Her hold is quickly slipping. Accepting her fate she screws her eyes shut bracing for the inevitable. A loud whack and she doesn't realize there's no longer any weight holding her down until your panicked voice is in her ear.
"Holy fuck! Are you okay?"
You crouch beside her, a bloody metal pipe in your hands. Keeping a watchful eye on the body laying just inches from hers. She slaps your hand away, wincing when she gets up on her own.
"Why would you do that?!" She whisper yells, unsure whether to kiss you for saving her or punching you for putting yourself in danger. "I told you to run!"
"I could never just leave you like that. You're welcome." You say through labored breaths. With a roll of her eyes she grabs your hand, sprinting in the direction of her building.
You're thankful it's a short run from the car to her place. The two of you able to successfully hide from any other infected. It doesn't take long for either of you to realize that their vision sucks.
The stairs up to her place are a feat of its own. You huff and puff up to the nineteenth floor, legs on fire when you finally walk through the door.
Her apartment is spotless, because of course it is. Floor to ceiling windows give you a clear view of what seems to be the end of the world.
"Oh my god." You stand in the middle of her room, watching in horror as explosions go off in my the distance. The ground beneath you shakes as they get closer and closer.
Abby shakes her head in disbelief clearly putting two and two together.
"It's so heavily populated here. They don't see the point in trying to separate the healthy from the infected." She whispers. Tears well in her eyes watching a plane purposefully fly into the ground off in the distance. The large blast setting fire to everything around it. There are more right behind it. "We're so fucked."
You watch as the fight leave her body. Your throat locks up, unable to scream at her. Wobbly legs pace back and forth in the small space trying to think of something that might work. Deep down you know it's pointless. There's no way you'd make it out of the city alive. Soft sobs wrack your body at the realization that this really is the end.
Her shoulders slump as she sits on the bed. She gnaws on her lower lip to keep from crying too loud. "Can I hold you?"
You nod, legs feeling like jelly. Abby reaches for you, pulling you up towards the headboard. The two of you lay beside each other breathing heavily with your hands intertwined. Tears stream down her face and onto the pillow under her head.
She reaches over and kisses you, her shaking hand plays with the baby hairs on the nape of your neck. "My biggest regret was letting you go."
You watch face as she continues talking, lips moving against yours. "I had to stop myself from driving past the house every single day." She laughs. "Would have sat outside your door until you took me back."
"I wish you would have." You admit through a watery smile.
"I never stopped loving you. I just want you to know that." She whispers, lips moving to kiss your temple.
"I should have never left." Your lips meet the skin of neck tasting the salty tears that have pooled there. "I love you too Abby. So much it hurts."
"I can't believe this is what it took for us to realize how stupid we were." She mumbles into your hair. Your face burrows into the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry baby."
"I'm glad you came for me." You tell her, but you know she doesn't hear it.
The walls start shaking, sending everything tumbling to the floor. You're no longer able to hear anything over the sound of a loud engine approaching. Her arms tighten around you, the two of you curl into each other.
There's a jarring beeping in your ear just as it all goes black.
You shoot up in bed, heart in your throat. The sound of your heavy breathing almost drowns out the harsh beeping of your alarm. Reaching over you rip the cord from the wall sitting in silence for a moment while your heartbeat returns to normal.
The sun is shining outside, laughter from the kids across the street flows in through the small opening of your window. A lawnmower goes off in the distance.
Shaking hands fist the cool cotton of your sheets. The soft material grounding you. You look around the small room. Everything looks just as you left it. There's an empty bottle of wine on the dresser and you roll your eyes at yourself.
That explains it.
You're okay.
It was all a dream.
You jump out of bed, rushing to the bathroom before taking the stairs two at a time almost snapping an ankle. The entryway table shakes when you snatch the keys from on top of it. The warm August breeze that hits you when you walk outside makes you feel renewed.
The quiet neighborhood looks as it always does. A couple of people are out watering their lawns while some head out for church. Claire sits on her front porch drinking a cup of coffee, giving you a little wave when she spots you pulling out of your driveway and it's a miracle you don't burst into tears. Using muscle memory you quickly punch in the number you know by heart, waiting with bated breath for an answer. "Hello?"Your shoulders drop in relief at the sound of her voice. She's okay.
"Where are you?"
"At home," she pauses "why?"
"Perfect." You hang up before she can reply. Tossing the phone on the passenger seat you press your foot down on the gas.
You make it to Abby's apartment building in record time, parking haphazardly by the curb. There's a ninety nine percent chance you'll come back to a parking ticket stuck to your windshield but you don't care.
There's a moment on the elevator ride up to the nineteenth floor where you second guess yourself. Aware of how ridiculous you look in mix matched pajamas going to try and win your ex girlfriend back. You steel your nerves reminding yourself of how horrible those last few seconds of your nightmare were. If she kicks you out you can at least say you tried.
Abby answers the door looking mouth watering in a black tank top and gray shorts, her messy hair pulled back in a low bun. "Alright, how many traffic laws did you break on your way over here?"
"You don't wanna know." You pant, throwing yourself into her arms.
She catches you with a soft grunt, hesitating for a second before wrapping her arms around you. The familiar scent of pine engulfs you.
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?" Her teasing tone makes your face heat up. "I don't think random house visits on a Sunday at 8 AM fall under no contact." She quips.
"I love you!" The words are out before you can stop yourself. "I love you and I don't want to go another day without letting you know that walking away from you was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I regret it every single day."
Abby leans back against the door with her hands still on your hips. There's a tiny grin on her face watching you spill your guts, you’re too worked up to notice. "I know we're both at the peak of our careers. I know we're busy, and there will be days we don't even get to see each other, but I'm tired of living like this. I miss you."
You sniffle pathetically into her chest. "The world could end tomorrow and I don't want to regret never telling you how I felt." Thumbs wipe gently at your tears. "And if you don't feel the same way I underst- mmph!"
Her lips meet yours in a soft kiss, hands wandering under your shirt to caress the soft skin of your back. Neither of you make a move to deepen it, content to take it slow.
Abby pulls back first. Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she stares down at you. It suddenly hits you how much you've missed her. She brings her forehead to rest against yours.
"Took you long enough baby."
#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson angst#abby anderson x female reader#abby the last of us#abby tlou#abby x you
475 notes
·
View notes
Text
Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Beginning & End
Summary: Taking a late drive to get your mind off a few things, you get more than you bargained for from a not-so-routine traffic stop.
AO3
A/N: Wasn't sure how to tag this since Agnes is technically an Agatha... variant? persona? Also I didn't tag the Agatha taglist since this isn't technically Agatha? tricky tricky... This is basically just pure smut with a sprinkle of plot.. enjoy xoxo (also let me know if you want more of Agnes?)
Words: 6.2k
Included: Established relationship, Jealousy, Smut; choking, spitting, bdsm, possession, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, cunnilingus, daddy kink, roleplaying, power dynamics, dom/sub, teasing, begging
Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix
You sigh as you lean into the leather seat. The music is loud enough to hurt, but you don’t turn the volume down, glad of the noise even if you don’t feel like singing along. Trees fly by outside the window as you drive.
A sign passes in a flash but you catch the number; 45. Your speedometer reads 55.
Making sure you’re alone on the road, you push it to 57 just for kicks. Even as the dark scenes on either side pass in a blur, the road ahead is clear. The moon hangs low and bright above, reflecting off the filled-in parts of the pavement.
The song changes and you sigh again upon hearing the familiar tune. It only reminds you of your wife; who should be home and in bed with you, but ended up on night-shift instead after hassling a suspect a bit too hard, canceling your planned evening.
Which leads you to driving the backroads between Westview and Eastview, hoping the journey will tire you out enough that you can sleep. Instead it lands you in the position of blowing past a hidden cop.
Just your luck.
You groan as you turn the music down and pull off the road into a flat area of grass. With the lights, you can’t tell if it's a Westview or Eastview officer at first. You have pretty good chances of getting off with a warning if it's one of Agnes’ coworkers.
But it’s not one of the regular officers. It’s the Chief’s car. You hit your head against the steering wheel. He’s been riding Agnes’ ass for months and will likely give you a hefty ticket just to spite her.
While you’re hitting your head against the wheel, there’s a knock on your window. You roll it down without looking, “Look, Chief, I know the deal. You can just write me a ticket and I’ll pay it tomorrow.”
“Oh, will you now?”
You pause.
Looking up in disbelief, “Agnes?”
“That’s Detective O’Connor to you.” Her face doesn’t change from the stern facade, “You were driving pretty recklessly back there. Have you been drinking tonight, ma’am?”
Subtly as you can manage, you check your side mirror to see if anyone else sits in the police cruiser. It wouldn’t be unlike the Chief to put Agnes through some insane test. No shadows lurk in the other car.
You drag your eyes back to Agnes. She’s waiting, still just as stoic, but you see the mischief in her eyes. Well, if she wants to play, why not up the stakes?
Tilting your head and smiling, “Of course not, detective. I’ve been a good girl.”
A split-second pause tells you she wasn’t expecting that. She licks her lips before the act slips back into place. She scoffs.
“That’s what they all say. Wait here.” Her hand pats the open window before she’s heading back toward the cruiser.
You watch her walk away in the side mirror with a grin. Her confident gait stirs something in you, always has.
For a split second you consider throwing the car in drive and peeling out of here. You’re curious to see what Agnes would do. You hope she’d chase you all the way home; that way when you get there you could finally have a taste of what tonight was meant to be.
You want Agnes painfully. Between work deadlines on your end and long hours on hers, you’ve been too tired to do more than cuddle, or some heavy kissing on a better day. You miss the connection that comes from baring yourselves to one another. And the orgasms, too, of course.
Agnes is back at your window, breathalyzer in hand. You make a split second decision.
“Please, detective, I can’t afford another ticket, and my wife will be so mad.” You plead, using that innocent, wide-eyed expression you know turns her on, “Is there anything I can do to… pay it off, per se?”
