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mismatched-sockss · 7 months ago

Text

Say something

» Summary: You and Emily have been seeing each other for a couple of months now -without anyone knowing -, but can't keep being her secret. » Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!BAU!Reader » Word count: 3,9k (omg, when??) » Warnings: angst, it's implied that reader is outed - Emily isn't, allusions to intercourse in the beginning, mentions of (internalized) homophobia, mentions of coming out (forced coming out is mentioned, one (1) small implication of conversion therapy like stuff (it's only talked about, no details or anything close)) and unsupportive family, mentions of Emily's mother probably not accepting her sexuality (like Rosa Diaz' mother/parents in Brooklyn 99, and a thing or two my own mother said), Emily is kind of mean ig?, cheating but not really?, cm typical stuff is mentioned (not detailed), kind of open but definitively more leaning to a sad ending; please let me know if i missed anything! » A/N: written for @imagining-in-the-margins' Pride Challenge, i used the “It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.” dialogue prompt; also based on Say something I'm giving up on you by Sam Redden; tenses? i don't know her here; no body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

The euphoric bliss that had flooded over you just moments before, leaves your body with every passing second, and the more it wears out, the more the dreadful empty feeling that had slithered its way into your heart not too long ago takes its place. Your breathing is still going fast and your heart hasn't had enough time to slow down yet, when you narrow your eyes while looking at the ceiling. Why did you do this to yourself? Again. This couldn't go on like this.

"I can't do this any more."

You can hear Emily move next to you, turning her head to look at you. She is breathing fast and her warm breath hits your bare shoulder. "What do you mean?" She brushes a few stands of her hair back that had fallen over her eyes.

All of a sudden everything is getting too much. The sensation of sweat running down the back of your neck, the air Emily is exhaling and how it is hitting your skin, over all her presence next to you in the bed. Her bed. Naked.

With a scoff you sit up and bury you face in your hands before you slide them up, racking your fingers through your damp hair. "This. Us. I just- I can't go on like this, spending my nights with you and act as if I haven't touched every inch of your body the next day."

Today is not the first time you had said it out loud and talked about it with her, about wanting to be able to hold and kiss her around other people. It is not the first time you are thinking about this, about leaving because nothing changed event though she had promised and her reasons – excuses , really, at this point – had been valid in the beginning, but now, every time she comes up with a new one they sound more and more made up. Honestly, you can't remember the newest one to a full extent – it had been so absurd –, but it had something to do with her shoes. Like, come on, really? Shoes...?

For a short moment it is silent except for both your breathing. You wait, and when she doesn't say anything you get up to get dressed. Nothing more than your name leaves Emily's lips, and not louder than a whisper, as you walk around the room to pick up your clothes and put them back on. “What?” you say flatly, but you don't look at her. You close the button of your pants and look around the room for your second sock.

“It's good what we are having. I like it how it is.” She shuffles closer, crawling over to edge of the mattress. “And sneaking around is exciting, isn't it?”

You crouch down to pull the missing sock from under the bed and bite down on your lip as your heart clenched painfully. Sneaking around?

“Is that what this is to you? Just... Sneaking around? That's all it is, huh.” A dry laugh leaves your lips as you slip the sock over your foot and then turn to walk out of the room.

“Oh c'mon, Y/N. It's fun, isn't it?” – Fun?! So this was just fun for her? – “You and I, we... It's enough how it is, don't you think?”

With one step out of the bedroom, the other foot still inside, you look back over your shoulder. “All this hiding is enough for you?” You don't fully turn around, you don't want to face her and look into her eyes. Don't want Emily to see the tears that are starting to pool in your eyes or how much her words are breaking your heart.

“I'm not hiding”, she says, defending herself, totally ignoring what you really meant.

You shake your head and leave the room, picking up your bag from the couch in the living room as you walk past it. “You are. And I get it, you're not out and that's okay.” Emily gets up from the bed and quickly puts on a bathrobe before she follows you out, watching you collect your things and walking to the front door. “You shouldn't come out unless you are ready. But at least be honest with yourself-”

“I am. not. hiding”, she interrupts you, her voice sounds strained and as if she is speaking through gritted teeth. The soft pat pat of her bare feet on the floor stop just two meters behind you.

Something in you snaps. "Yeah well, you are hiding me and I'm sick of being your god damn dirty little secret! I love you for fucks sake!"

You freeze as soon as the words leave your mouth, in the middle of putting on your jacket, and for a moment neither of you says a word, the silence seems louder than anything else, louder than how loud you just yelled those words. It was the first time either of you had said those three words to the other and the timing could not be any worse.

"You... What?"

You shake your head, breaking out of your frozen state and bend down to put on your shoes next. "Forget it. I'm done." is what you say. We're done is what you mean.

You wish she would at least say something, but Emily stays silent and when you reach for the door and open it, she doesn't keep you from walking out. When you close the door behind you, she doesn't open it again to call out for you. And when you reach the stairs at the end of the hallway and take the first steps down, the door stays closed and she doesn't run after you.

She let you leave like it was nothing, like you were nothing. Like all the time you had spent together meant nothing to her. All those days and nights full of hushed voices whispering sweet nothings to each other, full of soft touches and even softer kisses. Emily let you walk out of her apartment, her life, as if you never meant anything to her, like the last six months indeed were nothing more than fun to her.

From the moment you step out of the door of Emily's apartment building, to the moment you walk in and close the door of your own, you feel numb and you operated solely on autopilot on your way home. If someone were to ask you what route you had taken home or if you missed a red light even, you wouldn't be able to tell them.

As if a it hasn't been enough for one night, you get called into work just 30 minutes later; the body of a young woman had been found, tortured and mutilated, and another young woman had been abducted only five miles from where the body was found.

When you arrive in the round table room you greet your team mates grimly and you are relieved that you got in before Emily. When she enters minutes later, you don't turn around, you don't say hello and you do your best to ignore her. The tension in the room is palpable and judging by the looks the others shoot between her and you, they know that something had happened between you two.

They didn't know that you were dating – hooking up? What ever the fuck it had been to her anyway –, but you didn't have to be a profiler or even know either of you personally to see that something was up. Hotch is kind enough to not team the two of you up, sending you to the disposal site with Rossi instead.

The days since you walked out of Emily's apartment turned into weeks. The days turned into weeks since you last talked, like really talked. You had kept your distance to her as much as you could, trying to sort out your feelings and trying to see if she would take a step in your direction, to see if she even cared at all.

But, slowly but surely you had to accept the fact, that everything pointed to her not caring about you. Every conversation with her was strictly professional, talking about the cases was the only time you spoke to each other. Not a day goes by when you don't wish she would say something more to you, something personal, something deeper. Something emotional. That she would say something that would keep you from giving up on her. But she never did.

You should have known from the start that this was how it would end, that the only outcome from getting involved with Emily would be that you would end up with a broken heart. Naivety couldn't even begin to describe why you had even wasted a single thought about having a future with her, a happy ending; with Emily, a woman who hasn't come out, a woman with a mother who would be more okay with her daughter being the side chick of some married man, maybe even multiple, than to accept her daughter to be in a relationship with another woman; a mother who says, that she “doesn't care who her daughter ends up with, as long as it isn't someone of the same gender”.

Ever since the night you broke up with Emily – if you could even call it a break up when you weren't even a couple, officially speaking – you cry yourself to sleep and your feelings are bouncing back and forth, scrambling your mind and heart in to a broken, confused mess.

On one side, you are drowning in the shattered pieces of your heart; the pain getting stronger every time you see Emily, the longing and yearning strangling you harder every time you are left alone in a room with her, the floor under your feet crumbling away stone by stone with every day that passes without her reaching out to you. You miss her, you miss her so fucking much, and way more than you would like to admit – even to yourself, which is kind of hypocritical, considering you had told Emily to “be honest to herself”.

On the other side, you are cursing yourself for unintentionally giving her an ultimatum of some sort; not only for going public about your relationship, but therefore also for her to come out, even if only to your team, your friends. It was far from your intentions to pressure Emily into anything she didn't want to do, into something that she wasn't ready for. You never set a time or anything like that, but the implication was there – intended or not – by wanting to go public.

It is scary; coming out... As a woman who loves women, a man who loves men or either loving both. It doesn't matter if you come out as transgender, non-binary or gender-fluid, asexual or aromantic, or … or. ... or ... It doesn't matter who you are or what you feel or who you love: it is hard and scary either way and you never know how the person in front of you will react, even if you think you know.

Coming out to people, to friends, who you trust and know on a deeper level – even when you already for a hundred percent are sure that they will accept you no matter what – is hard enough. Coming out to your family is another kind of scary uncertainty: hoping they will still love you, that they will accept and support you; the fear of them turning their backs on you, cutting you out of their lives and on top of all this, hoping that if this was the case, that this was all they would do, hoping it would stay the lesser kind of evil and that they wouldn't go to any extreme measures to try and “fix” you. It was already hard enough to come out planned and willingly at your own pace. But having to do it for what ever reason? Unimaginable. Cruel.

On more than one evening you dialled Emily's number, your thumb hovering over the green button and ready to press down. Ready to apologize for how you had reacted and what you had said, for pressuring her. Maybe even apologizing for telling her that you loved her –

Wait. What?

Yes, maybe you should swallow your pride and call her first and ask her to talk; but apologizing for your feelings? No, you were done with shoving your feelings down and taking what you could get and stay in a one-sided relationship – letting the person use and play with you while they were stringing you along. For them to give you a slither of requited affection whenever they could feel you slip away, depending on your soft heart and that you would stay in hopes they will requite your feelings, your love, someday. No, you were done slowly dying for unrequited love.

The ball is in her court and it is on her to throw it back or to keep it.

Being around Emily has gotten unbearable these last six weeks. You had never felt like this before, never felt like this for anyone else until you had met her. It was all overwhelming and too much, but not enough at the same time, the feelings overpowering you in the best and worst kind of ways; pushing and pulling at your heart, slowly tearing it apart but also glueing it back together in a wild storm of emotions. You felt like you were just starting to learn how to love, but also knowing exactly how to do it – how to love her, in the right way and with everything you had; heart, body and soul.

But it doesn't seem like your love is enough; enough to save what ever you and Emily had been having, to find your way back into each others arms.

The last straw, the rotten cherry on top, was on a night out with the team to celebrate a successful case at a bar near the FBI building and you walked in on Emily making out with someone else in a dark corner near the restrooms. It was too dark for you to fully see the other person. And for a second you aren't sure what would hurt you more: if she was making out with a man, or with a woman.

You get your answer rather quickly, when Emily sees you and pushes the person away. They stumble back a step or two and then turn their head to follow Emily's gaze. And... it's a woman.

There are no words to describe how you are feeling as the realisation sinks in; leaving you cold and numb. How could you have been so stupid? It had never been about her. Not about the hurtful and homophobic things her mother always says to her, not about her outing, not about her feelings. It had nothing to do with not being ready to come out and go public about your relationship. It had to do with going public about being with you. The problem, her problem, is and always has been you.

Is she really embarrassed about you, about being with you? That's a new one... You wonder if she ever even liked you in the first place.

It feels like an eternity before either of you move again, after just looking at each other.

“W- what are you doing here?” Emily mutters and you see her wince when she realises how stupid that question was.

You scoff and narrow your eyes at her. “Looking for the exit”, you answer her, deadpan, before turning on your heels and walking back to the table where you and your team were sitting to get your things. You don't answer any of their worried questions about what was wrong, you just down the rest of your drink and grab your purse. You get your wallet out and throw a couple of bills on the table to pay for your part of the tab before you walk out of the bar without another word.

You make your way to the office right after you walked out. Last week, you had gotten the offer to transfer back to the IRT again; well, unofficially offered actually. You had only been on Hotch's team for four years; before then, you had worked under Jack Garrett for quiet some time. Occasionally, maybe twice a year, you travelled with them for consultations. So when Matt Simmons goes on paternity leave in a couple of days, you are the first person Garrett asks to come back for the time being and you were happy to do so. Garrett had called you and as you spoke you joked about feeling hurt that he only wanted to keep you for one month. And even though he was joking too when he said he'd be happy to have you back permanently, you knew he meant it.

Just last week you hadn't been sure if you wanted to stay with your current team or go back. The stack of forms that were needed to request a permanent transfer were already sitting in a drawer of your desk, all filled out. The fact that you had filled them out right after the call ended should have told you then, that you already had made up your mind.

When you reach the sixth floor, you hear the ding of the elevator softly echo through the empty halls. You make a beeline to your desk in the bull pen and fish your keys out of your purse to unlock the drawer. Just when you took out the envelope with all the forms and reach down to close the drawer again, you hear the soft ding again, followed by the sound of the doors sliding open.

Your back is turned to the doors so you don't know who walks out of the elevator; you guess it had to be someone on their way to the crime lab or something.

Until you hear your name that is, and you immediately freeze. How the fuck did she know you would be here?

You turn around and see Emily standing in the bull pen, but keeping a distance to you. “Can we talk?” She slowly walks closer and her gaze falls on the envelope. “What are you doing?”

You press the tip of your tongue to your cheek and take a second before you answer. “Paper work.”

“Paper work?”

“Yes.” You pick up your keys and start to walk towards Hotch's office. You don't want to hear what she has to say.

She says your name again and grips your arm to stop you from walking away. “It's not what you think.”

You laugh at the cliche reaction. Of course it's not what you think. It never is, isn't it?

“Okay, what is it then? Tell me”, you challenge her as you turn to look at her, your tone cold and the corners of you lips are twitching to form a bitter smile, “Go on, tell me. Because it seems pretty obvious to me.”

You twist your arm out of her grip and before she even has time to say something, you bite out: “You know what? We're not even together, I don't care what you do and who you do it with. Fuck who ever you want for all I care. Start with your- who ever she is.”

“I don't want to talk about her.”

“Oh, you don't? Too bad. What else is there to talk about then?”

For a moment she opens and closes her mouth, ending her answer before she even spoke it out loud. “I-. I want to talk about u- about you and me.”

When you don't react she nods her head, like she is confirming that you had hear right and that it was indeed what she wanted.

“Really? Now, you suddenly want to talk to me, about us?” She nods again, her eyes wide and she is giving you the best pleading puppy dog eyes she can do.

“No.”

For a moment she is taken aback and she blinks a couple of times. “No?”

You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest. “No. I don't want to talk. The only reason you want to talk, now, is because I saw you. It's too late. You had six weeks to talk, but you didn't. You're too late. I would have followed you anywhere, you know. Wherever you would want me to go. I would have followed you to the end of the fucking world and would even walk farther, falling over the edge into the abyss. I would walk through fire for you and I'd do it with a smile.”

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling it all out; and just like you can't stop the tears that started to run down your face, you can't stop talking. “You're it for me, you are the one I love. And it’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.” You sniffle and bite down on your lip. “You are the one. And if I am not to you, and you don't love me back that's fine but then at least have the balls to fucking tell me, instead of making up excuses why you don't want to tell anybody that we are seeing each other.”

She had put on a mask while you were talking, hiding her true emotions. Yet again, you wait for her to say something. And yet again all you are met with, is silence.

“Say something...”, you say, almost begging. “Just... Say something...”

Nothing. Emily stays silent and just looks at you, a vacant and unreadable expression on her face and in her eyes. The small part in you that is still wishing upon a star and is hoping, that she would come through, waited for her to talk. But it is no use. She stays silent, like all the other times in these last weeks. So much for her wanting to talk.

“Figures”, you scoff, a bitter smile stretching on your lips, and you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I should have given up on you way before I even kissed you”, you say under your breath. You aren't sure if she heard you, but in all honesty, you don't care.

Without wasting another second you turn around and walk up to Hotch's office. You place the envelope with the filled out forms for your immediate transfer in the middle of your Unit Chief's – well, ex Unit Chief's– desk. His signature being the last thing you needed before you could file the request.

You walk out of his office, not sparing even one last look at Emily, who hasn't moved. A few steps after you passed her you stop for a moment to say something for a last time, before you cross the rest of the bull pen and walk out through the glass door; leaving the BAU behind. Leaving her behind.

Two small words, nothing more..

“Goodbye Emily.”

» A/N 2: i really hope i did this justice, especially the (not) coming out parts, tbh i don't think i myself ever really came out, like 'officially', but i have always been open about being bisexual (no idea if my parents ever really connected the dots, but we're no contact either way for different reasons, so what ever) so i'm not sure how well i portrayed it; ...

🌈 Always remember, no matter if you are in the closet or not: you are worthy, you are loved and you are perfect the way you are! Stay safe. 🖤🤎🤍❤️��💛💚💙💜

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #ghosts can write #mentioningmargins #writing challenge #❤️ e.p.#--- mismatched🧦

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nathandrakeisabottom · 11 months ago

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Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives.

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge.

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.”

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?”

Because distractions always helped him before.

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it.

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself.

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story.

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel.

So he wants to share it with the person he loves.

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame.

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?”

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than.

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat.

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions.

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times.

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened.

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him.

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening.

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?”

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there.

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either.

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh.

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe.

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?”

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.”

“Your point being?”

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable.

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference.

The pain, and what he chose to do with it.

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into.

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

#uncharted #uncharted 4: a thief's end #nathan drake #sam drake #nathan drake x reader #sam drake x reader #happy christmas yall!!!#and for those are yall who struggle today. you arent alone #feel free to jump into my inbox and geek out with me #sometimes family is just someone you share blood with #and that's allowed to be it #shea out

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last-herondale · 8 months ago

Text

Almost pt. 4

Bucky Barnes x femreader!

/ Steve Rogers x femreader!

Angst, heartbreak, fluff

Warnings: bit of swearing

AN: helloooo next part is out! I’m excited to see where this series goes!!! Honestly I love Bucky and Steve so this is fun 😆

Enjoy 🤘🏼

The physical pain took a couple of weeks to heal. Steve was a steady nurse, changing out your bandages every few hours until the cuts seemed healed. Whatever the poison was, it had done deep damage to your body. It took you a week to regain the use of your muscles. Sam checked in now and again as Steve helped you recover. He was keeping recon on the Hydra base, watching for any new movements since your blunder with the trap, but since then there had been nothing new to report. They both agreed that the mission would be on standby until you were back to full health. Steve had nearly had you shipped out back to New York to recover, but a frantic panic of yours seemed to change his mind.

While you were confined to the safehouse, Steve hardly left your side. It was nice to be taken care of for a change. It was something you weren’t used to. Something you didn’t know how to process. He was patient and kind, even though you felt that you didn’t deserve it. You had fucked up. Big time. Nearly blew the mission with your recklessness and now it was being pushed back to accommodate you. While you would have been content to wallow in your pity, Steve would not allow it.

He pushed you to do your physical therapy everyday, cooked for you, helped you in and out of the shower in the most respectful way he possibly could. He made sure you took your medicine when you needed to. He was attentive to your every need.

When you were finally able to speak clear and full sentences again, one day while he was changing out your bandages you felt a sudden burst of emotion escape your lips.

“Why are you doing this?”

Steve ignored you for a moment, finishing off the last bandage on your left arm before he finally looked up at you with an unimpressed look.

“Because you’re injured and need help, now hold still while I-“

You snatched the bandages out of his hands with your other arm and glared at him defiantly.

“Why. Are. You. Doing. This?” You asked again, your voice becoming stern.

“Doing what exactly?” Steve asked, just as irritated, “Making sure you don’t die?”

“Why are you being so… nice to me? I’ve been on missions with you before, and whenever other people get injured-“

“Are you saying I don’t help my team?” Steve challenged.

You looked him square in the eyes and set your jaw tightly. “Not like this.”

There was a flicker of movement in Steve’s mouth. You knew you had hit a nerve there. While Steve was a great leader, the best probably this world would ever see, he never was this attentive to his injured teammates. When Barton had his side blown off during Ultron’s attack, he did not play bedside nurse for him until he was better. So why here? Why now?

He must have seen that you weren’t going to give up so easily. He sighed.

“I’m doing this because of Bucky.”

You felt your chest go cold.

