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Kitchen Cabinet Ideas 2023

Whether you’re building a new home or updating your current kitchen, it’s important to consider the best ways to maximize storage and organization. The good news is that there are plenty of innovative and stylish cabinets to choose from that will help you achieve this goal.

One trend we’re seeing in 2023 is a move towards natural materials, forms and colors. This includes a calming color palette made up of light sandy tones and green cabinets that are reminiscent of the outdoors.

Clever Drawers for Pots and Pans

Pots and pans are an essential cooking tool, but they can be hard to store. It’s not easy to find a place for them that’s accessible and not too cluttered, which can be especially tricky if you live in a small kitchen or apartment with limited cabinet space.

A pot and pan drawer can make storing them much easier. Deep drawers are big enough to fit more than one pot or pan next to each other, and if you use expandable wood or plastic dividers you can easily separate them by size for a neater presentation.

Another great way to store pots and pans is in a storage rack. These racks come in both vertical and horizontal versions and have adjustable tiers that separate and organize pans for easy access.

These racks also help to keep rogue pan lids from rolling around in your kitchen drawers, which can be a pain. They’re also a great way to display a collection of cookware, such as Le Creuset pots or stainless steel pans, in a more organized manner.

Vertical Tray Dividers

Vertical tray dividers are the perfect solution for organizing baking sheets, cookie trays and cutting boards. Not only are they inexpensive, but they also fit into most cabinets.

They keep heavy trays and cutting boards upright, making them easy to grab and go. Plus, they help prevent scuffing or scratching your cabinet walls while you’re rummaging for a pan or plate.

A simple DIY project creates these handy dividers. Simply fasten slats of wood to the bottom and top of the cabinet openings. Make sure that the slats are 1/8 inch narrower than the drawer box and about half the length of the opening.

Tray dividers come in all sizes, so you can choose the size that works best for your needs. You can install them in most wall, base and oven cabinets for convenient storage and reach-and-go access.

Open Storage

If you’re tired of rummaging through cabinets to find items that you use on a regular basis, open shelving may be the solution you’re looking for. This style of storage provides a simple way to keep things in reach, making cooking and cleaning easier.

In addition, open shelves can help make a kitchen feel more spacious by taking up less space than traditional cabinets. This works especially well in small kitchens where cabinets can be overly bulky.

You’ll need to be careful about how you store items on open shelves, though. These spaces can be exposed to sunlight and moisture, which can cause damage to some items.

Also, items stored on open shelves can become dusty and cluttered, which can affect the look of your kitchen design. So it’s important to clean them regularly.

Reclaimed Materials

Reclaimed materials are a great way to maximize storage and organization in a kitchen space. They can be found at salvage yards, flea markets, antique stores and online sources.

For instance, reclaimed wood is a great way to add rustic charm and character to your kitchen. It has a unique look and feel that new cabinets simply cannot match, plus it offers the durability and longevity you expect from solid wood.

The reclaimed materials in this kitchen contrast crisp white with rough-hewn textures, adding a sense of warmth to the room. They also complement the clean, modern lines of the countertops and backsplashes.

Barnwood is a type of reclaimed wood that is taken from barns that have been in operation for over 100 years. The wood is typically very old, which means it has been a natural material that has been cut, shaped, and formed for many years.

When choosing reclaimed wood for your kitchen cabinets, be sure to choose a quality company that is dedicated to making high-quality reclaimed products. This will help to ensure that the materials are in good condition and will last for many years to come.

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Metro Vancouver’s Premier Kitchen and Bath Renovation Company

The kitchen is often the heart of the home and plays a significant role in determining its overall appeal. If yours feels outdated or dated, you may feel less motivated to spend time cooking and eating in it. That’s why Vancouver kitchen Renovation is proud to bring you a Kitchen Design and Renovation package that will transform your space into something truly timeless and functional. Our Kitchen Design and Renovation packages will create a space that reflects your lifestyle and personality and gives you everything you need to cook delicious meals and entertain guests.

We understand that to be successful is to stay ahead of the curve. That means staying current with the latest technology and design trends. We always want to improve our products or services without breaking the bank. That’s why we stay connected to the latest technologies of NKBA, National Kitchen and Bath Association. In addition, at Vancouver Kitchen renovation, our primary focus is providing sustainable kitchen design and renovation packages, and we believe in sustainable living. Sustainable living is a way of life in harmony with nature. It is a lifestyle which focuses on the preservation of our environment. Sustainable living is a philosophy emphasizing respect for the environment and concern for its well-being. This means we should take care of the planet and treat it as if it were our home. We should try to preserve what we have and protect it from destruction. If we do this, we will enjoy the benefits of the earth’s resources for many generations. Whether you’re planning a major remodel or adding finishing touches to your current kitchen, we’d love to discuss your project. Book your showroom consultation online.

Main Areas of Service in British Columbia:

Vancouver

North Vancouver

West Vancouver

Burnaby

Coquitlam

Squamish

Whistler

Frequently Asked Questions

How can you arrange an open-concept kitchen design?

To organize an open space, it is important to establish a clear workflow. This means that all appliances should be placed close together. It is easier to clean these items if they are close together. It is a good idea to keep your cooking utensils in close proximity so that they are easy to reach. Finally, keep food storage close to the point of use. This will make it much easier to find what you need and organize your food.

Can a stove/refrigerator and a refrigerator be side-by-side?

They can be placed side by side, provided there is enough space. However, this is not considered a great practice in kitchen design. It can create wasted space and make the kitchen cramped. It’s better to place the stove and refrigerator in different areas of your kitchen. This will allow for more efficient workflow and make the kitchen feel larger.

Where do pots & pans belong in the kitchen

Pots and pans are best kept in the cupboard above the stove. This allows them to be easily accessed when they are needed and helps keep your kitchen clean and clutter-free. You may also want to invest in a pot rack to help keep your pots and pans organized and within easy reach.

Which place should a fridge be located in the kitchen

A refrigerator should be placed next to the sink for easy access. You should place it so that it does not block traffic and is not too close to the stove.

What is the 5-zone kitchen?

Innovative design allows for efficient cooking in a smaller space. It comprises five individual cooking areas: a sink area, a stove area, a fridge area, a food preparation area, and a dining area. This gives each cook their own area to work in, and reduces the need to have a large kitchen that has multiple appliances.

Maximil, the German kitchen designer, created the 5-zone-kitchen. It’s often used in European style kitchens. It is also useful for families who wish to save energy and time by cooking in one place.

Here are some tips to help you decide on a 5-zone home kitchen. First, space is essential to allow for all five zones. You must ventilate each area to keep odors from lingering in your kitchen. Third, each zone should have enough space to allow for movement.

A 5-zone kitchen can provide a stylish, efficient, and beautiful option for those who are looking to make their kitchen more modern. It can be an excellent addition to any home if you plan well.

What are the advantages of the 5-zone kitchen?

The 5-zone kitchen has many benefits, including:

Improved efficiency – Each cook has their very own area to work in. This eliminates the need of moving between several appliances.

It is more elegant – the 5-zone Kitchen is used often in European-style kitchens.

Better ventilation – Every zone in the kitchen is adequately ventilated. This reduces the risk of lingering smells or fumes.

Improved layout – The kitchen layout should allow for easy movement between zones.

If you are looking for a more stylish and efficient kitchen, the 5-zone kitchen could be a good option. It can be an excellent addition to any home if you plan well.

What is the average time it takes to renovate a kitchen?

Once the cabinets have been made, it should take approximately three weeks for the work to be completed. However, the design and/or custom cabinet manufacturing can take months. The entire process can take many months from start to finish.

What are the advantages of an open-concept cooktop?

Privacy is the main issue. With an open-concept kitchen, you can’t hide the mess from guests. You might also find that guests may be disturbed by the smells of cooking. If there is no designated cooking or eating area, an open kitchen can be difficult to clean. If you don’t have a lot of space, an open concept kitchen may not be the best option.

Statistics

In the Pacific region (Alaska, California, Washington, and Oregon), according to Remodeling Magazine, that same midrange central kitchen remodel jumps to $72,513, and a major upscale kitchen remodels jumps up $11,823 from the national average to $143,333. (hgtv.com)

Experts also recommend setting aside 20 percent of your budget for surprises, including unpleasant demolition discoveries. One is water damage, the electricity that is not up to code, or other budget-spiking gotchas. (hgtv.com)

Followed by cabinet cost, labour, and appliance costs consume 20 percent each of your budget. (hgtv.com)

Your most significant cost investment for a kitchen remodel will usually be cabinets, typically comprising 25 percent of your budget. (hgtv.com)

It’s a fantastic thing about most home improvement projects: no matter the job. It often seems like the last 20% is the most difficult. (familyhandyman.com)

External Links

homeguide.com

2022 Kitchen Remodel Cost Estimator

2022 Home Additions Costs

houzz.com

The Habitatilist – Project Photos & Reviews – South Orange, NJ US

The 8 Essential Elements of a Craftsman-Kitchen Workbook

thespruce.com

Open Floor Plan: History and Pros and Cons

Get Kitchen Remodeling Estimates by Professionals

hgtv.com

Choosing Kitchen Appliances | HGTV

Creating a Kitchen for Entertaining

How To

How to design the kitchen you’ll be able to enjoy cooking in for years

Kitchen designs should be designed with functionalities, aesthetics, and practicality. The space you choose should be thoughtfully planned so your kitchen becomes a place where you feel at home, cook delicious food, entertain friends and family, and relax after a long day.

Here are some tips to help you plan your dream kitchen:

Choose the layout that suits your needs best. L-shaped kitchens, U-shaped kitchens, and galley are three of the most popular. L-shaped kitchens work well for entertaining and can comfortably accommodate multiple cooks. U-shaped kitchens work well for families that spend a lot time in the kitchen. They offer ample storage and counter space. Galley kitchens are ideal for small spaces as they are efficient and easy to navigate.

Take the time to research all options in cabinetry, and then choose high quality products. There are many options to choose from, depending on your budget. You will reap the benefits of investing in high-end cabinets. They’ll last longer, look better, and provide superior protection against moisture, humidity, and temperature changes.

You should choose a color scheme you feel happy with. Whether it’s your favorite shade of green or pink, find a color palette that will bring color and life to your kitchen. It could be bright or pastel colors. Just make sure it matches the rest of the room.

Look for a harmonious balance between beauty, function, and style. The kitchen does not have to be perfect. Sometimes it’s more important to put emphasis on function than beauty. But this doesn’t mean you can’t incorporate a few decorative elements here and there. Mixing glass, chrome brass, ceramic, stone or wood can create an interesting focal point.

Create a comfortable environment. Remember that comfort is the most important thing when designing your kitchen. It’s likely that you will spend a lot time in your kitchen so it should feel warm and inviting. Consider adding seating areas and lighting fixtures to make it more relaxing after a hard day.

Storage is important. Storage space is essential in a kitchen. It should have enough storage for all your cooking and utensils. So, when planning your kitchen remodel, consider adding additional cabinet space.

Include a pantry. A dedicated pantry will make it easier to organize and store food items. A separate pantry will allow you to store more supplies and prevent clutter from building up in your kitchen.

Consider a new flooring option. You can make a big difference in the look and feel of your kitchen by choosing the right flooring. There are many options available. Consider using one flooring material throughout your house, even if you only have a limited space. This will eliminate the need to use transition pieces.

Plan for expansion. People make the most of their kitchens when they remodel them. They don’t leave enough space for future growth. If you’re considering expanding, add another walk-in closet, install sliding doors, or expand your current countertop space.

You should ensure that there is enough light. The best way to enjoy your kitchen is by being able to see what you’re doing. So, if you plan on using your kitchen as a family gathering place, ensure you leave lots of natural sunlight streaming through the windows.

Make sure you have energy-efficient appliances. It is important to consider energy efficiency when remodeling your kitchen. This means making sure that you replace old appliances with newer models that are more energy efficient.

Be smart about your budget. You should do a thorough financial analysis before you go shopping for kitchen cabinets or appliances. It will help you narrow down the options and save money in the end.

Create a space to entertain. No matter if you like hosting dinner parties at home or entertaining friends over drinks and food, having a designated dining space will provide a place for your guests to gather and socialize.

An island can be added to your kitchen. An island is a great addition for any kitchen.

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

Text

Sidekick /// Dabi x f!Reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Summary: During a rescue gone wrong, a rookie sidekick catches the attention of two villains.

