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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months ago

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Come Back Knockin'

Benny Cross x reader (the bikeriders fic)

Summary: When Benny finds out you're pregnant, he panics and takes off. You don't think he's ever going to come back to you, so you start trying to figure out your future without your husband by your side. And then one day, there's a knock at your door.

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, lots of cursing, mentions of abandonment, angst but not forever, mention of pregnancy, probably typos.

Words: 2900

Part 2: Come Back Together Benny Cross Masterlist

“Benny, where are you going!” you cry, watching in disbelief as he turns away from you and exits your shared bedroom. “Benny!”

He doesn’t stop at your call. Doesn’t even flinch. Your voice is a pathetic grasp around his wrist that he shakes off like a pesky mosquito. He’s leaving, you realize, and when your body finally catches up with that understanding, you rush after him.

His strides are long, double the length of yours, and he’s already got his jacket off the hook and is pulling it over his shoulders by the time you’re able to close in on him.

“Benny, don’t go!” you wail in a desperate plea, but it’s still useless, and a moment later you’re chasing him out the front door into the rain. “Please!”

You’re both drenched in an instant, hair stuck to your heads like a pair of drowned alley cats. Your nipples pebble through your thin, white nightgown that now shows every curve of your figure. The denim on his body deepens a few shades of blue from absorbing every drop of the downpour.

“Benny!” you try once more.

He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder as he crosses the street toward his bike, so you stop your chase before your bare feet leave the last step of your front porch. All you can do is watch. Watch his long leg swing over the seat of the bike. Watch him kick the beast to life. Watch how he glows angelic-like under the intense ray of the streetlight; a spotlight on the man you love who is running away from you.

You don’t bother calling for him again. Your voice would only be muffled by the relentless drumming of heavy rain on pavement. Benny leans forward, and without checking for other vehicles, pulls into the street and drives until the darkness of night claims every speck of light from his bike.

He’s gone.

And you’re alone.

—

You hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed by the news—it’s why you waited nearly three weeks to tell him—but you didn’t foresee such anger over the actuality of being a father. When you told him you were pregnant, his face had darkened in a manner you’ve only witnessed right before his fist meets the jaw of a rival biker. And, in some respect, he'd treated you the same. Like you were a pest, a nuisance, an object put in his path solely for the sake of pissing him off; the difference being that Benny would never lay a hand on you. So instead, he'd left.

On day three of your husband’s absence, Johnny had stopped by to ‘see if the kid was still alive,’ and you were left with the burden and embarrassment of telling him that Benny had skipped town. Johnny had asked why, of course, so you told him, and by the way his features twisted from surprise to desolation, you knew he also saw little hope in your husband returning to you.

Benny has had his reasons for not wanting to be a father, failure a prominent knot in the back of his mind, but it’s not as if you planned this. It was an accident. An accident that you can’t just wish away because he doesn’t know how to handle being what you and this baby need him to be.

“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” Johnny had said. You’d done your best to hold in the tears while long beats of melancholy silence passed between you. “Listen, you ever need anythin’, you know Betty and me, we love ya, so…”

You’d nodded, wrapping your arms around your middle to stave off a sudden chill. “Thanks, Johnny.”

He nodded as well, then he'd sighed and glanced around your quiet street as if expecting to see Benny ride up any second. “Well,” he said once it was clear neither of you would be finding that relief, “don’t be a stranger.”

He’d left after that and you haven’t seen him since. Not because you don’t appreciate him, but because he reminds you too much of Benny. Betty had called a few times—she’s as much a mother figure to you as Johnny was to Benny—but you weren’t very forthcoming with enthusiasm at talking baby plans and motherhood. At one point, in an effort to lift your spirits, she’d even mentioned throwing a shower, which immediately made you drop the phone and rush to the bathroom to lose your breakfast.

When you’d returned, the phone was dangling by the coiled cord, Betty’s concerned voice coming through the speaker. You’d put it up to your ear, told her you'd call her back, and hung up the damn thing. You didn’t call her back. You think she got the message.

In the weeks that have passed, many of the guys have come by to check on you, and in the beginning, you were somewhat receptive, but it was solely to abstain from hurting feelings and severing ties so harshly. You’re positive the relationships won’t last. You were in the biker lifestyle because of Benny. He brought you into a pre-established family unit, and without him, you don’t belong.

You know the day may come when you regret letting the club go. Its members are the only people who have reached out their hands to you, but for now, you’re too numb to care, and with that numbness comes self-destruction. And with your particular brand of self-destruction comes isolation. Solitude. Loneliness. You’ve put yourself in place to navigate the future alone. Finding a job to support your child, hoping you’ll make enough so you don’t lose your house—that’s your priority now, and you have no choice but to step up and figure it out.

—

As it turns out, no one wants to hire a pregnant woman. Well, no one you’ve contacted wants to hire a pregnant woman, but you’re willing to bet they’re a decent indicator of most companies' future rejection.

It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be telling them of your condition, but your bones are built of honesty and when they ask if you’ll be able to work long-term, you don’t hesitate to reveal the truth. In fact, the truth is out of your mouth before the thought to lie slithers into your head.

You’re going to have to toughen up, be someone you’re not used to being, if you intend to survive. And that’s all you let yourself think about anymore. When Benny slips into your thoughts, you work tirelessly to shove him aside. It’s taken practice, self-discipline, but you’ve made some progress. Just yesterday you were finally able to overcome your urge to run to the window at hearing the grumble of a motor passing by your house.

The next goal is to bag up his clothes and stow them away in the attic, but you’ve yet to face his side of the closet without breaking down. And to make it all the more agonizing, the fabrics still smell like him. You could wash them five times over and it would do nothing to remove his scent.

Sometimes, at the peak of your pathetic impulses, you want to sneak inside and bury yourself amongst the cheap and tattered clothes. Turn them into a blanket. Forget everything. But you’ve managed to resist.

Baby steps, you internally repeat as you bring a spoonful of cereal to your lips. You like the sugary stuff now. The stuff that kids gobble down before school. Bad for an expectant mother, yes, but you’re not about to scold yourself for what little enjoyment you find in this life.

Suddenly, a knock taps on the door. Your head shoots up and your heartbeat stutters at the sound, but you don’t move to answer it. These days, it’s rare you answer it at all. The guys know not to bother you, as do Betty and Gail and Kathy. If they see you’re home, they leave their tupperware-filled home-cooked meals at your doorstep, knowing you’ll grab them once they leave. Anyone else—salesmen or mailmen or whomever—always gives up after a few minutes.

However, this knocking has yet to cease. It must be a salesman, you think with a groan, and he must not have gotten the memo from other neglected salesmen that you’re a house to avoid. You can’t afford the latest vacuum model, you don’t care to own a stack of encyclopedias, and for the love of god, if you have to tell one more well-dressed man that your missing-in-action biker husband is not in need of a new shaving brush you’re gonna start keeping Benny’s handgun on the entryway table.

The tapping turns into full-fledged banging that shakes the house, and now you’re irritated, offended on the weathered structure’s behalf. Your chair scrapes across the floor as you stand sharply and round the corner into the hall. A curse is on your lips as you wrap your hand around the knob, twist, and pull, but it dies. More than dies, it’s sucked right out of your lungs along with your breath.

You want to slap him, split his puffy lips and watch the blood run down his chin. You want to shove him back so he’ll fall down the stairs and land on his ass. You want to get your breath back because that curse is clawing for freedom and you desperately want to let it out. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

He looks like shit. Well, as much as Benny Cross can look like shit, which is quite unimpressive compared to other men, but at least he doesn’t look well-rested. There’s some satisfaction in that, limited as it may be.

“Hi, baby,” he says. The low tone shudders your spine. If he’s happy to see you he doesn’t show it, but you know that even if he is, he wouldn’t dare smile after what he did.

Your swallow is hard, painful, and as the ease with which he spoke those two words sinks in, every emotion you’ve felt since he vanished bubbles over the edge of your resolve.

“‘Hi, baby’?” you echo. “Are you serious? That’s the best you’ve got, you asshole?” Your hand smacks against his chest and the unexpectedness of it forces him to stumble back a foot. You follow his stumble, stepping out onto the porch. “It’s been six weeks, Benny!”

He sighs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I know.”

“Six fucking weeks!” With your second smack, his fingers latch around your wrist, but he doesn’t push your hand away, he keeps it planted above his heart, refusing to let you go.

Dipping his head, he stares directly into your eyes. The intensity momentarily stuns you. “I know,” he repeats.

“Oh, you know,” you say, trying to jerk out of his grasp. “You abandon your pregnant wife and you think knowing that you’ve done it means a damn thing to me? Fuck off!”

“No,” he calmly replies.

“Yes!” you bark.

“No.”

Tears begin to cloud your vision. He disappeared and broke your heart at the worst possible time and now that you don’t want him here, he refuses to leave. And how horrible, how fucking humiliating to have your husband dismiss your desires so flippantly.

“I hate you!” you snap.

“I love you.”

“You left!”

“I panicked.” His free hand lands on your shoulder and slides up your neck to cup your cheek. “I panicked, baby,” he says softly.

That gentle tone pierces your skin against your will and seeps into your veins, spreading throughout your body a sedating sensation. Just enough of the drug to slow your violent pulse without knocking you out completely. And in the absence of such potent rage, sorrow takes over.

Your bottom lip quivers. Salty drops create lines down your cheeks and drip off your chin onto the rotting floorboards beneath your feet. He was supposed to replace those. It was going to be a summer project but a month and a half has already been carved out of the season and the floorboards still bow under your weight.

“Why were you allowed to panic?” you whimper. “I didn’t get to panic, so how come you got to?”

He sighs, his calloused thumb stroking your cheek. He doesn’t have a response but you didn’t expect one, at least not one with any substance, so you continue. “You know what I’ve been doing while you were out panicking? Trying to find a job so I can afford this house and provide for our child the way a parent should. But no one’s been willing to hire me.”

Benny’s brow pinches and his grip on your hand tightens. Broad shoulders fall forward as if you've just placed a few hefty boulders upon them.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I shoulda been protecting you from those kinds of worries. I shoulda been here.”

“Well, you weren't.”

“I'm gonna be,” he tells you, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe that you believe him. “I am.”

You wish you could trust his word. You wish it was that simple. You wish you were more forgiving, but a situation conflicting enough to require this level of forgiveness is not something you’ve dealt with before. You’ve experienced loss in your life, and you know it well—your father left and your mother disengaged from motherhood, but neither were so rude as to put you in a place to contemplate forgiveness for their betrayal. Neither came back to request it.

“Will you wait here?” he asks, “and not lock me out when my back is turned? Please?”

You’re severely tempted to do just that because, frankly, he’s made you wait for him long enough. But for some reason, you don't. You cast your gaze aside, cross your arms, and after a couple of seconds, nod your head.

In your peripherals, you detect his light smile. Then he turns, walks back to his bike, and wrestles a brown paper-wrapped package out of the pack attached to his seat.

“What is this?” you ask as he returns to the porch and offers it to you.

“If I was just going to tell you then why would I have wrapped it?”

You almost roll your eyes at the image of Benny taking the time to wrap anything for anyone, as normally he’d enlist someone else (you) to do it, but looking at it, it really is a poorly packaged mess. Wrinkled and ripped in one spot, with a lop-sided bow tied from the string that’s holding the parcel together. Definitely Benny-quality work for this sort of task.

As you tear through the wrapping, Benny collects your scraps, balling the shredded paper together and setting that ball down on the porch railing. The small blanket in your hands is made of bright green fabric with fringed trim, and when you unfold it, hanging it high to get a look at the full thing, you see a white duckling embroidered into one of the corners.

You lower the blanket so you can meet Benny's eyes. “Why a duck?”

He sticks his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “They didn't have any with little Harley’s,” he teases.

To your great internal shame, you have to choke down a chuckle. His innocent joke instantly reminds you that he’s the one man who can make you laugh, the one who won you over because of his subtle wittiness and his less subtle charm. And now you fucking miss him, damn it. You’d convinced yourself you’d gotten over that, but even as he stands within touching distance, holding distance, kissing distance, you miss him.

He clears his throat. “Um…if you don't like it I can–”

“No,” you stop him, shaking your head. “I don't particularly like you at the moment, but…” You exhale and give the gift another glance. “I like the blanket.”

Benny nods. His adam’s apple bobs harshly in his throat as you refold the blanket and clutch it to your chest.

“You think you could like me again one day?” he asks. “You know, if I prove myself real well.”

Your eyes narrow as they flick up to his ocean blues. “Prove yourself as what?”

“A husband,” he says. “A father.”

A husband. A father. One of which he’s been good at in the past—prior to the disappearing act, of course—and one of which you used to believe he’d be good at in the future if that was where fate led you, which it has. But…you don't know.

You have two options. That’s it. Yes or no. Can you risk it or not? It’s a lot to take in but the reality is, there’s a question you must answer before you can answer any others—did the bomb he threw at your lives shatter your heart to an unmendable state?

You chew on your cheek, your jaw ticks, and then with a huff, you straighten your spine.

“You can never do this again,” you declare firmly, poking your index finger into the center of his chest. “I mean it, Benny. If you do, we won't be here when you come back.”

The ropes of rigidness unravel from his body. “Baby, this is where I wanna be,” he says, stepping into your space once more. “I promise.”

You can feel your heartbeat jackrabbiting from his closeness now that your overwhelming emotions have somewhat subsided.

“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you tell him.

Benny grins. “That's fair.”

---

maybe a part 2? Let me know :)

Updated Taglist (if you wanna join)

#benny cross x reader #benny cross #the bikeriders #austin butler #the bikeriders fic #benny cross fic

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drac-kool-aid · 1 year ago

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Y'know, something that gets me, is that in the book, Dracula's intentional predation of Lucy starts off with an accidental meeting. Sure, Lucy slept walked, and an argument could be made her path might have been supernaturally influenced, but I say she'd already been a known sleep-walker, and she went directly to a place she was familiar with.

Her stumbling onto Dracula's hiding spot in a very vulnerable state was just an accident, and from there, he intentionally set out to harm her, and through that, everyone around her he could get.

This is sort of related to Jonathan, too. Had Mr. Hawkins not come down with a bad case of gout, Jonathan wouldn't have been sent to Castle Dracula in his stead. Sure, Dracula probably would have had his fun with Hawkins before inevitably killing him, but I doubt he would have drawn it out so long or taken so much delight.

Dracula never sets out with a master-plan to attack Lucy or Jonathan. They just end up in his path and spark his interest. We know that if he isn't interested in you, he'll kill you. He'll, he breaks Mr. Swales neck doesn't even bite him. But the two victims he decides he's going to make suffer the longest he possibly can, he just stumbles upon and goes "oh this will be fun". Later, we see him start choosing victims as a way to retaliate, but for the two inciting incident victims upon which the rest of the story hangs...its just wrong place wrong time.

The reason this struck me is that I was misremembering. For some reason, which I now believe due to thinking about the *through gritted teeth* Coppola film, is that Lucy is sort of hand-picked by Dracula to be his victim. And yeah, the fucking film ain't subtle in its blaming of Lucy's victimization on the fact that she was Too Pretty and Too Flirtatious and Dracula psychically drew her into the garden in a flowing diaphanous dress, but it's really her fault....I hate this movie.

Like, i just read the films Wikipedia plot synopsis, Dracula "psychically seduces" Lucy before biting her. He chooses her out of everyone in England deliberately.

And just...no. That's not what happens. Lucy got so stressed from her wedding that her latent sleep walking started again. Mina gets so tired from the constant stress she falls asleep without meaning to. Lucy went to their favorite spot...Dracula just happened to be there and took advantage and both Lucy and Mina weren't floating along softly into a garden with a fan letting their hair blow, but cold, scared, and covered in mud and blood, and forced to sneak back to the house that way, facing not only the supernatural but the very ordinary horrors of being caught outside at night by a strange man.