“He told you to—“

“He hasn’t told me to do anything.” Steve interjected quickly, almost to save himself from saying the wrong thing, “He doesn’t even know what’s happened here, no one but Tony does. No, I’m doing this because of what you did for him.”

“Then why–”

“If you’d just keep quiet for a second, I will explain!” he said, oddly flustered. You had never seen Steve Rogers, fucking Captain America, get flustered. You sat back, crossing your arms and mimicking locking your mouth. He sighed again and drew on hand through his hair.

“Look, I’m not clueless, okay? I was there when Bucky and Nat broke up. I know what he went through after that… what he turned into once she walked out of his life. And I know you and Nat are friends, and I know you might take her side on the matter, but Bucky is my best friend, okay? So I saw what went on behind the scenes too from the other side.

“Neither of them were good for each other. What they had wasn’t healthy. It was toxic and strained and fueled by lust. When that fizzled out it was bound to fall apart.”

You were surprised by the information that Steve knew. Not that you thought that he was clueless, but you didn’t think that Bucky had shared that information with him. It made you feel a bit stupid. Of course he would tell his best friend. Maybe the idea of being the only one Bucky confided in had made you feel special, but now your ego deflated a bit.

“I tried to be there for him at first. Admittedly, I know very little about relationships and breakups. I didn’t know how to be there for him, and he wasn’t going to be truthful with his feelings because that’s just Bucky, stubborn as always. So it was easy for me to tell myself that he was okay, and let him handle things the way he needed to. He has been through so much already, who was I to tell him how to live his life?

“But then you started to show up more and more and he began to get better. I couldn’t explain how or why. I thought maybe that you two had been… together as his rebound, which I now know is not the case!” Steve said a bit sheepishly.

“I didn’t do anything,” You mumbled, “I just hung out with the two of you on the weekends.”

“Cut the shit. I know you stayed with him whenever I would tap out early. I know you would go babysit him whenever he got too drunk and in his feelings to distinguish what was real or fake. You were there for him when I wasn’t. You cared for him when he wouldn’t have the decency to care for himself, and you never belittled him for it. You cannot sit there and tell me that was nothing.”

You drew your mouth into a hard line. You remained silent, and Steve just sighed again and continued on.

“Just answer me this, and answer me honestly. Do you think Bucky is a broken man?”

You froze. That was something Bucky had said that night on the balcony. “She is broken, like me.” There were a lot of words that came to mind when you thought about Bucky, but broken was never one of them.

“No,” you whispered, “He is not broken. He is hurting, and he is stupid, and he is so irritably stubborn that it drives me insane… but he isn’t broken. He thinks that there is some part of him that is irredeemable. That he doesn’t deserve good things to happen to him in his life and it breaks my heart…”

You were crying again, but you didn’t care. Trying to hold back everything you felt for so long had taken all the strength you had. And now you were the weakest you had ever been. You looked to Steve, wondering if he saw you as a crying mumbling mess, but instead he pulled you in for a gentle hug. His large muscled arms comforted you in an embrace that seemed to warm you down to your bones.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, “I see how much you love him, how much you care for him. I feared that he would push that love away, that he would hurt you during his time of pain. I wish I could make him see just how special you are.”

Steve’s words hit the tender nerves of your soul and you sobbed against his shoulder. He caressed your hair and held you tighter as you shuddered and cried against him. You felt ridiculous, crying like a helpless baby, but Steve just murmured comforting words and held you securely in place.

“It hurts… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost myself in him… and he doesn’t want me. It’s stupid, it's so stupid… I feel so…empty. I shouldn’t have come on this mission. I’m so…sorry Steve. I’m sorry.”

Raw emotion cut through you as you were a blubbering mess. Steve just held you through it, not judging you or reprimanding you. He was calm, he was gentle, and he was patient. He kept telling you how good you were, how big your heart was. It was strange to be in this position. To be the one being reassured, to be the one being built back up. His words calmed your soul. You don’t remember falling asleep in his arms, but you woke up with him on the couch, his arms still wrapped around you as his head was tilted back on the couch.

You watched him a bit as he slept, not daring to move or stir him awake. You felt warm and safe in his arms. It was nice. He was beautiful, that you could not deny. His features were soft and gentle in his sleep. The rising and falling of his chest was even and steady. You slowly placed your head on his chest, listening to the even beating of his heart as you let yourself fall back asleep. For the first night since you had left New York, you did not dream of James Buchanan Barnes.

The next morning you were up, making sure to carefully untangle yourself from Steve’s embrace. He was still asleep when you started making breakfast. It wasn’t until the bacon started sizzling in the pan that you heard him grumble from the couch and pick his head up.

“Good morning,” you greeted, a soft smile on your face.

“Morning,” Steve said as he rubbed his face, “You look better.”

“I feel great, honestly.”

You fixed him a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee as he came to sit down at the small wooden table. He gave you an awkward smile as he took a sip of his coffee. You sat down next to him, a cup of coffee in front of you and a slice of toast. The medicine that you were on made you have a low appetite, but you didn’t mind making breakfast for Steve. You thought that it was the least you could do after everything he did for you.

The two of you chatted a bit while he ate his breakfast. He updated you on the situation with Hydra. Sam was able to infiltrate the base on his own, undetected, in the middle of the night. He stole their plans to ship out large quantities of the poison that had afflicted you. The shipment was planned to ship out to the states in a months time. Steve relayed this mission to Tony who suggested sending his own bots in to take care of it. Meaning you would be going home soon.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Steve,” you said softly as he finished his meal. He gave you a soft smile and just shrugged a bit.

You took up his plate and put them in the sink and tidied the kitchen as he went to take a shower. You packed your things, folding up your gear and clothes into your small pack. Steve had done your laundry for you while you had been indisposed. You smiled. It was such a small thing, but so many small things that Steve had done for you over the past few weeks had seemed to heal you in ways that you never thought you would heal from.

You felt a warm sensation in your chest.

You heard him come out of the bathroom. He was shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck as his blonde hair still dripped. “Showers open,” he said as he stepped into the room.

You faced him, gazing at him as you watched a few drops of water fall down his chest. You felt your face grow hot, and stumbled a bit as you tried to step past him. He caught you by the elbow and pulled you up, holding you a bit close to him as he chuckled.

“How many times am I going to have to catch you before we—“

You don’t know what came over you. What made you think that this was okay? All you know is that you leaned forward and kissed Steve gently on the mouth. His eyes widened in surprise, and the shock of it made you immediately pull back.

“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—“

But he had put his hand under your chin. His blue eyes searched yours a moment, in an incredibly soft and tender way. It made your stomach jump the way he looked at you now. As he leaned in again, slowly, allowing you to push away at any moment you wanted, you could smell the scent of his shampoo as his lips returned to yours.

He was soft and gentle. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. He broke off for a second, his eyelids were half closed as he searched your face.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, “If you don’t want… if this isn’t something you are comfortable with…”

You raised up on your toes to reach his level and kissed him again. You let your hands wrap around his neck and tangle into his wet hair. Steve let out a pleased sound, and his strong hands lifted you from your waist and held you closer to him.

You thought that this would feel wrong. That kissing Steve would ruin everything between you. You thought maybe he would be angry with you, for kissing him after confessing your love for Bucky just the night before. But here he was, kissing you, murmuring your name as he carried you over to the bed in the room.

Had he really done all he did this week for bucky's sake? Or was there something else? Some other reason why he had been so keen on taking care of you? Your mind tried to process these questions, but the feel of Steve’s mouth on your neck quickly shoved those thoughts away.

He broke apart long enough to lock eyes with you. He was over you on the bed, his eyes a bit wild as he looked at you. Your chests heaved together, his bare and shiny from the water.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

The only response you gave, was a gentle nod of your head as you let your hand gently scrape down his bare chest. He gave a shaky breath and shook his head.

“You will be the death of me, you know that?”

All other conversation fell away. All other feelings and thoughts and memories disappeared. There was only you and him. And for the first time in a while, you felt whole.

Part 5

#fem reader #reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #marvel #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #fan fic author #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #marvel bucky barnes #angst #fluff #almost series

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anika-ann · 1 year ago

Text

Seven Minutes (S.R.) - pt.2

Type: TWO-SHOT, independent, canon-ish, part 1 here

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 10 900 cause I have no chill

Summary:

You weren't obliged to go to that party, but you went anyway. You even had fun.

Until you and Steve were left to pick up the pieces after your seven minutes in a closet together, so graceful having been pushed into it by Tony's stupid idea, Loki's magic and a game of chance where there might be more losers than winners.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, (unprotected sex, fingering, glimpses of size kink and praise kink, soft hints of D/s, mirrors, possessiveness;cumplay, overstimulation and edging if you squint really hard), alcohol, a drop of angst, language (a lot), STEVE (he is a warning in this one)

A/N: written for @jtargaryen18 and her Halloween challenge. Prompt in the final notes. I toyed with it so much that it might have been cheating 😅 dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕

Part 2: Seven Minutes in Heaven

“Secrets are the prisons we make for ourselves.”

― Joe Hill, Locke & Key, Vol. 6: Alpha & Omega

The party had died down; or as Tony said, only the fittest had survived.

Sam, Bucky and Rhodey had challenged Natasha, Maria and Helen to a lazy game of beer pong. Bruce was still asleep. Thor and Vision started some sort of a special game of pool, wordlessly watched by Wanda and Steve, while Thor and Loki argued in hushed voices about what only gods knew – literally. Tony got some genius idea despite – or thanks to – the killer levels of alcohol in his blood and sneaked off into the corner of the room, working with holograms of graphs and other simulations graciously supervised by Pepper.

Needless to say, the spacious room still looked every bit a warzone in an autumn aesthetic. And yet. It still looked better than your heart; a wasteland.

You avoided Steve ever since you stumbled out of the stupid closet, from which he oh-so-kindly helped you, supporting your weight before you could faceplant on the floor – and he graced you with a sweet even if a little shaky smile as he did so. God, you hated him for it. You hated you could still feel the heat of his skin, taste his breath on yours, an echo of the reality of the closet; what more, the memory of his skin on your bare body, lips mapping every inch of you, teasing touches and thick fingers, dark gaze as he made you his in every way possible… this memory of your fantasy was somehow fading, as if it wasn’t even yours.

And it wasn’t; because Steve himself was never yours to have. Fantasies like these were futile.

The loneliness in your chest despite being surrounded by friends hit you harder than ever; and you should have known better. You could blame Loki and Tony and Steve, even yourself for your past shortcomings, but the trigger for your mood was all on you. You shouldn’t have been drinking. You knew you often toed the thin line between a cheery drunk and a miserable drunk. Tonight, it seemed you very much tripped and stepped over the line by a mile.

You nursed a bowl of candy, staring at the repetitive sequence of scary images projected on the wall. The only person you’d be willing to join was Tony; but the reasonable thing to do would be retreat to your room and sleep it off. You even felt sleepy; except your brain was wide awake at the same time. Body exhausted, brain hazy but alert, eyes burning with tears born not only from your loneliness, but also from being awake for too long. You were never going to another of Tony’s stupid parties ever again. You’d promise to never drink again, but your job sometimes required dumbing your mind in a way therapy never could.

The skeletons on the wall blended into a graveyard again; the image was almost soothing. Peaceful. A pile of bones that couldn’t hurt anymore a blessing. And you really should go to sleep, because your thoughts were getting morb-

The yelp erupting from your throat was pitiful – but thankfully drowned in the hooting from the beer pong table. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you found Loki suddenly sitting next to you on the couch, the corners of his lips now twitching in amusement.

Jesus.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” you complained, your body suddenly very awake too. Jerk. “Jesus, Loki!”

“I believe you Midgardians say that if one becomes easily startled, it is because they have impure thoughts or intentions,” he hummed, but had enough decency to control his smirk a bit. Still a jerk. “What is it, søster? You appear upset.”

Anger and humiliation flared up in your achy chest since it was him of all people pointing that out. As if it wasn’t his stupid magic that created the closet in the first place, feeding your misery further. You shot him a glare.

“And you are to blame. Piss off, Loki.”

He retreated a bit, showing off his bare hands as to tell you he meant to harm, a slight pout to his lips.

“Now now. There is no need to get hostile, is it? I simply noticed you were… rather isolated and the party did not please you anymore, nor did the company. I came here as a concerned friend.”

You sighed, eyes roaming his face; he appeared genuine. He might be a god of mischief, but he had proven a friend on numerous occasions indeed. An annoying sibling, if you willed; there was a reason why he called you a sister.

“Don’t you always…” you murmured, sighing again and working hard to try and smile. “Sorry, bror, I am not in a festive mood nor in a friendly indeed. You do not indeed deserve my hostility… much.”

His eyes flashed with understanding, a smile spreading on his lips as he tilted his head, inquisitive.

“Has something happened during the seven minutes with your precious Captain?”

To protest was an instinct at this point. “He isn’t m-“

“Yes, he is, but that is not the point,” Loki interrupted you, rolling his eyes theatrically before his gaze bored into yours, the blue of his eyes almost burning. “What did you see, søster?”

It hit you like a train – the realization that should have hit you long moments ago. God, you were an idiot. Such an idiot, trusting, naïve, too good-hearted idiot, who-

You slapped Loki’s bicep hard – or tried to, your hand passing through the illusion of his body he had created, your hand only meeting the cushions. Of fucking course; he wasn’t even here. He was a trickster, after all. Case on damn fucking point-

Your face burned almost as much as the tears of anger in your eyes – anger and embarrassment. God, he hadn’t- he couldn’t have possibly--- had he seen?

“You did do something to the closet, didn’t you? I defended you when Steve suggested it, you know! Did you make up the damn illusion I saw? You fu-“

Loki’s hand, materializing as his whole body now, caught your hand when you tried to hit him again, his long fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. If you had any more energy, you’d fight his hold and send him to the floor in one of the fancy moves Natasha had taught you. But you didn’t; too weak. To stunned.

The asshole.

“I did not make up any illusion nor did I see what you saw, my little Midgardian,” Loki responded calmly, for once appearing sincere – and unless you imagined it, there was a shade of regret in his expression too.

He’d better be telling the truth about not seeing at least – but how could believe a word he said? He tricked you. Like a trickster. Gods, you needed to retake your IQ test if he had got you so easily.

“I simply offered clarity to everyone who walked into that closet… incidentally, it was only you and him,” he added.

“Clarity?” you echoed, an unamused erupting from your throat as you yanked your hand free. “I don’t think so, Loki. Whatever it is you did was a damn low blow. So do take it personal when I tell you to piss off – wherever your actual body actually is--- or one of your bodies or whatever.”

You rose to your feet, determined to leave him – and this whole cursed party – behind and sleep for a week.

He caught your hand again, stopping you; you shot him a murderous glare, gritting your teeth as you failed to keep your tears at bay, a few rolling down your cheeks – a mix of of humiliation, anger and bewilderment, because were you really crying? Christ, you were never drinking again.

Loki’s gaze softened at the pitiful sight you had to make; he gently tugged at your hand, so watching you so kindly and pleadingly that he might have as well tugged directly at your heartstrings.

Gods, why did you have such a glutton for punishment and pain? Why were you such a sucker for redemption? Why were you so weak to give people and gods the chance to apologize just so they could feel better about themselves?

You sat down with another sigh, willing to give Loki one more minute to explain himself and say sorry – but not more. You blinked in surprise when he frowned, slowly raised his free hand, his fingertips brushing the tears from your cheeks away.

“I am sorry to upset you,søster. But you should slow down in jumping to conclusions,” he said, making you already regret your decision; he wasn’t apologizing. Of course he wasn’t. Men. You wrenched your hand free again. You were out of here this very- “Ah-ah. Here it is again. I am sorry. But… what is that figurative expression you Midgardians have? Say, what do you hide in a closet, søster?”

Clothes, usually, you thought, annoyed. Clothes, unless it’s empty and you’re lucid-dreaming about enthusiastically getting railed by one of your closest friends. You had a distant feeling this was not the answer the trickster was looking for.

“Loki, I’m tired, drunk and miserable,” you said matter-of-factly. “I really don’t want to play any more of your games and I think you had done enough, so I’d appreciate if you-”

“Skeletons, søster. Secrets,” he whispered conspiratorially, a slow smirk spreading on his face. “Dark, dark secrets you do not share with anyone else, those you do not dare to share. In that closet… the darkest one concerning the person you were in there with came out.”

Your shoulders sagged, annoyance biting at your gut. Loki was saying these things as if he just revealed to you the secrets of the universe and not a well-known fact.

“Gee, thanks. I knew about that ‘secret’ already.”

Loki’s right eyebrow arched as he smiled deviously.

“Did you, now? Did you know your Captain’s best-kept secret?” he pried, eyes sparkling with the mischief worthy of the god he was, confusing you in the process.

You were too lost to his mysterious message to correct him again – that Steve was not yours. Loki knew and apparently, he knew that that was exactly part of the problem. Hell, that was the whole problem at the moment, but-

“Huh?”

Loki’s other brow arched as well at the bewildered sound you let out, his gaze measuring you from head to toe with distaste almost as if you insulted him by not praising him for his supposed brilliance.

You didn’t feel bad for it – you had no energy for that. And his ego could use a little blow.

“…you truly are exceptionally drunk if you get slow like this, my dear Lady Speedy,”he emphasized, shaking his head like a disappointed parent – or older brother. “You did not see your secret. What kind of lousy trick would that be?! You already know your secrets, they are in your head! That is why they are yours! No, no, no,” he lamented, shaking his index finger before he pointed it at you, his proud grin widening. “You, my little Midgardian søster, stepped into the Captain’s head. You saw his secret. And he saw yours. Do we understand now?”

All blood drained from your face, annoyance replaced by a mask of pure horror that seized you the moment Loki finally explained. You stared at him blankly, mind suddenly completely sober and whirling. You were fucked. You were utterly, utterly fucked, because if Steve saw your secret, he knew. He knew you wanted him; he knew how you wanted him and how much. He knew what you craved him to do to you.

“Loki, this isn’t funny,” you heard yourself say, almost soundlessly. He tilted his head, that irritating grin still present as he looked right back at you, waiting for you to process the bullshit he was trying to feed you. “This is a very, very bad joke.”

Please tell me it IS a joke, you added mentally, only to be very disappointed.

“That it would be, but it is not, for I am not joking,” he retorted, expectant.

Expectant of what? Of praise? A thank you? For putting you into this insanely vulnerable position, for basically stripping you bare and revealing—

Your mind came to a screeching halt as another realization finally slammed into you like a freight train.

“Holy shit.”

Loki straightened in his seat, his grin now almost maniacal – and so goddamn smug.

You saw Steve’s secret. You saw Steve’s fantasy. Taking you over and over in front of a mirror, all the praise, sweet nicknames and affection he showered you with in your vision – that was him. He wanted you too. These weren’t only your desires, these were his.

But that was impossible. Steve didn’t--- he wasn’t- he would have said something. He would have acted differently. You would have known. This, whatever Loki was saying, couldn’t be true, Steve would have asked you out again if he wanted to, he’d-

Except he wouldn’t. Because unlike many men, Steve understood the meaning of the word no. If you rejected his initial advance two years ago, he had no reason to try again, because he would respect your choice.

You could kiss him for that. Or smack him. It that were true.

The hope rising in your chest was a dangerous thing. Hope was the thing with feathers; it would fly you high so the fall lasted longer and the landing hurt more once it dropped you out of the sky. If you allowed yourself to hope that the absolutely wonderful gorgeous human being Steve was was still interested in you romantically…

Instinctively, you glanced the direction of the pool table, hoping to see a hint of Loki telling the truth – and worried Steve might hear your conversation due to his enhanced senses – but Steve was no longer there. Swiftly scanning the room, you found out he was no longer there at all. It seemed he was the only one having made the sane decision of going to sleep.

You gulped as your gaze focused the trickster again, still afraid to believe even for a minute this could be real.

“Loki…”

“Now. You know his and he knows yours… the question is, are you willing to act on it? Are you willing to admit what is it that you want out loud now when he already knows anyway… even if he does not, for I entrusted the power of the closet only to you so far?”