To her credit, she doesn’t crack this time, “Are you soliciting an officer of the law, ma’am?”
“No, of course not! Unless that’s what you want.”
“Step out of the car.”
The commanding note in her voice goes straight between your thighs. You open the door and step out, watching her brows raise at only the long nightgown you’re wearing. There’s a chill in the air that makes you shiver. Her eyes are drawn to your chest before she shakes away whatever is going through her mind.
While you’re enjoying the game, you do hope she’ll let you get back in the car soon. The cold is unmanageable without more substantial clothing.
Agnes holds up the breathalyzer, “Open your mouth.”
You do so without thinking. A blush races up your face. Agnes can’t help but smirk.
It’s not the breathalyzer that finds itself between your lips, but two fingers that settle on your tongue and press. You jolt at the pressure. Tears come to your eyes as you gag, but the weight of her fingers doesn’t ebb. You fight against your gag reflex to curl your tongue around the digits.
Closing your lips around them, you swirl your tongue like one would around a piece of candy. Even through blurred vision you can see how Agnes’ eyes darken. She leans forward, staring at your lips.
Her fingers move deeper, pressing harder, fucking your throat. You swallow around them.
You find your mouth and throat empty as Agnes pulls out. Her hand grabs your face before you can close your mouth and holds it open, fingers wet against your cheek. She grins meanly.
“Stick out your tongue.”
The second you do, Agnes spits in your mouth. You whimper. It’s humiliating and you feel yourself clench around nothing. You leave your tongue in the position she demanded, obedient as ever.
Agnes laughs, “Swallow.”
Humiliation, in combination with your startling need for her touch, forces the tears to spill over and down your cheeks. The sight of them seems to please her. She’s always loved seeing you thoroughly debased; loves knowing only she can break you down like this.
Partners in the past did try. Yet they would hesitate, hold back, believing they knew the limits of your desire instead of trusting you. A few would panic when they saw tears in your eyes and pull out of the scene completely. You often found yourself pretending; toning down your desires to ‘acceptable’ levels and leaving yourself unsatisfied to avoid that worried look in your partner’s eyes.
But you’ve never had to pretend with Agnes. From that first time, she went as far as she wanted, knowing that you were an adult capable of safe-wording if it was too much; it wasn’t. You had been dripping and needy the entire time. You had cried while she sat back and watched you polish her boots with your tongue, and had nearly come undone from the act alone. It was everything you craved—Agnes was everything you craved; trusting, dominating, cruel when it suited, and the most loving partner you’ve ever known.
You had vowed then and there that you weren’t letting her get away. And how lucky for you that she put a ring on your finger; the ring that is so much more than a symbol of love; but a brand, too, just as you desire.
“I wonder what your wife would think of you offering yourself up to me,” Agnes muses, “but you’re so eager for it, I can’t help but wonder if she’s not satisfying you properly.”
“Only you can satisfy me, detective.” You flutter your lashes.
That draws a real laugh from her. Something inside you preens. You lean forward into Agnes’ space, angling your head for a kiss, but she pulls back.
“Be that as it may, soliciting an officer is a crime, as is reckless driving.” Her hands reach for her belt, where her handcuffs rest in one of the holsters, “I’m going to have to take you in.”
Though the idea of being cuffed and fucked however she pleases excites you, you’re not entirely pleased with how your original plan was ruined. Agnes knew where the line was during interrogations and she crossed it. Knowingly. It’s safe to say you’re a little pissed she acted out.
A mean-spirited voice in your head considers pushing Agnes away entirely, leaving her wet and turned on for the rest of the night shift while you go home and find solace in your favorite toy. The rational part of you knows that no toy can replace your wife, and it’s her you want. You’re just not going to make it easy for her.
You fall to your knees before she can work the cuffs off her belt. She jolts at the unexpected change. You slam against the ground pretty hard and wince, but don’t dare stop.
Your hands find her belt buckle. Deftly, you start to undo it, “Please, I can make you feel good. I’ll do anything.”
Agnes raises her brows. She doesn’t stop you from undoing her belt or slowly lowering the zipper of her pants. There’s a tenseness in her jaw as she thinks over the request. Intent on sealing the deal, you move your hands from the front of her pants; instead leaning forward to place a kiss where they’d just been.
Looking up through your lashes, you beg, “Please.”
“Well, since you’re so eager for it.”
Ignoring the screaming in your knees, you shoot to your feet, capturing Agnes’ lips in a hard kiss. You attack with lips and teeth and tongue. At the same time, you slip your hand inside her pants and past the waistband of her panties.
She groans against your lips when your fingers play in her wetness. Your fingers ghost over her clit and you grin into the kiss. Two hands settle on your hips and shove, your back hitting the side of your car; it hurts for a moment before you’re once again lost in the feel of your wife, how she’s using her position to grind against your hand, the obscene noises leaving her throat.
Your clit throbs with every roll of her hips. It’s intoxicating that she’s just taking what she wants, using you as a toy to achieve her own pleasure. But the desire between your own legs reminds you of the end goal.
Agnes’ hips pick up speed, her usual low groans evolving into panting, high-pitched whimpers. She’s so close. You consider letting her have what she wants.
Moments before she can fall over the edge you pull your hand from her pants. Hands settling on her chest, you shove her back. She jolts and stumbles. Her fucked-out expression from seconds earlier shifts to confusion, then anger.
“What the fuck?” Agnes snarls.
“You’ve been bad, detective.” Still leaning against the car, you cross your arms over your chest, “Or should I say Daddy.”
Agnes stands straighter. There’s steel in her spine now, jaw taught as darkness comes over her expression. Amusement alights inside your chest.
Her hands begin to unravel the belt from the loops of her pants, “I’m going to paint your backside blue.”
“I don’t think so.” Your voice is hard. “You see, I had a lovely evening planned for us. Dinner, a movie, clean sheets for us to spend all night ruining. And we didn’t get to enjoy any of it because someone couldn’t control her temper. So you, daddy, are going to fuck me until I decide I’m ready to forgive you.”
“It’s cute that you think you’re in control, baby.”
Agnes steps into your space, belt in her hands. You stop her with a hand on her chest before she can get close enough to do anything.
“I am in control.”
“Those with the upper hand don’t usually have to state the fact.”
You tilt your head, “If you don’t give me what I want, you’re not going to touch me for weeks. I’ll fuck myself and all you’ll be able to do is watch. And I’ll stuff all the pairs of panties I ruin into your bag, your pockets… everywhere you go, you’ll be reminded of just what you’re missing.”
The smug expression slowly slips from her face. She tries to push forward again, but you’re unyielding; clenching your fist in the fabric of her shirt until she feels the subtle bite of your nails. There’s fury and a small trace of fear in her eyes.
It’s rare that you have the upper hand. Usually Agnes is twelve steps ahead of everyone—you included. But this time she miscalculated, and she’s going to pay for it.
“Your choice, daddy.”
She scoffs. Shaking her head, a few pieces of her hair free themselves from her low ponytail. They lay in and over her face before she blows them out of the way carelessly. She hasn’t been taking care of it, you can tell; and briefly, you consider if you can get away with commandeering her into taking better care of herself.
You likely shouldn’t push your luck. Agnes is going to punish you enough for this stunt, you’re sure.
The belt is tossed onto the ground a few feet away in a silent show of surrender. Her eyes are dark, churning with a mixture of fury and arousal. A brief moment passes where you wonder if you’re taking this a bit too far, but you shove it down; Agnes is an adult just as you are and will tell you if you cross any hard lines.
“Is the heat on in the cruiser?” You ask.
She pauses, taken-aback, “Yeah, of course.”
“Good. You’re going to fuck me in it later. But first—”
You open the back door of your own car as wide as it can go, just so you can perch on the seat with your feet still outside. With a smile, you open your legs wide. You hadn’t considered this outcome when you left the house for your drive, so your panties are relatively plain, but it doesn’t matter since they’re soaked through.
Agnes takes a step forward and you hold up a finger. She pauses. You point at the ground.
Her face goes red, “Not fucking likely.”
And then she’s on you. She’s holding herself up with one hand on the seat, the other dragging your face to hers. Her body rests perfectly between your legs. With a low moan, you roll your hips against her front.
Her grip on your face is painful. Thank god her nails are clipped short.
Agnes pulls away from your mouth to bite and suck at your throat. You throw your head back, still grinding up against her, moaning with abandon. The friction is nice but it isn’t what you wanted.
“I want you to eat me out.” You force out.
“I don’t care what you want.” Agnes growls.
“Oh? Well, I guess I should be prepared to handle my own orgasms for a while, then.”
As you say that, you stop grinding, and lay fully against the seat, one of your arms snaking its way down your front and between your thighs. You’ve only circled a finger around your clit twice before her hand catches your wrist in a punishing grip.
“Try it and I’ll tie you to the bed everyday when I go to work.”
“I made my terms abundantly clear.”
“You know what you forgot though, brat?” Agnes taunts, lips right next to your ear, “You’re too greedy to settle for your hand or your little toys. It’s only a matter of time before you get bored and come crawling back to me.”
“Maybe I’ll just crawl to someone else. Agent Vidal has been hanging around.”
A hand closes around your throat and you whine. She squeezes, your vision going fuzzy around the edges. You roll your hips.
“I’ll lock you in the house if you even think about it.” Her voice is hard, promising, “You’re mine, baby.”
“Prove it.”
That’s the wrong thing to say.
Agnes pulls back completely. Her hands leave you, the pressure of her body is gone. You look up and she’s standing just far enough away that you can’t touch her. You growl.
The look on her face is one you’ve seen a dozen times; the very same one she wears when you’re about to endure something you don’t like. But you vow not to let her have the upper hand. Not this time. This time, you’re going to make her bend.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She says.
The words are like a bucket of cold water over your head. You don’t spend long dwelling on the threat, there’s no time.
Agnes is halfway back to the police cruiser when you worm your hand into your panties and bury two fingers inside without preamble. Despite being the source of your own pleasure, you jolt, back bowing off the seat. The moan that leaves your lips is exaggerated; pornographic.