Idk. The tragedy is that Dracula didn't set out to fuck with these people. It's just that they were the ones who crossed his path that he took an interest in, and he decided to draw it out as long as possible.

(Oh fuck, this is the crew of the Demeter too. It isn't like Draculas got some big plan. He just decides he's going to play with his food. Had he boarded any other ship it would have ended up the same way.)

I guess in conclusion, I find it odd that adaptions seem to need to find a reason for him doing what he does. Like, Coppola has to conjure up a whole reincarnation backstory at one point, but I don't understand why!! Let Dracula just be an opportunist, his casual cruelty knowing no reason. That makes him scarier.

#dracula daily #lucy westenra #jonathan harker #re: dracula #dracula #back from impromptu hiatus #adhd kicked in and started feeling guilty for not being caught up #which only made it worse lol

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ma1dita · 10 months ago

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lovers, or partners in crime

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 2.1k

summary: (post-tlt) directly after ‘if you need to be mean (be mean to me)’, The one where Annabeth and Percy think you're guilty too. You realize his betrayal a little too late, and he's left you looking like an accomplice. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: eye twitches guys im gonna crank out happy asks after this bc this hurt to the point of me delaying it a few days. drink water and take care luke nation

(posted 2/2/24 & betad by ellie and lari ty ladies mwah @lixzey @mrsaluado )

—

Exhaustion creeps up on you slowly, then all at once.

It’s been a long week at Camp Half Blood—with trying to stop a war from starting between the cabins and praying to the gods that the trio can stop everyone’s godrents from destroying the balance of the world, you could say you were kept busy making sure the place doesn’t go up in flames.

Taking orders from Chiron and your dad has been your daily routine from sunrise to sundown, and you were glad to have Luke’s arms to fall into at the end of the night. But you woke up alone this morning, and a heavy feeling in your chest that’s been plaguing you for a while now feels more prominent as you drag your boots across camp for another long day.

Exhaustion blinds us and dulls the senses, but so does love. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was taking effect.

How long were you willing to ignore the signs in front of you?

Maybe it was just another bad day. Your mind felt like it was playing tricks on you, still in a haze from Luke keeping you up the night before, the feeling of his touch still lingering in your pores—evidence of eyebags and lovebites carefully hidden under concealer. You find yourself almost walking in a dream state, before Katie calls out to you, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Did you hear? Annabeth’s back. It’s all gonna be over soon,” she exclaims, and the both of you sigh in relief. You’d do anything to get this over with and take a long break. The idea of a long weekend with Luke somewhere, anywhere but here sounds like Elysium in comparison to what you’ve put yourselves through recently.

“You see Luke anywhere, Katie?”

She hums, her hand reaching out to fix some of the trampled foliage along the path, before she looks up at you, shaking her head.

“Not this morning, no. Maybe he’s with Annabeth?”

You nod thoughtfully, stretching your arms back to soothe the tension in your back. You’ll find him sooner or later, now that this is all over.

You always do.

—

“Clarisse stole the master bolt.”

Your fingers wound themselves tighter around Luke’s at Percy’s declaration, but you can’t help but watch your boyfriend’s face closely as the rest of the conversation passes in the background. It’s been a weird day, to say the least—helping to set up for Percy’s celebration, and Luke being tightlipped and distant the whole while. You don’t think he’s actually said a single word to you since last night until he dragged you into his cabin to see Annie and Percy.

“Everyone was ready to join the war here. To start fighting each other. An accusation against Clarisse…” you reason awkwardly, more of a question than a statement. Standing here with your friends, you feel like the odd one out. How could you miss out on Clarisse being the lightning thief? But Luke looks at the two kids in front of you as determined as the devil himself.

He knew.

He spares you a sidelong glance, a smile quirking up on the scarred side of his face.

When did Luke start making plans without you?

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, tranquility comes off of you in waves; you barely notice that Luke drops your hand until you hear him speak again.

“You’ve stopped the war. You’ve saved the world. Now, it’s safe to tell Chiron and finish cleaning up the mess. I told him we needed to meet him away from the celebration so we can talk without any of Clarisse’s supporters noticing.” Luke crosses his arms, trying to avoid the reach of your powers and your scorching stare while his gaze is sharp on Percy, and suddenly, the heavy feeling in your chest has a name, revealing itself as doubt.

How could you be so stupid?

Eyes don’t lie, even if Luke does, and you finally see through him, so much that you fear you’ve found his other side.

Annabeth grabs your hand, your head whipping to look at her as she speaks, “We’ll keep an eye on Clarisse while you’re gone. Make sure she isn’t going anywhere.” You feel your body shake with paranoia as you start to question everything until the daughter of Athena pulls you back to the present. Taking quick steps out of cabin 11, you take a glance back at Luke, seeing him look glumly at you from the doorway, and it reminds you of a simpler time five years ago, with him standing in the same spot he introduced himself to you on his first day at camp. This time, you don’t walk away.

“I’ll find you later, I…I just need to talk to Luke real quick,” you say biting your lip hesitantly. Annabeth’s gaze is cold as steel as she nods, doubt now running through her as well as she watches you walk back to your boyfriend. You catch him by the arm as he tries to glide past you.

“Hey, are you okay?” You’re searching for an answer Luke will never give you, not out loud—as he dodges your glances, keeping a distance between you two.

“Come on, I’ve gotta go,” he gruffs, anxiety running off of him in waves as his hands fidget at his sides. The sun is setting, and he needs to finish what he was told to do.

“We still have a bit of ti—” He interrupts you swiftly, “Not enough.”

“I know you’re always in charge around here, but not everything can go the way we want, you know?”

Your lips turn into a frown at his words, and you wonder who it is you’re talking to. Surely, not the boy whose arms you fell asleep in last night. You used to be able to figure him out so easily, but now… he’s acting like you’re an enemy. The banter he deals doesn’t usually make you feel like you’re at the short end of a stick, and though he’s right in front of you, it feels like his mind is already miles away. You’re desperate to hold onto whatever you can though, not wanting to let go of whatever’s plaguing him.

“Angelface. Look at me. Percy’s a hero, everything else will fix itself, why are you so—”

Luke sighs, blinking slowly, and you’re surprised when he pulls your hands to his chest, placing them under his camp beads, so you stop speaking.

You never know when the last time is until it happens. You didn’t think it’d feel like this.

“I need to do this.”

He’s not talking about turning in Clarisse anymore, and your body reacts before your mind does, surging forward to hug him. Your fingers run up the expanse of his back, the smell of citrus and musk being familiar but the discomfort in his embrace is not. From here, you can’t see his eyes, but his heart rate accelerates as he wounds his hands in your hair, pulling you closer until the space between you is nonexistent.

“Please,” he mumbles.

Is it a request?��

The shock runs through your veins as you try to think of what to say next—Luke’s never been one to beg.

“I’d do anything to protect our home, Luke, you don’t have to convince me when it’s the right thing to do.”

Your name falls from his lips, almost like he disagrees with what you said, and then you realize he’s begging you.

He’s asking for your permission. He’s asking you to let him go.

“You’re my home, Trouble. You know that right? You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

You try to nod, try to pull away to look at him but he presses you harder into his embrace, like he knows he won’t have the chance again. It hurts, though not in the way you expect.

“L-Luke, you’re hurting me.” Your breath quickens as you try to unravel yourself from him, but you’re unsure where he ends and you begin.

“Just a little bit longer.”

Your nose buries itself into his neck, and you realize he’s trembling, but you can’t figure out who’s scared, him or you? Voices are echoing in your head and it’s too loud; you clench your fists into his orange camp shirt. Why do you always need to see the proof to believe it’s real? Why do you have to wait until the damage is done?

“I have to do this, Trouble. Everything will change and there’s no other way— either we win or we die. Failure isn’t an option for me. Not again.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one,” you mutter, closing your eyes so you don’t have to face the truth for a while more, “but I still love you, despite it.”

Despite this.

A watery chuckle escapes you, and his hands are trembling as he pushes a strand of your hair back. He holds onto you more softly now, and whether you know it or not, it’s to make up for all the time he’ll have to go without holding you after this. Percy calls out to him in the distance and once Luke frees you from his arms, you wonder why it feels like you’re unraveling at the seams, slowly parting from him. The tether you have on each other loosens, and it’s hard to tell who is being freed, and who is letting go. Luke walks away wordlessly, curls bouncing in the brisk air without a second glance until you call out to him.

“I’ll find you!”

A threat disguised as a promise, you stand there in the middle of the path feeling exposed as the wretched little girl at your core, desperate to be loved, desperate to be enough.

But it’s not enough for him to stay, now is it?

—-

The truth is, Luke broke your heart before you even lost him, by hitting you where it hurts— he hit home. Camp Half-Blood has always been the one place you’ve known as home, and even if you claim to hate it—you’d die protecting it if that’s what was needed of you. You stay vigilant next to Annabeth, who looks up at your unusually quiet demeanor, and you feel like you have to confess to a crime that you didn’t commit.

“Luke’s leaving camp.”

She nods stiffly without answering you, wondering if you know about what else he’s done, too. Unlike you though, she’d rather find out before the damage is done.

The sun had set an hour ago, and fireworks were going off in the distance, everyone celebrating a hero’s return. You noticed Clarisse still sitting around the campfire with her siblings, Chiron still present and watching the festivities, and what had to be your last straw was noticing Annabeth had disappeared from your side. So you do what you do best, chase after Luke, and hope that you’re not too late.

Your breath heaves as you run through the dark forest without a single plan in mind and hoping, just hoping that no one’s hurt. You run faster towards the sound of swords clanging against each other, two figures illuminated by the fireworks in the distance.

What you didn’t expect to see was Luke’s sword pointed at an injured son of Poseidon sprawled out in the dirt.

“Percy!” your voice yells out shakily, your instincts kicking in as the truth is laid out in front of you, something darker and much worse than anything you could’ve imagined. Blue light illuminates the scarred side of your boyfriend’s face as he turns to look at you with shimmering eyes, and you see Annabeth with her sword raised at…the both of you.

Is this what love is… looking at a person who’s hurt you and still hoping they’re alright? You’re exhausted, wondering how long he’s been lying to your face—while he holds you, kisses you, and takes your pain away… and it all amounted to feeling guilty for letting his deception slip through your fingers and hurting the people you love.

Luke’s scar you used to compare to a bolt of lightning now looks like a tear cascading from regret. And perhaps he does regret this, losing Annabeth and losing you, but he never turns back on his word once he’s made a decision.

This one was just made without you.

There’s a moment where everything goes silent despite the booming in the sky and you both take one last good look at each other, and Percy and Annabeth are unsure if you two look like forlorn lovers, or partners in crime.

“Castellan…”

His face hardens again at the wavering sound of your voice, almost unrecognizable in the dim light, and you know now that this is it. You’ve always been convinced that a love like the one you and Luke share is tailor-made and stitched together by the Fates. But the strings are cut, and like Atropos, he’s the one holding the scissors.

The last thing you see are his dark eyes and how he turns to run away, headfirst into a future without you.

For a second you could’ve sworn they flashed gold.

—

“I wanted to hurt you

but the victory is that I could not stomach it.”

-Richard Siken

next part: love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse

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willowsnook · 1 month ago

Note

hiii can you please serve a vodka,whiskey, tequila, and scotch with italian soda in either a cooper mug or wine glass ? ty <3

charles leclerc x reader

a little variation on the prompts bc i was struggling

18+

it's always been you you're mine, end of discussion let me take care of you just shut up and come here

“We’re definitely sad to see you go, y/n,” your boss said, a frown tugging at his face, “but we’re glad to have you for the final stretch of the season.”

You had just told him that, as Carlos’ lead strategist, you’d be following him to Williams next year. You’d worked with Carlos since your first day at Ferrari, and over time, you two had become incredibly close. When he started negotiating with Williams, he mentioned he’d feel more comfortable if you were by his side. They offered you a position, and after some thought and financial incentive, you accepted.

Ferrari had been home, but the idea of a fresh start was exciting—and part of the reason you were ready for a change was waiting just outside your boss’s office.

“You’re really leaving Ferrari?” a voice called as you walked out, Charles stepping in your path.

“Yes, next season,” you sighed, already bracing for a comment.

“So, you’re a traitor then.” He crossed his arms, his expression sharp.

“People switch teams all the time,” you countered.

“Yeah, but you have insider knowledge.”

“And you had insider knowledge from Sauber. No one’s accusing you of anything,” you snapped back, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you even care, Charles? Honestly, I’m thrilled I won’t have to deal with you.”

“Maybe Ferrari will finally give Lewis someone with a brain,” he shot back.

You flipped him off as you brushed past him, headed to your office. From day one, you and Charles had been at odds, no matter how much Carlos tried to smooth things over. He constantly undermined your decisions, making it clear he didn’t think you deserved your position.

When you stepped into your office, Carlos was waiting, lounging in the chair opposite your desk. He grinned as you entered.

“How’d it go?” he asked, though you could see the concern in his eyes.

“Fine. He didn’t say much.” You dropped into your seat, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for telling Charles, by the way.”

Carlos smirked. “What did he say?”

“The usual nonsense.”

“He was pretty upset when I told him,” Carlos said, watching you carefully.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Because he likes you, cariño,” Carlos replied, exasperation evident in his voice.

You scoffed. “He hates me, and I hate him.”

Carlos just shook his head. “Two people that argue with the passion you guys have aren't just enemies. Trust me.”

Rolling your eyes again, you shooed him out of your office, focusing back on preparations for the next race.

Three weeks later

“I can’t believe you screwed me like that!” Charles’ voice rang out as he stormed into the garage, livid after the race.

“I’m sorry, since when was it part of the strategy to overtake there?” you snapped back, meeting his anger head-on. “We told you to wait for the next turn.”

“I had the opportunity!” he seethed.

“And look where that got you,” you shot back, throwing your arms up. “Into the wall!”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re sabotaging me to help Carlos. Just admit it.”

“Ferrari signs my checks, not Carlos,” you retorted, your voice edged with frustration.

He glared at you before muttering, “Please, you wouldn’t even be here if Carlos didn’t think you were so—”

“Charles!” Carlos’ voice broke through, but it was too late. Your hand slapped Charles across the face before you even registered the movement. His eyes went wide with shock, and you turned on your heel, storming out of the garage without looking back.

You left early, heading straight to the hotel, needing space to cool off. Carlos texted later, checking in and inviting you to dinner with him and Rebecca.

Reluctantly, you changed into a nicer outfit and met them downstairs.

“How are you, y/n?” Rebecca asked kindly, linking her arm with yours as you stepped into the Uber.

“It’s been a day,” you muttered.

“Charles feels terrible, you know,” Carlos chimed in from your other side.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure.”

Carlos pulled you to a stop, making you face him. “He does, seriously. We all get worked up after races, and what he said was out of line. But you know how it is.”

You just hummed in response, unwilling to dive back into the topic, and turned your attention to Rebecca. Dinner was lighthearted, and soon after, the three of you headed to a nearby bar with friends. A few drinks in, you spotted Charles watching you from across the room. The moment your eyes met, you turned away, avoiding him for the rest of the night.

But as the night wound down, you sensed him approaching, and when you turned, there he was—standing right behind you.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, his earlier anger replaced with something softer.

You sighed, giving in. He led you to a quieter corner, and even in your haze, you could feel the tension between you two.

“I crossed the line earlier,” he admitted, his gaze dropping. “You just—drive me insane.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” you replied with a bitter laugh.

“In a way, yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

You were tired of his words, tired of the tension. Without thinking, you grabbed his collar, pulling him down into a fierce kiss. He froze, stunned, but after a beat, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

“I like you better when you’re not talking,” you said as you pulled back, breathless. “I still hate you. But I'm drunk and want to forget this day.”

His eyes darkened as he nodded. Wordlessly, you led him out of the bar, ignoring Carlos’ knowing smirk as you ducked into a car with Charles at your side, his hand resting on your thigh, neither of you saying a word.