You swallowed loudly, heart hammering in your chest wild. Were you? Willing to admit it out loud? That was one insane risk to take. One you weren’t sure was worth the consequences.

“Loki, if you are lying-“

“Bleh, I am not!” the Asgardian spitted out, offended. “What could I possibly gain from that?!”

“Fun?” you suggested automatically, because that was what he was all about, wasn’t it? That was why he created the insane magical closet in the first place.

Could Steve really still like you? Like like you? Now you were back to being thirteen indeed-

“Your idea of my idea of fun is rather strange. Go talk to your Captain. Or… communicate your thoughts in whichever way you prefer.”

You felt your already hot face burn at his suggestion. As much as you’d like to do that, the thought of even confronting Steve was scary – it would be much easier to be sure you wouldn’t mess up your perfectly good friendship, a friendship you cherished. Alas, you only had Loki’s words to go on. You could imagine more reliable sources, but none of them you’d dare to approach either.

“Oh shut your face, bror. If this is another idiotic prank, if you are lying, I’m going to tell Bruce to smash you—no, I’m going smash you myself, reduce you to the size of atom. Without breaking a sweat,” you promised him as you rose to your feet and you meant it.

If you were going to find Steve now – and you were, because there was not a universe in which you would simply fall sleep after what Loki did and told you – and if you were going to mess up, if Loki was truly just toying with your heart, you’d make sure he’d suffer for it.

“So feisty,”Loki praised, eyes lit up. “The Captain will like that, I am certain.”

Oh you were sure he would; Steve liked a drive in a person. He’d like it if you were brave enough not only to find him now, but also tell him how you felt. The idea was so damn intangible even as you had thought of it thousands of times, so terrifying that you just might go to bed and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night instead because you could not take that risk.

“Loki… this is a personal thing. And if I go and fuck up what Steve and I have-”

“You mean two years of fruitless pining-“ he interrupted you again.

“-based on your bullshit, I---”

You felt tears in your eyes again – and god, you were truly never ever drinking again, even as you felt very, very sober now – and the God’s mischievous eyes softened once more.

“I shall never repeat it again, but I grew quite fond of you, my little Midgardian. Despite what the over-righteous Captain believes, I have no intention to hurt you,” he assured you kindly.

“…I will still smite you if you’re wrong.”

His grin returned. “Looking forward to it, my Lady Speedy. And you’re welcome!”

“Don’t push it, Loki.”

As expected, your brief surge of bravery ran out by the time you stood in front of Steve’s door. Your hand shook as you raised it to knock, counting to three. Then, you simply did it – better to get it over with, right? With what you learned from Loki, awkwardness was about sneak between you and Steve anyway. At least you would know.

That wasn’t a terrifying thought as all, was it?

Steve appeared in the doorway, already in pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, looking at you as if he wasn’t sure whether he dreamed you up or not. His special nickname for you slipped from his lips, surprised and questioning.

You felt like an idiot; you probably looked like one too, your outfit in a pitiful state as well as your make-up, but here you were about to have one of the most important conversations in your life. An agent for the Avengers Initiative, supposedly one of the strongest and most capable people of the planet; yet, you felt like a teenager about to confess to your first-ever crush.

“Can I… can I come in?” you pipped up nervously, wondering whether your heart could actually jump out of your chest – and guessing that yes, it could, when Steve smiled automatically, stepping back to let you into his room.

“Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, your sweaty palms twitching to curl into fists briefly, because of course he would ask that. Beautiful, infinitely good man. Sweet and caring. Golden boy. Golden boy who wanted to fuck you in front of the mirror and watch.

You shook off the last thought as your stomach fluttered, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, trying to ignore the large inviting bed and spinning on your heels to face Steve instead.

“Yeah. No. I mean,” you stuttered, shaking your head. “I… Loki, he--- he said something.”

There was no mistaking the flash of cold steel in Steve’s eyes, the way his relaxed body straightened and stiffened, shoulders squaring at the mention of the God. He really didn’t like him, did he? After the emotional turmoil of tonight, you couldn’t say you blamed him.

“What did he say?”

“He said… you--- this is so stupid, I can’t even--- did you have, uhm, did you have a certain… vision? A dream maybe? When we were in that closet?”

Your face was set aflame at believing he had, that he had the kind of vision you assumed; a vision that would make most people blush. And Steve did blush a bit, discomfort clear in his face.

“I--- maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, earning a raised brow. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Did Loki…” His gaze found yours again, searching – and worried. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher too, something you weren’t sure if you wanted to understand. “Did he tell you--?”

You shook your head.

“No. If you’re asking whether he told me what you dreamed about, then no.” Because he didn’t have to. I just know. If Loki wasn’t lying, that was. “But I… I had a vision as well. And Loki, he… told me what it meant. He said--- he said-“

You gulped, a dull weight in your chest as Steve observed you with silent wonder and a mixture of emotions you couldn’t hope to understand. Patience. Concern. Apprehension. Affection? Definitely confusion.

This was absurd. What were you even doing here? It was utter non-sense. Loki was just pulling your leg, that was what he did, a friend or a bror or not, he just decided to have some extra fun during Halloween and make it his personal April Fool’s Day. You were but the victim of his over-the-board prank-

You chuckled at your idiocy, shaking your head and stalking to the door.

“You know what? Forget this. This is so stupid, I can’t believe I fell for that-“

A gentle hand, the gentlest touch, stopped you in your tracks, disappearing as quick as it appeared on your wrist.

Reluctantly, you turned back to Steve again, truly loving him and hating him at the same time when his tone softened as if you hadn’t brought up Loki, his personal thorn in side, at all.

“Hey now. This, whatever it is, is clearly making you upset. Upset enough to knock on my door at three a.m.,” he noted, hand twitching towards you again – but not touching.

That was what he would have normally done – comfort you by touch. A warm hand on yours; the warmest hug. Touch was Steve’s love language for friends and no doubt lovers alike. But he didn’t. Because you had said no – you had pushed him anyway, you had pulled back in the closet. You had broken him; you had broken you two already.

Damn Loki and damn his stupid jokes and painfully unhelpful interventions. You already hurt Steve and now you were here, at three damn a.m. indeed, robbing him off his well-deserved sleep on top of everything.

God, what a farce.

“I’m sorry-“

“That’s not the point, you know the door is always open for you,” Steve interrupted you, eyes roaming your face with determination now. He was on a mission. He had noticed your body language, whatever it was trying to say. He noticed your hesitance. He read you like a book and he was going to read it through to the last chapter to get to the bottom of things. You were in trouble; there was no going back now. “What did Loki say? I saw you two earlier, he--- did he make you upset?”

Your heart seared, your lips parting on instinct.

While spoken on a normal volume, the question was a battle cry. If you said yes, Steve would release the wrath of Gods – of an angel, a guardian angel and a warrior – on Loki. It didn’t matter Loki was the god, the entity from another planet. He would tremble in front of the anger of a righteous man defending you.

“No! I mean--- no. He just…” you stumbled over your words again, shaking your head and taking a deep breath. You closed your eyes, because otherwise you’d never get it out, not with the way your throat felt so tight you could barely breathe, let alone speak the bare truth. “He said that what we saw in that closet was each other’s secret. Something we secretly want. Supposedly, I saw yours… and you… you saw mine.”

Your voice trailed off into a shy whisper, but you had no doubt Steve heard your words clear as day. The silent shock settling on the room told you as much. Hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palms, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, before you gathered enough courage to open them and look at Steve’s reaction.

But Steve wasn’t looking at you, much to your relief and frustration. He was staring over your shoulder, the smile on his lips absent, appearing just a little broken. You dug your nails further into your skin, not daring to even breathe in until Steve released a wavering breath of his own.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, so very soft and warm, a note of gentle wistfulness. “I’m not sure I can believe that, Shines.”

You nodded, licking your lips and bracing yourself. Now or never. No take-backs.

“I’m not sure either… but that depends. What do you want, Steve?”

“I…” he sighed, finally meeting your gaze, an unreadable open book. He observed you carefully for a moment as you tried to stand tall, stand your ground and pretend you didn’t feel like it was shaking under your feet. Like you wouldn’t feel like the Earth was splitting beneath you if his answer would be anything else than you were hoping for. “I want you, Shines. But I don’t see how that’s a secret.”

Fresh tears sprang from your eyes; but this time happy ones, the shock and relief and joy finding release.

You had hoped. You had prayed on your way in here. You wished upon the stars. And yet nothing prepared you for the reality of Steve saying this. You were certain your heart was about to explode any second, your pulse thundering in your head. He really said ‘you’.

A small part of you wanted to remark that if Loki was right about everything and you had indeed saw what was in Steve’s head, there were a few secretive details that Steve had failed to mention, but you kept your mouth shut, because that was not the point.

He wanted you. He truly wanted you. He still… you still had a chance. More than a chance, apparently.

“Oh,” you let out quietly and oh so wittily, probably making your IQ scores appear like a joke again, but this time, you didn’t give a damn. You smiled weakly at Steve who stared at you expectantly and resigned at once. “Good. Because I want you too.”

A single deep breath. Eyes full of wonder, soft confusion lacing his voice. Reluctant hope, as reluctant as your own had been. “But you said no.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze and smiling tightly on the floor as you wiped away the few tears.

“I--- I was still new and you were… you were this idol of all things good, intimidating and untouchable. I mean, in many ways, you still are, but I was just crushing on you so hard even if I barely just met you. The longer I knew you, the more it… changed into something much deeper than a crush, but when you asked me out back then, I just… panicked. And I wanted to take that answer back later, but I was scared it was too late. And the longer it got… the harder and more awkward it felt to ask you if you were still interested in me, if you’d want to be more than friends after all this time, especially since you dated someone else in between.”

A few beats of silence followed your confession, words hanging in the air.

“That was never a good idea,” Steve admitted lowly, causing you to look up to his now sheepish face. “I thought I was ready for someone else, but I wasn’t. My mind was still on you. And still is, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you or me,” he noted, lips curling up in a smile that would make your heart beat faster hadn’t it been already racing like mad. “You’re beautiful and brilliant. You could do anything you’d put your mind to and would still stay humble enough about it. You’re capable, you’re passionate, you’re kind. You make the world a better place… and you take my breath away. You always have.”

You stood frozen, momentarily stunned.

It seemed when Steve went for something, he went all the way. You knew that about him already; and still. His declaration took you by surprise. A pleasant one, much like two years ago; but this time, you knew better. You were ready. Or at least ready enough.

At three a.m. after a damn Halloween party, you were ready to accept you and him felt the same.Steve liked you. Liked you a lot more than a friend, if his words were sincere and you would never doubt they were anything less.

The world was a beautiful place and you adored Loki’s shenanigans.

“Well…” you said as you stepped closer, basking in Steve’s soft gaze set firmly on your face, hopeful and incredulous. “I think you are pretty damn brilliant, handsome and overall amazing too, so that works out well… and I guess maybe we should do something about that.”

“I guess,” he echoed, his smile slowly widening when you took another step. He reached out this time and took your hand, enveloping it in his larger one.

It was just holding hands, it should not have such an effect on you, but Christ, you could die a happy woman right there. Especially when Steve carefully lifted your joined hands, dropping a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled wide at the tender gesture, Steve’s gaze lit up with a familiar and yet so different spark. “You think I’m intimidating?”

A surprised chuckle erupted from your throat, the tension you hadn’t been quite aware of melting from your shoulders. You could smack him – now he was a cheeky fella, wasn’t he?

“That’s what you took from me pouring my heart out? Really, Steve? Wow. Just wow.”

He laughed as well as he erased the last distance between you so you stood chest to chest, hand moving to cradle your face instead and angle it up, his eyes full of wonder still as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. Humour and absolute delight blended into one in his expression; you imagined yours most have looked the same.

“Well, I kinda poured mine out too to make it even. But I’m just a guy, doll. My ego needs a good rub every once in a while.”

You couldn’t help it. You snickered at his choice of words. A good rub, huh?

“Just your ego?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his smile earning a wicked edge that had your stomach flutter; or perhaps that was just his strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his front, your palms catching against his chest. So warm. Warm and wide and real, and it was yours to touch.

“Aren’t you a cheeky little thing…” he mused.

“You know it. What you’re gonna do about it, Captain?”

His gaze roamed your face, searching for an answer to the unspoken and yet completely clear question. He found it in the challenge written in your smartass grin, his lips soon gravitating towards yours, suddenly close enough you could feel his breath on your own. His voice dropped but to a whisper.

“Depends… what would you let me do, Shines?”

Anything. Everything. All at once. Forever.

You licked your lips, painfully aware of the firmness of Steve’s body against yours, so pliant to accommodate his strength. “I’m pretty flexible.”

The corners of his lips twitched at the double entendre.

“Is that right, sweetheart? Let’s see how you like what have in mind then…”

A lot. The answer was a lot. You loved it the very second his lips touched yours at last, causing you to shudder and melt into his embrace. The kiss was even more tender than you imagined; gentle lips moulding into yours, thumb stroking over your cheekbone softer than silk. Lingering and brushing yours even as he released you to do something as mundane as breathing.

“I like it so far,” you muttered, eyes closed to absorb all the sensations enveloping you. The warmth, the masculine scent, the faint taste of mint tooth paste and Steve, the thundering heart under your palms, the hot skin as your hand slid up Steve’s throat to his nape, the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him to another kiss. “What else do you have in mind?”

He hummed against your lips, smiling, hand angling your head to kiss you deeper, parting your lips with ease, so naturally as if it was always meant to be. And perhaps it was; kissing him was two years due. The thought of a lost time had your fingers flex against the material of his t-shirt, squeezing his nape; his chest rumbled with a silent groan, arm tightening around your waist, heat pooling at your stomach.

You knew this groan. You knew the feeling of hardness building against your belly and you knew exactly what it meant; and you wanted it. You wanted it real this time and there nothing in the world that would make you resist Steve inching you walk backwards one small step after another as his mouth dominated yours, his hand moving to your hip to steer you the direction of the bed.

Or you thought so until his arm softened the impact of your back against a wall, your eyes snapping open with a gasp. Your gaze met Steve’s just as his fingers tangled in your hair, eyes roaming your face attentively, taking in every detail of your flushed face and already swollen lips. You feasted your eyes too, hand instinctively moving from his chest to his bicep, nearly whining at feeling the power humming underneath.

He could take you. He could take you in whichever way he wanted and you’d simply have to hold on and survive it, because even with your fancy moves and normally sharp brain, you were no match for his strength. But you didn’t need to be; you didn’t want to be. You were actually perfectly fine with Steve making love to you tender or fucking you against the wall all the way across the room from the no doubt comfortable bed.

“What else is there?” you heard yourself ask breathily, rewarded with Steve’s gaze darkening, his hips pressing against yours, palm sliding from your cheek to your throat, thumb caressing the soft skin.

He was trying to kill you. He was, there was no other reason to show off those large paws of his in comparison to your body, no reason to remind you he could crush you without much effort.

He petted the sensitive skin lovingly, licking his lips as another shudder ran down your spine, his middle finger inching under the shoulder strap of your dress.

“Can I?”

You only panted as he already hooked his finger under it and sent it sliding down while still being able to touch your throat, the hoarseness of his voice awaking the heat inside you having been sleeping ever since your dream encounter in the closet.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand that that consent applied to everything. Everything he wanted he was free to do. You needed him to do it.

He must have understood. He must have, because when his lips locked with yours, the heat behind the kiss was otherworldly, his body caging yours against the wall in the most toe-curling way.

It was like a switch flipped inside him, because it finally dawned to him. He had seen you fantasy; the filth he had experienced came from you and he could take full advantage of that. That previously frightening thought that Steve knew now, knew how you wanted him and how much, was apparently exactly what he needed to see; that you wanted him. All of him. No filter.

You mewled when his fingers tugged at your hair with the slightest pressure, guiding you to expose the column of your throat for his mouth to explore and nip at, his other hand squeezing your hips and following the curve of your ass appreciatively. Your already damp panties turned completely useless by now and in the very back of your mind, you realized that with Steve’s slightly enhanced senses, he could probably smell how riled up you still were from your imaginary closet experience. You could be embarrassed about that; but when his hand brushed up the back of your bare thigh over your hip under the hem of your dress, stroking over the lace of your panties at the apex of your thighs, you decided you were beyond caring.

Especially when you could feel his muscled shift with the minuscule movement of his fingers tracing the hem of your underwear, so close to where your core screamed for his touch and attention.

“So, doll…” he whispered to your skin, groaning minutely when you grabbed at his nape and pulled his mouth to ours, feeling it was way too long since you tasted them. He didn’t seem bothered at all, his fingertips brushing oh so lightly against your heat at last, a barely-there brief touch gone too fast. “I saw your dirty secret, is that right?”

Alright, he needed to stop talking and teasing you and get to work before you could spontaneously combust. Your only satisfaction was the fact that he too was far from indifferent to what was happening, his hardness pressing against your thigh.

So why wasn’t he doing something about it?

“Doll?” he hummed against your lips, expecting you to answer, clearly.

“Y-yeah? I guess?”

“Hm…”

You cried a discontent noise when his hands untangled from your hair and disappeared form under the skirt of your dress, long fingers curling around your wrist, one and then the other, soothing your disagreement with a filthy kiss.

Next thing you knew, your hands were pinned to the wall by your head, carefully, but firmly, Steve’s body pressing against the rest of you; his lips released yours just in time for you to let out a gasp as startled as pleased.

Your heart turned into one of a hummingbird when you realized your predicament fully.

Trapped against the wall by Steve’s large body towering above you, hands locked in a grip unmoveable upon you testing it. Caged. Utterly helpless. Dominated. The surge of need into your belly was so acute your brain turned into a blank screen with static noise for a moment.

Steve was playing out your fantasy. He was replaying what he must have seen. He was giving you exactly what you wanted and you were not about to protest; less so when your heart felt like giving out when his teeth grazed your pulse point, your knees bucking a bit, a silent mewl escaping you and that loveable bastard smiled with absolute glee against your skin.

“Love the sounds you’re making, doll. Love how your body responds to me.”

“You’re playing dirty,” you whined, not quite complaining, but still causing Steve to look up. The glee you had assumed was most definitely in his smirk and hungry gaze.

You swallowed loudly, gaze trailing up his bulging bicep when his hands manipulated yours above your head, one hand easily gripping both of yours.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, long fingers running over your bare arm indulgingly slow, over the swell of your breast, over your waist, until they slipped under your skirt again, following the hem of your panties to the junction of your thighs and pushed it aside at last, feeling the pool of slick in your underwear. His voice grew huskier as he spoke again. “Fuck. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t,” he promised, latching onto your mouth as his thick finger slipped into your heat at last, causing you to moan at the blissful intrusion.

He pumped his finger a few times before he added another, the soft stretch sending hot pleasure through your veins, having you chase the feeling in the limited space he made for his hand between your bodies, trying to rock into his hand as he set a maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve, ple-ase-”

The plea melted into a gasp when he curled his fingers, finding your most sensitive spot, your hips jerking forward as the ripple of pleasure he elicited.

“There she is…” he murmured smugly, swallowing your noise of complaint when he pulled his fingers out right then, spreading your slick all over your lower lips and circled your clit only to neglect it right after.

Empty and strung tight at once, you tried to move and chase the much-needed friction, only for Steve’s hips to pin you in place again, palm spawled over your ass.

You wanted to shoot him the dirtiest look for denying you, but all you managed was a soft accusation in your hooded eyes as his still wet fingers tipped your chin up, his intent gaze dark and hungry.

“God, you’re perfect, doll,” he rasped, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You had no time to be embarrassed; not when the words from your dream echoed in your head – except it was not a dream. This was all Steve – his fantasy, his reality too. He liked to watch. He liked to tell you were beautiful. He clearly liked your fantasy too – to have you in his arms, at his mercy.

You wanted to pull him for another kiss, to guide his hand – his cock for god’s sake – where you needed him so much you could barely stand it at this point, but the thrill of the not being able to, not being allowed to, felt almost as good. He was breathing heavy too, yes, but otherwise, holding you down posed no challenge for him, not even with one hand, the other sprawling over your hip again. Your core clenched at the casual display strength, a tiny noise escaping you against your will.