A/N: Thanks for 1k followers!! This is the fic that made me create a smut blog/lowkey inspired this. imho this might be the spiciest thing I’ve ever written 😳 also wanted to call out @kazooli because this is highkey inspired by her lol thanks queen

Tags/warnings: quirk kink, reader’s quirk makes other quirks stronger, noncon, threesome, lots of foreplay, outdoor sex, mild overstimulation, degradation, mild violence, threats, chronological/temporal inaccuracies, fucking long

You can hardly be blamed for not recognizing them. It’s only been three weeks since you debuted as a pro, and you’re not even really a hero. You’re a sidekick, and apparently you’re not important enough to have been briefed on the major villains you need to look out for. You’re just…doing your duty. Rescuing civilians indiscriminately. Stupid, naive little sidekick. It’s not your fault that the lives you just saved belong to the two most notorious villains around.

Still, Shigaraki can’t wait to see the look on your face when you find out.

///

The disaster you ‘rescue’ them from—the League’s bar crashing down, the result of a small-time villain’s poisonous gas quirk—isn’t even a disaster. It’s a minor annoyance, sure, but Shigaraki and Dabi would have been fine without you…even though both of them missed Kurogiri’s warp gate and ended up trapped under a wooden beam in the wreckage of the building… Okay, it’s more than a minor annoyance. Shigaraki hacks violently as the cloud of foul-smelling steam and powdered debris enters his lungs. The poisonous quirk doesn’t seem to be having the same acid-burn effects on his body as it did on the building, but he can’t assume it’s harmless.

Father… Shigaraki took Father off his face to drink at the bar earlier before the gas hit, and now in the confusion the severed hand is either buried underneath the rubble that used to be the League’s main base or somewhere else out of view. “Father? Father!” Shigaraki calls out, attempting to shift under the crushing weight of the beam.

“Shut up,” Dabi says from somewhere to Shigaraki’s left. “Kurogiri took it in one of the portals, I saw it.” He looks worse than Shigaraki feels—something hit him in the face as the bar collapsed, and a few of the staples (piercings? stitches? whatever) on his right cheek are torn open and bleeding.

“Are you lying to me?”

Dabi sneers and rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” His palms glow blue and Shigaraki follows suit, letting four fingers sit on the wood that’s pinning both of them to the ground. It’s too heavy to lift, so they’re going to have to get rid of it…a task that seems significantly more difficult when it becomes clear that neither of them are positioned at the right angle to touch it.

Shigaraki tries to wrest his arm out enough for his thumb to touch the wood, but it’s impossible. Beside him, Dabi’s having the same issue. “Shit, I can’t reach—“

“Is someone there?” Confident, clear, and oddly robotic, your voice cuts through the din of gurgling water from cracked pipes and police sirens like a lit flare in the darkness. Shigaraki tenses and halts his attempts to get free from the beam, and a second later Dabi mimics him.

“I heard voices.” The same unfamiliar voice rings out through the half-light, now accompanied by a body—your body, taking a series of awkward jumps down the piles of rubble to land in front of the two of them. The outfit you’re wearing is ridiculous: a pair of metal boots that clang against the cement wherever you step, matching braces on your arms, and a space-age chrome motorcycle helmet to top it all off.

A hero. Shigaraki’s lip curls in disgust as your head turns his way.

You scan the scene quickly, eyes resting on the two men trapped in front of you for a moment before you turn back to the opening in the wreckage. “Found two civilians!” you call out to the rescue workers just in case they’re within earshot, although it’s unlikely.

Dabi snickers under his breath. Civilians? Even in the chaos, you should’ve known the second you saw them who you’re looking at. Are you faking ignorance? Got something up your sleeve? It’s either that, or you genuinely don’t recognize them. Priceless.

You kneel down in front of the fallen beam and give a half-hearted attempt to pick it up. It doesn’t budge. No surprises there—if it were light enough for you to lift by yourself, the two men held down by it would have no problem getting out with their combined strength. You’re going to have to use your support gear to get it off them.

But first—you search for a memory of your rescue training. Reassure the victims. They’re probably panicking.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell them, your voice coming out mechanical and distorted from the helmet you’re wearing. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here to save you.”

This time, Dabi has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Ah, yes…they’re so lucky that there’s a do-gooder little hero around to rescue them, because they’d be helpless otherwise. The laugh is still audible, though, and Shigaraki shoots him a glare.

You raise an eyebrow at their expressions. Did he just laugh? Well…you’ve heard that people sometimes have inappropriate reactions in times of crisis. The dark-haired man seems more badly hurt, so you creep toward him first, careful not to disturb any of the debris and trigger an avalanche reaction. “I’m going to check your injuries now,” you tell him, and your gloved hand brushes away a sweep of spiky hair to examine the sizable red bump growing on his forehead.

Ouch…there’s no way that doesn’t hurt, but the man’s not letting any of the pain show on his face. Instead, he looks disinterested at best, and at worst? You almost get the feeling that he’s eyeing you up under your hero costume. Not that you can blame him. Damn this skin-tight bodysuit—it leaves basically nothing to the imagination.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask him. “I don’t think this is too serious, but they’ll look you over for a concussion when I get you to first aid.”

Dabi shrugs and you frown. Is the non-verbal response because of the ripped stitches in his face? Is it too painful to talk? Or could there be brain damage? Or maybe he’s just a man of few words or something…?

“Can you get on with it? Pick up the fucking beam already,” Shigaraki hisses.

Startled, you pull your hand away from the other man’s forehead. That ungrateful little…nope, nope, don’t get annoyed, he’s just in shock. “O-Of course, sorry. Just gotta make sure it’s okay to move.”

Luckily, the beam doesn’t look like it’s supporting anything else that’ll fall if you pick it up. You crouch down next to one end and steady your feet against the cement, lifting up with all your strength while activating the effects of the support items you’re wearing. When you feel the metal on your arm braces grow warm, you remind yourself again to thank the developer of your costume. You may not be a fan of the way-too-tight bodysuit that clings to everything, but the strength-enhancing armor that you wear on your arms and legs more than makes up for it.

A second later, you hold back a grin. It’s moving! You try to ignore the unpleasant screech of metal against stone as the beam slowly lifts into the air. As soon as the men get out from under it, you pant and let it crash back into the ground. “You guys okay?”

“Mm…yes,” Dabi replies, running a hand over the torn piercings in his cheek. “Got any more gas masks for the poison mist?”

“Don’t worry! The Commission is familiar with the villain who created it, and the gas isn’t harmful to anything living. Only buildings. It’s a troublesome quirk, but we’ve got it under control.”

“Then what’s with the helmet?”

He can hear the hesitation in your reply, even distorted and tinny through the metal speakers. “Uh…I, well…”

Now that you’re getting a good look at them, the two scarred faces in front of you seem weirdly intense, considering you’ve just saved them from a collapsed building. The dark-haired man’s eyes are…very, very blue next to the burned-looking skin underneath, and the other man’s greyish-blue hair isn’t quite long enough to obscure a pair of red irises that are scrutinizing your face with obvious hostility.

You give a nervous shake of your head to clear it. “Um, the helmet is…it’s dangerous if I take it off. I should get you guys back to the rescue area, I need to meet up with my hero…” Without thinking, you take a step back and then one more, not knowing exactly why you’re backing away when you’re supposed to be escorting them. “I’ll just lead the way?”

With your third step back, though, you bump into something hard. What was that? Your head jerks around but before you can identify what it is that stopped your retreat, you feel the faint sensation of something tapping lightly on the back of your helmet.

And then…it just…crumbles.

What just happened?

You cough and shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of dust. A breeze whips through your hair, sending a chill through you in more ways than one. How? No one pulled the helmet off; you would’ve felt it if they had. More dust sticks to your face, and you rub your eyes so you can open them.

Behind you, Shigaraki waits with outstretched fingers an inch away from your neck. If he had to explain the decision to decay your helmet strategically, he could—you’re a hero, a potential threat, and he wants to know what you’re hiding under that outfit just in case you figure out who they are and decide to turn on them.

But really? He didn’t think about it that much. It was an impulse reaction to you walking away from them; a tantrum. Child-like.

Once your stunned face is exposed, Dabi has to wonder what you were even trying to hide. You’re…surprisingly ordinary. Young-looking—a rookie, fresh from hero school graduations a few weeks ago maybe? Large, expressive eyes, lips parted in shock, but nothing particularly interesting. Shigaraki cocks his head to the side to study your face too, and both of them are so focused on your appearance that it takes a moment for them to notice the feeling.

Well, feeling isn’t really the right word, but there isn’t a word for the way your quirk works. Dabi’s eyes widen when it reaches him and behind you, Shigaraki stiffens. You notice.

There’s an involuntary quiver in your voice as you break the silence. “Y-You guys must have strong quirks if you can feel it just from that.”

Dabi sucks in a breath. So this is your quirk? It’s different…he’s never felt anything like it, not that he’s exactly sure what it is. There’s some kind of energy in the air around you that he’s breathing in, a feeling like taking a shot of espresso after days of sleep deprivation.

No, it’s stronger than that. The head rush after doing a line of cocaine would be a better metaphor.

Either way, he’s awake—more awake than he can remember feeling in a long time. Heat rises to the surfaces of his palms unbidden, his quirk appearing without him calling it. “What is this?”

“…It’s called Boost,” you say, licking your lips as a dry wave of heat radiates out from the man in front of you. “I can strengthen other people’s quirks. That’s why it’s dangerous—if the villain finds us—“

“It must have been hard to get through hero school with a quirk like that,” says a raspy voice from behind you.

What—? Your head twists around. When did he—

Shigaraki grips your shoulder with three fingers, holding just tightly enough to keep you from stumbling forward and away from him. His pinky and ring finger hover an inch over your costume, careful not to disintegrate the fabric he’s touching—although with the power sparking through his veins at the moment, it almost feels like three fingers would be enough.

“…Doesn’t really seem like the kind of quirk a hero has.” His voice, soft and pondering (a weird contrast to the harsh architecture of his facial features you’d seen earlier), feels very close to your ear. Something soft tickles your cheek. His hair?

A voice (an instinct?) deep inside of you is telling you to run. You ignore it. This is normal, right? It’s not uncommon for civilians who’ve just suffered a traumatic villain attack to have questions, even if those questions seem irrelevant to the situation at hand. You have to answer, even if your gut is churning. “I’m not really a hero. Not yet. For now, I’m a sidekick to one of the pros—and speaking of which, I really need to find—“

“But how does it work?” Dabi doesn’t notice himself making a conscious decision to step forward, but he does anyway and being closer to you feels right. He can see the trepidation on your face as he gets close enough to reach out and touch you, but you can’t really ask him to stay back, can you? Not when your quirk feels this good?

“I—“ Is it unreasonable that you think you’re being trapped right now? They’re just a couple of civilians, right? The question itself is common enough. People often wonder how you can be a hero. It’s a concern you’ve had to address dozens of times over the years. “Well, I work with rescue operations, especially with other heroes who have healing-type quirks. I can also assist in combat in some situations.”

“In combat? If you’re with a hero and a villain, you’ll enhance both quirks. Seems counterintuitive,” Dabi says, half aware that his voice is getting lower.

“And you clearly don’t have physical abilities. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have…these.” Shigaraki taps three fingers on the metal brace on your right arm.

“The effects can be unpredictable. And I can increase the degree of the enhancement with physical contact.”

“Contact?”

“Yeah. The gloves of my costume come off. My quirk is way stronger when it’s skin-to-skin.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Shigaraki’s ring finger and pinky, which were hovering over the arm brace, come down to rest on the cold metal. The effect is instant: no crumbling, no slow decay—it’s there, and then it’s dust. His quirk in action, boosted by yours.

“What—What are you doing? What did you just do?” You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tight by your collar. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, and in one long sloppy stroke, he licks you from your neck up to your jawline.

You shudder. So does Shigaraki.

“It’s my quirk,” he tells you slowly. His breath is steamy warm on the cold, wet trail of saliva painting your throat. “Decay. Have you heard of it?”

You flinch away from his hand and your back falls against his chest. Of course you’ve heard of the Decay quirk. You might be a rookie, but even civilians know about the young, impetuous head of the League of Villains. Jesus, how had you not recognized him earlier? White hair, red eyes…you should have known. You should have left him under that beam. “Shigaraki…Tomura.”