Opening the door to your hotel room, Charles tried to push you against the wall but you shoved him back.

"I'm in control," you said sternly and he held your gaze for a second before retreating to lay down on the bed. You watched as he pulled his shirt over his head and your eyes followed from his chest down to his abs in appreciation.

"See something you like mon cheri?" He asked smirking and you stalked over to him.

Straddling him, you met his lips in a heated kiss again, fingers tangled in his hair while he tugged at your dress to pull over your head. When it was off he immediately attached his lips to your chest, sucking harsh enough to leave a mark and causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. Feeling him harden underneath you, you ground your hips down onto him causing him to gasp.

His hands found the sides of your hips and started rocking you back and forth against him while you whimpered at the friction.

"That feel good huh," he rasped. "You need more?"

"Yes Charles please," you begged and he smirked at your neediness. He set you on your back and pulled down his jeans and boxers, letting his cock flip up against his abs.

He reached down to pull your thong off and rubbed his fingers up and down your wetness.

"So wet for someone you supposedly hate," he teased as you groaned against him. He brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. "Tastes even better than I imagined."

You started to say something but were cut off as he pushed into you, causing you to gasp. He moved slowly, whispering encouraging words in your ear as you adjusted to his size.

"Move Charles," you demanded once you were ready and he happily obliged, picking up a fast pace. You dug your nails into his back as he pounded into you, causing him to gasp out.

"I want on top," you breathed out and he pulled out, helping you up. Once he was settled, you sunk down on him slowly causing him to groan. You kept at a slow pace enjoying the tortured look on his face.

"Come on," he complained and you smirked.

"Beg."

He didn't say anything for a while, just staring into your eyes until you rolled your hips into his, causing him to whimper.

"Please y/n," he begged. "I need more mon cheri, please make me feel good. I need you."

Satisfied, you started moving faster and his head fell back against the pillow, his eyes closing. Your hand wrapped around his throat forcing him to look back at you.

"Eyes on me," you purred and he bit your lip. Grinding against him you could feel your climax coming and it was game over as his thumb found your clit. Your hips came to a stop as it washed over you and Charles dug his hands into your hips to take over the movement.

He was brutally fucking up into you chasing his own release as you squeezed tightly around him. At the last minute he flipped you back over to get a better angle and finally spilled into you.

The two of you just stared at each other in silence, breathing hard. You started to get up to move towards the bathroom but he stopped you.

"Let me take care of you," he said, scooping you up in his arms. He set you down in the shower, turned on the water, and slid in behind you. Washing your body slowly, you let yourself relax against him forgetting for just a second that this was your mortal enemy.

Turning the water off, you changed into pajamas and hesitated, seeing Charles in the bed under the covers.

"I don't know if you should spend the night," you said, and he gave you a pointed look.

"Just shut up and come here," he said and you gave in, climbing into bed next to him. He pulled you against him, letting your head rest against your chest.

"What are we doing?" You mumbled against him. "You don't even think I'm qualified enough to do my job and here I am letting you into my bed."

His fingers that were tracing circles on your back stilled.

"I don't think that," he said and you scoffed looking up at him.

"You basically say something along those lines every time we are together," you retorted and he looked away.

"It's just hard," he finally said.

"How is trying to be civil with me so difficult?"

"Because I'm jealous okay!" He exclaimed exasperated. "I love my strategists but they're all way older and have lives and other things going on. Carlos gets you and it's not fair. You guys hang out all the time and you actually want to spend time with him. It's been you that I've wanted this whole time."

Your mind was reeling at his confession and you sat up. He looked at you expectantly.

"So because you were jealous of me being Carlos' strategist, you decided the best course of action was to harass me?" You asked and he flinched at the coldness in your voice.

"In hindsight, it was a bad idea," he admitted. "I was just hoping you'd switch to another team but now that it's actually happening I freaked."

"You are truly unbelievable," you said, amazed at the audacity of this man. You laid back against your pillow and just stared at the ceiling.

"So what now?" Charles asked nervously.

"Dude, I don't even know," you said. "I hate you, but you hate me because you like me, and now I don't know what to think."

"I know," Charles said, his voice steady now. "But I don’t want to lose this... whatever it is between us. Can we at least try to figure it out? Maybe start over?"

You looked at him for a long moment, weighing his words, before finally nodding slightly. "Maybe," you said. "But this doesn’t just go away because you’ve admitted it. You hurt me, Charles."

He nodded solemnly. "I know. And I’ll make it right if you give me the chance. I want you to be mine."

You didn’t respond immediately, still processing everything. Eventually, you rolled onto your side, closing your eyes. "Let’s just get some sleep. We’ll figure out tomorrow when it comes."

Charles lay back down beside you, giving you space but still close enough to feel his presence.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

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galaxiasgreen · 4 months ago

Text

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 5.4k words]

Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things. You were just afraid.

In which, against the wishes of his staunchly pure-blood supremacist family, Ominis Gaunt befriends you, a naive Muggle-born Hufflepuff, and his life inexplicably changes.

Or, what happens when a pure-blood from an anti-Muggle family falls in love with a Muggle-born?

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: familial abuse, blood/ injury, torture, fantasy prejudice/ racism.

1: Strawberry Laces

He calls you Gibberish, because sometimes that's all you speak.

In first year, Ominis remembers crossing your path after the Sorting ceremony. You, a shaky little Muggle-born, near no knowledge of the magical world and its machinations, and the depths of its cruelty. You, who only enjoyed wonder in everything: every moving painting, the candles that floated untethered, and the way the air hummed with something else, something ethereal. He remembers hearing your distinctive voice in the foyer outside the Great Hall.

He remembers how you, somehow, managed to get lost.

Your upbeat curiosity pealed like a bell amongst the sombre tension of the first-year Slytherins. For some reason, your hair is what Ominis remembers best. Later he would find out it was thick, bouncy wild curls pinched into two pigtails at the side of your head, but the first thing he recalls is the smell, faintly of something saccharine.

"You're in the wrong place."

A pause, presumably as you realised he was addressing you. "Aren't we going to the form rooms?" you asked, that high-pitched voice like birdsong at dawn. It was hard to forget, given the nervous squeal you made when you were called up to be Sorted. It was already ingrained into his head.

"You're meant to be going to the Hufflepuff common room," he said, frowning. Form. What was a form? He pointed his wand at the Hufflepuffs heading the other way through the hall. "Your house is over that way."

"Oh!" You giggled, a sickly sweet noise, and headed over. "Thanks!"

How did you even get them mixed up? Ominis still doesn't know. He didn't think about you again until the next day, when term officially began Charms. By chance, he was seated next to you. That smell again, that voice.

"Have no fear, Master Gaunt," cheered Professor Ronen, "I will be giving you more practical assignments, so you don't have as much writing to do."

That was some consolation, he supposed. Practical assignments played to his best strengths.

When Ronen moved on to check Adelaide's technique, Ominis heard your chair squeak. Heard the hiss of your clothes as you peered over. Something rattled on your face – glasses.

"It's... Ominis, right?"

He pursed his lips, displeased at the interruption. "Can I help you?"

"You're an actual wizard?"

"... What?"

"I mean, you know, you were born into this magic thing."

A pure-blood, is what you meant. "Yes. What of it?"

"That's great, because I just wanted to know... erm... which way around does the wand go?"

That had to be a joke. "You can't be serious."

"S-Sorry, I swear I'm not pulling your leg." Pulling your leg? You laughed nervously. "It's just— my wand is a little crooked, and it doesn't have a handle, like yours— so I don't actually know if I'm holding it the right way up or not, and I don't want to blast myself in the face."

A wave of that saccharine soap again. Ominis wrinkled his nose and continued practicing Wingardium Leviosa. Swish and flick. "Can you really not tell?"

"No..."

You sounded genuine. Not joking.

Hmm. Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things.

You were just afraid.

"It's the tapered point that's the end."

"They're both thin."

"Let me feel it."

You hesitated. "Feel— it?"

"Well I can't look at it, can I?"

Another moment of hesitation. An intake of breath.

"Oh!" You nearly blew out his eardrums. "Sorry. You're blind!"

"Well spotted."

"I didn't notice."

"I figured."

You made an indignant noise and handed it over. His senses immediately flooded. It was an intimate sensation, to hold someone else's wand, especially that of a near-stranger. To feel the springy wood beneath his fingertips, the coarse grains of the wood. A light wood, airy. He was no expert on wands, and certainly no Ollivander, but he'd been touching and feeling things long enough to recognise details most sighted people would miss.

Yes, it was crooked, an odd shape for an odd person. He drew his thumb up the wand's janky spine.

"That's the top." He held the handle and offered it back to you. "There."

"Brilliant. Okay." You took the wand back. Cleared your throat. "Here goes then. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Something shifted beside him. A soft fabric drew up against his leg, raising higher and higher, past his head—

"Wait," Ominis spluttered, "is that my satchel?"

"It didn't— oh!" Panic fluttered through you. "No, no, no! Stop, wand! Un-Wingardium Leviosa! Erm, Spellus Stoppus?"

He didn't know how you did it, but even when he told you the right orientation, still you managed to point it the wrong way, the tip facing the bag by his chair, and Professor Ronen had to instruct you on the correct way by using chalk to mark the right end – after he got Ominis' bag down from the ceiling.

There are so many things he still doesn't understand about you.

Weeks into first year, when he'd learnt to adapt to your strange, Muggle quirks, your funny language and unwittingly explosive efforts in other classes, the two of you were doing homework on the lawn with Ominis' Slytherin dormmate, Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian thought you odd, too, but he had more exposure to Muggles than Ominis did – certainly more than the anti-Muggle disdain he received at home – and quickly warmed to your jolly attitude.

"It's strange. My dad hears all the confectionary chatter from America. Apparently this thing called peanut butter is making waves over there now." You grounded the sugar quill with your teeth – Ominis could hear it like a second heartbeat. "Doesn't that sound disgusting?"

"It does," marvelled Sebastian. "Butter and peanuts? What a strange combination."

"I know!" You rolled onto your back – and Ominis caught it again. Your scent. So intrinsically tied to you that every fresh wave made him feel comforted somehow. "You can't just put those two things together!"

"Your soap," Ominis blurted, and the conversation paused so abruptly that his cheeks heated. "What is it? It doesn't smell like anything I know."

"Oh, yes." Your voice was contemplative, sheepish as you pushed up your glasses. "I brought it from home. It reminds me of my family. Smells like our confectionary shop."

That didn't answer the question, and by his expression, you knew it.

"It's strawberry laces! You know? They're strawberry-flavoured, and they look like laces..."

"What in Merlin's name is a strawberry lace?"

"It's a type of candy! They're chewy and sweet!"

"Are they laces for your shoes?"

"No! That's just the shape of them."

Sebastian leant over crinkly parchment. "Do you mean red liquorice?"

"Yes!" You belted it so loud Ominis fell back. "Sorry! Sorry, yes. Red liquorice. That's its proper name."

"Then why didn't you call it red liquorice?"

"... Because it's strawberry laces. That's what we call them. It's my favourite treat."

"But that makes no sense! Why not just call it what it is?"

"Is it a Muggle thing?" Sebastian asked.

"No." A beat. "Maybe?"

Ominis scoffed. "You talk so much nonsense I can barely understand you sometimes."

You spat out your tongue. "Oh yeah, Ominis Gaunt? Mister, I Cast Whoopy-Doopy-Goopy to make your Thingimajig Ringadingdong?"

He spluttered, exasperated. "I don't sound like that! That's— that's just gibberish!"

"... Wait, is gibberish an actual language? Because goblins speak Gobbledegook, so..."

Sebastian howled with laughter. Your naivety was kind of adorable.

"The only one who speaks gibberish here," Ominis said, going back to his wandwork, "is you."

"Hmph!" You enunciated your indignation with such purpose. "Then maybe I'm fluent!"

And you were. You still are.

Neither Ominis nor Sebastian let you live it down, and the effects rippled throughout the first years. Sebastian's sister Anne found you adorably strange and joyfully brazen. Your Hufflepuff housemates enjoyed your humour and shenanigans. Even outside of your mismatched little groups, others in the the year, like Amit Thakkar and Garreth Weasley, thought you were a hoot, the silliest Muggle-born they'd ever met. Gibberish was your native language, and they all agreed. Soon everyone gave you the nickname. At one point it became Gibby. You pouted at each mention at first, but you grew fond of it eventually – then wearing it like a badge of honour. You adopted it, made it your own.

And even into second and third year, when the magical world became more familiar, you were Gibby.

Of course, you were never Gibby when Ominis wrote home. You were never anyone. It didn't take Ravenclaw wisdom to clock that his friendship with you was never considered proper. Pure-bloods, you learnt as quickly as he did, were the superior blood-status, and Muggle-borns the dregs left to rot at the bottom of the scummy barrel. That Mudblood was a slur of the lowest calibre. Ominis was shrewd enough to lie by omission in his letters back home, when his parents demanded to know about his friends and alliances. He simply never mentioned you at all, and all your adventures were given to Sebastian.

That didn't stop them from finding out.

"Who is she?"

Father had marched him to his study, made him sit. Even though a fire roared in the hearth, the place was cold, a slick tar against his skin. Even in the plushest chair, a high-back velvet with curling arms, he was the most uncomfortable he'd ever been. Even though he was blind, he could feel his parents' gaze like the tips of a thousand knives, pressed to the soft flesh of his throat.

"She's— no one."

"Don't lie to me," snapped his father. His mother was silent but complicit, by the way she paced from wood to carpet to wood again. "Edwin Malfoy said his son mentioned you frolicking around the school with some Hufflepuff. A Muggle-born."

There was no way he could deny it. Damn Peregrine Malfoy. They weren't in the same year group at school; why did he have to mention you at all? Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? It had been three years already – what was another four?

Ominis contemplated what to say, urging his fingers to still, his toes to flatten. He could not betray his fear, betray the sudden rising heartbeat, the clamminess of his palms, nor the pure, unadulterated dread that roiled through him.

"It's— it's just Gibby," he forced out as calmly as he could.

"Gibby?" shrilled his mother.

"Not her real name," Ominis said quickly. "It's actually—"

"But she's Muggle-born?" his father demanded.

"Yes, but—"

"Have we taught you nothing, boy? Muggles, and their filthy spawn, are weak. Muggle-born magic is diluted, and therefore they are not worthy to wield it."

His mother was sobbing in the corner, like this extended hand of friendship he'd given to you, this supposed error, was grievous enough to tear a hole through her heart.

"Our bloodline is sacred. We are descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin himself! When you choose to associate with these disgusting Mudbloods," he spat the word, "you are sending a message that these interlopers can take our land, our magic and our privileges. They can encroach on what is rightfully ours. Did you know they used to burn witches? Even though, in every way, we are superior to them?" His father drummed impatient fingers on the marble mantelpiece. Each clack sent more and more terrified shivers down Ominis' spine. "A good thing Noctua went missing. Spending too much time with her addled you. Now we must have a more formal hand in your education."

Ominis didn't know how to respond to that. How could they say that about Aunt Noctua? "What do you—?"

A knock at the door cut through his words – Ominis immediately recognised the knock's low timbre. His older brother. Marvolo. Panic rendered him paralysed.

"Come in," called his father.

Ominis heard his brother's footsteps. Heard the cruelty of his smile.

"Is it time, Father?"

"Yes. Take him downstairs."

Ominis didn't speak. There was no point. Marvolo, of all his older siblings, was the cruellest, an exact replica of their father who despised Muggles and Muggle-borns, despised Noctua, and revered the family name and the bloodline as divine, rather than simply blood and sinew and a surname. His grip on Ominis' shoulder was hard enough to draw blood, curled into the muscle like claws.

They all went downstairs, silent. Ominis had never been to this part of the house before – sometimes, when the moon was highest, when he stowed quietly to the kitchens for a midnight nibble, he heard screaming. At first he thought it his imagination, the night playing tricks on his keen senses.