And bless that it did. Steve’s fuck it was the most beautiful song you had ever heard, because it was the sound of breaking.

So fast he battled the speed of light, his hand was back, tearing away the soaked fabric of your panties, mouth stealing the blissful moan from your lips, body letting just an inch of space for you to arch into his touch when his fingers slid right back into your heat, pumping and assaulting your g-spot, this time with his thumb pressing against your clit. Small rhythmic circles, dextrous fingers filling you up over and over and he had you chanting his name as you clenched on his fingers hard, warm release overtaking your body, muscles spasming, your vision blurring for a moment.

And Steve didn’t stop. The back of your head hit the wall with a silent protest as his fingers continued to fill you over and over again, mouth latched onto your neck and sucking a bruise, grasp on your hands firm and you struggled against the hold no longer sure if you wanted to stop him or keep his hand exactly where it was, because despite the overwhelming sensation and overstimulation, your body screamed at you to take it and enjoy the flames licking at your insides, so painfully delicious.

You clamped on his fingers again with a wordless cry, gasping for air as your eyes snapped open, meeting Steve’s impossibly blown pupils drinking in the sight of you overtaken by utter bliss. The wet squelch filling the room was pure filth as you soaked his hand, but you had no capacity to feel ashamed, you body buzzing with adrenalin and white-hot pleasure, Steve’s gaze making you feel like the eighth wonder of the world.

The second he released your shaky hands you were on him, holding onto his shoulder and pulling him in for a bruising kiss, his talented fingers slowing down to bring you down from your high. Once he let you get your fill, his kiss softened, short pecks to your lips, to your cheek, to you closed eyelids.

“You okay, Shines? Was that too much?”

You shook your head with a breathless laugh, the action of checking that you were alright familiar, matching the faint memory of seeing the images of his desires. Fuck you so good you’d forget your own name, but in a very respectful and caring way. It had Steve written all over it, alright. You should have known.

His forehead rested against your sweaty one, his nose nudging yours, his body more holding you up rather than restricting your movements now.

“I’m gonna need words, Shines.”

“Yeah,” you whispered obediently, pecking his lips for a good measure.

His hungry eyes sparkled with mischief as they met yours, beautifully red lips curling up in a smirk and causing your racing heart to stumble.

“Good… because I don’t think that’s how the fantasy ended…”

You yelped when his hands slipped under your ass without a single warming and lifted you with ease, your own hands gripping at his shoulders, legs, while rather jelly-like from your mind-blowing orgasms still, wrapping around his waist on instinct. You felt his hardness press against your core, hard planes of muscle without as much minute tremble under your weight as you stared at him, excitement stirring in your belly anew. With laughable ease, one of his arms shifted so he could use his other hand on you as he pleased.

You bit down the squeal ripping from your lips, but not quite successfully. He was carrying you. On one hand. And he didn’t even break a sweat yet.

“Better?” he asked smugly and it shouldn’t be attractive, you hated arrogance, but goddamnit cocky Steve seemed the hottest thing ever at the moment. Even when he was still fully clothed and your dress was loosely hanging over your bra, skirt ruffled up. Christ, his shoulders were so wide-

“I don’t think I can survive better…” you admitted, gulping, but letting your hands roam his exquisite body and gods you could come again just from touching all the delicious power you knew were locked in that body. “But I wanna try.”

Steve’s grin was the thing from your filthiest dreams; and his cock pressing against your core, the annoying fabric of his sweatpants in the way, was too.

“Atta girl…” he praised, hand curling around your nape to pull you in for a kiss that had barely any resemblance to the one he graced you with to bring you down, oh no. He licked into your mouth with indulgence, taking what was already his. “You’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you? Take everything I give you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me fill you up, again and again until I’ve had enough? Until you’re so completely mine that all you can think of is my name and the way it feels to come on my cock? You’re gonna let me do that, sweetheart?” he whispered to your ear, sin dripping from every carefully spoken syllable. He pulled at your dress, revealing your bra and groaning when he palmed your breast over the thin material, your own hands sliding down his chest and finally under his t-shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

So good. Gods, he felt so good.

“Yes. Wanna feel you. All of you.”

Steve rutted into you and you grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and tugged, wordlessly begging him to reveal your playground. He chuckled, pulling at his t-shirt himself to help you, quick to hum a promise to your lips that had your core clench around the painful emptiness.

“Oh you’ll feel me, Shines. I’ll make sure you’ll feel me for days. That what you want?”

One palm sprawled over his chest, the other laid over his abs, you weren’t sure you could answer beyond an absent nod. Steve did not find that satisfactory.

The nips of his teeth combined with the rumble in his ribcage had you release something between a mewl and a gasp, his abdomen shaking with a silent laugher.

“Oh that was a pretty noise. Can’t wait to hear more of it.”

“Steve, please, just-“

He heard out your plea at last, kissing you, free hand going to the laces of his sweats, undoing it way too slowly. Impatient, you knocked his hand away and did it yourself, feeling Steve’s lips curl in a grin against yours.

“Do you need me so much, doll? Need me to make you mine?”

You barely had time to breathe a yes and shove his pants down, hand wrapping around his thick length, drawing a breathy sound of pleasure from him and an unnecessary confession of the obvious.

“Yeah, need you too.”

He allowed you barely a few seconds of pumping his cock before he coaxed your hand away, the head of cock nudging your slit, quickly coated in your slick. His groan was delicious to hear, your hips bucking on instinct.

Yeah, need you too. You did this to him.

“Fuck, Shines, you’ll feel like Heaven.”

It was inappropriate. Completely and entirely inappropriate but you chuckled, a cheeky retort about seven minutes dying on your tongue when Steve entered you, a little too fast and straight to the hilt before he gave you time to adjust to his impressive size and grith. The stretch was a lot; a lot more than his already thick fingers, but you had never known you could be filled so well and it could feel just this good.

He was made for you, he had to be. Or maybe you were made for him.

Little droplets of sweat pearled on his forehead, gaze firm on yours, dark and amused at once as he slowly retreated and pushed inside you again, your lips dropping open because you had been wrong; he stretched you further and a shy glance down told you he still had a way to go.

“I could hear that pun before you said it, doll. You’re thinking too much,” he husked, setting a pace and pushing just a bit further and further with each thrust, hand sprawling over your lower back to angle you to his liking – for you to take him even deeper. The burn and fulness felt impossible, but Steve’s intent gaze on your face was even more so. “Let’s fix that.”

“I thought you liked me brilliant?” you hummed as if you didn’t feel your toes curl in pleasure, your hands grasping at his shoulders, at his arms, anywhere to keep him closer, closer…

Wind knocked out of you with ne sharp thrust, you finally took all of him; your lips parted with silent oh god, eyes slipping shut as the sensation of utter fullness. Distantly, you could feel his gaze on you, drinking in the sight; the artist in him admiring the visual, no matter how plain you thought you had to look.

“I do, Shines… but now I need you to think about one and one thing only.”

There was no space for words after that. Once he had you, he set a punishing pace, claiming your lips as much as your silky heat, overwhelming all of your senses all over again. The onslaught of sensation – his warmth, his strength, his musky scent, his lips, his grip on you, the fast but deep drags of his girth against your walls, stretching you to your limits – it was all too much, too much when his fingers sneaked between your bodies and ripped the dress away to give the much-needed attention to your clit.

“Steve-“

“That’s it…” he spoke against your mouth, teeth grazing your lower lip even as his pace never faltered, building you towards the skies again, “you really are perfect, Shines, gripping me so tight. So perfect and mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours… yours… yours,” you promised with every thrust until you couldn’t, your lips falling limp, your nails digging into Steve’s back when you came with another shout of his name.

And soon, he followed, whispered praises and mine over and over as he made you exactly that. Thoroughly his. Keeping you close even when he pulled out, keeping you close when his spent drippled out of you and he simply gathered in on his fingers, pushing it right back, dark gaze never leaving yours, your stomach making wild somersaults.

Mine. So completely mine. Aren’t you, Shines?

You were. Completely his, deeply sated and utterly exhausted. You were grateful he carried you to bed, because your legs were beyond functioning; as he laid you down, you couldn’t see the clock and you thanked heavens for that, because the time had had to tipped over from too late to too early. But you couldn’t care less. Not when Steve’s fingers caressed every inch of bare skin of your body they could reach, the rags of your clothes in a messy pile by the door a proud reminder of how exactly he had got it off.

And got you off.

You mentally snorted at the bad pun, another one you didn’t have a chance to share since Steve had been too determined to stop you from thinking returning to your mind.

“Steve?” you smiled lazily as he was lying next to you, propped up at his elbow, smiling down at you softly – so softly in contrast to how he had railed you into oblivion. Lovingly, of course.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I think this was what we should call Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

He groaned, falling on his back and drawing a full belly laughter from you, throwing his arm over his face as if he couldn’t bear to look at someone who made such a terrible joke. With effort, you propped on your elbow then, looking at the gorgeous length of his body for a change, cheeks hurting from grinning so wide. He was a work of art; Michelangelo’s David had nothing on him. Superb balance of size and function in every muscle, every tendon, as hard as stone when needed and carved into perfection. Alive and warm under your gaze and touch, its utter superiority proven by countless missions and work-out you had witnessed. It wasn’t just how large his body was, the contrast of the width of his shoulders to his waist, the lines of his abs with soft treasure trail; it was the knowledge of what his body could do. What that brilliant mind behind those sweet blues could come up, the kind heart humming contentedly under your palm now. You had met enough dumb jocks in your line of work, big almost as Steve, handsome too; but they could never compare.

He moved his arm when your fingers walked down his sternum, heading for the treasure trail; his cerulean eyes observed with a mixture of mischief and warmth, wide awake despite the ungodly hour. You stopped, fingers hovering just above his skin, the heat it radiated tickling your fingertips.

It didn’t escape you – it was literally hard to miss that – that Steve clearly hadn’t had enough. You didn’t ask why, whether it was the serum or something else, but you knew you didn’t want to leave him unsatisfied.

You had promised, hadn’t you, even if it was in the heat of the moment. Until he had his fill, he said? You could take it.

Leaning down to kiss him, you were welcomed by the sweet taste of his smile; your wandering hand continued your path at last, wrapping around his still very hard length. He didn’t protest, only reached out to pull you closer, practically lying on top of him.

The kiss was lazy; half-hearted desire, reluctance and indulgence at once. Steve tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way, caressing your cheek.

“You sure you can take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded without a second thought, a wordless ‘yeah’ whispered straight into his mouth, a slight twist of your hand causing him to groan.

Steve might be caring to a fault, but he was only a man – as he had said. Who was he to refuse your offering? He sat up and pulled you to his lap with ease, your body obedient and pliant, a gasp elicited from your throat when his lips moved to suck on your nipple, your fingers gripping on his hair.

“Steve…”

“Did I mention you were perfect?” he muttered into your soft flesh, kneading your ass and your breast.

You had never felt so utterly adored; body, mind and soul. How could you be anything else than his when this was what it was like?

“Once or twice. You’re not too bad yourself, Cap-tain,” you stuttered when he pinched your other nipple for the cheekiness, a breathy giggle escaping you.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, gaze having turned hungry again.

“Good. Turn around, sweetheart.”

You looked at him slightly confused, but obeyed. You’d do anything, even kneel in front of him, the prospect of him taking you from behind like this stirring something deep inside you. You glanced over your shoulder as he positioned himself behind you, a glorious god prepared to claim the sacrifice of those who worshipped him; and god, would you do exactly that.

He grasped at your chin softly, capturing your lips with his, his hardness nudging the globes of your ass; and released your lips all too soon, fingers pushing at your jaw to look forward.

Heat flooded your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Kneeling on the bed, completely bare and exposed, you were facing the mirror.

His fantasy. His turn.

“That okay?” Steve asks, voice husky as his lips attached to the flesh above your collarbone, his arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you to his front. He was hidden from your sight for most part, a true shame; you were on full display.

For you. For him.

You gulped, gaze set firmly on his face in the mirror, not daring to stray it elsewhere even as you could see his eyes appreciating his view.

“I… I think so?”

His smile was warm, a little boyish and entirely devious. You sunk into it as much as you sunk into his firm body, his fingers tweaking your nipple, drawing your gaze to the movement of instinct. Heat spread in your insides at the sight of his large hand over you, barely an edge of shame nudging your consciousness. Filthy. Vain. Wrong. Thrilling.

“Good… ‘cause I think we can do better than seven minutes,” Steve hummed with a trace of humour in his voice, free hand sliding between your thighs to tease you and make sure you were ready for him still – or again. When he spread your lips for the head of his cock, you instinctively bucked into his hand, gaze flickering to the sinful image. “In fact… I wonder how long you can last until you’re begging me…”

He pushed into you in one swift movement, strong hand keeping you in place, the tendons on his forearm dancing, a breathless oh falling from your lips.

“…to stop. Look at yourself, sweetheart. Look at us.”

Almost in a haze, like a new dream on its own, you did. With the strangest and most tickling glee, your gaze trailed from where you and Steve were one between your spread thighs, over his arm draped over you, his hand spreading softly over your throat to keep you looking straight into the mirror, lips attached to your temple curled in a smile.

“Your mind is way more filthier than I thought,” you managed to say before he started thrusting into you, his smile earning a wicked edge as he nuzzled your hair.

“Shh… that’s my best-kept secret. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you, doll?”

Powerful. Adored. Desired.

His.

The next words rolled off your tongue before you could think twice, Steve’s hypnotic gaze on your body enough of an encouragement.

“Keep my mouth busy and I won’t--- oh god.”

The fingers of his left hand circled your clit, sending an almost painful pleasure through your veins, while his right hand angled your head to capture your lips indeed.

“Now who’s filthy,” he murmured, pressing his thumb against your mouth, dark pupils blown wide as you sucked on it obediently. He pushed into you so deep at the action you thought you’d feel him in your throat and you finally understood the expression of la petit mort. The feeling of bliss washing over you was so strong it could kill you and yet you’d never felt more alive. “Fuck, Shines, you’re gonna be the death of me. But first… let me show you how beautiful you look when I make you mine.”

And he did. Oh, he did.

And he’d stand by his promise that you’d feel it for days too, you were sure of it, even if only time would tell.

The sun was already rising and peeking through the blinds when you finally laid your head on the pillow to sleep at last. Successful revels Thor would say, you thought lazily.

You walked the fine line between consciousness and dreams, cradled to Steve’s chest, closer than you ever thought you could be. Idly, you let your mind wander; despite the absolutely mind-blowing sex that only probably happened to a person once in a lifetime, you couldn’t but believe that this wasn’t a one-time thing. No, Steve didn’t do one-night stands, he even said so; his mind was on your for quite some time. This was but a start and you loved the idea of that. Not just because of the promise or experiencing this again, the pleasure still flowing through your body as an echo of what had been almost too much bliss to bear, but because of love.

You had been more than a little in love with him for almost two years – and you couldn’t wait to fall harder. Because besides being a sight to behold, Steve’s arms provided comfort, safety and sincere affection. You didn’t have to be scared of that fall, because they’d catch you. You didn’t have to fear for your heart if you gave it to him, because you knew Steve Rogers to his core; he’d cherish the gift and guard it with his life.

And he’d deserve it too, your whole heart. He deserved to be loved deeply and unconditionally; and on occasion, filthily.

With a sleepy hum, he nuzzled into your neck almost as if he could hear your thoughts and approved of them, pressing a soft kiss there. You drifted off to sleep with a little sappy but entirely adoring smile.

“You did something to the bottle, didn’t you? Some fancy physics trick?” Bucky said, more an announcement than a question, just before he decided to finally follow Steve’s and your example, ready to retreat to sleep – most of the group did anyway.

Tony was a picture of genuine innocence for once at the accusation. “Me? Please. How would I even do that?”

“I dunno. Magnets? Electric pulse? Flying invisible bot? What do I know…”

A nearby chuckle caught both Tony’s and Bucky’s attention, their suddenly knowing gazes finding Loki with his arms crossed over his chest. They didn’t bother to pretend to be irritated, even as at any other time, they would have been. For once, they were just grateful; Friday had silently informed them that the agent known as Speedy had been last seen outside Steve’s suite and wasn’t seen leaving for at least an hour.

If the two clueless dumbasses figured their shit out at last, Loki’s mischievous involvement was worth it.

“Oh no, I cannot possibly take the credit for that part.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What part can you take the credit for?”

“You could not handle the truth, Sergeant,” Loki smirked, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “But not the bottle. I swear. I admit that I wanted to – but I did not have to.”

“So you want me to believe that after two years of Steve and Speedy needing to pull their head out of their asses and at least half of us trying to talk some sense into one or the other, a stupid game an even stupider coincidence finally did it for them. Really?”

Tony nodded, watching Loki with searching gaze. “Yeah, I’m with Buckaroo on this o-“

The sudden soft dragging sound and a clink drew the gazes of all three men. The bottle, having spun a bit, came to a slow stop under their watchful eye.

“Dammit, Loki-“

The trickster raised his hands in defence, chuckling again. “I did not do anything!”

“Yeah, right-“

The bottle shifted again, this time spinning fast – and stopped abruptly at once.

“But-“ Bucky froze mid-sentence. Then, his head snapped in the direction the bottle was pointing now. His eyes found the young redhead witch, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Vision. As Tony followed Bucky’s line of sight, his mouth fell slightly agape.

Loki only smirked harder. “I must say, it is always a pleasure to say this: I told you so.”

“No way,” Tony breathed out, incredulous.

“Stark, give that girl a raise,” Bucky muttered, shocked as well; but completely sincere in his request. Bless magic. Bless that girl for pushing the idiot of his friend into what Bucky couldn’t convince him to do for months.

Wanda only smiled at them over her shoulder and walked out of the door with a silent ‘good night’.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Complete masterlist

The prompt was Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else. and well. Yeah. I transported them into each other’s head – specifically, into their filthy fantasy. I am not even sorry anymore for that cheat if it is a cheat🫡 Though I am a little sorry for the length because this was supposed to be a one shot (story of my life).

Well, this was a LONG ride. I hope you enjoyed it 🤭

Let me know if did and if you can🥰

Thank you for reading!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers lemons #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain america #agent reader #seven minutes #anika ann #jamieshalloween2023

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devilman-things · 8 days ago

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I finished my S1 rewatch of supernatural and I have some disorganised thoughts to share

I had forgotten how young they looked, I'm currently older than sam and almost the same age as dean and it's unreal to me

S1 is definitely one of the scariest seasons, there were some bangers that I remembered with startling clarity because they actually scared me so much ("dead in the water", "hookman")

the racist truck episode still has one of the best monologues given by a secondary character ever, in the history of the entire show

the pilot was actually great

man, this shit was problematic. I didn't see it on my first watch because I was young and ignorant of many things: ep2 was racist but decently written, "bugs" was racist and also just awful

supernatural in a nutshell: the worst episode ever ("bugs") followed by one of the best episodes in the show ("home")

FUCK JOHN WINCHESTER I HATE YOU SO MUCH jeffrey dean morgan is a fantastic actor

I am,,, uncomfortable with how much of myself I see in dean, it's actually kind of insane

"faith" made me very sad, but dean in a hoodie? kinda hot

BOBBY!!!!!!!!!

dean's voice breaking as he's almost dying? fucking kill me now, it made me cry!

dean realising john winchester is possessed because the demon was nice to him? wild shit, jw go to therapy challenge

And now... onto season 2

#supernatural #dean winchester #help #i am crying #spn #dean coded dean devoted #sam winchester #screaming #supernatural rewatch #my hate for john winchester could fuel the universe for 10 billion years #john winchester #bobby singer #bobby singer best character ever #i actually love him #he threatened to shoot john winchester #i love that for him #supernatural season 1

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cupcraft · 8 months ago

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Okay but what really guts me about S6E21 the therapy episode is the moment where I think House really feels like Dr. Nolan's not hearing him or getting him which contributes to his feelings of distrust to um gtfo of therapy 5ever. Which this is not to say House should've done that or that Dr. Nolan is bad, it's more like this contributed quite a lot because well I'm making 0 sense let me explain.