“Oh, yes!”
You hear her footsteps come to a stop. You don’t dare open your eyes, not yet. The pleasure you’re experiencing is real, even if it is half of what it could be with Agnes’ help, but you have to keep up the act—have to make her jealous of your own fingers.
Though she hates to admit it, Agnes is jealous in all aspects of life. There’s a bit of healthy competitiveness worked in there that you can admire. Yet some days… some days she comes home fighting mad, hair a mess and muscles clenched tight as she recounts the events that made her that way. And lately they’ve all had the same person involved—
Agent Rio Vidal.
A loaner agent from the FBI, here to figure out some of the more poignant details of a murder on the Westview-Eastview county line. She’s confident and cutting and painfully attractive. Somehow, she knows how to push every single one of Agnes’ buttons, in work and play.
You’ve only met her twice and each time Agnes was an animal afterward. The appreciative glances and suggestive words made you blush—and though you won’t admit it, turned you on a good bit—while Agnes could barely hold herself back from attacking the woman. So possessive. So jealous.
You can use that.
The door on the other car hasn’t opened and you know she’s watching with rapt attention. You put on a good show, rolling your hips into your one hand while pinching at your chest with the other. You could get off on her watching.
Another exaggerated, high-pitched moan, “Oh, Agent Vidal!”
Though the woman is attractive, you can’t imagine anyone but your wife. Agnes doesn’t need to know that.
Strong hands grab your calves and pull you half-way out of the car. You squeak, eyes snapping open. Agnes looms above you and oh fuck you’re in trouble.
“You little bitch.” She snarls, hand coming to wrap around your throat.
You try to moan but she doesn’t give you that much air. Another deft hand rips your own from your panties, even going so far as to rip the fabric off completely. There’s the ghost of her fingers above your center. You roll your hips.
The sensation of loss and blurry edges is usually a huge turn-on; maybe it’s the intense change from oxygen to no oxygen, but you’re struggling more than normal. You tap her wrist three times.
Agnes pulls away completely. Her hand is off your neck, the other gone from between your thighs. You take in large lungfuls of air and feel your heart-rate slow just a little. A little whine works its way from your throat, though it’s mainly a result of the throbbing between your legs that’s still driving you crazy.
Your wife’s hands hover over you, eyes concerned, “Honey?”
“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” You assure, sitting up and kissing one of her palms, “The quick change just… startled me. I’m okay.”
“Should I… Do you need me to take you home?”
“Oh no, Agnes O’Connor, you’re going to finish what you started.” Spreading your legs offers an obscene picture of just how soaked you are, made even more tantalizing by the ripped panties clinging to your thigh, “Unless you want me to find someone else who can finish the job.”
It’s like flipping a switch.
Overwhelming is a word that could be used to describe Agnes in bed—smothering, even. She has a way of overtaking every single one of your senses at once. Your skin is on fire with her touch, with the faint strands of hair tickling your face. The scent of burnt break-room coffee clings to her jacket. You even taste it when her tongue invades your mouth, moaning obscenely against your lips.
You like being smothered, though. You crave it; aching for anything that will let you turn your mind off and just feel.
Agnes pulls back. Her breath is hot against your lips, “You’re such a brat.”
“Only for you, daddy.” You murmur.
A shudder passes through her at the name. Her grip tightens on you, near bruising. You moan.
“Where do you want me?”
“With your mouth between my legs.”
“Fingers?”
“Yes, please.”
Agnes chuckles, “So you do remember your manners. Interesting.”
You roll your eyes. To your luck, Agnes doesn’t see—if she had, you would have been punished accordingly. Though you realize things are a bit off-balance with your threat hanging in the air; any other time, Agnes would have you bent anyway she pleased, taking all she wanted until you couldn’t handle any more.
Being in control is… odd. Not unwanted, but odd. You have to be more aware of yourself, confident in every command that leaves your lips. You’re glad that this is Agnes’ preferred role even if you’re enjoying the change.
Lips kiss the inside of your thighs and you shudder. When she sinks her teeth in, you squeal, jolting at the change. Your hand falls to the top of her head.
“Not what I meant!”
“Oh, then what did you mean?” She taunts.
“If you don’t make me come right now so help me—”
The heat of her mouth on you is enough to shut you up. Her tongue drags up your slit with agonizing slowness. She teases at your clit for only a moment before repeating the slow drag, making you whine, pressing her head closer.
You feel the rumble of her laughter and god help you the vibrations feel amazing. Yet when you try to move your hips for more, her hands keep them pressed firmly to the leather seat.
Another threat sits on your lips that never comes to pass. With the last slow lick, she fastens her lips around your clit and sucks, hard. It’s painful and wonderful and your back bows off the seat, hands scrambling for anything to clench into. The weeks have been long and you know you’re not going to last.
“I’m going to come.” You force out.
She laughs again. That, in combination with her attention focused solely on your clit, sends you straight over the edge. You feel wild, unhinged as your hips move without any guidance from your mind, chasing the waves of pleasure that make your every muscle go taut.
But when the pleasure subsides, Agnes doesn’t stop. She pushes two fingers inside and curls them in that way you like so much. You clench around them, though you ache, not ready for more so soon.
“I can’t—Please, I can’t.” You beg.
“One more, baby. You can give me that, can’t you?”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
And you do. Her fingers know every inch of you well, her mind cataloging every spot that makes you whine, every move she performs that sends you over the edge. She calls on that knowledge as the pads of her fingers rub against that spot inside you with abandon until you can’t breathe, shrieking and moaning loud enough that you worry someone will hear you miles away.
The pleasure tenses your body so tight that you worry the muscles will never relax again. It hurts in that delicious way only Agnes can bring out.
When you do relax, she’s licking gently at you, collecting the flavor on her tongue and savoring it like a fine wine. You twitch. The hand you have in her hair pushes as you attempt to slide further onto the seat, away from her mouth.
“No more,” you beg, “please.”
“Am I forgiven?”
You laugh, breathless, “Not quite.”
You tug her up wordlessly until the weight of her is draped over you. It’s nice, comforting to feel her close. Her warmth helps fight against the cold biting at your lower half. Sighing, you bury your face in her neck, your hand coming up to lazily play with her hair.
Agnes accepts the touch. She traces little patterns on your hip over the nightgown, soft and quiet. You can still see the red and blue lights from your hiding place in her neck.
“Why do you have the Chief’s car?” You ask.
She scoffs, “Mine broke down three hours into the shift. Had to call the Chief and walk all the way to his house to get the cruiser.”
“What? Agnes, why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted you to enjoy your night in, honey.”
You think about arguing, but you recognize the exhaustion in her voice, and decide not to push it—for now. It’s an argument you can save for later.
“So what was it, the battery? I thought we just replaced it.”
“I think the old girl might just be done for. We’ve had her for a while.” Agnes shrugs.
“But that’s… we brought Nicky home in that car.” You whisper, chest aching.
Another piece of your life—connected to your baby—that you won’t get to keep. Agnes tenses, her breathing growing ragged, and you feel terrible; she’s likely already thought about this the whole shift, spent all these hours remembering it alone. That’s why she didn’t call you—she didn’t want to drag you bag into the deep end of the pain, too.
You press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. No wonder she took the first opportunity to play with you, she needed the distraction.
“I’m sorry, my love.” You murmur.
“Not your fault, honey. These things happen.”
She sounds less and less like herself with every moment. You don’t want to shove the grief aside—the grief counselor said that only made things worse—but this isn’t how you want to handle it; Agnes draped over your freshly-debauched form in the backseat of your car.
This is a conversation, a breakdown for home, where the two of you can take all the time you need to soak in the new loss. You need to distract her away from this.
“Will the force offer you one of their vehicles?”
“Yeah. They should.”
“Where did you break down?”
“By the bridge on Old Forest.”
Perfect.
“Let’s give her a proper sendoff, then.”
Agnes pauses. The look she gives you is questioning, as if not quite believing your suggestion, but she knows better—knows you’re serious about this.
“Alright.”
Which is how you find yourself halfway across town, on a back road with no streetlights, pulling off perilously close to a ditch. Agnes' car is unmistakable even in the dark—from the extra mirror on the hood reflecting the moonlight to the dent in the back bumper she never got fixed. You feel suddenly overwhelmed as you trace your fingers over the body.
So many memories, good and bad. Your late-night trysts in the back seat. Bringing Nicky home. The back seat full of his stinky sports gear. Agnes’ old case files winding up on the floor.
Agnes comes up and drapes her jacket over your shoulders. The warmth of her body has seeped into the cloth, now blocking out the chill in the air, “This might not be the best idea.”
You raise a brow, “Cold feet, detective?”
“Mine are nice and warm. Yours, however...”
She looks up and down your scantily-clad form with a worried furrow of her brow. It’s sweet, but not needed.
“I don’t think our plans will keep me anything but warm.” You smile, leaning back against the car while pulling Agnes close, until every inch of her is pressed against your front. Her hands settle on your hips as she kisses you with a softness belaying the vulnerability she still feels, “Unlock the car.”
“Honey—”
“Agnes, would you rather I went home?” You murmur.
“Of course not.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Beats me.”
“You know what I want?”
Using your leverage against the vehicle, you draw one of your feet up the inside of Agnes’ leg, careful to press every part of yourself against her. Her warmth radiates through her flannel and jeans and you smile.
She raises a brow, “I’m sure I can guess.”
“I want you to bend me over in the backseat of this car like you did that first time. You remember, don’t you? How pissed you were that I’d been teasing you for five dates.” You laugh at the memory, “You couldn’t even make it out of the restaurant parking lot.”
“You were so loud we almost got caught.” She recalls, voice low, gravelly.
“There’s no one around to catch us now.”
Agnes wraps one of her arms around your waist and uses it to tug you sideways, making quick work of unlocking the car. With the hand not on your waist, she opens the back door, and eases her jacket from your shoulders. She lays it out on the cold seats with the warm side up.