When he descended into the cellar, he realised for the first time that it was not the night's whims having their fun. The dark, after all, had never been so wicked to him before.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. A strong, tangy scent, coppery and unpleasant. Blood. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, which only left the taste on his tongue. The chill was second, as bone-deep as a tundra. By the echo of breath, the ceiling was low and poorly lit, for his father cast a Fire charm at the braziers besides the doorway.

There was a ruffle of cotton. A low murmur. Marvolo's grip ceased, and he roughly shoved Ominis forwards.

"Do you know what's in front of you?"

Tremoring, Ominis reached for his wand. In the time he'd bought it at Ollivander's, it had become something special to him. A way to navigate the castle, yes, but it was much more than that. Almost sentient. It seemed to know how he was feeling and how to react to it, just as it did now, pulsing like a wild heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At eleven he'd been sceptical of the phrase 'the wand chooses the wizard', but now he believed there was truth in it. His wand had shown him that magic was in the air, all around him – all he had to do was draw on it.

He reached out, trying to fit together the scattered pieces of feedback. The ruffles and strangled breaths and scratch-scratch of rope. The cold, as sharp as the ice they used to keep fruit and meat fresh. The overwhelming smell of blood and dirt.

"Is—" He shouldn't have second-guessed himself, not with his family present, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing, smelling, tasting, what he was potentially beholding. "Is that a person trussed up?"

"You missed an important factor," said his father. "This is no person. This is mud."

A Muggle.

The Muggle whimpered. There was some gag around their mouth, and yet Ominis deciphered every note of fear.

"But this is dangerous!" He went to hide his wand, but Marvolo's hand stopped him. "You shouldn't have brought—"

"We can do what we want," Marvolo said. "We're Gaunts, little brother, and this scum before you requires humbling."

Ominis swallowed bile. Perhaps errantly, your voice hummed in his mind then. Your laugh. He imagined hearing it. Imagined it was you tied to the floor.

"No," he said at once. "I won't do it."

"The Cruciatus Curse has been used to subdue our enemies for centuries." Pride flowed through his brother's words. "You should be overjoyed to have this opportunity. Your siblings and I were thrilled with our first Muggles."

They've tortured innocent people before. All his brothers and sisters – they'd all done it.

"But— I can't hurt them. T-They've done nothing wrong to me. They're just—"

"They are worms beneath our boots, and their very existence is an abomination." Marvolo gave him a rough jerk. "I taught you how to use Crucio."

Yes, but Ominis swore it was only for self-defence.

When he didn't reply, Marvolo spoke, "So cast it now, on the Muggle."

Ominis shook his head. Fear and panic ran his mouth dry. "I can't."

"You will, or so help me, boy, you'll be a disgrace to the family," muttered his father. "Cast it."

"No."

"Cast. It."

"I won't."

Marvolo's laugh rang out. "I didn't realise your spine was made of cotton, Ominis."

But Ominis was made of steel in that moment, for he couldn't imagine a better reason to defy his family than for the sake of Muggles and Muggle-borns. For you.

"I won't cast it."

"Then you clearly need some encouragement." And before Ominis could even process what that meant, Marvolo yelled, "Crucio!"

It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Pain, as he understood, was simply a reflex of the body to let the brain know something, somewhere, was wrong. A warning sign to cease whatever behaviour was causing it.

This was pain with no epicentre. There was no singular point that was bowing to the most pressure. This was all-encompassing and never-ending. This was his stomach and chest and heart, his brain and lungs, from the tips of his fingers to the knobs of his shoulders and knees and the ends of his toes. Every part of him, alight, doused in oil and set on fire through the concentrated rays of the sun.

Nowadays he doesn't remember that moment very clearly. The anguish was so great, he must've blacked out once or twice. Marvolo held it for a long time, longer than he needed to ingrain his foul teachings. All Ominis does remember is the pain, so acute that words fail to describe it, even to this day.

And the thought, back then, that his family could cause such pain, tore something inside him he would never be able to stitch back up.

When his brother released the curse, Ominis was curled up on the floor. Something wet lay beneath his cheek. Perhaps sweat. Perhaps spit. Perhaps blood, his own or the Muggle's. Perhaps even piss, for the curse had been too much for his bladder to handle. Every nerve ending on his skin was trembling. He'd let go of his wand somewhere in the room, and even now he couldn't sense it, like the pain had burned a hole where instead should be that bond.

"That is a Gaunt," said his father, pride sugaring his tone. "Your brother didn't hesitate."

Marvolo's voice was warm with mockery. "I have no qualms using the Cruciatus Curse on you, little brother, if it will teach you a valuable lesson."

What lesson could that possibly be? In the dizziness, Ominis couldn't untangle what the crucial moral was. It was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and perhaps never would.

"Would you like me to cast that on you again?"

"No!" Ominis managed to weep. He dribbled as he did, and shame burst through him. "N-No, please."

"Then get up," Marvolo hauled him to his feet, whether he was ready or not, "and cast it on someone who really deserves it."

Ominis is ashamed of the memory that follows. Sometimes he wishes he could alter it, pull it out of his mind like brittle thread and snap it into pieces, but then he wouldn't remember the valuable lesson he did learn that day. That his family were a cruel peoples.

And, as he raised his wand at his victim, that he was cruel now too.

"Crucio!"

Back near the end of third year, Ominis had found you climbing a tree on the school grounds. The wind was high and fretful – like his nerves, hearing you so far up, that carefree giggle carried on the current like bird's wings.

"Is that you, Gibby?"

"Ominis!" you chirruped. "You have to come up. The view is great!"

"I bet it's really swell."

"Sorry, sorry! I mean— oh, just come up! It's amazing, I promise!"

"You know you have a broom, right?" he called up, exasperated. "It's much safer than climbing trees! Where you could fall."

"I know! But this is all I've got back home, so I'd better get used—"

You let out a noise. The tree rumbled. There were four hard knocks that sent terror through him like lightning and a sudden thump on the ground like a knife to the gut. He rushed over to where you were crying out, breathless with pain. He'd never heard such a keening sound before, not in a physical, raw sense, where he could almost feel it himself. Pain that was almost too burdened to bear.

"Ugh, you're so foolish!" He nocked his wand skywards and sent out a flare. Hopefully someone would see it. "What have you hurt?"

You were in too much agony to reply – something had to be broken.

"I'm going to feel you, okay?"

You made a straggled noise he took for consent and pressed a hand to your arm. It came away wet. Blood. A broken and torn arm for certain then. You wheezed, too. Perhaps a broken rib. He pressed gently around, searching for the worst sources of pain through the leaf-ridden folds of your robes and shattered remnants of your glasses, but only when he reached forwards, felt the wetness around your upper lip and cheeks, did he realise you were choking from the blood of a broken nose.

He'd never felt a face before, not anyone outside his family. Yours was smaller than he'd expected. Your presence was so loud, so vivid, he'd expected you to match it physically as well. Even in the state that you were he could smell that sweet soap, and for some reason had the sudden urge to touch the rest of your face, explore how you were made, how the world shaped you.

"I'm going to staunch the bleeding." Instead he dispelled the thoughts and pointed his wand, enunciating as clearly as he could, "Episkey!"

A whip-like crack. You shrieked, but after a moment, your hysteria calmed, and he wiped the blood around your nose with his sleeve.

"I—" Tears filtered your winded voice. "I can't... move... my leg."

"It's probably broken too, like every other bone in your body," he retorted sharply. Good thing he'd had advance tutoring for healing spells. "I told you it was dangerous."

"I know," you bleated.

But his anger dissolved. There was no point rubbing it in your face. Whether he was right, or whether you had come down the tree perfectly well, you would've done it anyway.

"Can you last until someone comes to help?" he mumbled, lowering his tone.

"I can last."

"Good. I'll wait with you."

"Promise I... won't look into the light."

Ominis wrinkled his nose. "A sight joke now? Really?"

"No, no... it's a Muggle saying— never mind." A weighted pause. "Thank you."

He scoffed. "For being right?"

"Yes," you said softly, an admission. "But also... for being my friend."

Madam Blainey hurried over eventually and carted you away, cooing over your injuries, admonishing your actions, and Ominis stayed at your side until you drank every last acrid drop of healing potion, and you were fast asleep in the infirmary wards, at peace.

Even though you were silly, frivolous, an oddball who spoke fluent gibberish, he never wanted you to be in such pain again. He certainly couldn't imagine being the cause of it.

Which is why he swore on that day, after the Muggle had long since collapsed on the cellar floor, after his father and mother and brother delighted in his first successful cast of Crucio, that he would never again cause anyone such agony. Least of all you.

So in fourth year, he did his best to ignore you. To create a wide berth. And to find a way to escape his family.

He hung out more with Sebastian, even though his friend was slowly changing, ambitions growing. Both of them were equally matched in many things, like academics and opinions, and with Anne taking suddenly ill, trapped within the bindings of a unknown curse, Sebastian had his own demons about finding her a cure. They explored more outside – the countryside was huge, after all, and Ominis had always found the place intimidating for someone who couldn't see any of it. They lounged in the Undercroft more often – their own hiding spot to where they could escape the stress of school and home life and the increasingly pressing threat of a goblin rebellion. Mostly, Ominis went there to avoid you.

Sebastian quickly noticed you were missing from these adventures, though. Nothing much escaped his notice, even when his sister's illness consumed him – too shrewd to forget the giant girl-shaped gap in their homework brainstorming sessions, or learning questionable jinxes, or snacking on magical sweets. Ominis eventually confessed to what he'd had to do over summer – and what he would do to keep you safe.

"Very noble of you," Sebastian said, the wide, open walls of the Undercroft echoing his voice. "But you didn't have a choice."

"I did." Ominis shot at the dummy, again and again, to channel his frustration. "I chose to hurt that Muggle. I chose to cause them pain. And I couldn't have done it if I didn't want to."

"What else were you supposed to do then? Let your family hurt you again?"

"I should have! What I did to that Muggle... they're probably dead now..."

"Your family would've killed them regardless."

"That doesn't make it better!"

Sebastian yanked Ominis' shoulder, obliging him to stop, to listen. "You're being ridiculous. Your family forced you to hurt that Muggle. Now you're going to self-destruct an entire friendship because of them?"

Anguished panic stripped his insides raw, but he fought to contain it. "If they'll do that to some random person they found on the street, think what they'll do to her! My family isn't like yours, Sebastian. I can't risk Peregrine Malfoy telling on me. I won't."

Sebastian let out a singular, dark chuckle. "Don't you worry about Pretentious Perry. I'll sort him out." He exhaled, softening. "You ignoring Gibby isn't going to do anything but make you both upset. She's tenacious, and too loyal to us. She's just going to keep demanding an explanation until we give her one."

"Then she's going to be disappointed for a long time. Tell her whatever it takes to keep her away from me."

"You can't—" Sebastian let out a frustrated grunt. "You can't make me the mediator between you two."

Ominis turned back to the dummy. "I'm not asking you to. I don't care if you want to be her friend, but I won't. For her sake."

"Yeah? And what about yours?"

Ominis didn't have an answer for that.

He did manage to avoid you all autumn term. An excruciatingly difficult task, because teachers often paired the two of you together now – your chaos matching Ominis' order perfectly well. But he was cold to you, callous when you pried, outright mean when you demanded. You were as tenacious and loyal as Sebastian warned though. No matter what Ominis said, how rude he was, you never gave in.

Eventually the cold shoulder was all he could give emotionally. He was tired of drawing from the hatred that welled inside him, and turning it on you.

Over Christmas that year, Sebastian invited Ominis to stay with his family in Feldcroft, and Ominis agreed. So did the Gaunts, who knew the Sallows, albeit poor, to be a well-bred family, though perhaps less aware of Sebastian's more radical opinions on Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was good to see Anne, too – even sick, weak, body breaking down piece by piece by the curse, she was spirited and stubborn and filled the feminine void that was missing between him and Sebastian.

But she wasn't you. She could never replace you.

"Have you heard from Gibby?" she asked on one of her good days, when Solomon Sallow was mucking out the horses. She was tucked in bed still, wrapped in thick cloths and furs whilst the boys played Gobstones by the foot of her bed. "I miss her enthusiasm for Muggle sweets."

Before Ominis could speak, Sebastian declared, pouring on the smarminess, "They're not talking anymore."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was directed at Ominis. "Why?"

"We fell out," Ominis said through a clenched jaw, hoping his tone was enough to quiet Sebastian. "Nothing else to it."

"You and Gibby? Falling out? What did you do wrong?"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?"

"Because Gibby would sooner stake her own heart than argue with you."

Neither twin pressed, so Ominis didn't answer. Later that week, however, her prodding questions changed to sympathetic disagreement, and he suspected Sebastian gave her enough information to infer his reasoning. Unfortunately, Anne's thoughts on the matter aligned with her brother's, and though she frequently tried to convince Ominis of this fact, most of the time he couldn't stand to listen to it, and he simply walked out of the house.

She would never understand his decision. They did not have his family.

When Ominis returned to Hogwarts for the spring term, however, knowing Anne was partly right about leaving you in this middling state, he resolved no longer to hide behind feeble excuses. Sebastian was slowly seeking solace in the Dark Arts, something Ominis rejected vehemently, but even then there was safety with Sebastian's status that there never was for you.

He had to protect you by any means necessary. That meant it was time to end the friendship for good.

So it wasn't surprising when, on the first day back, he entered the Undercroft and found you standing there.

"Colloportus!"

The lock behind him clicked, the grille sealing shut. This infuriated him to no end – four years and your naivety still preceded you.

"You know I can cast Alohomora—?"

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from his grasp, clattering somewhere to his left.

"That was excessive."

"Was it?" you challenged, coming up to him. Strawberry laces. "You've had the whole of Christmas to think about what a meater you've been, and I'm not going to let you start the silent treatment again."

Meater. Context was a useful thing at filling in Muggle-vocabulary-shaped gaps.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

"I followed you, last term, when you were not talking to me."

"Why don't, for once, Gibby," he snarled, "you mind your own business?"

"You are my business!" you yelled – and there it was, the first inkling of pain. "Last year you were my best friend. You and Sebastian, and Anne too. Now she's sick and I haven't seen her in months, you refuse to talk to me and Sebastian won't tell me why!"

Ominis pushed out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Sebastian had done a terrible job at warding you away. Yes, you had spent more time with other people in your year, like Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur, and Garreth, Leander and Cressida and even the new girl, Natsai Onai. But still you crawled back to him.

"Like I said, it's not your business."

"I'm not accepting that answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

"Is it me?" you flung out. "Did I say something wrong? Did you get fed up with me copying your homework? Or showing Natty around? I know you pretend to despise everyone in that house. Or maybe it's personal? Have I been annoying? Do I smell bad?"

You never smell bad. He opened his hand. "Give my wand back, Gibby."

To your credit, when he asked for the thing that helped him make sense of the world, you retrieved it, no resistance, and placed it into his waiting palm. The brief touch sent a pleasant, unwanted current tingling through his skin.

"Is it family?"

Ominis snatched his hand away. "No."

"It is. It must be. You stayed at Feldcroft all Christmas." You softened. "You know you can tell me anything—"

"Butt out, Gibby."

"Ominis—"

"No. Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired of picking up the pieces after you. I'm tired of your clumsiness and your stupidity. I'm tired of holding your hand and coddling you. This world is cruel, and since you haven't learnt it yet, maybe you will now. You don't need me, and I certainly don't need you. So leave me alone." Then the word slipped out, unbidden. "Mudblood."

Your gasp was drawn out, a long inhale that sucked all the light over an arid horizon. Ominis immediately regretted it. He'd caused that Muggle physical pain, he'd been a silent bystander as you fell off that tree in third year, but emotional pain, the crossing of a line that could never be turned back upon, the shattering of your heart into pieces no spell could mend... that was worse than any Cruciatus Curse.

"T-Take that back," you demanded, holding back a sob. "Y-You take that b-back, right now!"

He didn't. All he did was turn around and cast the Unlocking charm. The grille lifted.