So, I'm thinking about the scene where Dr. Nolan was like "what do you think Cuddy & Wilson talked about together. Walk me through the conversation?" House does and he basically concludes to his therapist that his interpretation of his friends is that they view him as the "House Problem" that they're more worried he's going to do something "bad" or "attention seeking" or "[insert anti-addict recovery rhetoric/ablelism/etc thing] here" because of Wilson kicking House out, out of the blue. And in a way, this is truthful and from an audience's perspective it is a believable interpretation. House is generally pretty perceptive about the people around him and their impression of him given that he does purposefully construct a certain impression of himself (so that he is not harmed by people by allowing himself to be genuine). And even though Cuddy and Wilson are the people he's the most genuine to, he still self-destructs around them and struggles with trust. Anyway, based on how Wilson and Cuddy have handled a lot of things in the past (not everything) such as the Morphine/saline thing, the first time he went cold-turkey on opiates, the tritter situation, forcing him to go to his abusive father's funeral, etc. it really does seem believable they'd view him as the House Problem, or in a way it makes sense House thinks that way overall.

Though this is not to say House is right. He is right and valid to think that they'd be worry he'd relapse/etc. and he is right to have trauma from previous horrible responses done to him and thus not have faith in any different. But House is in fact wrong because Cuddy and Wilson do genuinely care about him and do not actually see him at this current stage in the show as the "House Problem". Especially Wilson, which it was clear Wilson later realized his actions were impulsiveness and fucked up and not at all recovery informed (especially as the person of stability he agreed to be for House's recovery) since House felt forced to go back home. There's also the issue that Wilson created a home for him and House (as reiterated by Dr. Nolan and the fact the thing Wilson chose for himself was the organ, solidifying House's permanency in that home) only for him to be like jk i dont see a future for you here even though Sam who hates you doesnt mind. House doesn't realize that a Cuddy/Wilson conversation would be done out of care and guilt of an impulsive mistake and not because they just keep him around to stop him from being a "Problem".

SO, Dr. Nolan does challenge this rightfully so but he doesn't do it in the right way which contributes to House feeling unheard and stuck and realizing god I am miserable and i distrust this. Dr. Nolan challenges it by imagining the conversation in a way we the audience knows would not be how at the very least Wilson would talk. He posits Wilson as a very rational person to the point it is comical because Wilson is also toxic and irrational (again the very thing that Nolan says it was a home for you both and then he kicked House out!). I think even House recognizes this because he looks as though Nolan grew a second head like what on earth Wilson would never say that which I think really in the end makes House feel unheard. Because the message "Hey Wilson and Cuddy do in fact love and care about you" didn't come across. The "I think wilson is being rational" is what actually comes across, when House feels hurt by Wilson over what is an irrational reaction (especially given Wilson's apology to house goes poorly and comes off as more guilt than accountability, see the apartment scene).

So it guts me. it guts me that their communication got crossed and the outcome didn't work out. That House felt unheard and that Nolan wasn't able to reach him. Because it does bode poorly for House to leave therapy right now as he is at a point of crisis in his support network and he's returned home to the place that is triggering to him for a lot of reasons (hallucination/relapse/etc).

and as always for my ramblings feel free to add on/send asks/etc. :)

#house md #meta #just polite discussions ofc

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exquisitesimp · 1 year ago

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Celebrating PM's victory with Mori Ogai

A/N: Hello to everyone reading this! This is my first NSFW story here and it's going to be about the reader (F) and Port Mafia's leader Mori Ogai, filled with velvet sensuality. Now BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, I know there is a lot of controversy surrounding this character (he is canonically twisted), but S4 altered my brain chemistry…I’m a simp after all, I kinda had to… And yes I will be discussing this with my therapist…Thank you so much for reading, it means so much to me! Stay healthy, eat well and drink plenty of water (and also go to therapy now that you’re here)! - Sam

Tags: Bungo Stray Dogs, Mori Ogai, smut, NSFW, 👀

Warnings: Mori (obviously), alcohol consumption, manipulation(?), fingering, vaginal sex

Word Count: 5.5k approx.

Ability: Granting indestructibility for 7 minutes, either to self or another individual. Could be applied to many individuals at a time, but the more individuals involved, the more energy is required from the user.

Condition: The user must have access to a DNA sample of the individual they use it on.

Ever since you discovered your ability, you’ve been doing everything within your power to keep it a secret. You were an orphan jumping from foster family to foster family, so it’s not like you had anyone to share it with. After reaching adulthood, you were completely abandoned, and you resorted to all sorts of misdemeanors in order to survive. Unfortunately, the nature of your ability was not particularly helpful in that regard.

A couple months ago, you happened to stumble upon “Mori’s corporation”, where you were invited for an interview. It was later on that you found out that this seemingly ordinary corporation was a front cover for the Port Mafia, an underground criminal organization run by ability users just like you. It was then obvious that you weren’t just randomly invited; they had been tracking you down for a while, after figuring out you were an ability user they could use to their advantage.

Your first reaction was to decline. These guys were too dangerous to even be around, and entering such an organization with zero battle experience was just like having a death wish. However, they kept reaching out, pressuring you – on the verge of threatening, actually – more and more with each time. And they were offering you a good amount of money too.

Eventually you realized that you didn’t have much of a choice, so you agreed, making the following deal; you would work for them, but you would not join the members in battles. Instead, you would stay at the headquarters during attacks and you would activate your ability upon request to any members that needed it, after taking a DNA sample from all of them.

Once you started working for the Port Mafia, your life instantly took a turn upwards. You were no longer this hungry, homeless kid struggling to survive. You had, instead, transformed into a healthy, dignified woman, who was valuable and could now take care of herself. And you were no longer alone, since you were surrounded by all sorts of people you had a lot of things in common with. In some sense, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Each of your coworkers was interesting in their own ways, but Mori Ogai, the head of the Port Mafia, was especially hard to go unnoticed. He openly displayed particular feelings of favour towards you, always congratulating you and offering you gifts to reward you for following his orders. You’ve been asking him to stop, since you’re only doing your job, but he never seems to listen. That, as well as the way he treats Elise, you found quite… weird, to say the least. But he’s your superior after all, and it was in your best interest to maintain his preference for you.

Today the Port Mafia was facing a very challenging battle, and you were called to intervene with your ability quite a number of times. Once everybody made it back to the headquarters safe and Mori congratulated you with great zeal, you were dismissed and you made your way up to your room.

Upon closing the door behind you, you jumped at your bed and took a moment to rest from all the ability using and the stress of being alert all day. It was after a couple of minutes that you took notice of a moderately sized black box, waiting on your nightstand. Without thinking too much, you were quite sure what this was about.

You reached for it and removed its lid. It contained what looked like a dress, which you laid out on your bed, so you can have a better look. It was a long, satin, maroon dress, and it seemed to be pretty expensive.

You were quite impressed. Mori was generally extravagant with his gestures towards you, but this exceeded anything he has done in the past. Coming from a pretty poor background, such a luxurious gift felt a little out of place, but it was still a very welcome surprise.

“Wait, am I smiling? Because of that dress?”, you wondered. “No, I can’t be, it’s weird…”, you reassured yourself, trying to brush it off.

On the bottom of the box, there was a note in a little envelope. The note inside it read:

“Congratulations, Y/N.

Once again, the Port Mafia couldn’t have made it without you. This is your reward for doing such a wonderful job. I had it tailored to your measurements.

Please join me for some wine in my room after the sun sets. I’d also like you to wear your gift.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Mori.”

At this point you were at a loss for words, feeling very confused. You knew for a fact that he favored you, but for things to go that far…that you weren’t expecting it that soon. It’s not like his behavior didn’t give it away; quite the contrary, it was obvious that there was some sort of… sentiment on his part. You just didn’t think he’d make such a request yet.

Of course, you didn’t fail to notice your train of thought trying to go around certain words; “attraction”, “date”… And that worried you even more, because what could all this avoidance possibly mean…? You’d be lying if you said that Mori wasn’t a physically attractive man. And lying was exactly what you did.

“Nope, nope. He’s my superior”,you denied. “Not gonna happen. I’m not gonna go.”

You turned to look at the beautiful dress, which was still laid out in your bed. You took a breath, trying to reset your mind and stop it from rushing.

“What is wrong with me? How old is this man? And why is he treating Elise so weird…? It’s disgusting. HE’s disgusting for thinking I’d go. God, I know exactly what he’s expecting to do if I go… I’m not going. End of story.”

You looked at the dress again.

“Is this it? Is an extravagant gift all it takes for someone to get me to think about them? I don’t recognize myself… Oh what am I saying? Of course this is not just about the gift…”

You started pacing around your room, trying to sort out the thoughts that were bombarding your head.

“But he’s my superior! And he’s so much older! This is so wrong… But if it’s so wrong, why am I feeling… whatever this is?”

You spent a good amount of time going back and forth, all these “what-if”s coming one after the other, making you even more confused about the situation. You continued your inner conflict as you were showering, being moral and righteous one moment, then playing devil’s advocate the next.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tried on the dress he got you. And oh boy did it look stunning on you! The fabric was beautifully draped over your body, totally complimenting your figure and bringing out your best features. Its back was open, and there was a slit on the side. While it did remind you of what his intentions behind the gift were, every thought was suddenly overshadowed by a huge wave of self-confidence.

“You know what? I’m tired of this! I’m gonna shut my brain off and go. And if I change my mind, I’ll just get up and leave. What is he gonna do about it? He needs me. The Port Mafia needs me. I got this!”

The sun was already starting to set, so you went straight for your makeup, which was just mascara and a red lip, matching the shade of the dress. You sprayed some perfume on and made your way to the staircase that led up to his room. With every step you took, you consciously silenced every negative thought telling you to stay in your room, while also making sure that nobody else from the Port Mafia saw you on your way there - you didn’t want them to get the wrong idea…

When you arrived, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself, once again, that you could leave any time if you saw that things were going in a direction you didn’t want them to.

You knocked and waited for what felt like forever before you heard his smooth voice from behind the dark wooden door say “Come in, please”.

You slowly opened the door and quickly inspected his room, which was much more spacious than that of a regular Port Mafia member. It had a king-sized sky bed, and the walls were decorated with a petrol, patterned tapestry. A heavy, large, antique clock with roman numerals was hanging on one of the walls. In front of a huge window that took up the majority of the wall it was adjacent to, there was a small table and two armchairs, identical to the scarlet, velvet one in his office. They were facing each other, and Mori was already seated on one of them.

He turned his head to look at you walking towards the empty chair, a smirk gradually forming on his lips.

“My, my… look who’s here. Please have a seat”

“You literally invited me here…”, you responded.

“I doubted you’d show up”, he said, his eyes following you as you took a seat and crossed your legs.

“Well, here I am, I guess…”, you responded, briefly questioning whether it’s right for you to be there.

“You look mesmerizing in that dress”, he commented as he removed his gloves and placed them on the table between the two of you.

You just noticed that this was the first time you’ve seen his hands without gloves. You spaced out while looking at his fingers getting slowly revealed, but quickly snapped back to reality and regained focus.

“Well, you got it for me, what else would you say…” you replied sarcastically, causing Mori to slightly giggle, just like he does every time you talk to him that way.

“The tailor did a great job, it fits you perfectly”

“What can I say, it’s a lovely dress indeed”, you sighed, thinking that taking a compliment wouldn’t be that bad after all.

“It’s only fabric without the beautiful woman wearing it”, he said, and you hated yourself for getting nervous after hearing that. You had to collect yourself.

“So poetic…”, you responded, looking away and towards the window.

“Where there’s no wine, there is no poetry”, Mori said, getting up from his chair and his fingers holding on to the arms of the armchair for support, “I’ll get the best red for us” and he exited the room.

During the few minutes he was gone, you took turns glancing at his gloves, and then at his bed. Deep down you knew how this was gonna play out should he have his way, but you still didn’t know whether that was something you’d want. Something like that… it would definitely complicate things.

You heard his footsteps and turned your head to face the door. He walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses on the other. This time he returned without his coat, wearing only a white button-up on the top, with his plum tie loosely tied around his collar. Seeing him like this really had you questioning whether it would be prudent to have even a single drop of alcohol in your system.

“So, where were we?” he asked as he sat back down and placed the glasses on the table and started pouring wine on yours first.

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight, actually…”, you commented slightly too late.

“Oh come on, Ms. Y/N, just a glass to rejoice the Port Mafia’s victory, our victory”, he whined. “Just one, for me”

You sighed. You didn’t want to drink and increase your chances of acting recklessly, but the man got you such an expensive gift - apart from the special treatment - it would be a shame to not even have a glass of wine with him. Besides, it wasn’t him you felt threatened by. What was truly scaring you was your blindness to your own feelings towards him.

“I guess one glass can do no harm…”, you said, reaching for yours.

“That’s it”, he said, raising his, “To our victory, and to you”

You raised your glass, clinged his and took a good sip while trying to hide the smile that almost took control of your face.

Time flew by, and the colors of the sky faded to a subdued crimson before you even realized. The conversation was flowing pretty naturally, with him showing a great interest in your past and asking you questions he hadn’t asked during your undercover interview for the mafia. You tried to reciprocate, but the topic very masterfully turned back to you almost every time as he masterfully avoided most of your questions.

The wine was incredible, better than any wine you’ve ever tasted before. The bottle was soon empty, since every time he made you nervous, you took a sip. Mori had just as much as you, but neither of you were fazed at all.

As much as you hated it, there were moments when your hard, cold exterior broke, and you were warming up to him. But it was getting late, and you thought it’d be wise to call it a night.

“Well I think it’s time for me to go now”, you said, getting up from your chair. “Thanks for the wine, I had a great time”

“Oh no, Y/N”, Mori said, getting up from his seat as well, “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

“I’d really love that”, you said as you slowly started walking towards the door, “but it’s getting late, and we both had our fair share of wine”

You reached for the door handle, but before you could open the door, you felt Mori’s warm hand completely wrapping your wrist. Before you could turn around to look at him, his voice from behind you made your body freeze and your mind go blank.

“Please stay…”

He gently moved his hand up your arm, all the way to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, as your fingers relaxed and eventually let go off the handle a few seconds later.

Mori took a step closer to you, his chest was almost touching your back. He touched both your shoulders with his hands, and slowly brought them down to your wrists again.

“Why are you scared?”

“I’m not scared…”

“Every time you give me a sarcastic comment and play it cool, I know it’s because you’re scared”

You really wanted to prove him wrong, but it didn’t take much thought to realize that what he said was true. That was quite uncalled for, you couldn’t think of anything to say to him to deny it.

“Is it me, or is it your own feelings?”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s so scary how you’re interested in me”, he said, bringing his hands on your waist and moving them up and down your sides, “you never thought you’d find yourself attracted to someone like me, did you? You almost feel ashamed”

Your heart was beating faster and faster.

“Truth is”, he whispered, letting his hands glide along the fabric of your dress, down to your hips, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no shame in being attracted to someone and enjoying their attention. Everybody wants to feel special, wanted, desired…”

He paused for a little.

“At the end of the day, the door is in front of you, and the choice is yours” he said, taking a step back and making the distance between you bigger. “You’re free to go if you wish to”

He placed his fingertips on your nape and softly traced a line down the entire length of your bare back.

“But…if you choose to stay, I’ll take it as a ‘yes’ to proceed”, he warned, fiddling the zipper of your dress in his fingertips.

You felt your throat tighten, as if some invisible rope was wrapped around it. It was obvious to you what his intentions were for the night, and you couldn’t pretend not to understand anymore. His words were true, you really wanted him, even though you’d rather die than ever openly admit it to him — or anybody really.

As you felt time slow down in the room that was only minimally lit by then, you thought that maybe, it was time to let go of the shame. Maybe shame was the only thing holding you back from taking pleasure in something ridiculously simple; the fact that you were just two people that were attracted to each other. And maybe, everything else was nothing more than just complications you came up with to indulge in your self-disgust.

This was all becoming too much to process. It was about time you made things a little easier for yourself just once, it was about time you shushed your brain and let things take their natural course.

You stood there, but the tension you previously felt left your body like dirt getting washed away by the water, and you bet that Mori noticed that subtle change within you.

“That door you were about to walk out of”, he said, and you could hear his grin through his voice, “how about you lock it instead?”

You did as he asked and slowly turned the key that was already in the keyhole, while he was still playing with the zipper of the dress.

“Good…”

You wanted to turn around, but before you could even finish that thought, Mori had already taken care of that for you, and as he held your hips, your body mindlessly followed his hands’ commands.

Just as swiftly, he pulled you closer and buried his lips in yours with such desperation and hunger, as if he could only sustain himself and wait for you to fall into his arms for so long.

Your eyelids grew heavier as you gave in to the kiss, and once you were completely sunk in it, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

A few moments later, you found yourself pushed against the wall, where Mori’s knee was between your legs and a strap of your dress was patiently hanging off your shoulder. His hungry mouth was all over yours, and his teeth were pulling and biting on your needful lower lip.

His hands were wandering all over your curves in self-pleasure, until his fingers slithered through the slit of your dress and started brushing the hem of your underwear. He slowly pulled it down and moved his knee, so it could fall on the floor and get out of his way.

Your stomach tensed up as he grazed two fingers over your outer lips. It was as if everything suddenly went silent, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat. What was going on? Were the two of you really about to take things to the next level? Was this really the right thing you were doing? God knows how much you’re gonna hate yourself afterwards.

He started rubbing your sensitive clit in circles, but he didn’t fail to notice that there was something bothering you, something that held your true reaction back. His hand stopped, and he brought his head next to your ear.

“Just let it go… there’s no need to be afraid anymore…”, he whispered and then resumed the movement of his fingers, while he reached down to kiss your delicate neck.

Waves of delight grew within you as he nibbled on your skin and as he gradually increased the speed and the pressure in his fingers. Mori was very amused by the sinful sounds that escaped your mouth as his fingers moved from your clit to your entrance and made their way inside you.

You felt a bit of pain at first, a pain which then marvelously melted into an immense feeling of pleasure, leaving you moaning and wanting more every time he pushed his fingers in.

“I don’t think you feel so guilty anymore…”, he smirked, keeping his hand moving at the same, unhurried pace, “mhm?”

“No”, you uttered in between strained breaths “no…”

“Beautiful… because we have all the time in the world”

Deeper and deeper moans emerged from your throat, causing Mori to slow down and eventually withdraw his fingers, because of course he wouldn’t want you to finish so fast. As you started catching your breath, you looked at him with a silent plea in your eyes, as if voicelessly asking him why he had to stop there.

His intense gaze was cast upon you, in a manner that reassured you that you were about to feel very good in just a little while. He took your hand and led you away from the door and towards the edge of the bed, where he embraced you in a passionate kiss once again. Undoubtedly, things were just about to get very interesting.

You reached for his belt and rapidly unbuckled it, moving on to the lower buttons of his shirt.

“You’re in… such a rush”, he chuckled in the middle of the kiss, as he loosened his tie with his index finger and took it off.

Normally you’d come up with some smart-ass response for this, but now you were clearly occupied with the noble job of taking off his shirt. Mori was fascinated by your impatience, so he let you have your way and assisted in your undressing too. That zipper that had been pleading to be undone since before this entire embroilment even began, he finally pulled it down, letting your dress graciously fall off your body.

As your lips got separated, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pressed it down, so that you lay on the mattress with your entire figure exposed before him for the first time. His eyes lingered over you as he spoke under his breath.

“Finally…”

Mori keenly climbed on top of you, and his eyes lit up with a sparkle you’d never seen in them before. He brushed your hair away with the knuckles of his fingers, so that he could easily kiss on your jawline. In the meantime, you made sure that his pants found themselves on the pile with all of your clothes on the floor, and shortly after, you let the entirety of his hair free to decorate the sides of his face.

After adjusting himself a little bit better on top of you, he brought both of his legs between yours and eventually positioned himself nicely above you. You could feel his erection rub against your sensitive area, and a certain type of agitation grew within you.