Not for the first time, you’re moved by her consideration of your comfort. It would be so easy for a partner to disregard the little things if it meant getting to the end goal faster; but not Agnes. You reward her with a long, slow kiss.
When she pulls away, there’s a fond little smile on her lips. She pats your hip, “On your hands and knees.”
You obey without question. Crawling onto the backseat, you’re reminded of just how confined the space of a car is. You have to keep your head bowed so as not to hit your head on the roof. It’ll be worth your while, but you know the two of you will be feeling the adverse effects of this choice for days.
Agnes follows and shuts the door behind her. She works her way into the backseat until not a bit of space exists between the two of you. Every inch of her front is pressed against you, draped over you like a warm blanket. You push your backside back into her crotch, teasing.
“I should’ve sent you home to get your purple.” You say.
“Be good and you can have my cock later.”
Warm fingertips trail up the back of your thigh until they snake under the hem of your nightgown. The soothing heat of her touch is lovely compared to the bite of the cold air. You lean into it.
“Yes, daddy.” You sigh.
Her body pulls away from yours and you turn, confused. A sharp slap to your backside makes your breath stutter, your core clenching around nothing. Your toes curl.
“Interesting that you want to be good now, when you’ve been testing me all night.”
“What can I say? I’m motivated by rewards.”
You’re satisfied that Agnes seems to be in the moment, rather than locked up in the memories in her head. Intent on keeping it that way, you lean back into her, arching so you can match her entirely. Her muscles go taut and relax and being able to feel it makes you ravenous.
Two fingers push your ripped panties aside and begin to drag up your slit, teasing. It should be noted that you are trying to be good for her, offering the control she takes to so well. You like to think she can tell, too.
When she slips her fingers inside you without torturing you further, you’re sure she knows.
You push back, desperate. You want more of her and bad. It’s as if the orgasms she gave you less than an hour ago never happened. Every muscle in your body quakes with the knowledge of what only Agnes can give you. And you want it so deeply that it threatens to bring tears to your eyes.
“Please.” You beg without prompting, “Please, more.”
A split-second hesitation belays her surprise, but she does slip another finger inside, stretching you even wider. You can’t stop how you move, nor the noises that come out of your mouth. You feel cursed with hunger only she can sate.
It’s this car, this backseat, and the memories here that are driving you so mad. It’s the life attached to it that you never thought you would get; a family, a future, a wife who loves you despite all the ugly parts others had run from. It’s the years you haven’t had to live out alone, the pain you’ve shared. It’s the fact that this act was once a beginning and now it’s an end.
Her lips press against the back of your neck, impossibly gentle, so unlike the role she’s meant to be playing. Something inside you breaks.
“Agnes—“ You choke out.
“It’s okay, honey.”
You let go.
You let go from holding yourself back—fucking yourself on her fingers until you shriek with pleasure. You let go of the ball of emotions in your chest, of hunger and pleasure and guilt. You let go of the pain and let tears spill over onto your cheeks.
It’s not the best orgasm you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a goodbye to this piece of your life. It’s an end. And it hurts just the same as it feels good to embrace the potential of something new.
Agnes holds you, steady as ever. You feel the dampness of her own tears on your neck.
You turn and lay on your back, welcoming the weight of her. You use your thumbs to wipe away the tears coming from her beautiful blue eyes.
“Am I forgiven, or do we have to go another round?” She asks.
You grin, not taking your hands from her face, “You’re forgiven, my love.”
“Thank god.”
Agnes drops her head until it rests on your chest. You laugh, extracting the hair tie so you can run your fingers through the length of it. Her arms wrap around you as much as they can.
She presses a kiss to your chest, over where your heart is. You gently work through a knot in between your fingers. The windows are clouded with perspiration. Beads of water reflect what little moonlight peeks through the trees. Moonlight or no, you know every dip and curve of your wife’s form, and could identify every part of her without sight.
The stale coffee smell has worn off, replaced by the faint undertones of the cologne she wears each morning. It’s deep and musky and comforting.
Maybe it’s the weight of her head on your chest in combination with the memories that makes you speak, “Have you ever thought about us trying again?”
She tilts her head so she can look up into your eyes without lifting from her resting place. Her brows are furrowed.
“Trying again?”
The weight of her beautiful eyes on you almost makes you change the subject. These conversations are so much easier without that layer of intimacy. But you’ve started something and you’ll be damned if you don’t finish it.
“To be parents.” You whisper.
“I’m a little past due on that, baby.” Her smile is self-deprecating.
“I’m not.”
“You never wanted to carry. I remember that much.”
“That was then.” You continue smoothing through her hair, “Now… If you want to try again, I’ll do it. I want to do it.”
You can’t decipher the look in her eyes. She doesn’t pull away, but she’s tense.
“We don’t need to decide right now. We have time.”
She nods, “Alright.”
“You’ll still be daddy, even if you aren’t my baby-daddy.”
“That was terrible.”
It doesn’t stop her from grinning, nor does it stop you from laughing. Something in the tension eases. You can’t lean down and kiss her like this, so you press a kiss to the pads of your fingers, and press them to her lips. She nips at them playfully.
The quiet is nice, but you can feel the cold settling into your bones. You need to be back in a heated car before you get sick.
“When is your shift over?”
“In a few hours.”
You nod, figuring out what time she’ll come home and how it fits into your schedule, “I have nothing after work if you want me to make good on those orgasms I owe you.”
“I look forward to it.”
It takes some time, but you and Agnes manage to untangle yourselves and worm your way out of the back seat. She sits, keeping you wrapped in her coat, until the inside of your own car is nice and warm. That earns her a few lingering kisses.
She trails you on the drive home before speeding off to do god knows what during the last few hours of her shift. And when you fall asleep—already feeling sore—an eagerness sets in your chest of what awaits. With an end, a new beginning.
#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness#agatha all along#agnes o'connor#agnes o'connor x reader#agatha all along x reader#agatha all along fanfiction#agatha harkness fanfiction#wlw#wlw fanfiction#nov2024#multimilfswritings
347 notes
·
View notes
Text
blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so
Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.
Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.
Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.
Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go.
Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe.
Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.
Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling.
Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo.
It was the proverbial straw.
“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”
Nothing.
“HEY!”
He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead.
Silence rang for a beat.
Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range.
The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Geez, need attention much?”
Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?”
Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.”
It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
But, see. That just gave him an idea.
Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all.
“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,”
He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude.
“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly.
“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”
It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up.
“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified. “Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here?”
The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.
“You tired?”
“Uh, no. I’m fine--”
“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm.
There was a countdown, three, two, one...
A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs. “Dude, what the hell?”
“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”
“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?”
Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth.
“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?”
Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.
God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking.
Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.”
Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move.
“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,” Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them.
“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”
“Dude, Eddie, noooo!”
“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.”
“You guys, let’s just go already,”
“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,”
The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together.
It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.
What can he say? He’s a weak man.
“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in.
“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.”
A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that.
The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!”
The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly.
#Listen this is cheesy and poorly written but i HAD to#go find that tik tok because it was hilarious but also radiated love and healthy parenting#they called it 'gentle parenting with malicious intent' looooool#steddie#the party#my brain vomit
4K notes
·
View notes
Note
YES PLEASE. BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE?? 90’s?? SIGN ME UP. WHERE DO I PUT MY NAME??😖😖🙏
- 🩵
a/n + cw; OMGG AN EMOJI ANON i haven't seen you guys in a hot minute, but YESSS BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE!! specifically x customer reader. it's a cute duo! and let me relay why from my very scrambled 3 am jot-down. was going to make this a blurb, but it better translates through something more structured. ++ SFW! kinda mean!reader tbh (but ellie likes that), very fluffy you might squeet, quickly written, awkwardness, ellie being a nerd. [first pic from amoaeIIie on pinterest]
Imagine Ellie, in her blockbuster getup, leaning her butt into the edge of the register counter, jamming to whatever is playing on her hand-me-down walkman; earsbuds in, eyes downcast, head bopping slowing - soundly unaware of you awaiting service on your over-due rental. "Hello?" your volume divides the soft ambiance of the store, but it isn't enough to rope Ellie's mindspace from the clouds. Calling out again, "Hell-looh?" you extend beyond the cash register and wave your hand - nothing, nada.
How the hell has this girl not gotten her ass fired yet?
After numerous roadblocks, a brazen last resort comes into play. You cut around the counter briefly to take things into your own hands (literally) because you have not the time, nor the patience, for her slacking off.
Beryl eyes drop sharply to the walkman in her pants pocket when a single earbud is spooled from her ear, assuming it fell - but to her surprise, it hung low from your finger, and a glance above that finger was your face. Risen of one brow, flat-lined of your lips; impatient.
And her entire focus blanks out when you begin to speak, curtly and satirically, "Hey, I know busting out your Dad's old walkman in public makes you feel cool and whatnot, but you're on the clock." handing the slim cord back over to a stunned girl, flushed behind the pop of her freckles. Maybe your tone of voice sent her higher into the clouds, past a coven of angels, because her lips part narrowly and remain still for a single second - save two or three. Or maybe it's 'cause you specified it as her 'Dad's' which was.. spot on.
And whatever excuse she had quickly cherry-picked for you, hesitated audibly in her throat before it split from it, "O-Oh, right, shit sorry - was about to end my shift n' thought the store was empty. My bad." scrambling to stuff the other earplug in her pocket and avert all attention to you. Very eagerly.
"Looks like you've got a late fee on this one.." her pitch pummeled deeper, and coarser as she concentrates on the clunky screen she hunches slightly to use. Scrunching the freckles of her face together, hogging the blue-lit screen. Poor girl probably forgot her glasses at home. "Annnd are you looking to rent the sequel?" she peeks her auburn head from the screen and holds up the cased movie, tracing her index over the plastic cleft, tapping twice. "To this - it has a second part."
There's no denying it: she is cute - and guilt rolls your guts around for being so snippy and sullen to her earlier. But based on her demeanor growing enthused the second she saw what movie you had in hand - she doesn't seem to care a hoot.