“So you’re not completely clueless. Do you know me, then?” Dabi asks. He would think he’s the more noticeable of the two (the burn scars usually identify him), but you just stare up at him with the same deer-in-the-headlights look as before. Smirking, he lights a blue fire in his palm and it jumps up toward your face—not just the small spark he intended, but a bright, high flame. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

“The Forest of Beasts incident. You’re the one who started that fire,” you whisper. You’ve seen the TV coverage of the attack on UA’s training camp, the abduction of that teenage student, the forest lit up blue from wildfire. No wonder his skin looks burned.

“Dabi,” he corrects you.

Breath is coming out of your mouth in shallow puffs. Are you hyperventilating? Is this what hyperventilating feels like? You’re definitely panicking. They’re so close to you, caging you in between them. The smoke from the blue fire is uncomfortably hot over the exposed skin of your face, and Shigaraki’s lethal hands are still touching you. If they want to kill you—and why wouldn’t they?—you’re fucked.

The flame goes out and Dabi’s hands come down to squeeze your wrists. His palms are hot like he was holding them in front of a lit stove. It’s not painful, but it’s a threat.

“I’ll fight,” you say.

Your voice is trembling, and Shigaraki likes it. The effects of your quirk, the way he felt when he licked your face… And you’re afraid. He can see it in your shoulders, the quivering of your torso pressed into him. It’s nice. He wants to feel it more.

You’re struggling against their hold, and Dabi feels the urge to laugh. “You’ll fight…the two of us.”

“If you try to kill me, I’ll—“

Before you can finish your sentence, Shigaraki’s hands flit down to your metal support gear and disintegrate it. Shit. He’s fast, and you’re helpless.

Dabi releases your wrists and cups your face in a mockery of intimacy. His eyelids flutter closed as his skin meets yours… Fuck, he could get used to this. You smell so good, sweet and soft and clean, like fruity shampoo. What is that, watermelon?

Life must be difficult for you, hm… Everyone around you must want to touch you constantly. It seems like Shigaraki enjoyed licking you—maybe bodily fluids are an even stronger conductor of your quirk? Pushing easily past your resistance, Dabi forces your jaw upward and kisses you.

Oh…yesyesyes, just like that. Perfect. Dabi has to bite down a groan as his tongue enters your mouth. It’s ridiculous for someone else’s spit to taste this good, but he’s right—your quirk is amplified by the contact from the kiss.

After a moment he has to break it to regain focus and make sure he’s not burning you. You cringe away from him, your cheek brushing against Shigaraki’s neck, but Dabi tangles his hand in your hair to pull you back. He runs a finger against your closed lips, letting the pad of his fingertip heat up until your mouth drops open in response to the threat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, voice laced with revulsion. Privately, you agree. What’s going on? You were sure you were about to be either burned to a crisp or decayed into the equivalent.

Dabi laughs under his breath. “Try it. It feels crazy good.”

Curious now, Shigaraki wrenches your head around and tilts your jaw up to repeat Dabi’s action. When you refuse to open your mouth, he taps your jaw warningly and a hiss of fear escapes you. Would he really kill you? He decayed your support gear so quickly—would it be the same for your body?

Well, what’s going to stop them?

You open your mouth.

Shigaraki’s lips are harsh and unsentimental against yours. His tongue sweeps over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He grips you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold with your head twisted toward his. You’ve never been kissed like this before. His spit—it’s in your mouth.

And Dabi’s hands are on your waist. “How do you get this thing off?” he murmurs, pinching the fabric of your bodysuit.

A surge of panicked adrenaline gives you the strength to pull back away from Shigaraki. “What? No, you can’t!”

“Are you going to stop us, little sidekick?” Dabi mocks. “I think I can burn it off without too much damage.”

“Let me.” Shigaraki takes hold of the cloth, careful so when it dissolves into dust his hand isn’t touching you, and within a second—a second—you’re left shivering in just your underwear and boots.

“Help!” The plea squeaks out and you hope blindly that there’s a hero close enough to hear you. But is there even anyone who can fight them? You certainly can’t. “Help me! Somebody!”

“Shut up.” Dabi sends up a tongue of flame from a fingertip and you shriek as the heat sears against you. “Oh, come on. You should feel lucky. Bad guys like us usually don’t hesitate to take heroes out.”

“I don’t— Please, I’m just a sidekick, I’m a rookie— What do you even want from me? Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone! Please let me go.”

“Well, I think I know what I want.” Dabi traces circles over the tender skin of your hips, playing with the elastic of your underwear. He meets Shigaraki’s eye over your shoulder. “I think he wants that too. Right?”

“Yeah, I want…I want to fuck her,” Shigaraki hums. This isn’t like him, but he can’t help himself. You’re different. Leaving you here and never feeling this stimulant again isn’t an option. He buries his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, bites down on the soft skin there, and sucks.

You whimper, half from his answer and half from the sensation of his chapped lips on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you smell like something I want to eat. Especially this.” Dabi kneels down in front of you and hitches one of your legs up over his shoulder so you feel his hot breath washing over your clothed pussy.

You whine and attempt to wriggle back away from him, but Dabi’s grip on your thigh holds firm. His other hand brushes against the fabric of your panties to rub up against your slit and another surge of panic jumps up your throat. You can’t let him do this.

You kick your foot against his back, desperately attempting to make contact using the heel of the high boot that’s the only piece of outerwear still left on your body. It hits him awkwardly and he growls. “Damn it. Can’t you keep her busy?”

“Ahh…” Shigaraki ceases his oral assault on your neck and scratches a fingernail against one of the bright red marks marring your skin. He feels almost dizzy from the way your quirk is affecting him. Behind him, the broken expanse of wall digging into his back is the only thing keeping his focus. “Behave, sidekick.”

Before you can respond to the mocking title, Shigaraki’s face is against yours and his tongue is in your mouth again. Rough fingertips work up under the band of your sports bra and pushes it up over your tits. You screw your eyes shut at the sudden feeling of cold air on your nipples, and you know without looking that they’re standing up. Shigaraki gropes you thoughtlessly, keeping one finger lifted off of your skin, and you gasp on his tongue.

“That’s better.” Dabi’s mouth returns to brush against your panties. To be honest, eating you out isn’t the first thing on his mind. What he wants—what he really wants—is to shove you up against the wall and fuck into you and find out what your quirk feels like when you’re wrapped around his cock. But you’re probably not wet enough for that, and it’s not like Shigaraki is going to do anything to take care of you. Dabi would be surprised if the other man’s ever eaten pussy before in his life.

Besides…you smell good. It’s not even just the feeling of your quirk exciting him. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy is inches away from him, and Dabi is dying to make you cum in his mouth.

A moan curls up from deep in your throat as Dabi caresses the lips of your pussy through your underwear. You don’t bother protesting—at this point, it’s unlikely that any plea you could muster would stop them. Your earlier begging didn’t do much besides spur them on, but you still cry out as softly as you can when an unnaturally warm fingertip slips under the cloth of your panties to dip into your slit.

“Oh? You’re wetter than I expected. Are you enjoying this?”

Your frantic denial falls on deaf ears. Shigaraki rasps out a laugh and bites down on your neck again. He’s supposed to be keeping you still, but he can’t help enjoying the way your almost-naked body feels as you press yourself back into his chest, trying to force some space between yourself and Dabi.

Your squirming is no problem for Dabi, though—you’re so soft and vulnerable and the velvety skin of your inner thigh looks so delicious… He nuzzles against the area of bare skin and latches on to it, sucking until he’s sure you’re going to have a mark in a few minutes. The thought of leaving hickeys on you like a teenager is sickeningly nostalgic. You’re probably going to try to forget this when they’re done, aren’t you? But you won’t be able to, not when you’re covered in love bites and bruises. You’re going to be marked up for weeks.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Too impatient to bother taking off your panties, Dabi just pushes them aside to gain access to your damp cunt. His fingers feel hot—too hot, almost unbearably hot; you feel like you could melt into a puddle and your pussy is certainly slick enough as he pets your clit and slides one finger in, then two… You whimper and shake your head, silently denying what’s happening to you. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but Dabi’s fingers quickly find that rough patch inside of you that makes you want to beg like an animal. You hate it, but it feels good.

“She’s so tight,” Dabi says with something like awe in his voice. You can hear Shigaraki panting behind your back.

“Get on with it,” Shigaraki says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

For a second you just feel Dabi’s humid breath against your dripping cunt before he closes the space between the two of you and his tongue slides onto you, laving over your cunt to come to a rest on your clit. A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before forces its way out of your mouth as Dabi eats you out in earnest, rubbing his tongue against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gives you no time to catch your breath.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Your head rolls back onto Shigaraki’s shoulder. You feel like crying for a million reasons at once. Maybe you’re already crying—the sounds you’re making are almost like sobs. You want him to stop. You never want him to stop. Your hands twitch as you fight the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your thighs.

“Fuck, oh fuck, no stop please stop, ah…!” The stream of gibberish coming out of your mouth crescendoes into a real sob as you feel your climax coming. No—you can’t—you can’t cum here, in this broken-down bar, on the tongue of a villain, but it doesn’t matter that you can’t, because you’re going to cum anyway.

“Please don’t, please let me go—“ You writhe uncontrollably as the desire to cum sweeps over you, but Dabi just curls one arm around your thigh and pulls his face away so he can push his fingers back in, angling his palm to grind roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm wet softness of his tongue is enough to push you over the edge and you cry out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Dabi’s fingers as he works them in and out of you.

Unable to support yourself, you crumple like paper, and only the two villains you’re sandwiched between keep you upright.

“Fucking finally,” Shigaraki growls, and he pushes you down so your knees scrape painfully into the rubble. Your earlier resistance was cute, but so is your dazed compliance as he pulls your hips up to meet his.

“You’re going first?” Dabi asks incredulously. After he did all that work getting you off? No way.

“You can use her mouth,” Shigaraki tells him. His cock is straining against his pants and he groans as he releases it and rubs it over your panties. He could decay them, but…they’re cute. Pale pink, peach-pink, except for the wet spot over your cunt. Precum is already dribbling out of his cock as he pulls your panties to the side and lines it up with your pussy. Jesus-fucking-christ, you’re wet, sopping and slimy. Doesn’t that mean you’re begging to get filled up? Shigaraki hears himself sigh as he slides the head of his cock up and down your slit so it’ll be wet enough to go in.

You’re still out of it, dizzy from your orgasm and the tension of the situation, but you snap back to your senses with the feeling of something hard pushed up to your entrance. “Wait!” you yelp for what feels like the hundredth time. The gravel scattered over the wreckage where you’ve been forced onto your hands and knees digs painfully into your flesh as you pull away from Shigaraki, but he holds fast to your hips with pinkies raised.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi admonishes with a grin, as if he’s reprimanding a dog for not coming when called. He settles himself in front of your front and kneels again. Your hair is mussed but still silky soft and he takes a moment to enjoy the way the strands slip over his skin before he tangles his fingers close to your scalp and yanks your head in his direction, forcing your cheek to chafe against the crotch of his pants. It’s not difficult to tell what the the thick bulge is through the fabric, and you try to flinch away only to be caught again and immobilized.

“You’re going to take care of us,” Dabi tells you. “Like I took care of you. Okay?”

No, it’s not okay, it’s absolutely not okay, and you would say so if you didn’t see Dabi’s expression darken at your obvious denial and feel a wave of acrid heat coming from his hand in your hair. The smell is worse than the feeling, honestly—you’ve had enough run-ins with hair curlers and flat irons to recognize the smell of hair when it’s three seconds away from burning. “Okay! Okay,” you answer, panicked, voice muffled by the fabric of Dabi’s pants.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and the heat fades.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Shigaraki says from behind you.

“Then don’t.”

You whine, too scared to try to get away again or even plead with them to let you go, but it doesn’t matter. Shigaraki’s cock presses into your pussy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him as he slides into you, inch by inch, torturously slow. Is there anything to bite down on? You need to do something, anything to distract from the pain of Shigaraki’s cock stretching you out. He’s big, impossibly big.

Eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip until you can taste copper and scrabble around blindly until your hand finds loose fabric to grip. It’s something of Dabi’s, probably the coat he’s wearing if you remember correctly, but your brain isn’t exactly working right at the moment—

“You were right…shit, she’s…she’s so fucking tight.” Shigaraki’s voice is low and labored with the effort of not thrusting into you all at once. “Feels like…she’s trying to push me out…”

Fuck it, he thinks. Would it really be so bad if he did push all the way into you in one stroke? It’s better to just get it over with, isn’t it? Yeah…you’d probably prefer him to do it quickly. And besides, he can’t wait another second to feel you all the way up to the base of his cock.