You sniffled. Tears splattered onto the stone. In that moment, your sweetness had been stolen, your brightness dimmed. All because of him.

"You're a beast, Ominis Gaunt," you yelled as the lift churned into motion. "I wish I'd never met you!"

And he left you there, knowing you were right.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Amazing art by Giselann, Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #gibby #acvas #acvasverse #my writing #my stuff #aka the fic where i make ominis suffer for love

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ilyuu-archive · 1 year ago

Text

a confession.

words born from within the depths of feelings, the heart a tug to a path too intimate, too unfamiliar to a few as it navigates. at the tip of their tongue rests a string of words that can shift ties alone (or he confesses to you.)

ft. alhaitham, dainsleif, diluc, scaramouche & xiao.

warnings : bits of angst (dainsleif, diluc & scaramouche), fluff, literally fluff, confessions (surprise!) alhaitham is a menace, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n : hi 😀

alhaitham.

“i love you.”

sway of leaves, tips touching the glass. soot dusting the shelves, worn covers and pages left open. muted shades of a home a comfort. in the living room, wherein tinted shards of glass swallows the light in colors, it paints a myriad of shades onto you. and yet, it all fades into the background, a scenery, as the book in your hand weighs a bit lighter than it was a second ago; his words to the air weigh heavier than the ones in hand.

“…huh?”

his eyes turn to his side, on you, taking in any and every feature of yours to read any reaction - he didn’t need to look , with how close the two of you are, he could feel the warmth radiating from you. the quiet that you once enjoyed seemed to stretch on for what felt like an eternity.

“wait, wait. like as in like or…”

“is there another definition i should be aware of?”

the book in his hand slowly closes to a shut, a small bookmark tucked in the pages. the words printed onto there, words of one’s perspective out of the many fragments of the whole, falls for naught in this moment in particular.

“i love you, [name]. what i feel for you goes beyond the confinement of someone i see as, no less, a companion. i enjoy your company more than i expect to, i find myself thinking of you throughout points of the day despite of no reason to, among others, your voice had always stood out—”

“alhaitham.”

“—as well as wondering for your well-being whenever i have yet to see you for the day. on that note, when we do occasionally cross paths, i’d find myself in a state of tranqu—”

“stop.”

he does. the light hides little, and he sees how you try to hide yourself in your hands, not letting him see a bit of the look you’re wearing right now. but it’s obvious. if anything, it might as well be an open secret between the two of you with how his gaze subtly softens. those eyes you’ve always been drawn to, since the moment you’ve seen him, sees you and alone.

“…i love you too.”

“i thought as much.”

“would it kill you to be a bit more romantic?”

he hums. no later, he leans in and presses his lips against your temple. the surge of happiness that followed that small peck only made you to cave into yourself further. in some distant part, you’ve heard him say, “is that alright with you?”

dainsleif.

red petals swaying, akin to windmills. a draft of wind drifting in the air. a quiet aria that floats aloft aimlessly (one neither you or him can catch.) from the tower, though careful, you found yourself sitting on a jagged edge of the walkway, ivy and moss slithering among the cracks of the walls. your fingers felt the rough surface for a few moments, taking it all in alongside with him. the cold in the air isn’t the same as him - a familiar touch, there was, to him with all the time you’ve been with him.

and too much familiarity has you lulled into a state of comfort and unconsciousness. he’s noticed that as he sees you away fro and to, toppling. his hand hovers over your head, lightly pressing it against his shoulder as some sort of stability - or a pillow, whichever you prefer. there’s a tension in his fingers, nearly trembling, as it touches you, as if not used to this (and he isn’t.)

it burns. his fingertips burns.

“…there is no need for me to stay,” he murmurs, words faint in the name of the wind, “and i am aware of that as much as you are. there is nothing that roots me to this land - no relation, no matter of emotional connection… other than you.”

“time again, i am reminded how i live beyond the constant flow of time. something fleeting is but a dream. and you’ve given me a many; these moments with you… feels akin to a dream. none that asks for a endless life, a demise - simply a life with you.”

“i… i love you.” he looks at you. the air brushes your hair (in a way he yearns to as of late.)

“i love you more than i should.”

diluc.

soft shafts of sunlight rousing awake at the dot of the horizon. mahogany handrails bearing years of use. a pair of birds chirping, a string of song. the rails held you still as you stare at the skies, a melting harmony of rose and gold, always something of a sight that stole your breath away. it felt even better, framed by his presence, waves of his warmth wafting over to you. the slight wisps of wind tousled his hair, more of a mess than it already was, as he soaks in the touch of dawn once more (and yet again.)

and underneath your eyes does he slowly lose his composure, bit by bit. do

“you know,” your voice lifted the soft silence in the air, “i like watching these types of sunrises, i’ll say that… but any other reason you woke me up this early and dragged me here?”

“ah…” he shifts his gaze from yours, all curious, all seeing. he coughs into his fist, trying to clear his throat of all the tension. “i suppose my methods were a bit… unorthodox. in fact, yes, there is.”

“oh?” you lift your head up, just enough to look at him. you didn’t notice how close the two of you were together, and so you nearly touched the tip of his nose with his. “oh—”

he stays silent. his skin, as pale as it is, flared into a shade as red as his hair is, to the point that you don’t know where he starts or ends. he opens his mouth and closes it, the amount of times he did lost on you, and ended up biting his lip. there’s a bit of hesitation in every little thing he did, a stiffness, as he blows out a puff of air.

“hey, diluc?” you tilt your head, and as you stare at him with those eyes of yours, he feels as though it truly was the last straw. “do you need anyt—”

“i love you.”

your breath caught in your throat as much as his did. once again, a silence hangs, and yet, a quiet question and an unsaid answer remains in the air. he’s avoiding any contact with you, rather content in just staring at his fingers, biting into the wood of the handrails to the point of leaving marks.

“i… i— wait, what?”

he winces. so do you and you try again. “i mean… diluc, can you say that again? please?”

the seconds stretch on. it didn’t seem as though he’ll say anything, alright with the way his confession coalesces with the sun-kissed vines and barrels. and then he did. “i love you, [name]. always had, always will.”

“if it’s not too much for me to say, then… i’ve always appreciated how you stood beside, even when i’ve, on multiple occasions, attempted to push you away for your own good. a light that never yielded - the one thing that didn’t change.”

“and i’ve admired you for that. soon, that admiration turned into adoration with every single thing you do, and it had only grown from there.”

his cheeks cooled down a bit, yet still held some red in it. “of course, this is simply how i feel. whether you share this or n—”

“i do.”

he spun his head to you, and met eyes that held the same, if not more, adoration as his. the epitome of your feelings in your words as you said, “i love you too, diluc. always had, always will.”

scaramouche.

nature of the night surrounding the two of you. waves ebbing and flowing, foam rolling in. reflection of a moon rippled in the eye. he digs his hands into the sand, feeling the particles lost on his skin and, if anything, to numb the air nipping at him. he feels your eyes on his, eerily similar to the sea - calm, silent. patient. he folds his fingers, nails biting into the palm of his hands to etch in the feelings, thoughts, that kept a home in him a bit longer than he’d like.

“you know,” he says, “never in all the years have i existed did i think there was room for something futile.”

“i’m starting to wonder what isn’t futile in your eyes.”

“not the point.”

“agree to disagree.” there’s a smile in your voice - not that he has to see it, he just hears it and it’s enough for him. “but i’ll shut up. go on.”

“as i was saying,” he sighs, as if to let go of that air trapped in his throat, “you’re well aware of all the connections i’ve made, and that it all didn’t end as some happily ever after either like those stories.”

“again and again did the world tell me that i’m not worth the love of a family, a friend, let alone… someone more.”

from the corner of his eye, he sees you perk up at those last few words. like a small dollop of fire swallowed in the dark - a hope. and he looks to you, seeing you in your whole as you did just a few moments ago. he’d look at you in a particular way, maybe, as he watch your eyes widen just slightly, and that small light in you flickers to life.

you didn’t give yourself that hope though, you refuse to. this is him you’re talking about. the fact that you’re even here right now next to him because he asked you to was a miracle in and of itself. you’re as close to him as you’re alright with, and didn’t wish to cross this line that was so far away when you’ve met him - you didn’t want to feel far from him.

he opens his mouth, and with a voice dripping with hesitation, he says, “and you defy the world simply by being with me. everything you say, think, do - it’s as if you’re against fate itself, the very fate that ties us all together, whether we like it or not. that’s why i like you.”

his next words drips with a tenderness you seldom hear from him (up to this point.) “that’s why i love you.”

xiao.

lanterns lit, dotted across like stars. a bittersweet scent of incense clings to him. blades of grass crunching beneath any shift of movement. away from the life of the last few hours, the sun just shy of sleeping, the greetings of lofty shadows followed the two of you along the path to a place familiar, a step closer to home, if anything. since then, with little to o space within you and him, the times your hands grazed sending a static each and every time (the same with the slight blush touching his cheeks.)

“[name].”

a soft call of your name tugged you out of your thoughts. when you set your gaze on him, he stares back to you - feelings that you can’t put a name to coalescing. you see him open and close his mouth many times, the words at the tip of his tongue, and simply not taking form the way he wants them to. it’s cute, if anything, and as it continues, you couldn’t help the small smile that came to your lips.

there’s a small voice in the back of your head that tells you what, but it quickly quietens when his fingers brushes the back of your hand yet again. this time, he twines with yours. the cold presence of his glove sends a shiver to you - a rather pleasant one. from that, it’s as if he’s found the words.

“i… i am fond of you.” his eyes flits to yours. “more than i have intended. than i realized. at some point, in some time, your presence, your very existence, became… irreplaceable. something that i come to look forward to. and… the thought of not seeing you, even if for a day…”

his hand tightens its hold on yours.

“i am aware of how selfish this request is, and that i am not worthy for someone like you - that there is someone else that is capable of cherishing you - but… if you’ll let me have this, at the very least…”

you feel the pad of his thumb brush the back of your hand in slow, simple circles, whether to soothe you or himself. who knows? only that the touch sent a smile to you. you carried his hand to yours, and his questioning eyes widened just slightly when he feels your lips graze his knuckles in a feather-light touch.

“and i’m fond of you as well, xiao.”

he huffs, and turns his head the other way. the few streaks of sunlight held him in such softness, and coalesced along with the shade of his irises in a warm tandem.

general taglist (open!) : @zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @mx-kaedehara . . .

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x you #diluc x reader #diluc x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #xiao x reader #xiao x you

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aperrywilliams · 6 months ago

Text

I Need You Now (Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader.

Summary: After the break up with his girlfriend, Spencer isn’t taking it in the best possible way. Memories flood his mind and the guilt of what he could have done differently. When everything is lost, there is no more to do than to go on, even if the only certainty in his heart is that he needs her now.

Word Count: 2.1k (a little thing)

Warnings: Angst. Spencer overthinks over and over again. The reasons for the breakout are not explicit, but you can infer them. Alcohol consumption. Open ending (hahahahahaha). I’m sorry (I’m not).

A/N: Full inspired by I Need You Now by Lady A. Please don’t sue me.

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Pictures perfect memories

Scattered all around the floor

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It’s late when I unlock my apartment door. As soon as I open it, it is the darkness that welcomes me and not you.

At other times, you would have jumped from the couch to greet me, throwing your arms around my neck and kissing me all over my face. And even if I always complained about you being up late for me, I silently loved it.

Sometimes, when I returned at dawn, I found you asleep on the couch with a book open on your chest. Those times, you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't like the idea of waking you up.

That isn’t happening tonight, though.

You’re not on the couch. You’re not home.

And the worst part is that you said you are not coming back.

---------------

Reaching for the phone cause

I can't fight it anymore

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

Our love story started pretty close as a romantic movie would do. I bumped into you on my way out of a coffee shop. You were going to go inside but were distracted by your phone. You didn't see me coming out until you were stumbling, and before touching the ground, I secured you with my arms.

I was the one who apologized profusely, even if you were the one who didn't watch your way.

When I finally looked at you, words left me. And to hear your voice telling me not to worry didn't help my cause.

I would have asked for your number if I were bolder.

I didn't and let you go instead.

But luck must have been by my side when we crossed paths again.

The same coffee shop, two weeks later.

I got inside that morning and saw you at the counter waiting for your drink. I recognized you immediately.

Without a second thought, I walked up to you. Before I could say anything, you looked up and recognized me, too. A smile tugged your lips when you saw me.

“Hi,” I greeted you.

At that moment, I realized I had actually spoken to you. Why did I do that? What was I going to talk to you about?

“Hi. Glad you haven’t got a coffee yet,” you quipped. Making me stutter.

“Oh, no, no. I wasn’t thinking of spilling my coffee on you. I mean-” I stumbled over my words.

“Don’t freak out. I was joking,” you hastened to explain. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“A joke. Yeah. Uh. I knew that,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Why was it so hard to sound casual?

“Yeah. I figured,” you chuckled. “Will you tell me your name this time?”

That day, my fate was sealed.

We exchanged phone numbers, and against the odds, I was the one who called first.

That was followed by text messages and some coffee dates.

We both were pleasantly surprised at how naturally the conversation flowed between us and how much fun we had together. Forgetting our first encounter where I couldn't stop stuttering, as the weeks went by, I relaxed enough to be myself.

I can recall the time I told you I loved you. I was a nervous wreck, and as the words left my mouth, I only wanted to take them back because I couldn't stand the idea of being rejected by you, of losing you.

You were the one who told me not to be afraid of telling the truth because you felt the same way. I can swear it was one of the best days of my life. A passionate kiss sealed our confession as we vowed to be each other forever.

Nothing of that remains now, though. And I know that the one to blame is no one but me.

---------------

It's a quarter after one

I'm all alone, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

Why did things go down between us? We were perfect for each other. People told me that often, and I believed it, too.

After dating for over a year, I asked you to move in. I was excited to begin a new phase in our relationship, although you were a bit reluctant. Not for lack of love or wanting. You said you were head over heels for me, but you have been cautious about your love life. The last time you had a serious relationship, things ended pretty badly for you. That time, you swore not to go through something like that again, so you were careful about protecting yourself.

I knew that, too. You told me what happened to you a few months after we started dating. I swore I would never hurt you. I loved you, and I would never do anything to harm you.

I’m now sitting on the same couch where we spend so many movie nights. The same where truths were told, dreams were discussed, and we planned a future.

With a drink in my hand, I glance at my phone over the coffee table and feel the urge to hear your voice. I want to grab the device and dial your number even if you told me not to call you again, even if I agreed not to contact you again.

But I miss you, even if every day I tell the world I'm doing better and I will get over it.

The truth is I don't know how to do it without you.

I need you now.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

---------------

Never did the silence overwhelm me as much as it does right now. It’s past midnight, and I can only think about what I should have done differently.

Maybe I should have opened up about what was happening before. You always knew I had a hard time expressing my feelings, but with you, that never was an issue. That’s why I can’t figure out why I did differently this time.

You told me I didn’t love you anymore, and that’s farther from the truth. I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried.

Why did you say that, though?

Because I stop nurturing our love.

Because I took it for granted.

I made you doubt your worth and how important you are to me. I stopped listening. I stopped seeing. You gave me the signals, and I overlooked them.

Yeah, the job seemed more important at the time.

Of course, lives were on the line.

It's funny because none of that matters to me right now.

Missing you is something I never thought it could be a reality. How could I think about that when you were by my side to stay? Even the times I hurt you, you said you were to keep up no matter what. It was an unconditional love until it wasn’t. And I can’t blame you for leaving. It's all my doing, and I deserve to be alone. I deserve it, but I can’t stand it.

---------------

Another shot of whisky

Can't stop looking at the door

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

There are times when you think of me. I do think of you every day. When I wake up alone in my bed or when I drink my first coffee in the morning, you are not teasing me by pouring all the sugar from the container.

I think of you when I check my phone, and there are no texts from you. When at night I don’t want to go to bed because you are not with me to let me love you.