"Out of stock," replied you, indifferent-sounding - and strking; crossed arms, bent knee, stiffly-standing. Comparable to a millpond. "Guess I won't be the only person with late fees." you take a breath to jest, shaking loose strands of hair from your eyes.
"Haha," you're no world-class comedian; that joke wasn't all that funny, but the need to hurl any affirming noise at you, was necessary. Relenting to reflex. What can she say? Love at first sight! "Yeah, that seems like the agenda these days," Ellie sighs out, molding the plump of her lip under her teeth and reshapes it into a dorky smirk. Isn't she just a sweet chocolate-box of adorability?
"Hmm, bummer."
That hum and word trips into her ears, knocking some brain-cog, and an idea limns her features; they glow wide. "Actually - um, I've got a copy of the sequel at my place. Technically it's my Dad's, but.." her pitch fluctuates, mindlessly thumbing the case between two fiddly hands. "Maybe you can - if you want, not pressuring you or anything - come over?" she throws a pointed thumb backwards, motioning a potential future. "Watch it? If you weren't planning on watching it with somebody else."
Slick trick to seeing if you're single; of course you'd watch movies with your boyfriend - or girlfriend.
"Hmmm.." you hummed longer this time, and this time it admitted the mushrooming of an almost aggravating anticipation in her belly. Like you meant to torture her with 'hmms' and nothing but 'hmms' as your answer hung high in cloudy abeyance, until, "What's the name on your tag - ah, Ellie."
"Yeah?"
"Ellie," you confirm her name twice, and speak it to enthrall her full-scale attention. Made it sound fucking sugary sweet, through a swirly whisper and a twist of your head. "If you can give me a discount, or a full wipe on that late fee, then yes. It's a date."
Light panic ensues. "Date?" she croaks and laughs it off, "I mean - pshh, guess that's one way to put it." backtracking to her hunched, elbows-on-the-counter pose.
"You put it that way."
"Yeah, I just.. didn't wanna admit that." immediately, she uncurls her spine again, relaxing her muscles to somewhat peer at you. "Sure. No more fees." Rounded eyes lost - adamant on indirectly staring at you and the space below you, because Goddess forbid a stroke of idiocy flickers through her while gawking at you.
The store runs dead-quiet in the background of your conversation, leading you to one golden question. "Your shift over after this?"
Oh damn, her cheeks are pink. "Uh-huh," bet she's oblivious to that red-hot beam nearly bursting the seams to her face, too. Nasal lines fold as a severe smile tugs, shadowed by her bent thumb poking at it. "Takin' my car?"
And that's how you pick up girls at a video store in the 90s - the Ellie Williams way.
this isn't even the full idea
#✮─── . aestra's bibliotheca#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#ellie williams fluff#⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks#lesbian#sapphic#ellie x reader#ellie williams x fem!reader#ellie williams x masc!reader#ellie williams fic#⋆ .🩵 anon#ellie williams concept#blockbuster!ellie#ellie williams drabble#ellie williams oneshot#the last of us fanfiction#ellie the last of us#ellie the last of us 2#the last of us 2#the last of us au#ellie williams au#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams smut
775 notes
·
View notes
Text
in-house babysitter | a.h x fem!reader
ꨄ requested: anonymous
ꨄ genre: smut
ꨄ summary: aaron is your boss and you're his in-house babysitter, after having a horrible date, he comes home and all he wants is you.
you were sitting on the sofa watching a horror movie when aaron came in, you heard the door close and his heavy footsteps fading down the hall to his bedroom. he hadn't spoken to you which was unusual for him, he always spoke to you no matter how upset or tired he was.
choosing to ignore it, you redirected your attention back to the movie. though, you kept getting sidetracked by the small sounds you could hear coming from him in his room. you didn't have the volume on the tv turned up too loud as to not wanting to wake jack.
about half an hour later, a loud thud came from aaron's room which caused you to pause the television. you walked towards his room and softly knocked on the door, a gruff 'come in' came from the other side of the door.
you opened the door and stepped inside his room, leaning against it after you closed it. you caught a small glimpse of aaron's toned stomach as he finished pulling his shirt down. "is everything okay?"
"yeah- why are you still awake? it's late." he asked, glancing down at his watch to confirm how late it was. you shrugged your shoulders and spit out a lie about just not being tired but of course, aaron saw right through it. "truthfully?"
"i just- i wanted to make sure you got home from your date safe." you shrugged, averting your gaze when aaron started to walk closer to you. your cheeks burned as you could almost feel his body warmth radiating off of him. ever since you first applied for the babysitting job you've had a crush on aaron, but having to live with him has helped you manage your feelings around him better.
"speaking of which, how was your date?" when you finally looked back at him, you didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed at the question. you opened your mouth to take the question back but aaron started to speak before you could.
"it wasn't exactly the best." he stated, shaking his head as he thought back to how awful his date really was. he kept the details vague when you asked, saying that they just weren't compatible but the real reason the date was so bad was because he couldn't keep his mind off of you the entire time and that caused him to be a bad date.
"oh, i'm sorry to hear that." you pressed your lips into a thin line, not trying to give away the fact that you were actually a bit glad the date didn't go well. aaron chuckled and took a step closer, he had you backed against the door with nowhere to go.
"no you're not."
your breath caught in your throat as he brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and smoothing his thumb over the soft skin. even if aaron hadn't been a profiler, you've lived together long enough now that he's had time to learn all of your tells: when you're lying, when you're nervous, when you're happy, etc.
for a few moments you both stood there, pressed against his bedroom door, staring into each other's eyes waiting for the other to make the next move. aaron's gaze dropped down to your lips for a moment before he met your eyes again, he was silently asking for permission to kiss you, which you granted almost immediately.
you tossed your arms over his shoulders as he leaned forward and finally pressed your lips together. it was a kiss that portrayed all the feelings you've had for each other that have been building up for months.
aaron placed his hand under your thigh so he could lift your leg up and place it around his hip. he pressed himself against your core so that you could feel how his cock was hardening with each second his mouth was on yours. as much as you hated to have to pull away from his lips, you desperately needed air. aaron took that moment to tuck his head in the crook of your neck and place kisses anywhere he could.
"aaron- are you sure we should be doing this?" you mumbled as you pushed your fingers into the short hairs at the back of his head as his teeth lightly grazed your skin. you tilted your head to the side to give him more room to trail his lips over your skin.
"i've been thinking about you all night." he lifted his head from your neck and pressed one quick kiss to your lips, he pushed his hips into you to accentuate his point. "if you don't want to then we won't, it's all up to you."
you stared up at him while you thought about your decision. you really did want this but you had to think about how it could affect your job and your relationship with him afterwards. aaron pushed a stray piece of hair from your face and gently let your leg down.
"i want to." you finally spoke, you leaned up and ghosted your lips against his before slipping around his body. aaron turned around to face you, a soft groan escaping from his parted lips as you pulled your shirt over your head.
"show me what you've got, mr. hotchner."
#golden1u5t#myrarants#criminal minds fandom#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#dom aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch smut#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut
424 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey, totally ok if it’s not ur vibe, but i’d love to see an oscar fic where he’s helping his girlfriend or a childhood best friend when she’s feeling a bit down.
i keep thinking about that man helping clean a depression room and telling his girl not to be embarrassed and he’s there to help and they get it sorted and he just holds her. makes sure she’s eaten and drank something.
even if it’s just a drabble, i’d really appreciate it :) need that kinda care in my life rn, even if it’s fictional.
I made this girlfriend because it just felt softer idk
To Be Loved Is To Be Seen (OP81)
Summary: Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.
Warnings: this one is HEAVY on the family trouble, depression, anxiety, VERY ANGSTY but def cutest HAPPY ENDING
Note: i didn’t know if you wanted reader to be in a rut or have a reason for it so i just made a reason
Y/n’s first few months of university were hard. Not only was it due to the new course load, but also because of her parents lack of interest when it came to her life. It had been a gradual shift, starting from her last two years in high school and only getting stronger as time went on. They had always been there, overbearing at times, but, now, they posted pictures of their trips around the world, failing to answer her calls and texts. She felt selfish for wanting her parents’ attention as much as she did, but it was hard to fight. There were situations she had never dealt with before, she wanted her mom’s wise words and father’s funny remarks to get through it all. But, she sat alone in the darkness of her room without the guidance counselor she usually could count on. It felt as if she wasn’t enough to keep them there anymore. It was heart wrenching and it stewed within her at such volumes, it became too much.
That’s when Oscar noticed. Her boyfriend had always been attentive, noticing small things about her that no one else did, but the second her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her text messages became less frequent, it was almost as if he was staring her down in anticipation of some sort of sign. He didn’t begin to realize it was related to her parents until he caught a glimpse of her phone when they were together, the screen open to her conversations with her mother and all of the recent texts going completely unanswered. He knew she had always had a rocky relationship with them, but she spoke about them with such respect, he knew it would’ve bothered her to feel so unimportant.
Knocking on her door, his hands clutched the bag of her favorite food he had got on his walk to her apartment. He had planned this evening out for weeks, not telling her about it in worry that she would slip into a facade put together with a fake smile that made his skin crawl.
She opened it, her body tense and tired in a ratty shirt and shorts, “Oscar? What are you doing here?”
It was as if he saw her front go up, her posture straightening and that haunting smile which told him all too well how much pain she was in. He smiled softly, “I thought we could spend the night together.”
She closed the door enough to only peek her head through, “Osc, I’m so sorry, but I can’t tonight. I’m so busy.”
He stayed put, “That’s okay. I can wait on your couch.”
“No, Osc,” She said firmly, her face turning in the light and exposing the dark bags under her eyes.
He stepped closer to her, putting his hand on the door and looking down at her with a look that made her feel loved, “Y/n, let me in. I know you’re going through it. Let me be with you.”