Your strangled whimper is drowned out by his satisfied groan as he shoves the rest of the way into you in a single sudden thrust. The pain knocks the breath out of you in a gasp, and your eyes fly open as you clutch Dabi’s coat like a lifeline.

“It hurts—!”

“Yeah…yeah, I bet it does,” Shigaraki pants, holding your hips steady as he thrusts in and out of you. The bored nonchalance of earlier is gone, replaced by a feral intensity as his cock carves its way through your pussy. If you didn’t know better, you’d think there’s something affectionate in his voice.

For Shigaraki’s part, he can hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped over his dick. It’s taking every vestige of concentration he has left to make sure he’s holding a single finger on each hand away from your skin. It’s pure bliss. Your body was made to be fucked like this. He wants to live inside your pussy, he wants to do this every day, every minute. Fucking you raw is the best he’s felt in months…years. And it doesn’t hurt that your quirk is still working on him, still sending pleasurable shocks of energy that make him feel simultaneously like he could keep you pinned down for hours and like he could cum any second.

“Oh, she’s crying,” Dabi says, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. You flinch and try to jerk your head away, but his hand is still holding you by your hair and he’s so much stronger than you are. They both are, even without using their quirks. “Look at me.”

You comply, more by reflex than any real desire to obey. It’s pretty striking to Dabi how cute you look as Shigaraki pounds into you so fast and deep you can hardly catch your breath. Your eyes are glittering with unshed tears, your tits bounce with every thrust, and you’re still holding onto Dabi’s coat like your life depends on it. It’s almost like you’re pulling him closer. Adorable.

“She can…take it,” Shigaraki responds breathily between thrusts. “Such a good whore, taking my big cock in her tight little pussy…”

The backhanded compliment jars you and you feel hot tears spill over your cheeks. “I’m—not—a—whore,” you manage to say, each word punctuated with Shigaraki’s skin slapping against yours.

“Really?” Shigaraki’s pace slows and he leans closer to you so he can reach an arm around and swirl two fingers against your clit. You mewl like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation and he laughs rudely. “Feels so good…can’t believe the heroes don’t want to fuck you like this all the time…”

You shake your head desperately and bury your face in Dabi’s chest, barely noticing him stroking your hair and then reaching down to unzip his pants.

“No, no, I bet that’s what you do as a sidekick, right?” Shigaraki’s thrusts are back to frenzied jerks, and he rubs over your clit just as roughly. “Spread your legs for your hero…you’d make a great personal cocksleeve. Or maybe they rotate you around so every pro hero gets a turn…?”

“No, I don’t! No! Ah— ahnnn…” The denials pierce the air uselessly as the villain’s cock fills you up again and again. You’re not a whore, you’re not…even if it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the growing pressure of Shigaraki teasing your clit in time with his cock rubbing against your sweet spot. It still hurts—he’s so big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had sex with before, but there’s no way you’re going to admit to yourself that it’s starting to feel good.

“…Is my cock better than All Might’s?” Shigaraki’s words are cut off by his own grunt of pleasure as your cunt twitches around him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi cuts in. “I’m sick of hearing a guy’s voice moaning. I’m going to get soft.”

Past the point of comprehending the situation, you look up at him gratefully, only to reel back in shock as Dabi frees his own cock from his pants and it brushes against your cheek. Trying to pull away from him is more instinct than rational thought, but he holds you just as easily as before and forces two fingers into your mouth. You tense, ready to bite down, (and hopefully take a few knuckles off) but he sees it coming and suddenly your mouth is horribly burning hot.

“You’re going to suck my cock now,” says Dabi conversationally, extinguishing the flame almost as soon as he started it. It’s not so bad—probably more like a coffee burn than anything else—but you’re coughing and spitting anyway. “Say yes.”

“…Yes,” you whisper, voice barely intelligible.

“Good little sidekick. And you’re going to be very careful. You’re not going to use teeth.”

You nod, unable to mount a defense with Shigaraki mercilessly fucking you from behind.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeal as Shigaraki finds a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

“Good.” Dabi drags your head down to hover over his cock and massages your jaw until it falls open. “Suck.”

One of his hands falls to your shoulder to try to stabilize you, but you can’t help feeling the threat in the motion. You quickly duck down and attempt to ignore the heady smell of sweat and precum as you trace your tongue up the underside of his dick. He’s big too, maybe thicker than Shigaraki, and you hate yourself for feeling lucky that it’s not this cock inside your pussy right now.

The stunt Dabi pulled burning your mouth made you salivate, and you let drool coat your tongue as you lick around the head. But it’s not working—you rock forward every time Shigaraki stuffs his dick back in your aching pussy, and Dabi’s cock smears over your mouth haphazardly.

“I said suck. Not lick.” Suddenly (although you don’t know why you keep expecting some kind of warning before these villains find a new way to violate you), Dabi grabs the back of your head and shoves his cock into your mouth. Your throat constricts involuntarily as the thick head triggers your gag reflex, and all three of you shiver in unison.

“Do…do that again,” Shigaraki says, voice strained. “She tightens up…when you do that.”

Dabi smirks and thrusts into you again, relishing the warm, humid cavern of your throat around his cock along with the pure swell of energy from your quirk enhancing his. His rhythm matches Shigaraki’s and his cock hits the back of your throat with every rapid pump, making you gag and clench like you’re trying to milk the cum out of him. What a perfect little slut… He can see from Shigaraki’s sloppy movements that you’re squeezing around his cock every time too.

The feeling of having one villain cock buried in your pussy while another ravages your throat is unthinkable, even more so with Shigaraki’s fingers on your clit coaxing out an earth-shaking orgasm. But you’d almost be able to forget what’s happening—god knows you’re delirious with sensation, barely able to keep track of who’s doing what to you—if not for the sound. The wet slap of Shigaraki’s hips against your ass, the horrible squelching from your (dripping wet, even if you don’t want to admit it) pussy as his cock pistons in and out of you, your choked moans and gagging noises, and above it all, the unrestrained voices of the villains fucking into you.

You feel like a fuck toy, a sex doll, used without mercy by the two most evil people you can think of…and you’re about to cum.

Your voice is getting louder by the second, and the pulsing of your cunt around Shigaraki’s cock is telling him exactly how close you are. He curls his body over yours to get a better angle to rub your clit, enjoying your high-pitched whine in response. “Yeah…that’s right…good girl. Cum on my cock…like a good little sidekick.”

You keen and goosebumps rise on your skin as Shigaraki licks at the sheen of sweat on your back. He feels your climax almost as soon as you do… If your scream wasn’t stifled by Dabi’s dick in your mouth, everyone within a one-mile radius would know you were getting fucked silly, yeah? The walls of your pussy clamp down on Shigaraki’s cock, your body begging for his cum, and he grips your ass to make sure you can’t get away as he comes to his own orgasm inside of you.

Fuck… Shigaraki could die right now and be happy. He keeps stroking your clit, knowing it’s cruel, knowing you’ll be overstimulated and sensitive and that it’ll hurt to keep touching you like this after you already came, and not caring because every time the tips of his fingers push that little magic button, you shiver and squeeze him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

Shigaraki gives a few last thrusts, pushing his cum deeper into your body, fucking it into you so you’ll be dripping white for hours, and then finally pulls out. The slurping sound your cunt makes as his cock leaves your pussy is obscene. So is the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connects your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulls it away. He loves it.

Knowing that Shigaraki came—inside you, no less, the inconsiderate bastard—Dabi grips the back of your head and tugs you down to deepthroat him. Your walls twitch involuntarily and Dabi groans, letting himself shoot his load down your throat. “Yes…yeah…yeah…just like that. Swallow.”

You don’t swallow. You don’t do anything but gag on his cum and gasp as he thrusts into you. Dabi pulls you off of him, annoyed and ready to threaten you into submission again…until your head lolls to the side and he can see that your eyes are closed.

“Shit, she passed out.”

“…What? Are you kidding?”

Dabi slaps your face lightly. You wince in your sleep but don’t wake up. “Nope. Must’ve been when she came the second time.”

“Is she…” Shigaraki trails off, not sure how to end the question. ‘Okay’ isn’t exactly right.

“She’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of them wait for a moment, but you don’t move. When he catches his breath, Shigaraki wipes off his dick and pulls up his pants. Dabi does the same. Without them holding you, you flop down into the fetal position on the broken concrete. “What now?” Shigaraki asks.

Dabi wipes the sweat from his forehead. “You tell me, leader. I’m surprised Kurogiri hasn’t opened another warp gate to get you back. Guessing you don’t have your phone either?”

“…We can go to Giran’s place to meet up. They’re probably waiting for us there,” Shigaraki says, scratching at his neck.

“Do you have cab fare?”

“I don’t have my wallet on me. You?”

“Not enough for a cab. We’ll have to take the train. You can owe me.”

Shigaraki looks down at you. You make a pitiful scene, naked except for your boots, sports bra, and cum-soaked panties. Your neck is bruised red and purple, and you’re shaking, shivering in the cool air now that the sun has sunk further toward the horizon and you’re not being touched. “Are we going to leave her here?”

“What, you want to bring her on the train with us? You don’t think that’s gonna look suspicious?”

“Well…” Their eyes meet and Shigaraki knows Dabi’s thinking the same thing he is. You have a lot of potential as an asset. They haven’t even had the chance to see how your quirk boosting works in combat, but Shigaraki almost wants to pick a fight just to give it a try.

And fighting power aside, Shigaraki isn’t a fan of the possibility that he’ll never get to fuck you again.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s a pro hero’s sidekick. She can’t be too hard to find.” Dabi shrugs off his coat and crouches next to you. You’re limp enough that he has no trouble lifting you into his lap and guiding your arms through the sleeves of his coat. Once you’re wrapped in the black fabric, he does up the buttons, combs through your hair with his fingers, wipes the mixed cum and spittle off your chin, and admires his handiwork. Sure, anyone looking closely at you will know at least a little about what happened—you’re still sweating in the cold, you have that undeniable ‘just got fucked’ look all over you, and the smell of sex is overpowering. But at least you won’t have to walk back to the rescue tent in your filthy underwear.

In your sleep, you nuzzle into Dabi’s chest, reaching blindly toward the source of warmth. He grins and strokes the back of your neck, soothing warm fingers over the bruised skin there and enjoying his last opportunity to touch you and feel your quirk working…for now, at least. “You know, I wonder why villains don’t get sidekicks. Seems a little unfair, right?”

Shigaraki’s sneer matches Dabi’s as he bends down to run his fingernails over your cheek, almost hard enough to hurt. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

#Dabi x reader #Shigaraki Tomura x reader #Shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #Shigaraki #Dabi #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #smut #tw noncon

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

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All Day Affair - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (18+)

JATP Masterlist - Valentine’s Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ Smut, swearing, light embarrassment (minors DNI)

Words: 2757

Summary: A rough night before leads to a slow morning after, causing you and Charlie to be late to Valentine’s brunch plans. All is forgiven and all is forgotten when he makes it up to you in the best way he can.

A/n: This weekend has not at all gone the way I’d thought/hoped it would and so I apologize for the slow churning of fics lately but I promise I am working on some much requested fics. On a lighter note, here is my contribution to the Valentine’s Day

My eyes groggily flutter open when I hear my phone rapidly buzzing on the bedside table. Charlie’s arm is draped over my exposed midriff, no doubt a position of his own doing. As I go to move his arm off my bare skin, he holds onto me tighter groaning an incoherent string of words. I attempt to grab the maniacally buzzing device with my eyes still closed. I’m incapacitated via Charlie’s hold on my waist, and thus, all I feel under my flattened hand against the cool surface are the discarded condom wrappers from last night.

“Charlie,” I scold, still not fully awake. He knowingly loosens his grip, allowing me to sit up and it isn’t until I’m upright and Charlie’s arm drops into my lap that I realize I’m completely naked under his t-shirt. My phone has not stopped vibrating like crazy much to my dismay. Haphazardly grabbing it off the nightstand, I wait for my eyes to adjust before I read the time.

11:26.

“SHIT. Charlie! Charlie, we’re late!” I try and shake him awake. He whines miserably,

“Mmmmm, what?”

“It’s 11:26, we’re late!”