I can still hear your footsteps on the hardwood floor of this apartment.

I can recall, like yesterday, the times we danced in this very living room. The time you build a fort with cushions and blankets just because I told you once I loved that as a kid.

The nights when you let us watch foreign films so I could translate you whispering in your ear. The same nights when the movie ended were long forgotten because we were making out just like the first time.

I don’t think I can stop recounting every single memory we shared: the good ones and the bad ones.

Because, of course, I, too, remember the fights, the arguments, the silent treatments. But above all, the talks and our agreement of never going to sleep mad at each other.

---------------

It's a quarter after one

I'm a little drunk, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

With the alcohol running in my blood now, I can’t stop thinking about if your affections belong to someone else now.

Of course, I can’t be mad or blame you for it.

But my heart aches when I think about it.

I know I lost you the moment I allowed you to walk out that door.

But the damn phone is still there, tempting me, pushing me to call you. Even if I don't know what I could tell you.

Or maybe I do: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I love you. I miss you. I need you.

Would you believe me this time?

It’s wishful thinking. A naive one?

I don’t think any word I could say right now can do some repair to the pain I caused you. But I could try.

I grab the phone with trembling hands and start typing the first three numbers: 8-6-7...

I can do this so that I will continue: 5-3-0... just one more digit.

But I know you’ll not answer. And if you do, it’s unfair to you for me to do this. I should respect your wishes. It’s the bare minimum I can do.

So I toss the phone again over the coffee table, and the tears run freely this time.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Guess I rather hurt than feel nothing at all

---------------

If anything, I feel jealous of the person who will love you the way you deserve and will call you his.

In the same way I did a time ago.

Maybe I just need to get used to the idea. I lost you, and there is nothing I can do even if I still need you here.

I had the privilege of you letting me love you, and I’ll be grateful for having the chance.

Curling on the couch, I see the damn phone watching me again, defiance me. I’ll not give in this time. I owe you that much.

I was so immersed in my new determination that I could barely register the two knocks on my front door. It’s past one am, so I just assume it must be on a neighbor's door.

But then I hear another two knocks again. It is louder this time and impossible to ignore.

Grumbling, I stood from my spot.

I already know who it is. Derek Morgan has been adamant about pulling me out of my misery in the way he only knows: going out.

I could pretend to be deaf and pretend I didn't hear anything. But I know Derek; he won't settle, and he will use his spare key to get in anyway.

I open the door, ready to scold him for showing up at my door at this time. But words kept stuck in my throat when I confirmed Derek was not the one who was standing at my door.

“Hi. I’m sorry for showing up here without warning. I guess I didn’t think this thoroughly.”

My mouth opens and closes several times with nothing to say. At the lack of words, you continues talking.

“I thought I should call you first. But I wasn’t sure if you would pick it up. But if it’s a bad moment, it’s okay; I can go.”

Does telepathy really exist? I don't know, but I don't want to question it either.

“No, no. It’s okay. Would you like to come in?”

Your face shows something similar to relief. A bit of anxiety, maybe? I’m sure I’m not doing better.

What kind of test is this? I don’t know, but if it is the last chance I’ll get to do things right, God helps me to doesn’t fuck up.

------------------

A/N2: Bonus point if you know where her phone number comes from.

------------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams #amanda perry williams #i need you know #lady antebellum #lady a #Spotify

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cosplaymutt · 1 year ago

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A short comic by @soft--dogs based on an interaction I had with a good friend 10+ years ago that has always stuck with me, and is the reason my sona has always worn a collar. That friend passed away recently, so I wanted to get some kind of artwork as tribute to him, while being respectful to him and the fact that I couldn’t ask his permission to use his sona

Honestly I have been kind of overwhelmed with grief since I got the news, but out of everything I’ve done to try and feel better, this has felt like the first thing that has actually helped? It feels silly, and even I cringe reading the words “commemorative furry art” but I can’t help but smile when I look at it, and that’s all that really matters. I think he would have really liked it too. I’ve gone back and forth on if I wanted to share it or not, but I wasn’t able to attend any of the services that were held for him and I feel like I missed out in getting to express what he meant to me, so I feel like this is the best I can do to celebrate him.

It’s barely been two months and I miss you so much my friend. I don’t think I’m going to meet anyone else quite like you. We found each other by total chance not once but twice, and I hope by some twist of fate, or “some powerful strange energy” as you once called it, our paths will cross again in another life and you can once again impress me with your quick wit and seemingly endless knowledge of ancient China and Zen ideology, even if it still goes right over my head. I honestly don’t know what made someone as smart as you want to be friends with someone like me who barely made it out of high school, but I’m grateful you did. Somehow you were able to see things in me that I wouldn’t find in myself until years later, and I’m always going to carry a piece of you with me because of that. I’m sad we never got to meet up and get those fursuit pictures together like we talked about but this will have to do. Thank you for being my friend, and goodbye.

#furry #Mutt art #sfw furry #soft—dogs

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bloatedandalone04 · 7 months ago

Text

Bets & Bargains - Part 6

Series Masterlist

➪in which you and bradley reach a new point in your...‘relationship’ after your fourth date takes an unexpected turn, and it leaves both of you aching for more.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You were going into your second hour of class when Bradley texted you, and while you would usually remind yourself to get back to him later and focus on taking notes, you put your pen down and pick up your phone instead, hiding it behind your book as you read the text.

Fratley: What are you doing later tonight?

You glance up at your teacher, and once you were sure he wouldn’t catch onto what you were doing, you quickly text him back.

Nothing, why?

Fratley: There’s a new horror movie out. For some reason I have a weird feeling that you’re into those kinds of movies.

You laugh to yourself, making sure Mr. Clarke wasn’t paying attention before replying to him.

I have no idea how you knew I like horror movies, but I’m down. What time?

Fratley: It starts at 7:20. I can pick you up for 7?

Sounds good.

You were giddy throughout the rest of the class and had barely paid any attention to what Clarke was saying by the time the class ended.

You got home at around 6, and quickly had a shower before Bradley would be here. The fact that you and he haven’t gone more than a day without seeing each other since you met was making you feel all sorts of things, and all of them were good. You couldn’t believe how much you liked him in such little time. It was almost concerning.

Sam was still a bit pissed off with you since you officially ended things with her brother, but you knew she would come around sooner or later. You didn’t need to marry Luke to be able to consider her your sister. In all honesty, you never saw yourself marrying Luke in the first place. You were still so young, why were you even thinking about marriage right now?

You push away those thoughts and get ready for the movie, opting to dress in black leggings and a cropped tee. You grabbed your UVA hoodie and draped it over your arm as you ran your fingers through your still damp hair. It would dry on the drive to the movies, and you were lucky enough to be one of those people whose hair didn’t get overly frizzy if you didn’t blow dry it.

Fratley: I’m here early. I couldn’t help it.

You smile at your phone and leave your room. Just as you were making your way to the door, your fingers typing out a reply to Bradley, Sam leaves her room and blocks your path. “Jesus,” you laugh as you abruptly stop walking. “I didn’t know you were home.”

Sam crosses her arms and tilts her head. “Where are you going? On another date with your rebound?”

You furrow your brows and put your phone in your pocket. “My rebound?”

“Yeah, that guy you’ve been seeing pretty much every day since that party,” she replied, squinting her eyes at you afterwards. “You know, the party I took you to.”

She was acting hostile again, and you weren’t sure why. This couldn’t be because you and Luke were done and that you were moving on, right? She wasn’t that petty, right? “Oh right,” you play along, crossing your own arms. “The party you ditched me at.”

Sam straightened up at that and her scowl deepened. “I already said I was sorry for that,” she muttered.

“I know, and I’ve already forgiven you, so I’m not sure why you’re bringing it up again,” you huff, annoyed that she was still going on about this when you could be with Bradley right now.

“Because,” she rolled her eyes. “If you never went to that party, you would’ve never met that Bradshaw guy and you would’ve never broken up with Luke.”

You laugh in disbelief. “Are you serious?” You ask, and when her expression doesn’t change, you stand up straighter. “Well maybe I would’ve met him on campus. We ran into each other the day after out of pure coincidence, I could’ve met him for the first time then. And Luke and I have been broken up. For a while now. I’ve moved on, and so should the both of you.”

Sam opened her mouth to respond, but you were fed up. You pushed past her and grabbed your keys from off the coffee table, glancing back at her as you shoved them into your bag.

“And for the record, Bradley is not a rebound,” was the last thing you said before opening the door and closing it behind you. You were a bit heated as you stepped outside, but the sight of Bradley leaning against the passenger side door of his Jeep calmed you down a bit. You were a bit breathless as you walked swiftly down the steps and reached him, lifting your hand and setting it on his shoulder. “Hi.”

He smiled down at you, his hands wrapping around your middle and pulling your body right up against his. “Hi,” he said back before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss caught you off guard since it was only the second one you’ve shared with him, but the surprise quickly wore off as you deepened it. Bradley kept his face close to yours when he pulled away and murmured, “I saw that you read my text but you didn’t come out for a while. I got worried.”

His confession had you feeling warm for a completely different reason and you smiled up at him, sliding your hand down and gripping his bicep. “Yeah, sorry,” you trail off, your head a bit fuzzy from the kiss. “I was going to text you back, but Sam, my roommate, decided to start something with me just as I was about to leave.”

“Ah, the roommate,” he teased, reaching up to run his knuckles along your jaw. “Do I get to meet her soon?”

You laugh and shake your head, glancing behind you at the closed door before turning back to him. “Probably not. She’s my ex’s sister, and she’s a bit more than pissed that her brother and I are done,” you say and Bradley presses his lips together to stifle a laugh. “Might not be the best idea to formally introduce her to my ‘rebound’.” You complete the sentence by lifting your hand and finger quoting ‘rebound’, making Bradley let out a loud laugh as he leans further back against the Jeep.

“Rebound, huh?” He grunted. “That hurts, babe, it really does.”

You blush and shrug, meeting him halfway when he starts to lean back in for a second time. He kisses you quickly before pushing away from the Jeep and opening the door for you. “Thanks,” you mumble and sit in the passenger seat. “You kept it running?”

“Had to make sure your seat warmer was on,” he simply answered and your blush deepened, but he thankfully closed the door before he could see it. The darkening sky also helped hide it. “Ready to go?” He asked once he was in the driver’s seat, looking over at you with his annoyingly pretty brown eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper and put your seatbelt on as he pulls away from the curb. “So what’s this movie about?”

“I don’t know, I think maybe it’s about a nun getting pregnant or something like that,” he answered and you nod with a quiet laugh.

“Nice choice,” you tease and he glances over at you.

“Hey, it’s supposed to be one of those scary convent movies. I thought you’d be into that kinda thing,” he smirked and you had to physically restrain yourself from kissing him again. How was he so effortlessly hot?

“Oh, I’m into it,” you hum and take his hand when he holds it out to you. He kept his left one on the steering wheel as you lace your fingers with his, and you tried not to think about just how big his hands are.

Seriously, Y/n, get a grip here. He’s cute, but he’s just a guy. A very cute guy. A kind guy. A stupidly attractive guy.

And that’s how you found yourself feeling completely screwed for a second time this week.

Even though it had only been a day, Bradley somehow found himself missing you.

It was crazy, because he shouldn’t be missing you so soon, but he couldn’t help it. He also couldn’t help the way he kissed you against his Jeep when he picked you up, and he was a bit nervous that you were going to react negatively since you and he weren’t actually official.

But you kissed him back and he was given the reassurance he needed to go on with this date.

Is this a date? Is this his third date with you? Or maybe fourth if you counted the brief movie night at his place, which he does.

Four dates in and he hadn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend. He’s seen you almost every day this week, and things were going great in his opinion, so why hasn’t he put a label on this yet?

He never took Bri out as often as three times a week in the eleven months he was with her, so maybe she was right about him not putting enough effort in with her, but that clearly changed with you. He didn’t want to be stuck inside anymore when he could instead be somewhere with you.

Bradley was still feeling a little guilty about allowing her to come over the other night, and that might have partly played into why he kissed you. He knew now that he wanted you, and knew he was going to stop wasting his time pining over a girl who only wanted him for his body and dick.

You were so different from her.

Bradley parked in the underground parking lot, and the whole drive here he had to pretend he didn’t notice the way you hadn’t pulled your hand out of his the entire time. Backing up with one hand was hard, but he didn’t want to be the first one to pull away. Maybe you were a sucker for physical touch like he was.

God, he hoped so.

You argued with him about buying your ticket, then dropped the attitude when he suggested that you pay for the drinks and popcorn. “This actually works out perfectly,” you hum as you take your drink and the tall bag of popcorn. “I paid for the garden, you paid for dinner, and now we’re equally paying for this.”

“I wouldn’t count me paying for dinner as anything,” he laughed as he tossed a bag of candy onto the counter after you had already paid for the drinks and popcorn. “Five Guys is so cheap.”

But you ignored his words as you glared at him, watching with squinted eyes as he pulled out his wallet. “Hey, I was supposed to pay for the snacks,”

Bradley just smirked and grabbed the bag of skittles. “I can’t have you paying for your own candy,” he said simply then laughed when you raised one brow. “Fine, we’ll share it.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you offered but he just shook his head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, careful not to spill his drink on you.

“It’s like, four dollars worth of skittles,” he brushed off your words and guided you over to the ticket person, handing the guy both yours and his tickets. “I don’t think it’ll break me.”

“I just feel guilty when people pay for things for me all the time,” you say quietly as the guy pointed in the direction of the theater.

“Don’t,” he said just as quietly, pulling you along with him. “I don’t mind paying for things, babes. I have enough money to get me by for quite a while.” He didn’t want to go into too much detail of why he had a fair amount of money as he felt like bringing up the whole dead parents thing was a bit of a weird thing to announce before watching a movie that may include people getting brutally murdered.

You glanced up at him in a way that made you look so innocent, he wanted to kiss you right in the middle of the hall. “I like when you call me that,” you confess and he grins down at you, deciding to actually go for it now.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and he was still smiling when he pulled away. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep calling you it,” he stated, watching as you blushed before ducking into the theater and booking it to your seat, leaving him to laugh as he followed after you.

Bradley had picked seats that were in the back row since you had told him that you preferred to not have anyone directly behind you, claiming that you’ve had your seat kicked one too many times now.

The more he found out about you, the more he wanted to know. You had all these cute characteristics and were so incredibly attractive to him, he was sure he would rather spend his time just talking with you than doing anything productive.

When he sat down next to you, he draped his arm over the back of your chair and leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. He had a feeling that it would make you blush again, and he was right.

Even in the dark room that was only lit up by the previews on the screen, he could see the way your face tinted with a blush, and the way you squirmed a bit. “You’re driving me crazy,” you whispered as someone came in and sat down a few seats away from you.

Bradley laughed and dropped the bag of skittles onto your lap, making you jump slightly. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the way he was able to make you feel all flustered just by doing the smallest of things, like kissing your cheek. “Trust me,” he murmured. “The feeling is mutual.”

When the movie started, Bradley really couldn’t be blamed for not being able to pay much attention to it. He had, what could simply be described as his dream girl, right next to him and he had made you a blushing mess.

He was a bit annoyed that he hadn’t met you sooner, and he wondered how he had never seen you around campus before until this week. Surely he would’ve remembered you. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the time he spent with Bri felt like a waste now that he knows he could’ve possibly been spending it with you.

Not even twenty minutes had passed since the movie began and Bradley had already lost interest. It seemed like you might have, too, since you had been not so subtly glancing over at him every now and then for the past five minutes.

The hand of his arm that was draped over your shoulder moved closer to your neck, and soon he was tangling his fingers in your hair. You shifted in your seat slightly, and the next time you looked over at him, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing you.

You kiss him back almost instantly, as if you had been craving to do it as much as he was. Usually Bradley wasn’t into excessive displays of affection in public, but to be fair it was pretty dark in the theater, and the movie itself took place in a dark convent, so it’s not like anyone could see what you and he were doing.