Her resolve cracked, her smile dropping for a second and water suddenly pooling in her eyes, “You don’t want to come in here.”
He leaned against the door and cupped her cheek, “It won’t make me love you any less.”
With a sigh, Y/n pushed the door open, beckoning the boy into her home. He knew what to expect, he knew what it was like to reach the place she was in. So, when he saw the piles of clothes, half-eaten food on the counter with old dishes in the sink, and her little accessories put in the wrong places, something she would never usually do, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was happy she had let him in, literally and figuratively.
She picked at her nails beside him, swaying on her feet as she analyzed his every move. Part of her was trying to ready herself for him to walk out the door, give up on her because of whatever stood before them, but he gently set the food on the floor and ushered her into his embrace. His cheek laid against the top of her head, nestled in her hair, as he tightened his grip around her body. She smelled his cologne and felt his sweatshirt which made him feel all the more warm. There was something about his presence, she would later learn it was how safe she felt, that made the turmoils of her mind quiet as she began to cry. Y/n had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry for people who clearly didn’t care, but as Oscar rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her, she realized it was never going to work.
Her breaking down wet the material of his sweatshirt, but Oscar just held her tighter, whispering how it was going to be okay and this would all pass.
“You’re so worth it all, Y/n,” He whispered, pecking the top of her ear as he smoothed down her hair.
She clutched his back before Oscar was moving her hands under his hoodie to feel the bare of his skin. He knew she loved that. And she did. Y/n’s tears began to dissipate as he told her why he was there.
“I’m with you in this. You aren’t alone. I’m here for you and I always will be. This,” He gestured to the space around them, holding her face in his hands and forcing her eyes to meet his, “doesn’t scare me at all, love. What does scare me, though, is the attempts at eating on the counter. Have you been eating other than that?”
She shook her head, “I tried. It’s too hard. I’m not hungry ever anymore.”
He titled his head with a small frown, “Well, maybe your favorite food will help, yeah? We’ll sit together and eat. We can go as slow as you want, or as fast. All up to you, baby.”
He kissed her forehead lightly before guiding her to the living room, one of the less dirty places, and setting her down on the cushions. He set it all behind him, not wanting to overwhelm her with everything he got, and took out what he knew she would want first. There was a dull sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her, his heart lifted. It hadn’t been there when he first arrived.
She opened it slowly, eyeing the food she once ravished in seconds, and taking a utensil to pick at it. He looked at her, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. When she did, however small, he did too. When she did again, he did too.
She stopped, “Why aren’t you eating faster?”
He smiled, “Because I’ll take a bite when you do. I don’t mind, Y/n. I told you I’m in this with you.”
Her eyes gloss over as they dart between him and the food before taking another bite, giggling a bit when Oscar takes one of his own dish. She eats, he does too and their eyes never leave each other, offering unspoken support.
When the plastic boxes are gone and empty, Oscar has glasses of water randomly appearing in his grip, offering them to his girlfriend who has found herself tangled in that soft blanket he got her last Christmas. Her cheeks are a soft pink from the warmth of it coupled with the candle he lit in the midst of their dinner and she smiles when the cool liquid flows down her throat. Oscar stands over her, hands in his pockets and wondering how anyone could possibly ignore her texts. He wants to take a picture of her, remind her parents of the beauty they have in their reach. But, he also knows that any text he sends to them wouldn’t be one he should send to his potential (very likely) in-laws. So, he stays quiet and looks at her with the love she deserves.
“Do you need anything else?” He asks, pushing the hair out of her face.
She shakes her head, “No, I’m good. What movie do you want to watch?”
He kisses her cheek, “It’s up to you. I won’t be watching.”
Her eyebrows knot together and she cocks her head, “Why not? Is this some random pickup line where you’re going to tell me how you’ll only be watching me?”
He laughs, his head back, as he walks toward her room, “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll keep that for later. You put on whatever you want, baby. I’ll be cleaning.”
She crawls to the corner of the couch, watching him begin to pick up her room, “Clean? What? Why?”
He stops, turning around to look at her through the door, “Because I want to help you feel better and I know your apartment is stressing you out. You shouldn’t have to worry, love. Just relax. I’ll be done in a few hours.”
Her mouth is agape as he moves throughout her room, putting things away as if he knows where everything goes. He does, apparently. And when the shock of it wears off, a smile cements itself on her face as she turns on a random movie. She enjoys the soft humming of Oscar in the other room, answering his occasional question about the plot of the movie she’s watching. When he moves to the kitchen, out in the open and available to see what’s on the screen, Y/n falls asleep to the picture of her boyfriend doing her dishes and taking out her trash. Falling asleep with a warm heart mended by someone that has always loved her unconditionally.
—
She’s awoken by the feeling of soft mattress beneath her and Oscar’s arms heavy around her torso. He’s deep in sleep when she opens her eyes, has her completely enveloped in his grasp on her side. The room is dark, the window open and allowing for a cold breeze to flow through the room. She loves it. It’s cold outside, but Oscar keeps her warm. Her hands move their way up to his head, playing with his hair and staring at the man who has treated her so gently.
Tears fall down her face all so suddenly, sniffling lightly but still waking Oscar in the process.
He’s immediately worried, “What’s wrong?”
Her head drops to his chest, “I just love you so much and can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you stayed here even after seeing the state everything was in, including me.”
His soft hands leave her body and pull her face up to him. His eyes are dilated as he looks at her, “I would’ve done it yesterday and I’ll do it for the rest of our lives. I don’t want you to struggle alone. You don’t deserve that. You’ve done too much of that before you met me.”
If only her younger self could see her now. A younger girl worried she’d never find a man who loved her by seeing her now wholly adored by someone who didn’t just see her, but understood her too. She doesn’t even need to utter the problem, he already knows and she’s caught on to that since the moment he showed up at her door. His carefully chosen words about her worth and how easy it is to love her were all strategically placed in order to fix the cracks deep in her soul that have come undone at the hands of her parents.
“It’s just upsetting that they only loved me.” She whispers and for a second, Oscar doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But, the tense of her words dawns on him and the look on her face unleashes anger in his body. Loved. It’s upsetting that her parents loved her. They no longer do in her eyes. She once had parental support, love, but it’s obvious how transactional, conditional it was now. She got a taste of what it was like to be loved by them, but it was taken away when she needed it the most. She had mentioned to him before that growing up, she felt as if they used her presence to shy away from the problems of their marriage. When she was out of the house, she thought they would separate, but the opposite has happened. She served her purpose, now they throw money at trips to fill the void of what they have refused to face. Disregarded and thrown away, that’s the implications of what she’s confided.
He nods, tears in his eyes, “It’s so unfair of them to treat you this way. They’re your parents. They should be there for you, but they have never known how to love and you were just an unnecessary victim in it all.”
She wipes the moisture from her face, “I should just move on from the way they’ve treated me. I should give them grace because they’re my parents. I should just make peace with it all because this will never be fixed in the way I want it. But, I can’t.”
Oscar kisses the top of her head, “It’s okay that you can’t. That’s completely understandable. Giving grace just because they’re your family members isn’t right, Y/n. Just because there’s a blood relation doesn’t mean you can excuse their behavior. They’re your parents and they have neglected you for ages. You can’t keep giving everything to them, only to get nothing in return. Parents or not, you distance yourself from people who bring you down as much as they do.”
More tears smear against his chest, “But, they’re my parents, Osc.”
It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say because he knows how much she praises their drive and determination, giving her a life of privilege. Though, he stands firm on the idea that no one should be given a second chance if they “love” this way.
“I know, Y/n, and it’s so horrible that you’ve been put in this situation, but I think it would do you some good to let go of a part of them. You’ll go home and see them for birthdays, Christmases, but, in the time between, you don’t have to chase after them. You can find love in other things, happiness in other things. I’ll even do some of it with you. We can take up painting classes like you always wanted, walks in that park down the street that you love, studying in coffee shops, and watching the sunset. Life without them can be freeing.”
He’s right, she thinks. Life without them will be freeing. But, the story of letting go is never easy and finding yourself flipping to past chapters to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore is usual.
However, as she lays tangled in the limbs of Oscar, she finds future chapters to be more exciting, more fulfilling. Her whole life is ahead of her, one including Oscar, and that sudden revelation fills her with an overwhelming relief. His listing of all the things she loves, wants to try desperately reminds her just how in love with her he is. Every action of hers is noted by him and she’s spent years begging for that from her parents. She never got it, but maybe that was because something else softer lied in the cards for her. At times, her parents needed her, but they would always need something else more. Glamorous, shiny, new things that would satisfy them for a time. She would never be enough in the minds of them, but in the mind of Oscar, she was more than enough. It was clear she was everything to him.
A life with him would be different from the one handed to her on a broken, rusty platter. She wanted that with him and the way he looked at her told her he did too. Letting go of the dismissal of people she has killed herself for to make proud was maybe for the best, pushed her in the direction of focusing on Oscar and everything she’s ever wanted. Was this her mending old, deep wounds?
Loved and cherished, she found sleep once more, rejuvenated with hope and a sense of moving on.
#mclaren#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#oscar pia#oscar piastri fanfiction#oscar piasstri#oscar piastri imagines#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri x reader#op81#op#op81 x reader#op81 imagine#op81 fluff#op81 fic#op81 x you#op81 smut#op81 angst
471 notes
·
View notes
Text
coriolanus in the peacekeeper uniform + gaul's daughter 18+ (fem! implied reader)
coriolanus when he returns to the capitol, eager to be back home where the streets are neatly paved and clean. where the people are civil and speak proper. where their clothes are intricate and the complete opposite of dull. he's so ecstatic that he can't even begin to dread going to doctor gaul's as his first stop, especially not when he knows her daughter will be there.