The messages are from Owen and Savannah, both of whom we were supposed to be meeting for brunch at 11. While Charlie and I wanted Valentine’s Day plans alone, we also wanted to spend time with our friends whom we love dearly. Since the original plan was for the two of us to have the evening all to ourselves, we agreed on having brunch to start the day off well. Look how that turned out for us. I scramble out of bed, and I nearly hit the floor as my legs give out from under me. Luckily, Charlie was right behind me and was able to catch me in time.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just sore.”

“Yessss.” I fake slap his chest before we resume in the chaos, frantically throwing on decent outfits. I toss Charlie one of his band shirts turned muscle tees after hopping into a pair of jeans. Once dressed, I run to the bathroom and pass a brush through my hair in a frenzy before I begin brushing my teeth at lightning speed. Charlie appears beside me to brush his own teeth, and I’m practically sprinting out of the bathroom as he does.

“Don’t forget to fix your hair!” My legs nearly give out once more as I struggle to slip on my favorite pair of sneakers. Once I’m upright again, and stable, I grab both of our wallets and the keys to the house and car and shove them into my bag. Together we bolt out the door and clamber into Charlie’s orange Subaru.

In a nice contrast to all the rushing around we’ve done this morning, Charlie drives at a regular speed; thankfully, we make it to the restaurant in one piece. As soon as he puts the car in park the two of us run to the entrance to see our friends waiting at an outdoor table on the patio. Charlie and I finally made it, albeit a tad out of breath.

“Charlie, Y/n, nice of you to finally join us.”

“11:44 on the dot. Not your latest arrival, but an honorable mention,” Savannah jeers, waving me over to sit beside her.

“What happened this time?”

“Overslept. My usual alarm didn’t go off, I must’ve forgotten to turn it on last night.”

“Classic.” I’m distracted from Owen’s teasing when Savannah’s humorous smile drops. She’s looking at me with an emotion I can’t distinguish.

“You okay?” She simply nods and then pushes her chair back.

“I need to pee and you do too. Come on, Y/n.” And without allowing me to reply, she has me up out of the chair and briskly walking toward the bathroom. It isn’t until we’re outside the single stall that I noticed she grabbed my bag from the back of my chair. Once she’s locked us both in the room, she looks at me with wide eyes and a suppressed smile.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s this?” She answers my question with a question, before using her left index finger to poke the right side of my neck.

“Ow!” My face drops once I realize. Brushing past her, I move to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, inspecting the assemblage of love bites all over my neck area. Savannah merely giggles at the realization before opening my bag.

“You don’t have a sponge, so we’re gonna have to use our fingers.” I turn around to look at her, not through the mirror and find a bottle of full-coverage concealer in her hands.

“How did that get in there?”

“I put it in there last week after you had to spend the whole day adjusting your shirt around your collar bones to hide more of these.” She gives a vague gesture to the marks on my neck and begins applying the makeup.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“And you are unbelievable. That was literally last week, and you’re already marked up again. Don’t you and Charlie ever just make love? Does it always have to be ‘ravage one another’s body’?”

“I mean, occasionally. I don’t know, sweet and tender isn’t really our thing.”

“Clearly.” Savannah steps back to survey her work, “Okay, you’re covered but be careful because I didn’t pack setting spray.”

“I am forever indebted to you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. It’s Owen that you should pray doesn’t notice.”

“God, you’re right.”

“If I were solely judging by his hair, I’d have guessed you guys went at it this morning and not last night.”

“Shit, he’s probably marked up, too.”

“Well, I didn’t bring him concealer, and you two are not the same shade soooo… sorry.” I shake my head dismissively as I hold the bathroom door open for her behind me.

“Better him than me.”

“How was it though? You told me you’d text me updates.”

“Yeah, and then I didn’t set an alarm. But no, it was… so good. I’m like, sore.”

“Okay, we’re entering TMI territory so let’s find something to talk about before we’re back within earshot.”

“What are your Valentine’s plans for the rest of the day?”

“I might get frozen yogurt and watch a movie, haven’t really decided. I would ask what you and Charlie are doing, but based on this morning, I think I can guess.”

Just as Savannah and I did, the two boys fall silent once we approach the table; when the four of us are settled, I take a quick glance over the menu, as if I’m unsure of what I want.

“Okay, in the spirit of St. Valentine, let’s talk love. Tell us about your first kiss, Y/n.” Savannah eyes me, already knowing the horrendous story. I deadpan,

“No.”

“Wait, I’m actually curious. I don’t think I know this story.” Charlie leans forward in his seat, placing his forearms on the table in front of him.

“See what you’ve done?” Savannah merely shrugs and takes a smug sip from her water glass. “No, I’m not doing this. Why don’t you tell us about your first kiss, Sav?”

“I asked you first.”

“Fine, be that way. Charlie, tell us about your first kiss.”

“Well, I don’t know I-”

“Come on, what’s ‘love-master’ Charlie’s origin story?” Owen teasingly pats Charlie on the back, and the four of us all fall under a shocked silence at the sound of Charlie hissing in pain. My lips part in surprise but quickly press shut in a moment’s realization.

“You okay?” Don’t do it, Owen.

“Yeah, I’m fine just-”

“Oh my god.” Upon patting Charlie’s back, the fabric of his shirt moved out of the way to reveal a conglomerate of scratches across the surface of his sun-kissed skin. Owen laughs out in disbelief before poking one of the scratches again, causing Charlie to smack his hand away.

“Holy shit, did you get mauled by a bear?” Owen then gasps in a realization that I’d pray he wouldn’t have, and he begins to laugh even harder. “That good, huh Y/n?” My face heats up a million degrees and I cover my face with one hand as a desperate defense mechanism.

“It’s not a big deal, Owen.” Thank god, Savannah’s come to the rescue. “They just got a head start on Valentine’s Day is all.”

“Okay, can we please change the subject?” I plead as I’ve already had enough of their laughter. Charlie gives me a look that is both apologetic and embarrassed and I let out an exaggerated sigh as a response.

The rest of our brunch date is still a good time minus the occasional interjectory joke about my and Charlie’s romantic all-day-affair yesterday. Our foursome disassembles, already planning the next group outing post-Valentine’s intimacy.

“That was absolutely humiliating,” I state, buckling my seatbelt in the passenger's side as Charlie begins pulling out of the parking spot.

“You want me to be gentler next time?” Charlie asks sincerely and extends his right hand over the center console to rub a comforting circle on top of my thigh over the fabric of my jeans. The gesture pulls the warmth in my heart and the butterflies in my stomach a little lower.

“...No,” I admit shyly. The confession elicits a small, cocky chuckle from Charlie. He then gives me an affirming squeeze before tracing the seam along my inner thigh in a way that is too sensual to mistake his intentions.

The entire car ride home, the feeling of Charlie’s fingertips ghosting up my leg makes my heart beat a little faster and ignites a subtle heat where I wish he’d trail his hand up to. I’m sure my desire is apparent to Charlie but he doesn’t say anything about it. When we get back to our home, I stick the key in the lock and open the front door but freeze as I feel Charlie pressing into my entire backside. He leans down to playfully bite part of my earlobe as his hands come to rest on my hips.

“You said you didn’t want me to be gentle?” All of my senses are clouded by dense arousal so all I can do is nod. He airily laughs, a warm breath dusting the surface of my skin and I shudder involuntarily. “Go inside.”

After closing the door behind us, Charlie shoves me up against it, his hand behind my head to prevent me from actually getting hurt. He kisses my lips forcefully but doesn’t linger, and instead trails down the column of my throat. The kisses are rough in between small bites of affection, surely leaving more marks that I’ll have to wake up early to cover tomorrow. Or just not go anywhere. After this, it’s looking like the latter.

“You want me to rough you up a little bit? Huh?”

“Yes.” The love bites Charlie’s leaving behind become harsher on my skin, as he trails further down my neck, across my collarbones. “Charlie, can we…?”

“Can we what? Tell me what you want.”

“Please-“

“Please what? Use your words.”

“Please, fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command.” And with that Charlie pulls me into the bedroom, stealing kisses in between steps. Charlie moves to sit me on the bed but as he grabs me by the hips, I maneuver to switch places and push him down onto the bed. He looks at me with a mix of surprise and excitement, taking the hand that pushed him between his own. I smile delicately when Charlie presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles. That is the last trace of softness.

The two of us begin stripping out of our brunch clothes as fast as we can. It’s as if we’re running out of time. We’re both almost fully naked but before I can get my panties off Charlie’s lips are back on mine. His movements are swift, kiss after kiss is filled with an unrivaled lust that is glorious.

Crawling onto the bed, Charlie stays close behind, never allowing any loss of contact between us. I recover to a sitting position and Charlie wraps his arm under my stomach and presses a line of kisses across my shoulder blades.

“Can I take you like this?” He asks earnestly, running his hands over the vast expanse of my bare skin. I choke out a desperate plea and my breathing softens once I feel the absence of Charlie’s touch on my body. When I turn around I see him searching the room like a madman.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t find any more condoms. I think we used them all last night.”

“What? We only used three.”

“I don’t know! Maybe I dropped some?”

“Fuck it. Charlie if I’m not getting absolutely rawed in the next ten seconds I will walk out that door.” He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that and is back on the bed. Charlie grabs both sides of my face to bring me in for a long passionate kiss before taking his place behind me. His warm hands fall from my face to my waist, gripping the skin slightly.

Charlie sits back on his heels and moves my body back to hover over his. He runs a sensual path with his fingers down the sides of my body and slips one down through the growing wetness between my legs. Tracing the arousal over my quivering clit. The anticipation of the moment has heightened my sensitivity and as a result, I let out a whine. My whimpering continues when I feel him run the tip of his erection through the wetness. As I open my mouth to nag him for moving so slow, Charlie slams his entire length inside of me at once, causing me to cry out in pleasure. I can tell it feels incredible for him too by the way he’s gripping my hips. If he didn’t leave bruises yesterday, he definitely will today.

It doesn’t take long for him to figure out a tempo that’s comfortable for the both of us and my labored panting fills the room. Charlie lets out a groan followed by a laugh because we could both feel the physical reaction I had to the noise he had let out. Wrapping his right arm across my stomach, Charlie reaches the left up to grab my tits, and roughly bite another hickey on my shoulder. He uses his right arm to pull my body into his own torso, and shifting his hips he makes a few adjustments. Charlie shifts one more time and when he thrusts back into me I cry out so loud surely our neighbors will put in a noise complaint.

“There we go,” he grunts to himself, but our proximity allows me to hear. Repeatedly thrusting into that spot, my eyes flutter closed in pleasure. Charlie resumes leaving harsh, lingering kisses, and love bites down the side of my neck, moaning into them in ecstasy. As I feel my heat begin to pulse, Charlie knows I’m close and tries to grab my attention.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” I will my eyes open and turn to look. The pleasure of his movements is so overwhelming that in between moans and shallow breaths, I find myself leaning my head back to rest on his bare shoulder. “I want you to look at me as you come undone.”

“Okay.” I swallow hard from how dry my mouth is from panting so hard for so long. Each next thrust is measured and the sound of our labored breathing and pleasured moans fill the electrified air.

“Charlie.”

“I’m close. Where do you want-”

“Just stay inside.”

“You sure?” Before I can give a coherent response my orgasm tears through me like a wildfire. I’m doing my best not to scream and what comes out is a mix between a strangled cry and a deep, guttural groan. Adding to my ecstasy, Charlie reaches down to trace tiny circles over my clit and I feel tears of overstimulation prick the length of my lower lash line. While Charlie fucks me through my high, I feel his movements stutter and the familiar twitch before he relaxes his hold on my body. The two of us collapse back onto the bed in a symphony of gasps and bliss-fueled laughter.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” he says behind a smile.

“I love you. That was the first time I’ve forgone condoms…” I state to the ceiling in a moment’s realization, “How do I get this out of me?”

***

A/n: I really am so sorry about the slow churn of writing. I’ve gotten busy with classes and though I knew this was coming I’m still upset that I can’t spend more time writing. On top of that being in a block has been really rough but it’ll pass with time I hope :)

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

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Pseudo Princess Pt.28

A Dangerous Homecoming

04/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,529

Warnings: wounds, blood, language, fluff

A/N: We are in the home stretch my loves. The end is in sight. Hopefully I can speed up my momentum. I have the chapters outlined out but always seem to slow down when I’m near the end. I’ve done it with lots of my stories. And I am SORRY. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Consciousness isn’t something that Steve is often at odds with.