As he slowly started penetrating you, you experienced a thawed pain, a pain which you haven’t felt in quite a while. Ever since you joined the Port Mafia, you hadn’t gotten together with anybody, and sleeping around was definitely not part of your plans.

You swallowed the saliva down your throat and clenched your jaw while taking it in and getting used to the feeling. His breathing next to your ear grew heavier every time he went deeper, until it resolved into a seraphic, resonant groan once his full length made its way inside you.

He reached for your leg and brought it bent beside his hip, where he caressed your thigh and your calf. His other arm was wrapped around you, holding on to the back of your head. Soon enough, his lips found yours again in the fire of another long lustful kiss, as he started moving his pelvis again.

Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and your fingertips were digging into his pale skin. The pain you felt had already transformed into a rich delight as his painstakingly slow pace started growing moderate, but still remained as profuse. The heat of his body fully embracing yours turned your mind hazy, and both your moans fused beautifully in each other’s mouth.

After a while, you brought your other leg up as well and then wrapped them both around his waist, pushing him down deeper inside you. Sensing your neediness, Mori’s lips caressed yours with even greater zest, while his other hand slid underneath your waist and pulled it closer to him. As the intoxicating sensation overpowered you, you brought one hand on his head and entangled your fingers in the roots of his hair, clenching your fist with every ripple of electrifying bliss.

Slowing down and eventually pulling out, he broke the kiss and with his purple orbs staring into your soul, he whispered:

“Turn around for me”

You complied with his request and lied on your stomach, turning your head so that your cheek touched one of the silky pillows and letting your hands rest beside each of your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, and with a mischievous smile, he uttered:

“Good girl…”

His smooth, honeyed voice saying these words made your heart skip a beat. You felt his ardent breath just below your head as he planted kisses on your nape, while his hands softly moved up and down your sides. His mouth kept traveling downwards, leaving a trail of moisture all the way down to your spine.

Soon after, he wrapped one arm around your waist and lifted your hips slightly higher, while his other arm held on to the black, metal bedpost for support. As he pushed himself inside you once again, a pulsating, drawn-out grunt escaped his mouth.

“Ugh, fuck…”

You couldn’t help but moan in ecstasy when he resumed the movement of his hips. Watching you quiver underneath him and mercilessly grab the soft fabric of the bed covers, he enjoyed the moment just as much as you did. He loved seeing you in a state of complete frenzy, knowing that he was the one who got you into it.

For a brief moment as he was looking at you from above, you slightly turned your head further to the side so that your eyes met his. The expression in your face was making it clear to him that you felt great, but that you also needed a little more: just a little bit more before he could have you climax.

Without exiting you, Mori lowered his body closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and the heat of his burning skin completely engulfing your upper body. He pushed your legs a little further open with his knees and took his arm from your waist, slowly pushing your hips with his all the way down so that they touch the mattress.

He brought his elbows outside yours and let his palms glide over your forearms and your wrists. Once they completely covered yours, he intertwined his slender fingers between yours and gave your hands a long, firm squeeze. His head was leaning next to yours, and he was licking and biting on your ear, from your earlobe all the way to your helix.

Everything about the situation was so overwhelmingly hedonic. His weight above you, his breathing against your ear, the sweet amber scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils in the most delightful way… it was all so much to take in. His thrusts were getting harder and deeper, and you succumbed all the more to this excessive, unyielding sensation and getting closer and closer.

Your mewls had become ever so profound and intense by the time you reached your limit. Mori followed a few seconds after he slowed down his pace, pulling out and releasing his thick, hot liquid all over your lower back. Even many seconds after it was all over, it felt as if his final silvery sounds of overindulgence were still echoing inside that bedroom.

After you both took a moment to catch your breaths, he rolled over to his nightstand and got a tissue to wipe his residue off your body. It was just about then that you were just starting to come back to your senses, and you silently wondered:

What the hell just happened?

As you were lying naked on your boss’s bed, all these thoughts were hovering in your head again, and it suddenly hit you: things can’t go back to how they were. Such confusion…on one hand, you couldn’t even in the slightest predict how it would all be from now on. You felt as though all control had been lost now that this happened, and guilt was creeping up inside you once again.

But on the other hand, you kept getting distracted by the fact that it was nothing like the way you thought it would be. You expected the calm, cold head of the Port Mafia to be rough and vicious in a setting like this. Especially the way he was trying to lure you in this entire time, the way he convinced you to stay… You couldn’t possibly imagine that there would be such a sensual and erotic side to him…

You quickly put a stop to these thoughts, knowing that nothing good could ever come out of you viewing your boss that way. Besides, you were absolutely sure that this was just a one-time thing, and that it would never happen again. And as your sense of time was slowly kicking in again, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

It read 12:20.

Time had flown by so fast, you couldn’t believe it. All of a sudden a sense of panic grew within you. What if someone was looking for you late at night, but found your room empty? What if they’ve noticed that Mori is not in his office either? What would they assume then? You had to get out of there as soon as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the mattress and rolled towards the side of the bed to make your way out, but you felt an arm wrapping your waist from underneath.

“Tsk tsk tsk, where do you think you’re going?”, Mori asked mischievously as he pulled you closer to himself.

“The Mighty Leader of the Port Mafia wants to spoon”, you chuckled, “now if that’s not a surprise…”

“You’re so cruel…”, he whined as he caressed your cheek from behind and lathered soft kisses all over the crook of your neck. Your body momentarily relaxed as he wrapped his other arm around your waist as well, feeling a mellow warmth that you haven’t experienced in so, so long.

“I have to go”, you sighed, “it’s past midnight…”

“So what?”, he asked and kissed your shoulder. “Spend the night here”

“So…” you said, your voice going slightly higher as you were thinking of what to say next, “someone might need me…”

Mori quietly laughed, and you felt his bare chest gently pump against your back a couple of times. “At midnight!”

“Uhh, yeah…?” you responded as if it was so obvious, but deep down you knew your excuse was pretty weak to begin with.

“Do you get bothered a lot at midnight?” he mocked.

“Ugh please, just-“ you said, rolling your eyes and lifting up his arm to get up. Mori’s eyes widened in surprise at what you just did, but they quickly relaxed as a sly grin morphed into his face.

“That’s no way of treating your superior, you know…”, he remarked as he was closely watching you put your clothes back on.

“Back to being my superior, huh?”, you mumbled, cocking an eyebrow, but without looking at him.

“Nothing changes that, my dear…” he answered in a gentle tone.

“You see, here’s the thing…”, you said as you put the straps of your dress and adjusted them on your shoulders, still avoiding eye contact, “Just because this happened once, doesn’t mean I’m ‘your dear’ or anything…”

“Of course…”, he responded with a chuckle, “Don’t be surprised that I’m still your superior then…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you asked, snapping your head towards him.

“Oh, nothing…” he said and paused for a while, slightly getting on your nerves, “Congratulations once again for today, you did a very good job”

“It’s literally all I do every single time”, you replied nonchalantly as you zipped yourself up and reached for your shoes.

“That doesn’t make you any less valuable ”, he said.

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just remained silent. Whenever he talked about value, he was always referring to your work, but not you as a person… Could that mean something changed, or were you just overthinking it?

“Anyway…”, you muttered awkwardly after a short pause, “I’ll excuse myself…”

“As you wish”, he answered, watching you walk all the way to the door and unlock it. “Perhaps we’ll have wine again soon…” he added in a slightly louder voice, making sure you heard him from across the room.

“Perhaps…” you responded as you opened the door, “Goodnight, boss”

“Goodnight Y/N”, you heard his soft voice moments before you shut the door behind you.

You took a deep breath before you started walking quietly like a cat, all the way back to your room. Once you made it inside and locked the door, you threw yourself on your bed and stared at your empty ceiling. With all these thoughts in your head and everything that just happened, this was about to be a very long, sleepless night…

A/N: If you made it here, thank you so much for reading once again! I tried to make it as realistic as I could considering the whole… situation. Please don’t unfollow me, I promise I’m normal and I’ll be posting normal content again very soon! But yeah, if Mori p3rv3rt, why sexy…?

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #not sfw #mori ogai #mori ogai x reader #anime #bungo stray dogs #anime community

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blackwolfstabs · 1 year ago

Text

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 19

NIGHTMARE

Sam has a nightmare and Tara forces her out of it.

A scream woke Tara out of a dead-sleep. A bloodcurdling scream. She jolted awake, finding the soft glow of her night light meeting the walls. All was quiet, the only noise being the humming of the air conditioner.

Had it come from her dream? No, because she hadn’t been dreaming.

Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her from the trauma. Going to therapy and having to talk through it all was catching up with her throughout the day, so she shouldn’t expect anything different at night, considering that’s when most of the traumatic things happened.

She reached over to her bedside and grabbed her inhaler to take in a deep breath. Her heart was thumping from the scare, but it started to settle after this, which made her pull her covers back up to drift off again.

“No!”

Her eyes opened again. Never mind. It was real. And it wasn’t just an anonymous scream. It was Sam’s.

“N-no-hooo!”

And then a guttural scream with no words came. It was followed by:

“No, pleeaase!”

It sounded like she was struggling, as if being restrained. But it also sounded painful. Very painful and not like her at all.

“Stop i-hit! Tara! Taraaaa!”

Tara’s heart started gunning. She didn’t even think as she kicked her covers off and raced out of the room. All her brain was telling her was that her sister was in trouble, and she was screaming her name at the top of her lungs. She didn’t know if it was in the context of begging or calling, but it didn’t matter.

She threw Sam’s door open the second she hit it and ran in to find Sam a whimpering mess in her bed. She was in the midst of turning onto her right side, facing Tara’s direction as she came closer. She must have been thrashing, because the sheets and overlaying blanket had been partially kicked all the way down to the end of the bed. The ones beneath Sam’s figure were darker than the rest around her, revealing that she was sweating heavily.

Tara knew then that her sister was having a nightmare, like the ones she would have, herself, and if she were fair, it came off as a shock to see her like that. It wasn’t that Sam never had nightmares that left her sweating and experiencing intense fear, it was just the first time she had ever started screaming during one.

The frontal strands of her hair were strung across her chest, sticking to her neck from her sweat, while her clothing was disheveled, her shirt riding up in the back to show scratch marks that curved from her back to her sides, as if she had been clawing herself to get free of whatever she felt was tormenting her.

She whimpered again, digging her nails into the sheets and curling in on herself like a cowering animal. Her voice cracked as she whined.

“Tara-haaa!”

Tara rushed up to the bedside and began shaking her shoulder. “Sam, wake up,” she spoke, careful not to scream in case the line between dream and reality wasn’t clear. But the newfound contact just made her older sister start to thrash again.

“No!” she shouted, throwing her shoulder back to shake off the touch. She turned onto her back, feeling the hand leave her but still cautious of it coming back. “Leave me alone!”

She kicked out and tried to move onto her other side, but her younger sister wouldn’t let her do so. “Sam! It’s okay!” she called out to her, grabbing both of her shoulders to try and keep her still.

“Tara!”

“I’m here!” She removed one hand to brush the tangled strands of hair from her sister’s face. “I’m here, Sammy! Open your eyes!”

Samantha was ripped from her night terror but not into a peaceful realization. She gasped for breath, nearly hyperventilating as she looked around frantically, her gaze heavily glazed with the former dream world.

“Hey, hey,” Tara regained her attention as she sat down on the edge of the mattress to calm her down. She used a much softer voice now, letting her hands slide down the arms she held, “It’s okay, it’s okay—”

“Get off me!” her sister snapped and pulled her nearest arm away. Her tone was stronger than her prior whimpering, but it was more like fear set on fire than anger.

“Sam, relax! It’s me,” she told her, “It’s Tara.”

And then she stopped trying to get away. Her thrashing ceased, and she found her baby sister’s pure gaze that was full of concern. Her panting settled into more whimpers as her eyes started to clear into reality.

“Breathe…” Tara gently combed the rest of her hair from sticking to her skin and guided it behind her shoulder. “You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

As her surroundings started to sink in, Sam forced herself to try and settle down. She could feel the sweat coating her neck and dampening the cloth clinging to her back. She dropped her head, wiping her face with her hand. “I-I’m sorry…” she breathed, still sounding shook-up, “It was just a dream.” She didn’t know the exact time, but she was well aware that it was the middle of the night and she had disturbed Tara from sleeping.

“It’s okay,” the younger replied, “I get them too. It’s fine.”

A shaky groan came from her as she sighed another attempt-at-recovering sigh. She pushed herself upright and backwards to sit against the headboard, her legs trembling as she brought her knees up to let one elbow rest against them to hold her forehead. The other hand drew her hair back then dropped to her torso. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been—and still was—until her abdominal muscles started to ache, her adrenaline wearing off to feed into the other side effects aside from sweating. But she couldn’t stop tensing. If she did, she wouldn’t stop shaking, and that would only influence her into a full-blown anxiety attack. She didn’t experience anxiety attacks very often, but when she did, they were usually induced by trauma.

And that nightmare she had just been torn from was by far the worst she had experienced, since she had come back to Woodsboro and faced who she really was.

Tara watched her carefully, noticing everything. The way she would tremble violently when she would exhale. The way her core would clench to show the definition of her abs, due to her shirt being ridden from her thrashing. The way her eyes wouldn’t leave her knees, staring as the events that she had mentally just experienced played behind her eyes, taunting her with the helplessness and desperation they caused. The way her throat convulsed and her lips quivered in trying to hold back the emotions that pressed her to express themselves. Tara knew it all. She had done this dance countlessly, having been the one experiencing nightmares this severe. She knew exactly what she needed and was trying to hold back, because Sam had never been the one in the vulnerable position. And that was a hard pill to swallow. “What happened?” she asked her. Her eyes caught the way the older’s legs tensed at the question, one foot crossing on top of the other, like she was fighting herself on answering. “What was it about?”

Sam’s brow twitched, and her jaw clenched. Her eyes began to burn. She dropped her elevated hand from her hairline and brought her inferior one up from her stomach, uniting them at her knees. She croaked out a stalling hum, her throat scratchy and scraped from her excessive screaming. The longer she was awake, the more painful and real her nightmare became, especially with Tara being right next to her. Her voice, her soulful brown eyes, her touch, having her be comforting. Usually, it was Sam doing the comforting, talking Tara through things and showing a sense of control that was so powerful, it could dominate any terrible thought or thing.

But tonight, it was Tara. And she had been taught well.

The younger Carpenter moved herself closer. “It’s okay to cry, Sam,” she told her. “It’s just me. Let it go.”

Her sister didn’t look up, tempted more than ever to do exactly that. But she didn’t want to, because she didn’t know if she would be able to stop. She swallowed with an involuntary whimper, then took in a deep breath. Her chest hitched with welling sobs that pushed up to her throat. And that’s when she couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled her knees in close and hid her face in her folded forearms, jolting as her tears fell.

Tara crawled up onto the bed fully and went to sit next to her, embracing her in a side-hug while rubbing her side. Her shirt was cool, her skin was clammy, and beneath her own bare legs, she could feel the damp sheets like cold water. She had no doubt the cooling sweat was contributing to Sam’s shaking. She heard her voice come through the next round of sobs, which made her set her head on top of her bowed one. “It’s alright, Sammy. You’re safe. We’re home. Nothing’s gonna hurt us,” she soothed.

However, it wasn’t just about her safety. It was so much more that had her safety deserving to be put in danger—according to the demons in her dreams. The older Carpenter sniffled and lowered her knees to turn and pull the other into a proper hug, burying her face into the crook of her neck.

And Tara took it, holding her as she continued to cry. “Do you wanna tell me about it?” She felt the hold on her grow tighter.

Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to forget about it. She wished she’d have woken up with amnesia. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. So, all she needed right now was this moment to get it off her chest, whatever it was.

“Okay, you don’t have to.”

At least Tara was there. Her warmth, her voice, her scent, her love… It was Tara’s, and that was the only person she could imagine taking away the kind of pain that wreaked havoc on her world. She was swallowing a lot of drainage by now though, which wouldn’t be good in a few minutes, so she needed to stop crying. But that was one of the main reasons she tried to never let herself cry in the first place… whenever she did, she never seemed to be able to stop.

And Tara knew that. Like full-blooded siblings, they knew everything about each other. She gently tugged down her still-ridden top in the back, covering the remains of scratch marks. “Try to take a few deep breaths now,” she ordered, rehearsing what she was usually told whenever their roles had been switched. “You don’t wanna swallow too much snot. It’ll mess up your stomach.”

Samantha tried, her breaths still hitching as she did so, but being so close to her sister was making it hard to recover. She would accidentally let go of a small cry, then bite it back with a sharp inhale. She felt so weak. She hated that. She wasn’t supposed to be that way. She had handled so much more than nightmares. Hell, she’d lived nightmares—multiple times. Why was this so hard?

“Sam—”

“I’m try-hying…” she choked out, knowing she needed to show more self-composure. She forced herself to pull away from Tara’s warm figure, sniffling and wiping her tears away. She dug her nails into her bedding, closing her eyes to focus on reality. Her lips pulled inward, and she kept swallowing back the urge to break down again. But eventually, she regained enough to speak without having to stop. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop.” Tara reached out and wiped a remaining tear from her flushed cheek. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize.” Glossy eyes raised to meet her own. “You’ve seen my nightmares a lot. They fucking hurt.”

Sam blinked at her, her breath shuddering with her trembling.

“You don’t ever need to apologize for being hurt.”

She sniffled and nodded, before she hung her head again. Those words coming off of Tara’s tongue were purely out of experience. Tara was hurt a million times and in a million different ways, and every time, it was expressed in some way, shape, or form. But she never apologized for any of it.

Pain is an element that couldn’t be contained or redirected, and therefore, expressing it was never an accident. It was simply the mourning of losing control when it was least expected.

While her big sister continued to recover, Tara slowly backed off of the bed. “I’m gonna go get you some water,” she told her as she turned to make way for the door. To her surprise, she was answered with an anxious voice.

“Wait!”

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m just going to get you some water—”

But Sam stared at her with pleading eyes. “No, no. Please, don’t leave,” she begged, sounding on the verge of tears again.

Her baby sister blinked at her, a little taken aback by the vulnerability she was expressing. “Sam… I’ll be right back, okay? It’ll be less than a minute, I promise,” she assured and gave her a small smile. Then, she tried to lighten the mood. “Time me, if you want.” Actually, that was a perfect distraction. Even though the other didn’t seem too convinced, she instructed, “Yeah, count to 60. I’ll be back before then.”

She raced out of the room.

And Sam counted.

… 36. Tara’s figure reappeared and approached the bedside again. “What’s my time? Were you counting?” She held out the filled cup.

Sam took it with a shaky hand and took a small sip. “36…” she answered.

Tara giggled. “See? I told you I’d make it in less than a minute.” Her sister didn’t smile or show any acknowledgement as she sipped her water again. She then took a seat on the edge, watching her continue to take small, but frequent sips. She was still shaking badly, but her breathing was under control now.

“Tara?” Sam lowered the cup but hesitated to raise her eyes.

“Hmm?”

She looked like an abandoned puppy that had just come in from the pouring rain, when she met her sister’s gaze. Her voice softened, as if what she was saying wasn’t supposed to be heard by anyone but the two of them, “Can you stay with me?”

The younger blinked at her. She couldn’t say this question took her by surprise, but she couldn’t say she expected it either. However, instinct had her nodding anyway, “Yeah, sure.” It was almost like she could see a weight lift off of her sibling as she sighed and went to sit back in a more comfortable position. She took the cup from her hand and set it on the bedside table.

Samantha shuddered, leaning forward to grab the blankets she had mindlessly kicked away. She still couldn’t stop shaking, even though she had calmed down from waking up.

“Wait, wait, Sam.” She was interrupted. “Don’t do that yet.”

“I-I’m cold, Tara…” she objected, watching the other cross the end of the bed to go to her dresser.

“I know, but you need to change into some dry clothes first. That’s why you’re so cold.” Tara pulled out the first top she found from the second drawer down. It was a white cropped tank top, and she paired it with some light gray shorts, before going back to her sister. “Here,” she held them out, “Change into these.”