"my kin in the only ways that matters," volumnia would always say, a proud smile on her face as she played with the neat ponytail that always sat at the back of her daughter's head.
it was sitting there when coriolanus saw you, brandished with a red bow that matched the top half of gaul's outfit, one similar to the one you wore. the ponytail and outfit are skewed now, a product of coriolanus' overeager hands.
he's had adrenaline pent up in his body. adrenaline that he usually got out by hanging out with lucy gray. but that's gone now. lucy gray isn't here.
but you are.
you're here with your legs spread, your ankles hooked behind his back, the heel of your sneakers digging into coriolanus' peacekeeper uniform. with each sloppy thrust into your sopping heat, coriolanus' cock grazes the red lace of your panties that he'd carelessly pushed aside. it's a delicious friction, it makes him shudder and dig his head into the crook of your neck. he's so deep within you, the curls at the base of his cock tickling your skin every other thrust, yet you want him deeper. you pull with your ankles, nudge at his shoulder, force your hips closer to his, all to communicate your carnal need.
coriolanus can't stop thinking about how good you feel. because you feel so good. there's no real distinction between your cunt and the one's back in the districts (pussy is pussy), yet coriolanus swears he can feel it. maybe it's because he's fucking pussy of the same socioeconomic class. maybe it's because with each thrust, he believes he's tainting you.
volumnia gaul's daughter, sweet and innocent and always quiet, now struggling to keep her moans to an appropriate volume. the two of you are already making enough noise as is, your cunt squelching at an obscene volume. the walls of gaul's lab does nothing to conceal the noises, and even if you're tucked away in a corner of the halls that rarely have traffic at all, coriolanus still can't help but tease the possibility of being found.
"think their opinion of you would change? hm? like mine has?" he's facing you head on now, the slope of his nose looking even more intense under the shadows that his hat creates. you wish he'd take it off, a previous plea of yours from before the encounter got to this point. but he denied, just more proof that in this moment, like this, he had control.
you don't respond, instead letting your head fall back and knock against the concrete. coriolanus seems annoyed, a particular harsh thrust dragging you up the wall. you yelp and coriolanus grins, his perfect pearlescent teeth shining at you. his hands dig further into the flesh of your ass underneath your skirt which has been flipped up to accommodate your sinful acts.
after giving you two more drives of the same intensity, he continues.
"i never thought you'd be able to take dick like this. who's been fucking you? or have you been fucking yourself? pleasing yourself while you think of me? is that it?" when you nod, coriolanus can't help but shockingly chuckle.
his eyebrows have risen, his eyes have gone wide, but you can't see any of this. you only see the cruel curl of his lips and the flare of his nostrils as he asks, "really?"
your nails, freshly manicured, scratch at the waterproof material of his uniform. it doesn't provide any place for you to grab onto, nothing to steady yourself. you whine, starting to become frustrated, and when coriolanus mockingly coos, you become embarrassed.
"please, coriolanus. i wanna see you."
"coryo," he snaps. "how many times do i have to tell you that?"
you're quick to correct yourself, repeating your request once more with the nickname woven in there placatingly, the fear that the use of his full name will pull him away from you completely stuck to your membrane.
feeling generous, coriolanus peels his hat away from his head and drops it at his feet, leaving you to stare straight into his bright blue eyes. they seem to have gotten brighter in his absence, shining with power and authority.
with the sex driven haze in your mind, you note that it's a good look on him. it's fitting.
#coriolanus snow x reader#coryosworld!#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow#celeste writes thg#coriolanus snow x black!reader#peacekeeper!coryo
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Audience of One pt.1
Satoru x fem!reader x Suguru
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Word count: 2k
Series Summary: When Suguru first walked in on you and Satoru having sex, it was an accident. But he couldn't say the same about every time after that. He's under the impression that this habit of his is a secret. But you and Satoru have known this whole time and didn't plan on letting Suguru know anytime soon.
pt.1 Info: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, PiV sex, unprotected sex, voyeurism, hair pulling, choking, male masturbation, male receiving oral, praise/degradation, pet names (princess, baby, love, etc), established relationship w Gojo, aftercare, porn with very little plot
pt.2 pt.3 pt.4
It began as an accident. Geto never meant to walk in on you and Gojo during an... intimate moment. But boy was he glad that he did.
Planning to tell you two about the cursed spirits that he had just delt with, he walked to your guy’s room. Without bothering to knock, the knob twisted under his palm.
The door barely opened a crack, before he heard what was happening. His face instantly turned red and he froze in place.
Shaking his head, he snapped out of his daze. What was he doing? He needed to leave and give you two your privacy!
…Right?
But he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. As perverted as it was, he was enjoying the sounds coming from the room.
One particular moan from you pushed his curiosity over the edge.
He stood there for a few moments, in an internal debate. But his lustful inquisitiveness got the best of him, and it only took a moment before he built up enough courage to take a peek inside.
Just a peek.
The way Gojo was thrusting his cock into you, the look on your face and the sounds coming out of your mouth, it made Geto feel things. He had never thought about either of you that way before. But now, after seeing such a sight, there would be no going back.
You two didn't notice Geto peering in from the crack of your door, so it was no harm right?
At least that's how he justified it.
The only trouble was that you two had noticed.
Gojo lifted your legs over his shoulders and lowered himself closer to you. His forearms were on each side of your head and he dipped his lips to pepper your neck with kisses as he bottomed out into your tight cunt.
Between kisses he traced his tongue up to your ear and whispered, "It looks like we have an audience," his head briefly tilted in the direction of the door.
"Suguru," he clarified, making sure his volume was low enough for your ears only. Your eyes widened and before you could reply his cock hit your g-spot, causing you to cry out in pleasure.
"Oh, you like that?" he asked loudly with a condescending smirk, tilting his head slightly. His words has a double meaning- you knew that when you nodded your head, looking up at him with a pleading expression.
"Who knew my sweet girl could be such a slut?" he chuckled and shook is head, "Use your words, princess, I need to hear you say it," he raised an eyebrow waiting for your confirmation, while simultaneously fucking you into the bed.
“Yes!” You managed to choke out the words between all the moans that left your lips, “Yes, Gojo, I do like it,” If it wasn’t already clear enough for him that you enjoyed Geto’s voyeurism, then your words would certainly confirm your consent.
From Suguru’s perspective, this was nothing but your typical dirty talk. He continued to watch in silence, oblivious that his presence was not only known- but also welcomed.
Gojo pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips up to meet his and sliding his throbbing dick back inside.
"You want Suguru to see how good I fuck you?" He whispered as brought himself flush against you, “How much of a filthy slut you are for my cock?"
"Please, Satoru..." Your words were cut short by a gasp. Gojo had grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back, causing your back to arch even further.
“Am I right?” He said through gritted teeth, pounding into you with a newfound strength.
“Yes I- Ah!- I love your cock,” you moan out. Legs trembling and face contorted with pleasure, the warmth in your abdomen seemed to grow as you near closer to your orgasm.
Geto's breathing grew heavy and the more he watched, the harder his cock became. He reached a hand down to palm himself through his pants, almost letting a groan escape his lips.
Gojo's grip in your hair tightened and his other hand found its way to your hip, using the grip to pull you into him repeatedly.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, feeling your walls flutter around his cock, knowing how close you were.
With the hand on your hip, he snaked it down to rub at your clit. And with the final thrust and rub, your walls clenched around his cock, pulling him deeper into you. You screamed his name, letting your juices drip onto his thighs and bedsheets below you.
In all your ecstasy, your eyes rolled back and moans turned into whimpers. As Gojo kept his grip on your hair your mouth fell agape. You looked fucked out of your mind.
"Such a pretty sight," he praised, letting go of you and allowing your head to drop forward. He continued to fuck you as you rode out your high.
As your high died down, Geto's did not. What a sight to behold.
He watched with an unyielding focus, afraid to even blink and miss a moment of your beauty.
“Fuck, you get so tight when you cum,” Gojo groaned while his thrusts began to become erratic and desperate, “You want me to cum inside you, princess? Hmm? Want to feel my cum leak out of you?"
"Mhm," was the only reply you could muster up. You were absolutely spent.
"I'll take that as a yes," he chuckled.
He gave a few more thrusts before bottoming out into your pussy, releasing his load and filling you up to the brim. His head tilted back and his jaw dropped as he released a drawn out moan.
Gojo leaned over and kissed the top of your head as his hips slowly rocked to a stop. "You did so good, baby. So good," he whispered against the top of your head and pulled out, admiring the sight before him.
"Look at what a mess you made," he smirked.
You giggled lightly and slumped into the bed as Gojo released your hips, the exhaustion beginning to settle in.
Meanwhile, Geto remailed outside your bedroom door with a mixture of shock and craving.
A new found want was burning inside him. He had to have you, too.
He watched as Gojo gently took care of you and helped clean you up.
He felt guilty, but not for the reason you would think. Instead his guilt stemmed from the desire to take care of you and give you the aftercare you deserved too- as a way to show his appreciation for the sight he witnessed.
But he obviously wouldn't do that. Not now, at least.
Eventually, Geto pulled himself away from the crack of your bedroom door with great reluctance.
"Maybe one day," he muttered to himself, walking down the hall.
Maybe one day he'd have his chance with you. But until then, he'll have to make due with his fantasies. And the occasional secret attendance to your bedroom performances.
He was already looking forward to the next time another opportunity presented, the guilt now completely replaced with lust.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
As much as Geto didn't want to admit it, he had become addicted. Addicted to the feeling he got from watching you and Gojo.
There was something so invigorating about watching someone fuck, especially when it's your two best friends.
He felt bad at first, knowing that this was wrong. But he just couldn't stay away.
And now, after weeks of constant visits to your bedroom, his addiction had grown to something more.
He had no clue that you and Gojo knew of his presence. He had no clue that you two now purposely left your door cracked open.
No, Geto thought this was his own dirty little secret. And you and Gojo planned to keep it that way.
"Fuck!" Gojo moaned out, your name slipping past his lips.
His head was thrown back and his lips were parted, allowing all his sounds of pleasure to slip past them.
Your head was bobbing up and down as you sucked Gojo's cock, hands stroking his base. You hummed around his cock in response, sending vibrations up his body and pulling another loud groan from his mouth.