From that fateful day when his mother gave in to her most rabid of fears and made her deal with the Sun Witch. With Doctor Erskine’s enthusiastic encouragement and his own experimental flare, Steve’s fate was changed.

He was altered, irrevocably so. The man he might have grown up to be—or rather, the man he would have died as—had disappeared and in his place a new one was formed. One of drive but not ambition. One with the will to do good and now with the strength to do so.

Steve had been blessed with the body to fight, but now he understands that he was also cursed to drag everyone he loves into the darkness opposite his light.

He gasps, sweating into his expensive and ridiculously extravagant tunic. The dark blue, etched in delicate silver and blacks is nearly soaked through.

His dark gray undershirt clings to his wounded and bruised form.

His lungs struggle for breath as his fear mounts, choking him as silver steel eyes grow dark, black, and dangerous. A curtain of deep chestnut hair flutters around a pale but cold bitten face. There’s a gleam to this man’s left and a fist curls with a keening cry as metal bends.

Steve’s hands twitch. His lips part, dried blood crackling around the edges of his lips.

His fever rages, burning hotter than he’s ever burnt before. The wound in his side stings. The pain is consistent until suddenly it stops.

As the dark eyes charge forward, his weapon hand raised to strike, a soft dampness coaxes Steve away from the image. He gasps, death poised to strike only inches away, when a soft whisper pulls him out.

“Shhhh.” The whisper says and Steve lashes out.

His eyes open wide, his hand closed tight around muscle and bone.

“Ow.” You whisper, pained but also controlled.

Steve’s eyes search and find you to his left, right hand angled painfully away from his face with a damp piece of cloth in its grasp.

“You’re safe.” You tell him gently, trying to convince him. “You’re alright.”

The panic in his chest dissipates. His heart begins to slow. There’s a searing burn on his left side and he looks down to see his shirt and tunic pulled up to expose a long wound now stitched together and freshly cleaned.

“Steve…” You plead. “My hand.”

His panic returns and he drops your wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

He pushes himself up but stops as you place a restraining hand on his chest.

“Don’t get up.” You order.

And it is and order. No doubt about it.

Though Steve knows that you take your role as Queen of Broklin very seriously, he has never heard you use that very authority on him and it strokes it heartstrings like a harp.

He sits back, resting against what feels like sacks of grain. It isn’t exactly soft but it’s better than the ground. Beneath his is warm mattress, hay by the feel of it. Grass too probably.

With his senses returning, he takes a quick look around where you’ve brought him.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” You tell him, resuming the cleaning of his face. “Or it used to be.”

You gently massage away the grime from his skin. The blood caked on his scratches and cuts require a bit more pressure but you’re as gentle as can be.

While you work, he takes it in. Your once home.

It’s small. Only one room, slightly smaller than his study back in Broklin.

The floor is made of aged wood that creaks as you shift on your knees to reach the far side of his neck.

There are small holes and cracks, moldy spots of green in one corner. In another a vibrant yellow weed pokes through from the ground below.

The wattle walls have been painted to attempt a brighter interior. The paint is scarce. He can see how you tried your best to make this little room a home.

The windows, all without panes of glass and only shutters to keep out the cold in winter, have begun to crumble and splinter. A vine has begun to take over, weaving it’s way in and up into the leaky thatched roof.

“Sorry about the water. It started raining while I was in the village.” You explain and his eyes hone in on you.

“You went out alone?” He demands, fear beginning to grab hold.

“Just for a little bit.” You stop your cleaning, meeting his fretful gaze with what he knows now is a stubborn will to be independent. “I needed to get some food and clean scraps for your wounds.”

Steve frowns, hating that you'd gone anywhere without him.

He reaches up to place his hand along your left cheek, caressing your skin until his finger finds a small three inch pucker across your cheek bone.

“You’re hurt.” He hates it. He hates it so much his stomach begins to bubble with bile.

“It’s just a scratch, Steve.” You shake your head, then lean towards him again to resume your cleaning. “Luckily my old sewing box was still in the cupboard. I tended your wound as best I could but we should get it looked at properly.

“I don’t want you getting an infection.” You sigh.

Steve’s turns towards the cupboard beside the small table by the fire you’ve got going. There’s an old rusty pot resting just beyond, handle broken.

All of your furniture, including this bed that he’s laying on is of the poorest quality. With you gone and without your care, even though it’s been under a year, it has fallen into disrepair.

“I won’t.” Steve assures you, looking at the sewing box by your legs, resting on the tattered skirts if your once fine dress.

“That won’t work on me, Steve. You’re seeing a doctor as soon as we’re with father.” You frown.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at your stubborn pout.

He could kiss you. He loves the way you are bot afraid to challenge him or show you care. You love him so openly. With no fear.

He’s never known this kind of love. Freely given with no thought of restraint.

“I mean, I can’t catch an infection.” Steve explains. “I’m already healing. Even my fever is already gone.”

You almost dive towards his cheeks, hand thrown out to feel his temperature. You press your little—well, little to him—palm against his forehead and wait.

Steve can’t help but love you in every moment that you are by his side.

Especially now as you teeter over him, face screwed up with concerned concentration. You’re a mess. Like him.

Skin broken in small places from rocks and the falls you took. Hair completely disheveled. Your crown, the smaller one he’d had made for your outdoor events, is gone. Lost somewhere in the crowd and amongst the fight.

He doesn’t dare bring it to your attention.

His eyes naturally follow the curve of your throat down to your chest, and then finally your stomach.

His calm glee at your fussing quickly fades as the small swell of your stomach—more noticeable to him day after day—grabs hold of his attention completely.

With two hands he cups the bump, wondering if he might somehow know how the little prince is in your belly. His son.

“How are you feeling?” He checks, meeting your gaze which calms as you sit back onto your ankles and place your hands over his.

“He’s alright.” You stroke his fingers, a gesture of comfort. “I was a little worried while we were walking. After the carriage flipped over, I didn’t feel him for a while, but he did wiggle a bit as we walked here.”

Steve feels a rush of relief, grateful to you for always being your shared son’s protector. He knows how much you love him already.

“That’s not what I asked.” Steve clarifies, eyebrows raised high as he waits.

“I’m fine, Steve. A little tired. Achy but that’s to be expected after today. And very worried.” You sigh, shoulders rising high and dropping low as you slouch with the weight of your grief.

Steve knows what you’re thinking about, because he’s been thinking about it too.

He thought about how far he needed to get you away from the city. And Bucky. He thought about his son and his health. And Bucky. He worried about his friends. And Bucky. He wished he could do more for the innocents he’d left behind. And Bucky.

“They’ll have subdued him by now.” Steve promises.

“How do you know? He was so…so lethal, Steve. I’ve never seen him like that. How is it even possible?”

Steve takes a slow breath, knowing that it’s time for this story. He would have preferred for Bucky to tell you himself, but this time…he’ll have to make an exception.

“There’s something you should know about Bucky.” He begins, but you nod.

“This has to do with him being taken a few years ago?” You offer, entirely more knowledgeable than he’d expected you to be. You never cease to amaze him. He shouldn’t be surprised.

You’re smart as a whip. Perhaps not by a Lady’s standards, but you know more than anyone knows. You’re observant and your common sense and instinct is unparalleled.

If you weren’t so important to him, so precious; if you weren’t his only love and the mother of his child, he would recruit you onto the team and find a way to make you impervious to harm.

Maybe find a witch to bewitch you the way they’d done him or even Peter.

“How do you-?”

“The other day when Nat and I spent some time together alone, she alluded to a story. She didn’t tell me, but she said she would. Later.” You explain and Steve can see the resignation of your all too special patience.

“I suppose it’s later.” Steve nods. “A few years ago, Bucky, Nat, Clint, and I were on a quest to find one of the secret Hydra camps in the Southern forests. The deep south. In the elder wood.”

He watches as you bring out your feet from under you and settle on the floor. He hates it, you on the hard surface while he’s on the soft bed…but if he asks you to sit with him, you’ll argue.

“He was gone for weeks. Nat was inconsolable. Clint did what he could but eventually they had to move on. They had things to attend to. Responsibilities. Thor had to go back to Asgard, Tony had to help Pepper run his own Kingdom, and although I—I should have gone back to ruling Broklin, but I couldn’t give up.

“Nat and I kept searching. How could we stop looking? Bucky is…he was my only remaining family. And for Nat…well, it would be like when I lost you. Knowing you’re out there with no way of knowing whether you’re safe, only we knew that Bucky wasn’t.”

“This was after Margaret’s death?” You probe carefully, fearful it seems in upsetting him.

He’s driven that fear into you and it upsets him that you feel you can’t be open with him about Margaret. It’s his own fault.

Steve nods. “Only just. It was so fresh. Her death…and I was grateful for the distraction; however painful it was. The thought of losing Bucky too after everything with Maggie…I couldn’t stand it. I was determined in finding him. As was Nat.”

Steve can almost sense his own desperation again. It was just as bad as when you were missing. He ignores the ache in his chest at both memories and instead presses on, pushing those bad times out of his mind.

You’re here, attentive and precious in front of him. He won’t waste another moment on the thought of you anywhere but at his side.

“When we finally found him, he’d been strapped to a wooden bed with no mattress in the lowest level of a ruined castle. It was damp but hot, as we were farther South than I’d ever been. Although Natasha knew the territory well and we were able to search it with ease thanks to her expertise.

“For the most part, Bucky seemed fine. He was a little tired when we pulled him out of that wretched cell, but he was happy to be with Natasha again.

“His arm…it was gone. Replaced by the one he has now. When we asked him what had happened to it, he said that he didn’t remember and that it did hurt, but not as much as he might have thought it would to lose an arm.”

“Weren’t any of you worried about what they’d done to him?” You ask in shock, voice tight and whispered. Steve can only guess at what has you so spooked but he’s certain it’s the loss of Bucky’s arm. Here was no grand tale of him losing it in battle.

One day it was there, the next it was gone.

“Yes. Of course. Nat and I more than the others because we couldn’t understand why they would take him only to do that to his arm. So, we kept a very close eye on him. We secluded him to one room in the castle with guards at his door day and night.

“Tony was also very suspicious. Only Tony…Tony wanted to do more than just keep an eye on him.” Steve says, voice dropping low and his eyes going dark at the memory of Tony’s panic, the fear in his eyes as he looked at Bucky laying unconscious as he recovered.

A perceived threat. But to Steve, it was Bucky. His friend and brother. Like hell he was going to let anyone hurt him any more than he’d already been injured.

As Steve can’t fight his anger, with his brow furrowed, you seem to realize suddenly that this must have been what drove your Father and Steve apart. This was what had needed your marriage to bridge the divide in their relationship.

“He wanted to lock him up permanently.” You say, not surprised one bit, but a little disappointed? “Or worse…”

As Steve’s gaze meets yours, you read his eyes like no one else in his life can and realize that Tony had actually tried to do something about it, not simply wanted to.

“What did he do?” You barely manage to say.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I fought for Bucky. Nat did too. We were split, though Thor and Bruce weren’t there for the fallout, everyone else was.

“Peter was the only one who managed to balance both sides even though he initially fought with Tony. He realized what this would mean and helped mediate a stop to our quarrel. At least for a while.

“Tony and I didn’t speak again until we arranged a marriage between Morgana and myself with the full intention of having it end before we could ever truly consummate the marriage. That’s where you came in.” Steve sighs, feeling a surge of gratitude for you.

He doesn’t even plan for it to happen, but his voice becomes softer as he reaches out to stroke the curve of your chin. Caressing you whenever he has the chance. How long will you allow him to show you his affections?

He cannot be touching you always, despite his desire to do so. He must maintain some form of decorum in front of his friends and subjects.

However, here in the dimly lit home of your past, he can be as free with his love as he pleases.

You catch his hand and release a held breath, looking appeased and happy to feel the heat of his skin, just as he relishes in yours.

“So, Bucky never showed any signs of mental manipulation until today?” You wonder.

“No. Nothing until today. When nothing happened, we assumed he was fine.” Steve sighs heavily, the weight of his fight with Bucky weighing heavy on his shoulders. Had he missed some sort of clue? Had there been an indicator of what was to come? Had he been blind because of how close he was with Bucky. “It’s been more than two years…”

As if that might ease his strife. It doesn’t. It only makes him worry that maybe there is more to come. What if it isn’t over? What if they’ve turned his friend into someone dangerous permanently?