And he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself right now. He’s been so into you since that night at the party, he didn’t know what to do with himself. You were giving him the impression that you were into him, too, and that was enough for now, but he knew it was only a matter of time until he wanted more.

He wanted you.

Bradley reached over with his free hand and gently gripped your jaw, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss that was quickly becoming too heated to be deemed acceptable in a public setting.

He wanted to take you out of here and back to his house, but he also didn’t want to rush things with you. He wanted to take his time.

Then you grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your thigh before sliding it upwards, and he was prepared to ignore all of that.

You grab onto his shoulders then slide your hands up until they are tugging at his hair, and he swore he had never felt anything better than that. When you started biting down on his bottom lip, he knew he had to either pull away and keep his hands to himself, or take you right out of this theater before something happened. “Y/n,” he rasped when he pulled back, only able to get out the one word before you were kissing him again. He held onto your forearms and pulled away again after a few more seconds. “Let me take you out of here, baby.”

The look you gave him had him not even caring how desperate he sounded as you bit down on your lip and tugged at his sleeve. “Call me that again,”

Bradley was smirking now as he leaned over until he was well into your personal space. “Come on, baby,” he whispered right next to your ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

The moan you let out after that had his cock twitching with want, and you stood up quickly, grabbing your drink as you made a beeline towards the stairs. Bradley grabbed his own drink and the half eaten bag of popcorn, rolling the edges of it until it was closed, then he was practically running after you.

When he made it out into the hall, you were already halfway down it, but he was able to quickly catch up to you. He wrapped his arm around your middle and turned your body, leaving a chaste kiss to your mouth before he was guiding you back towards the stairwell that leads to the parking garage. “Should we wait for the elevator?” You asked as he pushed you up against the wall beside it, glancing up to see that the elevator was on the seventh floor.

You began placing kisses to his neck and jaw, and when you poke your tongue out and ran it along the scar on his throat, he huffed through a moan, “No, let’s take the stairs,”

Then he was pulling the door open and tugging you down the three floors with him, neither of you caring at all about the looks everyone gave you as you finally made it to the garage. Damn near everyone in that movie theater were given a free show of you and him not being able to take your hands off one another, as were the people in the lobby, and it just excited him more because he had never felt this worked up before. And he was just kissing you when it happened.

“Why did you have to park so far away?” You whined as you tried to keep up with him. “I’m dying here.”

Bradley let out a deep laugh before stopping abruptly. He turned around and picked you up before you could accidentally run into him, and you squealed when he threw you over his shoulder. “Problem solved,” he grunted as he resumed his fast pace towards the back of the garage.

“Bradley,” you laughed as you clung onto the back of his shirt.

“What? You were going too slow,” he smirked as he tightened his grip on the backs of your thighs. He finally made it to his Jeep not long after that, and he set you down and held your body close to his with one hand while he unlocked it with the other.

It was considered a miracle that he was somehow able to not spill his drink on you with just how handsy he was being. He tossed the bag of popcorn onto the passenger seat next to your hoodie then grabbed your drink and set both yours and his safely in the cupholders, turning to you with a smirk now that his hands were free.

Bradley grabbed hold of your waist and pulled your body close to his, connecting your lips in a deep kiss as he pressed you against the back door. His tongue slipped into your mouth and brushed against yours, and the strained moan you released had him bucking his hips. A string of saliva connected the two of you when he pulled away and murmured, “Come on,”

He got up onto the driver’s seat and pushed it all the way back before holding his hand out to you. He helps you up and slams the door once you are settled on his lap, then his lips are against yours again. Your hands tangle in his hair as his grip your waist, tugging your body so your chest is right up against his.

“The things you do to me,” he mumbled when you pulled away and began placing open mouthed kisses to his jaw and neck, focusing on the spot where the hickey Bri gave him was beginning to fade. “It’s not right, the way you make me feel.”

Your laugh against his neck had him grinning as he closed his eyes and leaned back. “How do I make you feel?” You asked, removing one hand from his hair and tracing the tip of your index finger along the scars on his cheek. “Do I make you feel excited? Overwhelmed? Maybe a bit nervous but in the best way? Because that’s how you make me feel, all the time.”

You whispered those last three words directly into his ear and Bradley groaned loudly. “Yeah,” he breathed out, guiding your body into a slow roll against his. “That’s exactly it.”

“Oh, God,” you moaned and it was probably the prettiest sound Bradley had ever heard in his life. Your hands find his shoulders again and twist his shirt as you take it upon yourself to grind your hips against his, tilting your head back and exposing your neck to him.

Bradley’s eyes dropped down to your throat, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and pressing his lips to your soft skin. The feeling of your covered core rubbing against him was surreal and he felt himself getting more worked up. He wasn’t even properly feeling you, wasn’t even inside you and he still felt so fucking good.

When he pulled away from your neck, his eyes darkened at the hickey he left that surely would be hard to cover up later, but luckily it was the weekend. Though he didn’t really care much. He secretly wanted the other guys on campus to see it.

Each drag of your core had you moaning louder and louder, and Bradley wanted to make you feel like this all the time. “Feel good, baby?” He asked in a teasing tone, smirking at the whine you let out as you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, leaning in to press your forehead against his. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you parked far away.”

A blush took over your face and it sounded like you were forcing yourself to be quieter, and Bradley didn’t like that. “I don’t care if someone hears us,” he rasped, bending one of his knees and grasping your hips tightly. You moan at his words, then moan even louder when he takes full control and bucks up against you.

“Fuck,” you gasped, clinging onto his shoulders.

Bradley had never done anything like this in public before, but he knew he couldn’t wait until he got you back home. He also didn’t want your first time together to be in the front seat of his Jeep as he thought you deserved something a bit more romantic than that, so it was kind of good that this was an on top of the clothes type of thing.

“You’re so pretty,” he groaned as you met his thrusts halfway. “Way too fucking pretty for me.”

You grip his jaw and press a searing kiss to his mouth, the back of his throat silencing your cries of pleasure as you get yourself off on top of him. “Bradley,” you moaned his name and he had to physically hold back a surprise release at just how hot you sounded. “I like you so much, it’s almost pathetic.”

How sweet you sounded when you were insulting yourself. “I like you, too,” he said back, kissing up the side of your neck until his lips met the skin below your ear. “Ever since that night at the party. I thought you looked so fucking good standing in my dining room.”

You bite your lip and dig your nails into his shoulders. “You saved me from being by myself that night,” you struggled to say as you quickened the grind of your hips. “I was ditched just minutes before you came up to me.”

Bradley still had no clue why Sam ditched you, then he remembered that she is related to your piece of shit ex, and it suddenly made sense. He thought back to that awful text Luke sent you when you had fallen asleep during your movie night, and he was appalled that he had the nerve to talk to you like that.

But he could get annoyed with your ex another time, not when you were currently rocking your hips into his and kissing along his nearly healed scars. “You’re gonna make me come,” you warned in a tone that should not have sounded so innocent given the circumstances.

“Yeah?” He grunted, also feeling himself get close. “You’re going to make me come, too.”

You grin down at him and kiss his lips as you give a few more rolls of your hips before you tense up against him and release a string of loud, whiny moans. “Fuck,” you stuttered above him, twisting his hair in between your fingers as you came.

As you were coming down, you never stopped rubbing yourself against him, and not long after Bradley was coming, too. He dropped his head onto your shoulder as he let out deep and breathy groans, feeling his release coat himself in his boxers and jeans. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as you finally stopped and let out a small laugh.

Your hands trailed through his hair as you both tried to regain control over your breathing. “Did you..” you trailed off as if you were embarrassed to ask him if he came or not.

It was almost comical since you had just given him what he thinks was the best orgasm of his life, and he never once penetrated you. All his past times with Bri felt like a bit of a joke now that he knew how good you felt, even fully clothed. “Yeah,” he answered, watching as a proud smile formed on your lips. Bradley leaned in and pressed a much more gentle kiss to your mouth, his hands coming up to smooth out your hair. “Sorry we didn’t get to watch much of the movie.”

Then it dawned on him that you and he left not even halfway through a movie about nuns and celibacy to go hook up in his car, and he had to hold back a laugh of disbelief.

You huffed as you shook your head, laughing afterwards. “It’s okay. I wasn’t really paying much attention to it anyway,”

“Me either,” he replied and you laughed again, hesitantly moving off him and crawling over to the passenger seat.

Bradley watched your every move, and when your eyes trailed down to his lap, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” you gasp, making him furrow his brows in confusion before he looked down and noticed the wet spot on his thigh.

“Don’t be sorry,” he waved you off, not caring a single bit at the dampness on his jeans, but you seemed to be mortified.

“I’m embarrassed now,” you murmur and cover your face.

“Don’t be,” he said again, reaching over and taking your wrist in his hand. “I mean it. That was so fucking hot, and I already couldn’t stop thinking about you before. This definitely won’t help.”

That seemed to make you feel a little better as you slumped against the seat and gazed over at him. “I don’t want this night to end yet,” you confessed quietly.

Bradley slid his hand along your arm until his fingers were laced with yours. “I don’t, either,” he mumbled. “It’s still early. Why don’t we just sit here and talk?” His offer reminded him of the conversation he had with you that night Bri came over and nearly ruined his whole day. Then you called him and made things better, and he found out just how much he likes talking to you - though it was pretty obvious before.

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling over at him as you got into a more comfortable position, still keeping your hand locked with his. “Let’s play that question game again.”

“Okay,” he laughed, leaning back as well. “What’s your favorite holiday?”

“I love Christmas,” you answer. “It’s like the one time my family actually puts in an effort to spend time together.”

Funnily enough, that was one of the reasons Bradley didn’t like Christmas. He didn’t have a whole lot of family left, and the one person who was a constant in his life wasn’t a big fan of the holiday either. “You guys aren’t close?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Not really. My parents and I are close, but my sister and I haven’t really talked much since I came here,” you shrug and look over at him. “What about you? Does your family go all out for Christmas? Or is it a once a year type thing like mine?”

Bradley smiled and looked down at your joined hands. “I don’t really celebrate Christmas that much anymore,” he murmured, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “I loved it as a kid, but now it just feels like a memory.”

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Oh, God, was he really about to willingly have the dead parents conversation right now? Right after you and he just got each other off in a fucking parking garage? “Um,” he trailed off, looking at the various cars around. “Well…I don’t really have anyone to celebrate it with.”

He looked back over at you when you sat up and gave him your full attention, and he knew there really was no reason why he couldn’t just get this topic over with.

“My dad, he…died when I was really young, so I don’t really remember much of him,” he mumbled, feeling the way your grip on his hand tightened just slightly. He brought it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before continuing, “And my mom died when I was still in high school, so the only person I really have is my uncle, and even he is hardly around anymore.”

There it was. His depressing as fuck backstory.

“Bradley,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shook his head and gave you a small smile, reaching over with his free hand and running his fingers along your jaw. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,”

You frown and press the back of his hand against your cheek. “I’m sorry,” you whisper and he shakes his head again.

“It’s okay, really,” he brushed off your words. “I can talk about this stuff more now without getting too upset. I mean, there’s nothing I can do about it, so that kinda makes it easier to talk about it.”

You nod and kiss along his knuckles. “Hey, I never did ask about what you wanted to do once you graduate,”

“Join the Navy,” he answered as if it was the easiest question he’d ever been asked. “Like my old man.”

“The Navy?” You echoed and sat up. “What, like, the Marines?”

“No, the Air Force,”

Your eyes widened at that, “You want to fly planes? Like, aviation?”

“Well, fighter jets,” he corrected with a laugh. “But yeah, I wanna fly planes.”

“Wow,” you trailed off, looking out the front window for a few seconds before glancing at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. “What do you want your call sign to be, flyboy?”

He grinned and shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe some kind of bird like my dad,”

“What was your dad called?”

For some reason you were super interested in his life, and he actually appreciated it more than he thought he would. “His call sign was Goose,”

“Goose,” you repeated the name with a small smile. “You should be…Duck. Your call sign should be Duck.”

“Duck?” He laughed and shook his head. “No, absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, that’s a good one,” you laughed, too, somehow able to effortlessly turn a dark and depressing conversation into a much lighter one. “Fine. How ‘bout…Rooster.”

That one actually didn’t sound too bad, and it had the double ‘o’ like Goose. “Rooster,” he tried it out for himself. “Okay, that’s not terrible.”

“It’s settled then,” you state and lean back. “Your call sign will be Rooster.”

Bradley watched as you kissed the back of his hand before pulling yours out of it in order to open the popcorn bag. He was glad you knew about his parents now, as he wasn’t sure how awkward it would be to bring up later.

“What is your favorite holiday?” You asked as you dug around in the bag.

“Um, Halloween,” he replied and opened his mouth when you held a few pieces of popcorn up to his lips. “What was one subject in school that you just…fucking hated?”

You laugh and set the bag in between the two of you. “I was really bad at science subjects,” you mumble. “Like, really bad. I passed Chemistry with a 52.”

Bradley tried to hold back a laugh and brought his drink up to his mouth. “Well, Chemistry is pretty hard,” he offered, then couldn’t help but say, “But yeah, a 52 is pretty bad.”

You glare over at him but the smile on your lips told him that he didn’t offend you. “I’m aware,”

When Bradley was forced to drive you back to your place a little while later, he kept his hand on your thigh the whole time. He wasn’t kidding. He couldn’t stop thinking about you before he got you off in his front seat, and it would only be harder to after this.

“You know, we need to stop having so much fun every time we see each other,” you mumbled once he parked outside your dorm. “Sooner or later I’ll start expecting it.”

“What, having fun with me?” He teased, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Trust me, babes, you’ll have fun all the time as long as you’re with me.”

You grin over at him, “I’ll hold you to that,”

Then you were leaning over the center console and pressing a deep kiss to his mouth. One that had him shamelessly groaning and wishing that you would invite him in with you, but he was also trying to remind himself that he wanted to take his time with you and not rush into things. “Have a good weekend,” he muttered when he pulled away. “I’ll be thinking about you nonstop, I’m sure.”

You blush and reach for the door handle. “The feeling is mutual,” you whisper, then get out of the car and make your way inside, leaving Bradley to wait until he felt like he had enough control over himself to be able to drive back to his place.

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jensthwa · 5 months ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

‎‎‎‎-ˏˋ⋆ cami ⋆ she/her ⋆ 21+ ⋆ˊˎ-

‎‎‎‎‎ -ˏˋ inbox ⋆ recs ˊˎ-

「 ♡︎ fluff 」 ✮ 「 ☽ smut 」 ✮ 「 ☁︎ angst 」 ✮ 「 ༊ one shot 」 ✮ 「 𖦹 series 」

𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐙:

love's an uncharted path universe MASTERLIST ★.

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

coming soon !

ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

i was made for lovin' you - ༊ / ☽ / ♡︎ (part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

in an attempt to grasp at his youth, seonghwa buys a motorcycle despite not knowing the first thing about them. when it inevitably breaks down, he has no other option that to ride it to a mechanic shop and, after following a sweet hum, he’s faced with the life-changing (and predictable) fact that, maybe, what he needed after all was not a motorcycle. maybe, just maybe, what he needed was you.

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ

mountebank chem - 𖦹 / ☁︎ / ☽ / ♡︎ (part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

the first time you met yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. you didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and jeong yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. is that reason enough to hate his guts? well, of course! now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? and, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

our field of dreams ( ft. mingi) coming soon !

ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ

coming soon !

ꜱᴀɴ

we can't be friends - ༊ / ☁︎ / ☽ / ♡︎ (part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

san is your first love. he broke your heart and played with your feelings without even kissing you back when you two were in highschool. now, many years later, you do your best to avoid crossing paths with him because there's just no way you could ever hate him, but there's also no way you two can be friends again. but his best friend is also one of your best friends, so there's only so much you can do to avoid san when he arranges a dinner you're forced to go to.