Geto had already been outside your door for a few minutes, but this was the first time he's ever seen you give Gojo a blowjob. It was a sight that made his pants tighten almost immediately, with precum staining his boxers.
He wanted so badly to be able to reach into his pants and relieve himself, but he didn't want to risk making any noise. He'd have to wait until he got back to his own room to jerk himself off, but it was worth it.
Every time it was worth it.
"God, just like that," Gojo praised, his fingers laced through your hair and pulled gently. Your hands moved to his thighs and you continued to bob your head up and down his cock.
You squeezed his legs as you pushed yourself further and further each time, letting the muscles of your throat relax until you could take his whole length.
"F-fuck," he groaned. His hips bucked involuntarily and he held his breath as he tried his best to control himself, but failed.
The sensation was too overwhelming, and Gojo quickly found himself tipping on the edge of his climax.
He was close, so close. You could feel his cock twitch against your tongue. Your name slipped from his mouth, over and over, in between his strangled moans.
And when he finally came, Geto watched as Gojo's eyes squeezed shut and his chest heaved.
Your mouth stayed wrapped around his cock as his release filled your throat. And you made sure to swallow every drop while watching Gojo’s blissed expression.
The sight almost had Geto moaning, which he quickly stifled by biting his bottom lip. That was a close call.
As the two of you were left panting, Geto silently slipped away from your bedroom door and retreated to his own room.
Once he got there, his pants were quickly undone and thrown off.
As he slipped off his boxers, he couldn’t help but wonder if this habit of his was becoming too much.
But then the image of you kneeling over Gojo’s cock- ass up in the air while you sucked him off- quickly dissolved any hesitation.
He began stroking himself at the memory. And it wasn't long before his mind wandered further.
He thought about how good you'd look sitting on his cock. How you'd feel bouncing up and down. How he’d love to take his time with you, tasting every part of your sweet body.
God, he wanted you so bad. No- he needed you. And as he imagined you moaning his name, a moan of his own slipped past his lips.
His hand stroked faster and harder until his orgasm was upon him. His mouth fell agape as ropes of cum spurted onto his fist.
As he slowly came down from his high reality began to set in. He let out a deep sigh and ran his clean hand through his hair.
Geto knew this wasn’t healthy. He knew his actions were wrong. But that didn’t stop him. In fact, the knowledge that what he was doing was so wrong was half the fun.
So what if he was addicted to watching his best friends fuck? What harm was there in that?
All he knew was that he yearned to be a part of it, to experience the intimacy shared between you and Gojo. But until then, he was more than content to observe from the sidelines.
#stsg x reader#goge x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader smut#jjk gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x you#gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#getou suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#geto smut#geto x reader#suguru x reader#fartfatherwrites#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x geto x reader#gojo satoru x geto suguru x reader
949 notes
·
View notes
Text
Damian Desmond: An Attachment Perspective
**Spoilers for SxF Chapter 106 Below**
I loved this chapter for so many reasons, but the one I really want to highlight today is that Damian may be insecurely attached, but he still has hope. And that he is so brave, in his own way.
Exhibit A: When Damian knocks on Demetrius' door and asks for help, I am 100% positive that Damian wasn't truly expecting a response from Demetrius. He's used to being ignored, especially by his own family.
But he tried anyway.
This is important, because most children of Damian's age who fall under the category of avoidant attachment wouldn't approach a situation like this where there is a possibility that they would be rejected. It speaks volumes to me that Damian has a sense that he would be turned away, but still he tries.
"I was hoping..."
Exhibit B: There is also this moment where we see that Damian wanted to say something, and then he silences himself before he can say anything.
(Don't cry, Lass, omg dont cry 😭😭😭 )
Damian is initially afraid, so he silences himself, but then there is this moment, where he pulls himself together, and tries again.
Endo is so brilliant at drawing out moments of important decisions for characters. You can see Damian making the decision to say something, and gather his courage, but he only falls short once he actually succeeds at getting Donovan's attention.
Under the heavy gaze of the head of the Desmond dynasty, I'm not surprised that 6-year old Damian felt his resolve crumble.
But!
He reverts to another option: find support. Which leads me to...
Exhibit C: This one makes me sob, actually. In response to his wavering confidence, Damian looks to his mother for support. The woman who should be his primary caregiver, and therefore his primary attachment figure.
And she turns away.
(Tears, tears down my face, my boy doesn't deserve this 😭 )
This is the third moment in this chapter alone that Damian does something that no other Desmond would dare: he seeks connection.
Damian tried to connect with his brother, his father, and his mother, all in the same chapter. He is the sole character that links them all.
All through Chapter 106, these are the moments that stood out to me the most, because it truly shows to me that Damian still has hope. Demetrius and Melinda are very clearly ingrained in their roles, and their behaviour is crystallised into what we see as the reader. It's obvious that this isn't the first time that Demetrius has rebuffed Damian's requests; and this isn't the first time that Melinda has ignored Damian's emotional needs.
I hear you wondering: Does Damian still have hope because he's still just a child?
Maybe. It's certainly possible. But I also want to highlight that Damian is insecurely attached; specifically showing an insecure-avoidant attachment style.
Children with this style of attachment typically experience high levels of emotional neglect, where their primary caregiver consistently does not meet their emotional needs. This leads the child to value independence, autonomy, and self-reliance, and to generally see others as untrustworthy.
We see this in Damian. He believes he is better, usually weaponising the Desmond name to place himself above others, but there is also an element where he believes he is better, because he ranks highly in the social hierarchy, and he achieves brilliant grades on his own merit, demonstrating his own self-reliance.
(Side note: Issues stemming from an avoidant attachment style can still coexist with self-esteem issues, but I'm trying not to complicate this post lol).
My point: Damian has experienced enough rejection in his childhood that he shouldn't even be trying with his own family anymore. But he does. He keeps trying. Damian still hopes that he can connect with his family, and I think that this is because this is a part of his actual personality.
On the inside, Damian is complex; he struggles with the weight of his identity, he is trying to find his place in the world, he yearns for attention and validation (specifically from his father), he finds comfort in believing that he is better than other people (even his friends), he struggles to handle big emotions, he prefers to work things through independently, and struggles to be vulnerable and ask for help, and he lies to himself about his big feelings so that he can avoid feeling them.
And my favourite thing about him: he still keeps trying. He gathers his courage. He gets back up. Time and time again he feels afraid, and time and time again he feels the fear and he tries anyway.
Damian is so brave, in his own way.
#help i've dissolved into tears#i love my baby boy so much#he really doesn't deserve this#he deserves so much joy#please can someone hug this child#damian desmond#spy x family analysis#spy x family#sxf#spy x family manga#spy x family spoilers#avoidant attachment#attachment theory#attachment
187 notes
·
View notes
Text
Feral!Logan drabbles
Oooh finally did it. Couldn't resist to write some silly Feral!Logan drabbles. Wanted to use a pic of Hugh in the first movie but this one was too perfect for what I had in mind. I love this little feral hairy man.
Reader is female.
So Reader is a mutant with light based habilities. She can absorb electricity from devices and machines and turn them into blasts of light (kinda like Starlight from the Boys)
Reader's on the run from the American government, they want to harvest her powers and use them as a way of 'defending' themselves from mutantkind. For the last year she has been running. Right now she has crossed the border and is currently in the middle of a blizzard in the Canadian Rockies.
She's tired, hungry, cold and there's no electrical current in miles, so her powers are basically rendered useless. And they keep chasing. She doesn't know how much longer she's going to last.
Reader can barely see and trips on a branch, knocking herself out.
Feral!Logan has been living in the mountains since he escaped from Weapon X, probably in the 80s. Has no memories, no social knowledge, just survival instincts.
Feral!Logan hates when strangers enter his territory and refuse to leave. Those are his hunting grounds, not theirs. He swiftly disposes of the agents and approaches the unconscious Reader.
He feels a weird tingling on his chest when he sees the pretty human female laying on the snow. His fingers slowly caress her soft features. He decides that moment he must have her.
Believing her to be a mate for him, Feral!Logan carries her back to the cave where he lives, placing her carefully on the pile of furs he has collected from his hunts.
When Reader awakes, she finds herself laying in a makeshift bed of animal fur in some random cave instead of a government jail cell. She immediately panics, not knowing where she is.
She tries to leave, but is stopped by a wild looking man covered in dirt. Taller than her and built like a fridge. He's half naked, his only clothing are two dog tags hanging from his neck and some undergarments that leave little to the imagination.
Under all that dirt there was hairy body rippling with muscles more fitting of a bodybuilder than a man who lived by himself in the mountains. Jeez, you could grate cheese on those abs. Reader can't help staring.
Feral!Logan roughly pushes her back against the furs. One single hand is enough to keep her still, which speaks volumes of the kind of strength he possesses.
The rugged man starts sniffing her everywhere, her neck, her collarbone, he kepts getting lower, grunting approvingly. When he's about to reach that part of her anatomy. She grabs his dishelved hair, trying in vain to keep him away. He looks at her, annoyed at having been denied of his prize; but, surprinsingly, obeys.
From then on, Reader's entire life becomes that cave and her mysterious savior/keeper. He provides her with shelter, warmth, water from a nearby stream and food from his hunts. Feral!Logan wants to prove himself as a worthy partner for her, catering to her needs.
Reader didn't spend most of her childhood summers in camps to eat now raw meat, no matter how little Feral!Logan seems to care about it. So she teaches him how to light a fire the old fashioned way, lamenting she can't use her powers so it'd be easier.
And he freaks out.
After a while he gets used to it, he nearly gives you a heart attack when he touched it and his burnt hand healed almost instantly. He rumbled pleasingly when you held his large hands between yours, marvelled at his healing factor.
At night, they sleep together, in the makeshift bed of animal skins. His arm engulfs her waist, pressing her smaller body towards his powerful chest. It's nearly impossible for her to move away.
Like hell he's going to let her go.
320 notes
·
View notes