Sam didn’t fight her as she took them and did as she was told. Meanwhile, she pulled the sheets up and tucked them beneath the pillows, which she flipped over, to avoid them laying on the dampened sheets beneath.

“Can we just sleep with your blanket?” she asked.

The other nodded. “Mm-hmm.” She had now traded her attire completely and placed them in the laundry basket in the corner of her room. As she made her way back, she crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, her neck and limbs still feeling the chill of the ceiling fan’s billowing.

Tara had already found her way under the ivory blanket and beckoned her to join with a comforting smile. When her big sister complied and laid down next to her, she tugged the cover up and moved closer to her. She wrapped her arm around her torso, her forearm finding the bare portion of her stomach that the top didn’t cover. Her skin felt hot, but she could feel the goosebumps that tainted it, which led to her feeling the tension of her abs convulsing beneath her touch. “Relax, Sammy,” she whispered, her eyes shut as she gently nuzzled the other’s neck in moving to rest her head on her collarbone. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Sam sighed against her now-dry surroundings, still trying to warm up as she shuddered into her little sister’s embrace. She wanted to release all of the tension her body held, but it was like she couldn’t control it. She couldn’t let go. Beneath the covers, she felt Tara’s arm slide backwards to have her hand rest over her exposed skin. She released a shaky moan when her thumb started to pet back and forth over the area, “Mmm…”

“Breathe with your stomach,” Tara continued to whisper, “If you make the effort to force yourself to relax, your body will follow.” And in another moment, she felt the tension underneath her palm start to melt, the warmth of her sister’s abdomen filling her hand. She smiled, “There you go.”

The other shifted further down the mattress, seeming to favor the caressing contact her sibling was giving her, which made the giver chuckle a little.

Tara then heard a soft hum come from her sister and felt the gentle weight of her chin rest against her head. “Now, try to sleep,” she told her, glad that she was finally getting comfortable. “I’m not going anywhere…”

Samantha barely nodded, already starting to drift off. “Thank you, Tara…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She yawned, falling under the same spell.

“Always… Sammy…”

p.s. random nerd note: when Sam said "No, no. Please, don't leave." - that was a quote taken from Melissa's character in the film Bed Rest, Julie Rivers. I had to look up the part to quote it and hearing her say it in the same fearful tone Sam would've said it here... FUCK i felt it. 🤌

All my best! ♡ - parker

#scream #scream v #scream vi #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #ao3 author #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #30 day writing challenge #nightmare #AU: All My Heart

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cdroloisms · 3 months ago

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birdhouse question, you’ve talked a bit about how the arrival of pream changes the birdhouse dynamic but i’m wondering how do j!dream and c!dream react to nettle specifically when she and pream show up? if this is before the rest of the babies appear, then this is like…their first (?) interaction with Baby tm so how does that go? how do ff!sam and j!sam react to nettle?

Yes !!! So there’s two versions of Nettle in birdhouse for the two versions of coparents that arrive in birdhouse — in both cases, coparent!Sam arrives first, 3 years or so into Mayfair, so when c!/j!Dream is ~25 and he’s ~45. In regular birdhouse, it’s ocean escape p!Sam, so biological c!awesamdream baby Nettle isn’t a thing—p!Sam is languishing in regret and has been going to therapy and separated from p!Dream for a little while already. About 9 months later, p!Dream arrives in birdhouse. In this continuity, if Nettle happens, she’s a magic baby with JJ and Aggie, given to the Dreams by XD.

In awesamdad birdhouse, however, the situation is quite different. awesamdad!sam arrives in birdhouse at the same time as p!Sam, so about 3 years into Mayfair—only instead of months of separation from Dream and therapy and grappling with the fact that he’s lived his life wrong, he’s spent the last year of his life absorbed in diet plans and house babyproofing and helping p!Dream through pregnancy and construction projects and work and caring for a newborn and p!Dream postpartum and therapy worksheets (see: scream eureka, my forever beloved). Nettle would’ve been about … 3 months old or so when he suddenly gets teleported out of his home into a different dimension. And he’s…um. A little preoccupied.

(more under the cut)

In og birdhouse, with ocean escape p!Sam, p!Sam is sopping wet and in therapy and sees the whole thing as divine punishment or a chance to make some of his past wrongs right or whatever and immediately kicks up a fuss. This gets him treated with suspicion, and he gets fitted with his own little house arrest armband when the other Sams realize he’s enough of a Dream sympathizer to actually, like, present a problem for security. Probably because he becomes a problem to security. Immediately. d!Sam, on the other hand, isn't at the point of "sex with your prisoner has an inherent power dynamic that makes it Wrong!" or "dreams are human and deserve rights and also i have so much guiltabout my entire existence and therefore maybe all sams showed be blowed the hell up" like, mmmm. At all. He's still riding the "we are better now because we both Got Better and have gone through Character Development through the trials and tribulations of the last 20 years of our lives [including: 8 years stalking 12+ years crazypants physical, emotional, verbal abuse, kidnapping a kid and then raising him, conditioning the fuck out of your exprisoner who you tortured and then proceeded to torture in front of his son which you raised as your own son while keeping him in your basement and also dubcon sex btw] and we are Good now and the past is in the past and everythingis awesome #TRUELOVE" cope train, and this means that his whole Everything isn't nearly as much of an inherent challenge to the Sams' deal in birdhouse, on either side.

That doesn't mean that it's not uncomfortable for them though. d!Sam is ... well he's frantic, and desperate, and Very Very Sad (I miss miss my wife tails. I miss her a lot.) and j!Sam ... is a good host :] he wants to elp. From both j!Sam, who finds it completely unimaginable to be in any kind of unabashedly positive relationship with a Dream, never mind married to one with a newborn--and d!Sam, who is in a house with prisoners and Wardens and A Basement again and feeling certain memories tug at him that he would much prefer have put to rest, they're very much seeking some kind of magical justification that helps them cope with the situation without having to say that the other one is A Bad Guy, and what works best (and already is something that has a foundation in their current worldviews) is creating a strict distinction between the Dreams-who-are-prisoners and the Dreams-who-are-husbands. My Dream isn't like yours, he's good now ^_^ / my prisoner needs a Firm Hand and Structure and Control, it's necessary ^_^. We are both right and we are both Doing The Right Thing and you're a good guy/I'm a good guy AND NOTHING IS WRONG. #TRUST.

So even before p!Dream arrives, there's a ... lot of separation that is established in the minds of Sams for the sake of soothing both of their discontented feelings at the very different places that they're at in their lives. I know what's best for my Dream is a shared sentiment that still holds true, which means that they can hold on to that as a lifeline, avoid stepping on toes that may force them to reckon with the inherent contradictions at play here, and move on with their mutually reinforcing cope just don't look at anything too hard. I still haven't even gotten to the Nettle of it all I'm sorry THIS IS (KIND OF) NECESSARY CONTEXT:

anyway. This kind of sets the stage for when p!Dream arrives with Baby like, 3 months later (in the meantime, Briar had actually kinda crashed in p!Dream's house). d!Sam makes it very clear from the get go that p!Dream is off-limits. He's not a prisoner, you can't treat him Like A Dream, Dreams shouldn't fuck with his family either, these people are the most important people in the world to him Do Not Mess With This. j!Sam, who has established a sort-of friendship stat with d!Sam and all the aforementioned Dream-related cope to deal with the differences in their circumstances, doesn't really challenge this at all. Sam and Sam's husband and Sam's child are his guests, this is fine, this is normal. Just don't think about the awesamdream of it all too hard and everything will be A-okay. So...his reaction is very much an effort at This Is Fine and Normal, everything is Fine and Normal, I am a good host and I trust my friend and everything is under control. j!Sam thinks that d!Sam is a good guy with a good head on his shoulders and the whole situation is ... different, they agree on that, and he's a good bro so d!Sam's deal with his family isn't his business besides how he's going to make an effort to be a good friend and host and roommate--it helps that p!Dream looks so different, and helps more when he doesn't reeeeeally interact with the guy. p!Dream gets his own marker on the refrigerator dry erase board for groceries and spends time with his clingy ass husband and j!Sam keeps making sure that the house is running shipshape and that the prisoners are remaining well within the lines.

j!Sam likes d!Sam, and he likes kids in general ... he does like Nettle quite a bit? Eventually he may even babysit, and quite enjoys doing stuff like reading to her in those stupid cardboard baby books. She's a cute baby, and she's his friend's baby, and she's a little creeper baby that does things like [hissssssss] when she gets grumpy--look at her little Mary Janes, they're so tiny! etc.

ff!Sam isn't quite on the same cope train as j!Sam, but is outnumbered and not that inclined to intervene, either. He just dgaf. ff!Sam is even more entrenched in the "Dreams are unsalvageable and fundamentally cannot be fixed once they're Evil Adults" belief system bc he fucking magicked his prisoner into a child, but the other consequence of this is that what he's done is separate out Faith (his prisoner that is now his son) and the other prisoners (Dream /neg), with his personal fixation being on the former and not the latter. ff!Sam is a little uncomfortable with how j!Sam is insistent on how he should answer to him--he feels pretty consistently put down and disrespected, which plays into the use of c/j!Dream's for both him and j!Sam to better establish the house hierarchy, but his duty is now to Fix Faith And Raise Him Right moreso than just being singularly focused on subjugating and controlling all Dreams who is evil. That's just his hobby on the side. He definitely buys into the whole d!Sam + coparents deal less, in large part bc d!Sam just doesn't like the guy and thinks he's weirdchamp, but neither is he really trying to Prove Anything to d!Sam or j!Sam about p!Dream bc 1) d!Sam would actually just kill him and 2) it doesn't really get him anything he wants--d!Sam is generally uninterested in Wardening (tm) at this point (he's retired!) and j!Sam is the one he's having his dick measuring contest with. He thinks the baby is cute enough though.

c!Dream hates. d!Sam. Absolutely despises him and is suspicious of his whole deal nonstop. You married Dream and you love him soooo much and you think he's good now and everything is okay yeah right fuck that noise. He's certain that Sam will never be satisfied with anything but total ownership over every element of his life, and figures that having a fucking baby with him is just one more aspect of this. He doesn't really bond with this p!Dream nearly as quickly as he does in regular birdhouse due to a lot of wariness on both sides--p!Dream is someone separated out by the Sams as not being part of the Dreams-as-prisoners team, and c!Dream doesn't trust d!Sam's deal enough to do anything risky (how brainwashed is this Dream? What is the leash keeping him in line? what's happening behind closed doors, what does he have on him, what happens when the facade falls...) such as, trusting this one to have his back, yet. He can see how a Sam might decide that marriage is what he wants or whatever the fuck to spice it up and fancy himself "in love" with Dream, but that doesn't make it not the same exact thing as it's always been. That being said...even though it's Sam's baby, and even though he doesn't give a shit (#trust), he's...well, he's been the designated punching bag in the house for a long time. He can cover for someone else, if there's a need for it.

and j!Dream ... well. It depends, a little bit, on biology I won't lie--we've written both afab and amab j!Dreams and if he's able to have a baby, then Nettle does mean something a little different to him than if not biologically possible. Either way, though, c!Awesamdream in gay love and married with a family means. A lot to him, even in og birdhouse, and even moreso in awesamdad birdhouse where he's actually seeing the "happy ending" with his own two eyes. There could be an end to this rat race -- it's possible, for Sam to love him, for him to love him enough to want him as something Different, to replace "prisoner" with something better. does Sam want a baby with him? What can he do, to earn this, to make Sam love him, what more does he have to do, what does it take. he's not even entirely sure what the benefits of marriage are in a more concrete way--isn't quite sure what discipline might look like, or rules, or worst-case-scenarios, but the existence of coparents and of nettle opens the door for possibilities that seemed so farfetched before he knew of them. So ... he's, investigating. And yearning. p!Dream found the key to the lock and he broke it all open ... which means that it exists, it's possible, he just has to find it. Right?

At the same time ... he's quite awkward around the baby. He's. Uhm. Well he's. [Vague gesture at himself and what he's wearing] Y'know. Not really ... family friendly. Haha.

IN CONCLUSION:

#this is so longhope you enjoy the infodump #birdhouse AU #my asks !!

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sizebrained · 1 month ago

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Halloween Party, Part 1

The siblings get dressed up and go to a Halloween Costume Party, well most of them. Also technically #gtober2024 No. 29 - Costume!

CW: Adult themes, language, suggestive

*** Sam knocked on the Ben's door. She wanted to surprise him with her costume like they were trick-or-treaters.

Earlier that Halloween morning, when Sam had come over to Ben's for breakfast, she went over their plans for the night and refused to tell him what she was going as yet again. "It's a surprise! Cob and I are going as a...well...our costumes are a package." Sam said earlier that day. She had almost said "couple." Sam had almost that her and Cob were going in a couples costume.

That wasn't exactly accurate, the pair weren't really dating. But it also didn't feel like it was totally inaccurate. The two had gotten very close over the past few months. Very close.

They hadn't crossed a line...yet. But they'd gotten close. Very close.

And Sam had stopped sleeping around and having casual hookups like she used to before she met Cob. Sam knew that Cob had noticed. She wanted Cob to notice, hoped that they did. While they talked, Cob was fast asleep in the large front pocket of Sam's hooded sweatshirt. It was Ben's sweatshirt, but Ben had given up trying to get it back from Sam. Eight o'clock in the morning was far too early for Cob's liking, and they had come along from Sam's place only if they could keep sleeping in Sam's pocket. Sam suspected that it was actually Cob's preferred place to rest. Sam wasn't going to object. She liked having them safely tucked against her body. Very slowly and gently, Sam slipped one finger into a side of the pocket. She lightly touched Cob's body to make sure the 3 inch form was still asleep. The top of Cob's tiny head brushed against Sam's fingertip. The large human felt the little figure nuzzle against her skin before turning over and remaining still again.

Sam was sitting at Ben's kitchen counter looking over her patient notes and laptop. Ben was standing across from her on the other side of the expansive countertop surface.

He had his favorite large popcorn bowl cradled against his chest while he whisked 10 eggs together. It was getting a lot more use mixing eggs than popcorn these days.

Ever since Sam had him on a more rigorous workout regimen Ben had been eating nonstop. Hazel was flabbergasted that even someone his size could eat so much. She sometimes wondered if this was how the zookeepers in London felt tending to large mammals. Ben's cast had been off for nearly 3 months now and Sam had worked him into her schedule 4 times a week. Sam had several challenging patients in her master's externship for physical therapy, but most of her time seemed to go into Ben. "Ok but...I still don't know if I want to go...It's going to be crowded and..." Ben started saying before he was interrupted by both his sister and Hazel simaltaneously. "You are going!" The girls quickly called out nearly in unison. Ben winced.

Hazel was on Ben's left shoulder glaring at him more than Sam who didn't even bother to look up at him from her computer to yell. He groaned and turned his back to Sam to cook the eggs on the stovetop. "You know I can never find a costume that'll fit me anyway! What am I supposed to wear?" Ben protested at both of them staring at his eggs.

After he crossed Sam's height when he was still in high school, Ben gave up trying to dress up for Halloween all together. The last time he had dressed up for a Halloween party as a senior he went as Michael Jordan. It was easy and obvious, barely a costume just a jersey and shorts.

Hazel stayed silent as she was not very well versed in modern Halloween traditions. She thought it was rather silly and rooted in superstitions that were easily dismissed with proper reason and logic. Still, it was a holiday she found herself rather fond of amonst American traditions. Hazel could rely on seeing Mary happy every year it came around on the calendar. Her human companion would absolutely light up when children showed up at her doorstep to get sweets and show off their costumes. Mary had so longed for children, Hazel could feel her joy and sorrow at the same time through the revealing pact deep in her tiny body. "Who cares just put on some eye black and say you're the biggest linebacker in the NFL or something." Sam offered finally more focused on her paperwork in the moment. She froze. Ben did too. Ben had turned around to face his sister again waiting for her answer. When he got it, he suddenly turned his back to Sam. He felt terribly self conscious at the suggestion he could pass for a linebacker. Sam looked at his back apologetically. Ben had put on weight and he felt it made him look even bigger. It did make him look bigger. He looked more enormous than normal, like he was more of a threat to doorframes than ever before.

Sam knew it was a lot of muscle weight. But he hadn't done cardio like he used to when he played for a long time. He looked solid rather than lanky like he usually did before the accident. And he had grown out his naturally curly hair, which put a couple more inches on the top of his head than normal.

Sam actually thought he looked pretty healthy for once rather than his usual gaunt self. One year she teased he'd make an amazing Ichabod Crane. Sam couldn't care less about body sizes or types, she knew people came in all types and used to reveled in it, quite often, in the bedroom. So she didn't think suggesting linebacker was a bad thing. Seeing Ben's face as he turned and his heavy silence now, she knew that he did and she felt terrible. Sam instantly regretted her flippant suggestion and searched for a way to cover it up. "Or you know you could just go as LeBron or something Babe..." Sam suggested kicking herself for her insensitive suggestion. Ben stayed silent for several long moments that seemed like forever. "It's going to be so loud..." Ben said focused on his eggs with a frown, not even bothering to finish his thought. He wondered if he could just wear his noise cancelling headphones and claim to be a DJ or something. And hopefully melt into the walls. "And...You will be alright. It will be good for you to be around people at a party. I will be coming as well." Hazel said finishing his sentence for him. She had totally missed the real source of Ben's sudden reaction to Sam's suggestion, mistaking it for his typical apprehension.

She stepped over towards him and placed her earring sized hand right behind Ben's ear, against his thick neck. Ben nodded trying to feel reassured and finished cooking his eggs.

That evening on Halloween, many hours later, Ben found himself at his door after hearing a series of dramatic and loud knocks.

He reached out to open the door but stood far enough back so that he wouldn't have to bend down under the top of the frame to see into the hallway. Ben stared down at his sister taking in her costume. It certainly was a surprise. "Trick or Treat!" Sam and Cob shouted out together. Cob dangled off Sam's shoulder by holding onto a piece of thick string that was attached to a very real, black dog collar around Sam's neck. Ben blinked hard a few times at the pair. His sister was bright red. Literally. Sam was wearing what appeared to be a red, furry two piece bathing suit. It matched the bright red body paint covering the rest of Sam's long body.

In addition to the black collar around her neck, Sam had a pair of fuzzy red dog ears, made from the same fabric as her suit, dangling down the sides of her head. The tip of her nose was painted black and shaped like a heart shaped dog's nose. Ben was sure there would be a tail if she turned around.

Cob was wearing what appeared to be a long blond wig, a bright blue dress, and white stockings. "Oh my god..." Ben let slip and couldn't help but smile. "So are you going to cough up candy or do I have to go get some eggs?" Sam asked annoyed as she ducked under his door and walked past him into his living room. She was even wearing a pair of heels that made her several inches taller but still far shorter than her brother. Ben was amazed he didn't see a tail wag behind her as he closed the door and followed her. "Clifford..." Ben asked even though he knew the answer for what they were dressed as already. "The Big Red Dog!" Sam said grinning. "Where on earth did you get this idea?" Ben asked. "I saw the book in a store and thought I'd make a cute Emily Elizabeth and Sam would make an even better Clifford. She's a little too big though..." Cob replied from Sam's shoulder. "Hey! I am not too big!" Sam said in a mock pout while turning her head slightly towards Cob before returning her attention back to Ben. "Flavor Flav?" Sam said tilting her head up in confusion at her big little brother. He was dressed normally but for what she recognized as the wall clock from his apartment dangling around his neck against his chest. "No. I'm Big Ben. Get it? Like in London" Ben said gesturing to his own wall clock. "But Big Ben is the bell..." Sam said flatly relaying the information that she had learned from Hazel months ago.

"That is what I told him as well. In his defense, Ben is probably correct that few people at an American college party will know that Big Ben is the bell not the clock. And who on earth is Flavor Flav?" Hazel chimed in really pronouncing every sylalble in Flavor Flav.