ᴍɪɴɢɪ

show & tell - ☽ / ♡ (part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

summary: you have known Mingi since you both were fourteen. You’ve been by his side through thick and thin and you would do anything for him, really, considering he’s your other half. When he has an unfortunate bed experience and asks for your help and you say yes, he starts considering that, maybe, you’re just the best friend a guy like him can have.

show & tell pt. 2 - ☽ / ☁︎ / ♡ (part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

summary: after the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

our field of dreams ( ft. yunho) coming soon !

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

wooyoung's prelude*: a clown's remedy to heal a broken heart - ༊ / ☁︎ / ☽ / ♡︎ (halloween special, part of the love's an uncharted path universe)

summary: a drunk and kind of akward conversation inside of a closet is the start of wooyoung's journey into healing his broken heart. only he doesn't really know the name of the scarlet witch that helped mend a heart that wasn't supposed to break anymore, even if she starts plaguing his thoughts and dreams after that.

* introductory one shot for his story on the universe.

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ

coming soon !

𝐁𝐓𝐒

ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ

coming soon !

ꜱᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ

coming soon !

ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ

coming soon !

ʜᴏꜱᴇᴏᴋ

coming soon !

ᴊɪᴍɪɴ

coming soon !

ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴɢ

coming soon !

ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

so highschool coming soon !

rekindled fates coming soon !

#m:masterlist #ateez #bts #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #bts x reader #bts fic #bts imagines #bts fanfic #m:inbox

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tokoyamisstuff · 10 days ago

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gn! Reader I no warnings I not proofread | can be read platonic and romantic

Alucard

The two of you go way back, with him being the one who turned you in the first place. Maybe that's the reason it felt like a personal insult to him that you're wasting your powers on literal prey.

For ages he's repeatedly both scolded and taunted you about this contradiction - especially since he had to save you countless times when the humans you initially helped would turn on you.

Eventually you decided to become a traveler, aiding people in need wherever fate brings you. Humans tend to find out you're not one of them if you remain stationary for too long, so there wasn't really another option.

Since the invisible bond with your master preserves, you were always connected even when far apart. Truth be told, it was entertaining to watch your pathetic little attempt at keeping some sort of humanity from a distance - but he still constantly whined about you visiting him too rarely these days.

It's not until he got wind of a powerful vampire slayer making his way towards a small village you resided in, that your paths would cross again. But instead of having to step in he witnessed all of the townsfolk defending you against the attacker, even though they were aware of your demonic origins.

That experience changed his opinions on mankind drastically. In a way you made him realize that all vampires inevitably tied to mortals and in order to survive, you need to coexist one way or the other. Only because of you he started respecting them enough that his first encounter with the Hellsing organization turned out like it did.

Nowadays he's still working up the courage to ask you to join their ranks as well, but we all know he's too proud to admit his misjudgement so easily. Will come around eventually, though.

Anderson

Usually his mantra is 'kill first, ask later', but when he first met you, it was impossible to fight since you were surrounded by so many children.

He's seen horrible things over the years that made him dread what you were planning to do to those innocent kids, determined to save them from your fangs. But when he secretly followed to your lair far on the outskirts of the town, he interrupted a perfectly wholesome moment of you tending to the orphans you were fostering.

The children vehemently refused to get away from you, clinging to and pleading for your life. After doing some digging amongst the townsfolk he learned that over the years you've spent here, not a single child in your care went missing. Quite the opposite, they are all flourishing. Much to his surprise the whole town even seems to be aware of what you are, but still considered you one of them.

Of course his deeply ingrained hate doesn't suddenly disappear, but this is such a huge clash of his two worlds that he can't bring himself to kill you in front of the children that love you so dearly.

So he waited, wary for you to slip up, find a moment of carelessnes to reveal your true nature to him. But that moment never came, your kind actions going against everything he thought to know about your filthy kind. And the longer he's among you, the more his aversion gets replaced by mutual admiration.

At some point he'll insist you and the children live with him at the orphanage incognito, under the pretense of surveilance or research purposes - but we all know what this truly is about

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard #alexander anderson #alucard x reader #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #headcanon

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mcflymemes · 10 months ago

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PROMPTS FROM THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 1 * assorted lines from a few of the first episodes, adjust as necessary

i can bring you in warm, or i can bring you in cold.

it's not slow at all, actually.

this is all i have.

i'll take them all.

sadly, we'll never know.

oh, this feels a lot better.

"stay off the ice." that's the understatement of the millennium!

now we just need to get the door open.

that's all you can give me?

save the theatrics.

that was fast. did you catch them all?

they do not belong here.

can we talk about this later?

i have a suggestion.

so much for the element of surprise.

that is not what we agreed upon.

i'm simply being pragmatic.

you know, you're not so bad.

i don't have time for this.

well, then i don't know if i want your help.

i like those odds.

this is gonna take days to fix.

they don't like you for some reason.

they stole from me.

i'm surprised you waited.

explain it to me again. i still don't understand what happened.

i can't thank you enough.

this is what was causing all the fuss?

i will take you to them.

i gotta get one of those.

how do i know i can trust you?

why would an enemy help you in battle?

get out of here! we'll hold 'em off!

i'm not interested in your excuses.

that would be a great honor.

any idea what they're gonna do with it?

you know where to find me.

that's one impressive weapon.

i didn't want it to come to this.

step aside. i'm going to my ship.

you want some soup?

this has been a real treat.

until our paths cross.

now, don't touch anything.

do you mind if i ask you something?

i'm gonna miss you so much.

bad news. you can't live here anymore.

you think you can do better?

this is more than i signed up for.

so you think i'm some kind of mercenary?

how'd you end up here?

it's very nice here.

i don't belong here.

#the mandalorian #rp prompt #rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters

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diamondcitydarlin · 3 months ago

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----LOTS OF SPOILERS FOR THE FILM BELOW BE AWARE---

The thing that's driving me kinda CRAZY about the sequel though is how perfectly it sets up a personal arc for Lydia to be intertwined with Beej's. Like I said in my reaction post after seeing the film last night, I feel like Lydia as a character doesn't really get much of an arc or a resolution by the end of the story, as most of the plot is focused on repairing her relationship with her daughter, with Delia, maybe even her ex-husband to a certain extent, and for as much as she's rid of someone actually preying on her (Rory) we have no reason to believe she's found inner peace or really discovered herself or isn't still constantly popping pills to help with the 'gift' of sight she still has to deal with. There's so much about her left unresolved that Tim is either going to have to make another film about or I will have to fanfic about. But again, what's also fascinating is the way the beats of Lydia's story become tangled up with Beej's by the end of this, and also the ambiguous suggestion that there might be some kind of red string of fate linking them together across life and death and centuries (my kingdom for Beej saying "I've crossed oceans of time to find you" in a deep sexy Dracula voice and Lydia being like "plz shut the fuck up" LMAO)

Like, the 'psychic connection'. The thing that makes Lydia able to see and interact with Beej in places other than the house/model in Winter River. At first I think we're led to believe these are genuine hallucinations she's having, but ofc that's debunked when Beej reveals he's aware of these sightings and has been participating in them on purpose. Does this suggest that their first marriage may have been binding in some way that didn't release him from death, but allowed him more range to manifest so long as he was attached to her? That's not really addressed or explained, but I feel like it opens the possibility of being a thing (as so many fanfics have had happen before, I LOVE it tbh)

Also, the parallel of them both having had predatory exes that tricked them into 'selling their souls' (one in a figurative sense, the other literally lmao). I'm honestly shocked more conclusions weren't drawn from that conspicuous parallel in the film itself, because it's VERY interesting. It seems almost to suggest they're both meant to safeguard each other's souls (which is why I'm still bitter we didn't get Lydia defending him from Delores, I think that would've been a nice follow up to Beej saving her from Rory, even if she was just doing it out of a sense of obligation).

And idk, on the whole I feel a lot of Lydia's personal struggle at this point in her life is defined by a need to feel 'normal'. I get how that can seem odd coming from the teen girl that confidently described herself as 'strange and unusual', but this is 30 years later, after several failed relationships, after becoming a mom and struggling with a strained relationship with her daughter because of her oddity, idk, I think it's a good case study on how society forces women to conform lest they be a bad daughter or a bad mom or a bad wife, etc, but I think it's obvious she's just fighting her 'strange and unusual' nature and the more she does that, the more difficult her life will be.

To me, that suggests her path to happiness has actually a lot to do with Beej, or very well could. Who else is going to understand her true nature the way he does? Who else is going to unashamedly encourage her to be balls to the wall weirdo like she REALLY is??? Who else can truly set her free that way??? Like I'm gnawing on wires here yall, if nothing else Tim gave us SO much fanfic material to work with on this one.

#beetlebabes #beetlejuice spoilers #im already plotting out the fic tbh #lots of brain food to chew on here #lydia deserves a full personal arc and it deserves to be spooky and weird af

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koishiro · 1 year ago

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# - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : after meeting megumi’s dad, you’ll experience a night at the lake you’ll never forget

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : dilf!toji x non-virgin!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : short smut with the tiniest plot ever

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : cumming inside (readers on bc), oral (male receiving), cheating (toji’s married)

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : this is in a different universe where toji isn’t a complete dick to megumi and is a responsible parent (shocking I know) but still doesn’t completely get along with megs

Part 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

He was the first guy to ever get his cock to that place in the back of my mouth where it can slip into my throat.

It was an exhilarating discovery, learning there's a whole new thing out there to try and do. I was surprised no one had tried this with me before, from what I can gather after the fact it seems very popular with men, but they're too intimidated to try it in real life, or at least initiate it.

My friend, Nobara, had a lake house (which was really open to anyone, giving access to fishermen and, like us, a spot for hookups) about an hour away from our school. We'd go there a few times through the years with our group of friends which usually revolved around myself, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and whatever guys we were dating/crushing on at that time and spend the weekend playing drinking games and daring each other to go skinny dipping. It was every students dream.

I'd met Megumi’s dad a few times since I'd known him. I met him the same day I met ‘Gumi, walking past his dorm I saw his dad lugging heavy furniture into his dorm, sweaty and attractive — in a rugged, masculine way. I had found out later that his name was Toji.

"Has anyone ever told you your dad is really hot?" I asked Megumi when we were both sat crossed-legged on his bed that night, figuring a little salacious question asking would bond us, "Ha ha, are you one of those girls? I don't get the whole "hot dad" thing. They're just old.”

Figuring I had hit a sore spot, It was the last conversation we had about him, but it definitely wasn't the last time I thought about him. I always made sure to dress my best when I knew he was stopping by. Little dresses only a freshman would wear, low cut tank tops and once — when I was especially bored — a sheer white t-shirt with no bra underneath because, "whoops" I had just rolled out of bed.

It was a fun game to play but I didn't think he ever noticed, or at least he never really acknowledged me until one of those debaucherous weekends when ‘Gumi and his dad got their messages crossed and we all ended up at the lake house together. At first it was uncomfortable when we arrived and saw the trucks, Toji was there accompanied by some other men. They had planned a weekend for drinking. But, Toji gave us a wink and told us to stay on the lower level and he'd stay out of our way. Everyone felt relieved and told ‘Gumi how lucky he was to have a "cool" dad. But I felt something else when Toji winked at us.

That night, after many, many drinks I found myself wandering out to the dock. Everyone else had passed out, but I was wide awake. I saw Toji approaching me from the windy path down the hill from the cabin, two bottled beers in one hand. He handed one to me wordlessly, searching my eyes for something — the reason I was awake and alone maybe.

We stood there silently until he stepped forward and brushed my hair off my face, "You're a beautiful girl, (name), don't think that goes unnoticed" I blushed, could he tell I was harboring a crush on him? Did he notice the way I jerked slightly at his touch, nervous about my body's powerful response to it?

"Thanks Toji," I said, taking a swig of my beer and looking at the moonlight reflecting over the waves. When I dared to make eye contact with him again I realized he hadn't moved, he was still watching me intently. Did this mean — before I could finish my thought, he was on me, one hand placed very firmly on my lower back the other in my hair as he kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth before I knew what was happening, tracing mine. I had the urge to wrap my legs around him, but there was nowhere to balance on this dock.

"Come up to my bedroom" It was a request, but it was also a statement, he was sure of my answer.

I giggled when we crossed the threshold and closed the door behind us. It wasn't just that when he grinned and you could see the wrinkles around his eyes, it wasn't just the physical attraction. It was his demeanor, it was that he was a real live man, not a flimsy college boy. This was going to be a different kind of hook-up.

"You're married," I reminded him, not particularly pleased about remembering this detail myself.

"I can keep a secret," he said, closing his mouth on mine again, and backing us to the bed.

He removed all my clothing fairly quickly and laid on top of me, fully clothed. The rough textures rubbing against my bare skin felt incredible. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he rasped out. "I've waited for a very long time”

I wanted to prove that I was worth it, all this risk. So I reached up and felt him through his pants, staring longingly into his eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head as I unbuckled, unzipped, and released a very healthy looking cock.

I slid off the bed and onto the floor to get a better angle and he stood over me, gathering my hair behind my head as I started blowing him. I looked up at him and was rewarded with a face that was most definitely in ecstasy as I took him in my mouth.

He held my head down on his cock while I took him in deeply. This was a move widely hated by every woman I knew, but it was usually performed by dumb frat-type boys. But Toji was no boy, he knew what he was doing, he was looking out for me and making the experience short — just long enough to add a bit of excitement. When he pulled out of me he gave me his all too cocky grin and leaned down to kiss me, “I knew you'd be good at this”

He pulled me up and walked me over to a dresser placed underneath a large window. I could still see the moonlight on the lake as he bent me over it. Was it really just a few moments ago we were nearly strangers on that dock together? I was brought back to reality by Toji spreading my legs further apart and pushing my upper back down until my bare breasts were pressed against its cool surface and I felt him enter me.

"Oh my god..." I couldn’t help but moan as he thrusted into me. He shushed me by placing his hand over my mouth for a moment as he picked up speed. My moan was apparently too loud but he was willing to risk the loud sound it made as he slapped my ass over and over, groaning and filling me with his cock. I couldn't believe how turned on this was making me. I was no virgin but I'd never experienced sex like this — it wasn't awkward or embarrassing or rushed. I was very aware that I was getting fucked by a Man, not "fooling around" with a boy.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked and when I answered yes he cooed, "good girl, my good girl" The sound of that phrase coming out of his mouth sent me over the edge and I felt myself spasming around his cock as I released myself into my orgasm, even enjoying the sensation of a bit of extra liquid rolling down my thigh.

He was still thrusting into me rhythmically, alternating between kneading my breasts and grabbing — and slapping — my ass. I hadn't had sex last this long before and I loved being able to savor the feeling. "I'm getting close," he groaned and I tensed my body up, holding my place more firmly so that he could get deeper inside me as he unloaded his semen into me.

"You're so good at this, but I can tell you're just a beginner," He began as we laid on his bed to rest. I laughed, it was true. I had this fantasy about being a girl who gave amazing head and being really good at all the sex stuff, like some kind of femme fatale men couldn't resist. "I can sense you want to learn though” I nodded in agreement. I could play out this crush and learn what would drive my next actual boyfriend wild — who wouldn't want to kill those two birds with one stone?

And so, I began a year-long affair with Toji. We'd sneak away for a weekend when I said I was visiting my parents and meet at the lake house for lessons — how to stimulate differently for a long or a slow blow job, which positions let him get in the deepest while still providing some kind of external stimulation for me, how to prepare for and receive anal, how to lie with my head falling off the edge of the bed and allow him to push his cock into my throat (without choking). Occasionally I just gave him head while he drove me around, careful not to drive anywhere too well-lit or populated.

Now, how was I to tell Megumi?

—

Part 1 | 2 | 3

#きたない 📍#⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒋𝒖𝒋𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒖 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏 成人向け #jjk toji #toji smut #dilf toji #toji x y/n #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #short fiction #jjk smut #jjk

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