Steve pulls you a little closer and you shift for him, moving where he wants you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. He isn’t satisfied until you’re right against his side, your hands pressed against his chest where your fingers take to restlessly twitching against the loose threads of his shirt.

He watches you, so grateful that you’re safe. You’re as lost in thought as he is. Reliving the terrible day just as he is, no doubt.

Steve’s arm tightens again, and you look up to meet his eyes. Your own worry seems to dissipate as you see the stress in his.

As much as he loves Bucky. He can’t help but think how close he came to taking you from him today. How easily his life might have changed again. For the worse.

With a small quiet sigh, you reach up towards his cheek and begin to wipe at the smudged dirt there but stop after two swipes, eyes going wide as you stare into Steve’s storm blues.

“What?” Steve asks, seeing the shift in your expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it was important.” You begin, and Steve can hardly breathe.

“Didn’t tell me what, flower?” He coaxes, adjusting on the bed to sit up a little straighter.

“I…I think I know what happened. What set Bucky off today.” Steve begins to speak but you’re quick to shake your head to silence him and he obeys you, shushing if that is what you wish. “I didn’t think it was real. I was just waking up in the carriage when I saw it. I was drifting in and out, but I found it odd and even asked father about it.”

Steve’s impatience begins to prod at him, but he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet for you.

“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see him any other time except for that moment.” You shake your head, shutting your eyes as you struggle to pull the image together in your mind it looks like, so Steve reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Tell me.” He pleads gently, forced but willing.

When you meet his eyes again, he can see the terror there but also the absolute certainty.

“I saw Lord Pierce across the square, getting out of a carriage. Bucky was there with him. Looking upset, I think. Then Lord Pierce leaned in and whispered something into Bucky’s ear.

“He went a little stiff, his face went blank, but then I must have gone under for a moment and when I opened my eyes, Bucky was gone. Lord Pierce was gone too.

“Even then, my heart was racing. I knew that what I saw wasn’t good, but I could have been dreaming it. And when I asked father if Lord Pierce was in attendance at the procession, he said that he wasn’t. That he’d made sure to exclude him purposely. So, I put it out of my mind.”

Steve’s hands are claws against your back, the rage within him is nearly choking. He wants to scream. To destroy. If he weren’t injured, he might have even torn your house apart with his bare hands.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, he assumes because you can feel his upset.

“No.” He manages to say, voice deep and quaking with his anger. “No, Y/N. You did right to tell me now. I don’t blame you.”

“But I should have said something.” You fret.

Steve looks down at your belly, the agony of almost having lost both of you today eats at him and helps calm him. It levels him out and he breathes in slowly, then releases the breath but pulls you to him in a soft embrace.

“You’re safe.” He shuts his eyes, really letting himself feel you there in his arms. He trails one hand down to rest on your stomach, tracing the shape of the small curve. “You both are. That’s all that matters.”

“What does this mean for the kingdom? For Lord Pierce? For Bucky?” You ask him, looking to him for a response to this new crisis.

Steve doesn’t often feel as if he is a king with people who depend on him.

Though he knows that he does indeed have a responsibility to his people, he doesn’t often feel as if he’s looked on for leadership. Those moments when someone is truly waiting for him to make a decision.

In your eyes he sees devotion and respect. He sees a genuine intention to follow. And yet he knows that even with this willingness, you would easily disagree with him if you felt it were important.

Everyday you are proving to him that you are not only the woman he loves, but the Queen he has needed at his side.

With you beside him, he truly feels as though he could rule his Kingdom with confidence, with grace, and with a will to do better. For you. For his son. And for all of the people who depend on him.

“I will issue a warrant for his arrest.” Steve declares, confident in his decision. “I will state his crimes clearly so that everyone may see what a snake he is. It will ruin his name and he will have no choice but to either turn himself in for trial or run.”

“What if he runs?”

“Then we will follow.” He nods. “He’ll pay for what he did to Bucky. He’ll pay for what he’s done to you.”

You lift your chin, filled with what he hopes is belief that he can do it. That he can bring Pierce to his knees.

“No one hurts my family and gets away with it.” Steve declares. “No one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?!” Natasha shouts, shoving herself between Tony and Bucky, fully intent on punching if the need should arise.

The beautiful pale stones of Tony’s castle are a stark contrast to the horrors on the bed behind her.

Natasha glances back at Bucky, wary of the amount of blood he’s losing from the countless wounds to his torso.

What tortures her further is the knowledge that she was the one that put three of those stabs into his side.

She’d been careful to avoid his most sensitive spots, but after he’d woken up on the way home, he’d tried to fight his way out.

It took a hard hit from Tony to the back of the head to knock him out completely and he hasn’t woken up since.

“I need to remove the metal of his arm.” Tony replies exasperated with Natasha’s meddling.

“I needs to wait.” She says.

“It can’t. Bruce said I need to remove it immediately. He’ll have to treat that wound too to prevent infection.

Natasha licks her lips, her green eyes blazing with fear.

“Nat…Let me fix him.” Tony pleads.

“I don’t trust you.” Nat replies, brow crinkling with distrust.

“I know.” And Tony can’t blame her. He’d made a bad impression the first time Bucky had shown up altered. Now here is the results of what he’d always feared but he knows better now about what he’s willing to lose by taking certain precautions.

Bucky is irreplaceable to Natasha and Steve. He must respect that if he’s going to keep not only you but the team in his life.

“But you have to.” Tony argues, holding his hands out for her, his tools held tight as he waits for her to move.

Natasha turns around to look at Bucky once more, her face contorted with indecision and grief and reluctantly moves aside.

Tony lunges for Bucky and works quickly on his arm while Natasha cuts away Bucky’s clothing to tend to his other various wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s stable for now.” Bruce declares, wrapping up Bucky’s arm recess where before there’d been shredded metal.

“Will he wake?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice down for Natasha’s sake.

She’s only just fallen asleep, sitting in a large cushioned chair with a high back. Her hand firmly wrapped around Bucky’s scuffed up right hand.

“What did you give her?” Bruce asks, ignoring Tony’s question for a moment as he also looks to Nat to see her sleeping so peacefully.

“Just one of Agatha’s herbs. She’s a witch with herbs.”

“Or just a witch.” Bruce says quietly, fixing Tony with a wary look.

“I’ve been thinking so too. But she’s devoted to keeping Y/N safe so she’s a good one, as far as I’m concerned.” Tony moves to the wall to pull the call. Somewhere in the castle, he’s sure a bell rings.

“She’s going to be upset when she wakes.” Bruce points out.

“She needs the rest. Thor, Clint, and Peter are out searching. Sam has gone back to Broklin in case they head that way.” Tony assures his friend. “We’ll find them.”

“Y/N is going to be upset that you’ve got Sharon helping Samuel.” Bruce teases, a small awkward smile playing on his lips.

“She’ll deal with it. Finding them is most important right now. Not jealousy.” Tony argues.

Bruce huffs a small laugh, turning to seal Bucky’s bandage before checking on the wounds that Nat had tended to just to be sure they were sealed well.

“You are aware that Sharon snuck into Steve’s room to try and seduce him, and your daughter caught them in bed together, right?” Bruce asks, turning a knowing look to his friend.

Tony blinks, hands clasped at his front before he begins to fix his shirt.

“I am now.” Tony admits. “I’m sure she didn’t let them get away with it. And they seem fine now.”

Mind racing with what might have happened after finding Steve and Sharon like that, he resolves to give Steve a scolding when he sees him.

When. He will find you both if it’s the last thing he does.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, voice groggy from sleep.

You’re uncurling from his side, moving to his removed tunic to rifle along the front at his expensive baubles and medals.

“To get us some food and something less conspicuous to wear. We don’t know if we’re being pursued. We must lay low.”

“And going into the village to buy things isn’t the opposite of laying low?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “I’ll only be half an hour and I know the people here. They won’t hurt me.”

Most of them…

“Let me go.” Steve begins to get up, but you frown when he groans.

“No.” You insist, moving to him with a handful of jewels and silver.

You push him back down onto the bed and fix the ratty blanket you’d used to use over him.

“Stop arguing with me.” You chastise him. “I’ll be faster. You’re still wounded.”

“I don’t like you going out there alone.” Steve argues.

“Steven, please. Don’t fight me on this. I will be as quick as I possibly can. I’ll be as invisible as I was before I left. You’ll see. No one will pay me any mind. I was an insignificant orphan. No one will care that I’m here.” You assure him.

“You’re Queen of Broklin.” Steve argues. “And you look like her now, whatever you may think. You don’t look like the girl that came to my castle nearly a year ago.”

“What do I look like then?” You wonder, stripping off your dress before pulling on an old ratty set that you’d had here in the house from before.

It’s thin and meant for summer. Does little to shield the cold but it’s better than your regal, however torn up it might be, gown.

“Even in that you look like an angel.” Steve says.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” You ask him.

He frowns at you.

“Steve, I’ll be fine.” You move back to him and he welcomes you despite the terrible clothes you’re wearing.

He pulls you in suddenly, no warning as he kisses you hard.

You gasp, hands tense on his shoulders as his lips crush yours painfully.

When he pulls away, he does so slowly, his kiss shifting into tenderness.

“What-?”

“Please be cautious. Don’t talk to anyone that you don’t have to. Turn my cloak inside out and take it. I will not have you and our child freezing.” He worries.

“Why weren’t you this annoying when we first got married?” You tease him and he shuts his eyes, head falling forward to rest against your chest.

You chuckle and stroke his dirty hair, smoothing it out despite the blood and grime still caked into it.

“Please be safe.” He begs, looking up at you again. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Y/N.”

“You’d go on. Because you’re strong. And you have a whole Kingdom that depends on you.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t want to be rational. I’d gladly follow you into the end.”

“Then I guess I’d better not meet my end.” You decide.

Getting up, you move to his cloak and turn it inside out as he wished. It’s plain gray on the underside. Still a fine fabric but less ostentatious in its stitching. It makes it much warmer in this clothing and it smells like Steve still.

“Stay quiet.” You tell him, then pick up his shield and put it beside him. “I’ll be right back.”

You slip out into the early morning freeze. The wheat fields are barren and give you no cover as you trek across the cold semi-frozen mud. It sticks to your shoes, much too nice for the plain peasant dress you’re wearing but with the cloak they’re somewhat hidden.

You’re tired by the time you reach the edge of the village and take shelter in the smithy’s doorway. He’s already open, an older man who had tried his best to ignore your hunger plight often. Many of the wealthier villagers had made the very conscious decision to pretend you didn’t exist.

You can’t blame them. You were a child in need of care and many of them, though richer than you, still struggled to make ends meet. They had no way of caring for a whole other mouth to feed.

He’s working inside, too busy making his living to care that you’re resting on his doorstep.

It takes you fifteen minutes to walk across the village make your purchase with only a somewhat lingering look from the tailor who must be the only one to notice your absence in the village as you’d always been a bit of a pain to.

You had offered to mend clothing at a cheaper cost and so stole most of her mending business.

“Haven’t seen you around here.” She states, wrapping up your new dress and the clothing and shoes you’ve purchased for Steve.

“I’ve been travelling.” You say quickly. Offering no further explanation.

“You look different.” She says, pushing the parcel over the counter towards you.

Fucking Steve.

“Do I?” You take the package and throw a silver pin on the counter worth six times as much as she’s charging you for the clothes.

Her eyes go wide at the sight, but you don’t wait for her to say anything and instead leave as quickly as you entered.

You buy some food from the bake, just something to tide you both over until you can go hunt something up and pay with a small ruby.

You’re gone before he can respond to the payment.

With both errands out of the way, you make your way back towards your cottage, eager to be back by Steve’s side.

Your trek is quick across the barren fields, pace increasing the closer you get.

It’s just beyond this slope, beyond the windmill.

As you curve around it, smile stretching your lips, you gasp as a large stocky man blocks your way.

Your free hand drops to your stomach protectively as your eyes take in the only threat to you in this village.

“Well, hello, hello, hello. If it ain’t tha little mouse.” He says.

As you take in his pale skin, a messy array of vibrant red curls on his head, your mind provides you with several excruciating memories of his large beefy body pinning you against the tavern wall. His hands tearing away at your clothing. Ripping your skin as angry tears stained your cheeks.

Both times you’d been able to fight him off. You’d been lucky.

As he devours you with his eyes, you can see the wheels in his mind turning.