Hazel was carefully perched on Ben's shoulder, near the curled edge of the hood of his sweatshirt. It was a well worn and practiced spot in case she needed to hide.

Hazel was dressed in one of her home made turtleneck outfits that looked like she was from an old movie with cat burglars. She even had her hair under a wrap, the fabric of both matching the color of Ben's hoodie. If she turned her face away from Sam she'd blend in rather well without having to hide under the fabric of his clothes. She was clearly dressed very seriously rather than for a party. Hazel glared at Cob and the pair exchanged a look. It was a look filled with many different thoughts and feelings, in a way that only siblings can share without talking. Especially siblings who'd been together for centuries. After a moment of silence, Cob looked sheepish knowing Hazel did not approve of several things.

First, how revealing Sam's costume was and accentuated parts of her body. Second, Hazel's suspicion of exactly how some of the harder to reach parts of the giant human girl's body had managed to get painted red guessing Cob helped.

But third, and most egregiously, was Cob being clearly visible part of Sam's costume. It put them out in the open, which went against everything about their kind and humans. Sam noticed Hazel's face. She realized that Cob was right when they explained earlier that their sister would hate this. Sam had told Cob not to worry about it and that she would deal with Cob's big sister. She wanted to have fun with them tonight. Sam thought a Halloween costume party would be one of the few times that maybe they could pass out in the open with Sam rather than always hiding or being afraid to be seen. "Uh...I guess I could say he was a singer a while ago? And don't worry see, it's kind of hard to notice but..." Sam reached down to her chest and pulled open a pocket that was right in the center of her chest between the cups. Without a word, Sam brought her hand opposite the shoulder that Cob was perched on upwards to them. The small figure climbed onto Sam's open hand holding onto their wig as they did. Sam curled her fingers around Cob and lowered them to the pocket. Then Sam slipped them into it feet first so gracefully it was like they'd rehearsed it. Hazel let out a disapproving throat noise noticing it put Cob right between Sam's ample breasts. And even worse, Cob was still visible in the pocket. Other than the clock from his wall around his neck, Ben had dressed like he was staying home for the night on the couch. Although his clothes looked a little tighter than they did a few months ago and it was noticeable at his considerable height. Compared to his sister it was quite a half assed effort. Even Cob was more dressed up. "This is insanity. What if someone wants to see your toy and grabs Cob?" Hazel asked emphasizing toy in a tone that made even Ben inhale sharply through his teeth. Cob looked like they were about to cry. Sam looked down and saw them hide their face and slip deeper into the pocket. Sam stepped closer to Ben blazing with an anger that showed through the dog face paint. "Then I'll bite their fucking hand off if they even try to touch them. They don't have to hide, it'll be fun." Sam growled. Hazel didn't flinch and shouted back, "That is a promise I expect you to keep if you insist on parading around and putting them in danger so foolishly!" "Trust me everyone will be staring at my red tits and ass! They won't even notice them unless Cob wants to show off their costume too." Sam shouted back. "Are you bloody insane! This is not a game! We are not meant to be seen by you!" Hazel shouted out rather loudly for someone her size. "Enough!" Ben finally interrupted both of them far louder than either were capable of. It made Cob and Hazel's body freeze and shake with the depth and strength of it. Sam's eyebrows went up surprised by him and took a half step back without realizing it. "It's a Halloween party you're supposed to look foolish and ridiculous and compared to what she normally wears this is actually very toned down for Sam. I'm pretty impressed. And Sam is going to be careful we'll all be there together and we won't drink. So if you trust me with Cob then you should trust Sam." Ben said in a much softer flurry trying to circumvent anymore disagreements between the pair. He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet not used to asserting himself like that, but if anyone was going to push him to it'd be his sister and Hazel. He was the youngest there, but by far the biggest. After a long uncomfortable silence filled with Sam and Hazel staring at eachother and Cob and Ben looking at one another trying to telepathically guess if it was actually done, Hazel spoke first.

"Alright." Hazel relented. "Fine." Sam said adjusting the furry bikini bottom around her thighs trying not to smudge the body paint. "You do look absolutely ridiculous." Hazel said after another heavy moment of silence. "Babe, that's entirely the point of a college Halloween party..." Sam replied before Hazel interrupted her. "I was talking to Cob. Platinum blonde? Really?" Hazel said keeping her face expressionless for a second. But she couldn't help herself and laughed under her breath trying to hide it. "Hey! I look cute!" Cob objected. They poked out from the pocket knowing if Hazel could joke that it was really going to be alright. "Uh...so the whole no drinking thing. That was just for you two not us right?" Cob asked hopefully. "Let's go now so we can leave earlier." Ben said without answering Cob's question as he walked towards the door. *** End Part 1

#g/t community #g/t #g/t writing #borrowers #g/t fluff #giant tiny #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #giant tiny writing #giant tiny community #gt community #gt fluff #gtober #gtober2024

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jamiesfootball · 1 year ago

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Fic updates for the post-season 3 fic

I’ve somehow stumbled over the 50k words mark 🎉🎉🎉

Dani, who was previously Sir-Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic, somehow wormed his way in and is now appearing in this fic. And somehow this didn’t even dent my outline - he slotted right in like magic. Dani Rojas is life, but he is also magic

I just think it’s criminal that him and Jamie never got to cuddle so I will be fixing that thanks

Why is Nigerian food so hard to research?

Roy is doing both awful and great at therapy, which is definitely not a race

Isaac, Isaac, Isaac. You are a pillar a rock a man of great talents and mystery and I am just loving peeling your layers.

Colin Hughes really is just some guy, huh? (Crying about it)

No really, why is Nigerian food so hard to research

My toxic trait is that I cannot resist putting Jamie Tartt in little outfits. Yes he is depressed and in a self destructive spiral. But also *waves hands* outfits.

Sam Obisanya has a nemesis; former bully surprised and outraged to learn about it, thought he was the only one who was that big of a dick

Me @ Nigerian food blogs - please show me the forbidden spice blends and quit making my browser cry in JavaScript

Jamie’s outfits are plot relevant, actually

On a related note- Fuck James Tartt

Keeley Jones please stop stealing every scene challenge. you are cute as a button and you are going through some stuff but we have an outline to stick to and every time you show up the word count explodes

Except the one scene????? I need you to talk a lot for????? Girl istg

I know y’all like dog metaphors, but do you like them in a non-sexy way? Because i got a lot of that (this is shameless abuse of the making the team mascot into a metaphor ngl. Also that ‘How to be a dog’ poem really fucked me up)

Do I need to spend so much time looking up recipes? No. Am i going to? Yes. I find it very fun, and this entire fic is a shameless exercise of self-indulgence and gooey feelings and found family (and depression and self esteem issues and abuse and finally talking shit out) and I hope it’ll be worth it in the end

#[redacted title] post season three fic #if like one person likes this thing when it’s done I’ll be so happy #bonus news: since the beginning bit is pretty Roy introspection heavy when I need a break #I go work on my jamie falls asleep 5+1 fic #which is almost entirely jamie pov and gosh I like it #fic update #ted lasso fic #anyhoo I just saw the notification that ‘Cityzens’ updated so I’m gonna take a breather and enjoy that for a bit

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workingchemistry · 2 months ago

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Last Line Challenge!

Rules: In a new post, show your latest line (artwork or written) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like!)

I got tagged by @sithfox 💕💕

I think this one might actually be a sin (in that it’s spn) and idk that it will ever be posted but I’ve been thinking thoughts about parentified Dean Winchester and what if nothing past the pilot happened actually. Jess doesn’t die. Because it’s a noodle project I’ll give a little extra.

“Aren’t you going to invite your brother in to stay the night?” Jess asks. She’s crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway and the look she shoots between him and Dean is full of intense meaning.

Sam’s never snapped at Jess before, he refuses to let anger guide him like the rest of his family, but boy does he want to now. Only self control and way more therapy than anyone should have to have holds his tongue. Instead he turns to wish Dean a good life and finds that those words won’t come for an entirely different reason.

Dean hasn’t really done emotions that don’t involve lechery, anger, or hunting since Sam was around ten but for a heartbeat after Jess speaks, Dean’s grin is wide enough to twitch his ears. It fades into an outward breath of hope and then shame crumples inward to finally be replaced with overblown machismo. “Nah. Sammy doesn’t want his big brother embarrassing his bitch ass.”

The way it’s said implies that Dean will be telling embarrassing stories and teasing him about his girlfriend. It’s not the truth. Dean’s fear of embarrassing Sam with his existence is something Sam’s pretended not to know about for just about forever. It’s an unspoken truth that suffocates them both but Sam isn’t so selfish that he’ll leave Dean to suffer it alone. Not if Dad really is gone.

Not anymore.

Instead he puts on his most annoyed sigh and changes his trajectory to snatch up Dean’s Go Bag from the back seat. “She’ll make me sleep on the couch if I don’t convince you to stay.”

Tagging @hastalavistabyebye @sithfox (keep this in your back pocket for when you gotta zinger you wanna drop ;)) @whiskygoldwings

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #jessica moore #I don’t like cas sorry guys #I’ve also never watched past like mid season four irrc #I’m not sure I ever will 😂#y’all know me I like a fucked up codependent sibling relationship #they introduced castiel and I just don’t care about the dynamic anymore

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steddiebang · 1 year ago

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the freaks who could never love anyone (October 10) author: dima (ao3/bsky/tumblr/twitter) / artist: robin (tumblr / twitter) Hawkins High School’s show choir group, the Treble Tigers, is in desperate need of new members. Eddie Munson, the group’s de facto student leader, is well aware that they need to do anything they can to be in contention for Nationals.

But Eddie immediately finds himself at odds with one of their latest members, Steve Harrington. A prototypical pompous jock that has no place in a group that’s meant for misfits. But when Steve starts opening up about the many secrets he’s carrying, Eddie realizes that he might need the Treble Tigers to go to Nationals as much as Eddie does.

Tell Me Then Would You Lend A Hand (October 13) Author: funeralbeldam / Artist: rrrrraatt An exploration of Steve’s trauma. How it affects his everyday life, opens him up to Vecna, and sends him on a path of self discovery as the world is ending. His relationships with his friends - most notably one Eddie Munson - and how he views his own self worth. How one man will tear down Steve’s curtain to reveal the truth inside, through the power of music. Who says metalheads and jocks -turning-punks can’t get along?

scheming on a thing (October 14) Author: greatunionic (ao3 / tumblr) / Artist: daysarestranger / singinginmay It’s 1994, and Eddie’s been a guest of Uncle Sam at Pelican Bay since it opened in ‘89, when his public defender stopped defending and he resigned himself to the sixth to life bag the Spring Break of ‘86 had left him holding. Sure, the series of frantic transfers that made Wayne and the party lose track of him (and cost him his unlikely prison penpal, Steve Harrington) truly were a bummer, but life’s actually not too bad, in the long run: he’d got three hots and a cot, ya know, and sometimes a few of the other inmates actually believe him when he tells them he’s innocent. Still — the new lawyer and paralegal shaped suspiciously like one Erica Sinclair is starting to give him pause, and make him wonder if the story’s not quite over yet…

Or: a story about seven letters, the worst love song ever written, and a heist.

Of Space and Time (October 15) Author: @appledagger / Artist: @Ahhrenata / Additional Art: @appledagger, @betwixtandbetweenn In 2073, the world is still moving forward despite arid climates and the quick relay race between man and machine. Within the walls of the hospital center at Vecna Labs, Steve Harrington has just woken up after an accident inside the depths of the classified sections of the lab. Stricken with amnesia, he is brought to Edward Munson’s home to recover and to be observed during his recovery after experimental treatments had brought him back from the brink of death. In Edward’s home, Steve finds question after question. Why does Eddie seem to hate him so much? What do all the observations have to do with his accident? What exactly is going on with his malfunctioning mind, and what does this all have to do with Creel and Vecna’s tech monopoly? All the while, Steve struggles with the feeling that there was something more to his relationship with Eddie that he can’t quite understand.

Road to Nowhere (October 14) Author: @sharpbutsoft / Artist: @patternscolorsflowers Eddie Munson isn’t dead, and he’s trying not to make it everyone’s problem. After the horrorshow that was Spring Break, he’s been keeping to himself, attending his “legally you cannot call this a bribe but, yes, obviously it’s a bribe” physical therapy sessions, and trying to recover from his brief but violent death. Enter Steve Harrington, and his compulsive need to be useful, who’s volunteered to taxi him to and from these sessions (with minimal bitching.) This newfound friendship isn’t without its challenges though. Steve, not the best with his words, struggles to define his feelings for Eddie, who has it in his head that the only reason they’re not together yet, is because he’s not better yet. When an argument threatens to snuff out the sparks flying between them, Eddie has to learn that better is a journey, not a destination, and one he doesn’t have to take alone…

The Ones Who Know (October 15) Author: @tacticat / @hereforthesteddie / Artist: @miloboiwonder / @milotheboywonder / Artist: @donttellunclesam “Robs, Eddie’s mad at me. I did something wrong, I think. I don’t really know.“

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"We were watching movies last night and we-” his throat closes up on him and he struggles to take in a deep breath. “We kissed."

"What!?” The unlucky customers waiting on them can probably hear her, she reacts so loudly.

“I know! I wasn’t expecting it."

A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Wait but Steve, you’re-”

“Straight? I know!”

Does he, though? She gives him a curious look that seems to ask the same question.

Steve didn’t used to like being someone who knows, when that meant keeping secrets about horrifying and heartbreaking things. But now that he’s learning beautiful and precious secrets about the people who are important to him, he’s starting to learn that being one of the ones who know doesn’t have to be so bad.

change your mind (October 16) Author: helix_stomper / Artist: horsegirleddiemunson After his breakup with Nancy, Steve Harrington keeps it a secret that he hasn’t made an effort to meet his soulmate. When he accidentally wakes up next to them a few days after his 18th birthday, he’s surprised to find that it’s not only another guy, but somebody else in Hawkins. Between losing all his old friends, learning how not to be an asshole, and balancing his newfound sexuality in a closed-minded town, Steve has his work cut out for him. Eddie Munson doesn’t believe in soulmates, but that doesn’t stop him from waiting in the dreamscape every night for his. Balancing life as an openly queer, drug-dealing super senior in Hawkins, Indiana is no cakewalk, especially with Billy Hargrove on his ass. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to that whole soulmate thing after all.

Drowning In Your Love (October 20) Author: @steveshairychest / steveshairychest /Artist: parasite_z (twitter) / @parasite-z

There’s something so enticing about forbidden love, about yearning for someone that you know you can’t have. Eddie knows he’s breaking every oath he took on the day of his knighting, but he can’t help but be drawn to the golden prince that beckons him with a sharp tooth smile. It’s forbidden to speak with the merfolk that occupy the ocean around the city but Eddie has never been very good at following the rules, especially when he’s got his hands tangled in a beautiful merman’s soft hair. Each day, he finds himself with his toes in the sand and with his heart in the hands of Steve Harrington, the heir to the merkingdom. They meet in secret at the rockpools, and the more Eddie learns about the prince, the harder it becomes to keep away. His knights oath to never take a lover gnaws at the back of his mind the first time he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. Things become difficult when the Queen of the merkingdom starts to pressure Steve to take the necessary steps required of him to become King, the first being to choose a bride. But Steve doesn’t want any of the maidens that his mother forces him to meet. He wants the knight in clunky armor that brings him treasures from the human world, the knight that he shared his first kiss with under the light of the moon. Forbidden love is never easy. It hurts and bares its teeth just when you thought things were going well. Will Steve and Eddie be able to make it through unscathed?

Nobody’s Baby (October 22) Author: ArtaxLivs / Artist: LexPlexDraws It’s Dirty Dancing but Steddie Style. Steve is a privileged young college graduate who is supposed to spend one last summer with the family at an upscale resort but stumbles in unexpected friendships with some of the resort’s employees. Eddie is the dance instructor with a chip on his shoulder. An impossible situation makes them unwilling dance partners but maybe the possibility of trust will make them more than that.

it’s a lonely world when everyone knows your name (October 23) Author: @whataboutthefish / Artist: @hawkinsleather and on Twitter Steve Harrington had a nemesis, Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson. The only thing was, Eddie didn’t know. Eddie Munson was the face of the decade and fashion’s darling, but his hard partying ways and lack of professionalism- in Steve’s opinion- had him seething. When Steve was paired with Eddie for a photo shoot he was already anticipating hating the whole ordeal. What he didn’t expect was Eddie being more than just his persona.

Hottest Alpha Model Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington just might be wrong about Omega Supermodel Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson.

My Dad, Your Papa, Our Father (October 25) Author: @strangerthingssteddiebrainrot / Artist: @waldos-art Steve thought a memorial for the fallen if Hawkins lab was pretentious and insincere. He wasn’t the only one. But if he hadn’t come, he probably wouldn’t have found out about, this. So really, it could be argued, understood even, that he was completely taken off guard when a picture of one of the deceased scientists was placed on the memorial table and he couldn’t control what came out of his mouth, loud enough that there was no way everybody didn’t hear it. “Dad!?”

A Haunted House With A Picket Fence (October 25) author: Quinn (ao3/tumblr/twitter) / artist: AtlasMoth666 (twitter) Eddie Munson is no stranger to bad choices. It’s how he ended up a single father selling drugs to keep him and his kid clothed and fed. Dumb choices have him fleeing Chicago in the middle of the night and renting a place in his shitty hometown in Indiana while he plans his next move.

It’s also how he ends up asking his stupidly hot neighbor to babysit his daughter while he goes on a last-minute job interview, and much to his surprise, stupid-hot neighbor agrees. And it turns out he’s not just handsome, but funny, a great cook, he loves Eddie’s weirdo kid, and may just be the love of Eddie’s life.

If only starting over and escaping his past was that easy.

after all this time (i’m still into you) (October 26) Author: oriscribes / Artist: unspcfiedfigure / Artist: @hellfireloserclub Steve just wanted to keep working on his TV show, but due to some clauses buried in his contract he’d been coerced into a fake dating scheme. Which was especially stupid because Munson didn’t even like him. Steve should know, Munson had already rejected him years ago. Eddie just wanted to keep his head down until his contract ran out so he could get back to writing with Corroded Coffin instead of doing this idol shit. He wasn’t counting on getting outed and having to do damage control… by pretending to date someone who he maybe sorta had (has?) a huge crush on. OR: Steve pretends that if he keeps calling Eddie by his last name then he won’t develop any feelings to go with that crush he’d been trying to forget about. Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure out what went wrong years ago and if this time could be different.

how greedy my heart (October 27) Author: @matchingbatbites / Artist: @amethyst-crowns After his first encounter with the Upside Down, Steve needs something to help him relax. He gets more than he expects from drug dealer Eddie Munson, who pulls him into a world of gentle care, good feelings, and calm that he’s never experienced before.

All Eyes on Me in the Center of the Ring (October 28) Author: a_lil_a_lot - twitter / tiktok / bsky / tumblr / Artist: bienmoreau - twitter Ex-Olympic gymnast, Steve Harrington, is politely asked to not return to college after the summer - upon his return to his hometown, he’s not expecting a trip to the circus with his best friend to have such an impact on him. Just when he thinks he’s run out of options, he takes a chance in following the Munson Family Circus and finds not only something he enjoys, but a place where he belongs.

(he’s) a runaway foal that doesn’t know where to go (October 31) Author: @patti_cake08 (twitter)/ @moltenchocolatelavacake Steve Harrington has always loved too much, he knows this. And yet he’s never been enough for anybody. It’s why relationships never work out for him. But he tried again because of course he did. Always too stupid for his own good, his feelings were bullshit. A week after having his heart broken by a man he believed he’d meant more to than flirty phone calls and occasional fucks, Steve ends up at Forest Hills Trailer Park. He’d gone looking for a reprieve, a comfort, a way out of his grief. Instead he finds a pair of pale arms and a yearning heart eager to help him heal and, maybe, show him his love is enough.

#steddiebang23 weekly roundup #steddiebang23 #sorry this one is a bit long - we collected some late submissions plus the last two weeks of october #we're back to weekly round-ups this sunday!

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