“You’ve been gone a long time, little mouse.” He grins. “I’ve missed you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x reader #medieval au #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #buckynat #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt28

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niksixx · 4 years ago

Text

America’s Most Wanted

Requested: Kind of :D

Pairing: Duff McKagan x Fem!Reader

Description: While you and Duff are lovers, you’re also killers. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde love story.

Warning: Mentions of murder, blood, stabbing, guns, etc. I tried not to make this fic graphic, but please read at your own risk if you believe this piece will trigger you.

A/N: I am blessing you all with a Duff fic because I know how much you lovely humans wanted me to write something for him!! It’s a different type of fic, I consider this ‘horror’ but again, I tried not to make it super graphic that way you can still enjoy it!

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Los Angeles are uncharacteristically quiet at four thirty in the morning. Normally buzzing with crowds of inebriated young adults who spill out to the sidewalk after a night at the Roxy, they have become calm and eerily so. Illumination from the lamp posts provides the only source of light throughout the city in the late hours of the night. Stores and clubs remain closed for the second week in a row. Workers and customers alike are suffering, but the safety of the LA citizens is at stake.

The police and the FBI are frazzled. Patrolling the streets is too dangerous. One by one the death toll increases, with each murder more gruesome than the next, always unprovoked. Media outlets across the country keep the American citizens informed. The mugshots of the murderers are on every news channel, and posters are hung on every telephone pole. The two killers are wanted dead or alive, and they are Bonnie and Clyde resurrected.

Sitting at the base of a tree is one of the killers, the more experienced of the two. He goes by Duff. Long leather clad legs are splayed out in front of him as he cleans the fresh blood from his knife with a towel that has seen better days. Beside him hidden in the grass is the lifeless body of a twenty-nine year old man who had made the mistake of stepping outside his home. The scent of blood is strong, but Duff’s used to it. After brutally ending the lives of thirty innocent civilians up and down the west coast, the pungent odor is rarely a bother. In fact, Duff finds it comforting.

At first glance, Duff appears just like any other man in Los Angeles. That alone makes him deadly. Tall, blonde, and adorned in leather assets from head to toe, he’s intimidating. But it’s not the kind of intimidating that urges people away. He possesses an allure that pulls them toward him, draws them in. And then, when they least expect it, he strikes. One and done. Swift and clean. No remorse.

With his back against the base of the tree, Duff scans the empty streets, looking for any sign of life that is foolish enough to leave the safety of the indoors. He knows the police are doing everything they can to locate him without putting themselves at risk. He is aware that cities all across the country are terrified that they’ll fall victim to his murder spree. And yet there are still people who choose to enter the outdoor world, exposing themselves to potential harm. There is always the option of breaking the glass windows and terrorizing the people who choose to stay inside, but that isn’t the name of the game. Duff waits for his victims. He never goes looking for them.

Heels clicking against the cement pavement grabs his attention. Turning his head toward the sound, a petite woman in a red peacoat has a bit of hustle in her step as she pulls the jacket tighter to her body. The naive little thing is alone, checking over her shoulder once, twice, before exhaling a breath into the air.

From his pocket, Duff digs out a cigarette. Holding it between two gloved fingers, he lights it and casually blows a ring of smoke into the night. “You know darling, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”

The clicking comes to a halt. Caught in the midst of her venture home, the lady stops and turns, worry lines etched in her forehead. Duff sighs. Poor thing doesn’t know what’s coming for her. “I know. I’m coming from a friend’s house. My apartment is just down the street.”

Duff heaves himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt and grass from his body. Shockingly, the lady doesn’t budge, but her eyes watch his every move. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he lets the cigarette dangle from his lips. A few steps forward and he’s standing in front of the young woman who squares her body defensively. She doesn’t recognize him, another shock, as his face has been plastered all over the 11 o’clock news, but her guard is high.

“At four in the morning?” Duff asks incredulously, playing the part of an intrigued stranger. He uses his charm for an advantage. The woman smiles a little, relaxing her shoulders. Duff notices. “What were you doing?”

He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to pretend to care, to warm up his victims before the hunt. But killing is a game, and games are meant to be fun. “I was planning on staying over, but I have trouble falling asleep in homes that aren’t my own,” Her eyes travel the length of Duff’s body before settling back on his face. She has trouble reading him. “What’s your excuse for being out so late?”

A few feet away, a shadow emerges from behind the cars parked along the street. Straining his neck to get a closer look, Duff recognizes the shadow and snickers to himself. Curiously, the lady turns her gaze just as the shadow disappears behind a different car. “I have trouble sleeping. Past trauma,” Duff lies casually, eyes downcast at the cigarette in his mouth. “Fresh air and a smoke usually calms me down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…”

“Duff,” He answers back with a slow smile. “And you are?”

“Linda.” A wary smile surfaces on her lips. The rise and fall of her chest is normal, not as panicked as it was before.

The shadow in the background slithers around the cars, inching its way closer. It’s on the hunt for its next prey, but Duff shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He looks to Linda again, who stares back quizzically. “Well, Linda, it was very nice to meet you. It’s late, though, and you should head on home.”

With a curt nod, Linda tugs her purse higher onto her shoulder. “It was nice to meet you too, Duff.” Linda attempts to step around him, but Duff sidesteps and blocks her path. Linda straightens, the muscles in her face tightening.

“One more thing,” In the shallow pocket of his leather jacket, Duff runs a thumb over the tip of his blade, leaning toward her with a smirk. Linda recoils, and he deadpans. “Don’t scream.”

For a split second, Linda’s fight or flight response is activated, only to be cut off by the sharp pain of a blade wedged in the side of her ribcage. A gloved hand covers her mouth, suppressing the soft whimpers of agony. Cocking his head, Duff stares into her eyes as tears spill over the apples of her cheeks. With a quick, slick motion, Duff pulls the knife from her side before penetrating the skin just above her collarbone. Lightning quick, the shadow emerges from the darkness and hurls itself at Duff, knocking him against the brick wall of a building just a foot behind him. If only the shadow had been quicker, not as hesitant, then it may have claimed Linda as its victim.

Now under the light of a lamppost, the shadow appears in its true form. The second killer. Dressed head to toe in black garments, the boxcutter held tight in its grasp, it takes one step forward, lips curled back in contempt.

“Fuck you, Duff. I had that.”

The anger in your voice turns him on, the opposite effect that it should have on his body. You were right. Linda was your kill, but she’d been alive for far too long. Things didn’t always have to be planned. Excessive planning, while it worked in most cases, could end up being a weakness. Sometimes, you just needed to go for the quick kill.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” Feigning innocence, Duff gestures to Linda’s lifeless body as he blows a cloud of smoke into the air. While he’s positive Linda is as good as gone, there was always the chance she was grasping at life by the skin of her teeth. And if she was indeed just another lifeless body bleeding out on the concrete, Duff would enjoy the sight of you exploding in anger right in front of him. You were always more beautiful that way. “But her apartment was down the street. You were just a bit too slow, darling. She would have made it home alive.” Your eyes fall downcast. Duff sighs. “Tell you what. Check her pulse. If she’s still breathing, I’ll let you finish her off.”

Crouching down to the pavement, you slip your hand into the collar of Linda’s peacoat, two fingers positioned on the side of her neck. Blood trickles onto your hand, the pungent liquid dripping down the side of her neck to her ear. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding a slow beating, but the only pulse you feel is the one flowing through your fingertips.

Eyes narrowed to slits, you watch as Duff chuckles from his place at the wall, taking drag after drag of the cigarette. He knew she was dead. He was toying with you. Teeth clenched together, you find yourself pressing his back further into the bricks, snatching the white cancer stick from his lips, and crushing it under the heel of your boot. You hold the blade against his neck, applying just a bit of pressure to make him slightly squirm under your touch. Neither you nor Duff are strangers to rough play.

He blinks in pure astonishment before curling his lips into a sly grin. Your fingers twitch, itching to wipe the smile off his face, but he’s caught your wrist far too many times in the past when you’ve tried. “Someone’s a little angry, aren’t we?”

Linda’s blood smears over Duff’s lips as your fingers graze over his face. With your lips by his ear, you reply breathily, “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Pulling away, you let your hands drop by your side, curling and uncurling your fists as a way to release the tension in your body. It was your kill. How were you supposed to get better if Duff claimed the victims for himself?

“Maybe you need more training.”

Your blood boils, eyes shifting back to Duff’s smug face. If you needed more training, it was his fault. “Maybe I need a better teacher.” It was easy to get under each other’s skin, although most of the time it was playful banter that morphed into sexual tension. From the bulge in his jeans and the hazy look in his eyes, you knew Duff was dangerously close to claiming you on the sidewalk.

“Temper, temper,” Duff taunts, pushing off the wall with the sole of his boot. The way he eyes you is how he gazes at his victims, like prey, but there’s a side of Duff only you’ve seen. Despite his primal instincts and the nagging urge to have his way with you whenever and wherever, you meant more to him than that. “You have a sharp tongue, sweetheart,” You tilt your head confidently upward, not breaking eye contact as he towers over you. Trailing a gloved hand over your exposed collarbone and up the side of your throat, his fingers slide around to grip the nape of your neck. With untamed hair, crazed eyes, and lips smeared with the blood of the fallen, he’s a madman, a killer. And while the feelings between you aren’t rational, you can’t deny your love for the wild criminal. “Show me what else it can do.”

His lips draw you in like a magnet. Many kisses have been shared between you and Duff, but your heart still beats wildly like it did the very first time. With his hands on either side of your face he keeps you still against him, lips moving in a frenzy before biting down on your lip. He’s rarely gentle, and it drives you mad.

The taste of blood floods your tongue as his tangles with yours, hot, heavy breaths fanning over your face. Your body tingles with fervent need, stomach twisting in passionate knots. As much as you want to enjoy the kiss, the taste of him, you pull back reluctantly, the thoughts in your head overwhelming the rest of your senses.

Duff’s hands cradle your face with a gentle touch. He eyes you with a hard look, a look that warns not to lie. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

The words spin around in your brain. Did you really need more training? In only six short months, Duff taught you everything he knew. You followed his lessons, mimicked his every movement, practiced until your muscles ached from the pain. “Am I disappointing you?”

Duff’s eyebrows furrow. His hands fall to your waist, tugging your hips firmly against him. “Disappointing me? Hardly. Sweetheart, you amaze me.”

“But you said I need more training.”

He chuckles softly. “And you do. That’s not a bad thing. But you’ve already come so far. Just a few months ago you were a dainty little thing who loved watching romance movies and baking cookies on Friday nights. Now you can shoot a gun with your eyes closed.”

“And you were just getting out of prison,” Snaking your arms around the back of Duff’s neck, you pull him closer to you, noses brushing tenderly. If it weren’t for Duff’s inmate taking the blame for the murder, he still would have been staring at the prison walls. How they were able to fool the system into letting Duff go was unfathomable, but he was here with you now. They had let a man guilty of first degree murder walk free, and that man turned into one obsessed with death. Along the way he found you, recruited you as his companion, and now couldn’t picture a world where you weren’t by his side. “I was smitten with you from the moment we met. And I knew you were trouble. I just didn’t care.”

“And look at us now,” Duff grins, stealing a quick kiss. Tendrils of wavy blond hair tickle your cheeks when he dips down to your lips. You never understood why he felt the need to steal them. Anything he wanted, you gave willingly. The rest of the world saw his demented and damned soul. You were fortunate to know every complex piece of him, but not all of them were rooted in evil. His love for you was genuine, unwavering, quite possibly his only redeeming quality. “America’s Most Wanted.”

Your head snaps over to the sound of an apartment door closing. Jogging down the steps and onto the pavement, a man untangles a green leash before hooking it onto his dog. The word screams in your head. Target.

Duff is already smirking when you look back at him. He gives you an encouraging nod; You dig into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the boxcutter with a sly smile. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.”

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emwritesfootball · 3 years ago

Text

Lockdown Punishments 5 | Eric Dier

Finally, some of the lockdown guidelines have been lifted. You and Eric could finally see each other outdoors. But you still couldn’t touch each other and had to keep 2-meter distance. Eric was coming over to yours as it was a sunny day, so you were planning to have a BBQ with him. You were waiting for him in the garden on the sunbed. You were trying to top up your tan so was in just your underwear. As you were sunbathing you must have fallen asleep because next thing you remember is Eric waking you up. The look on his face said it all. He went and pulled up a chair and sat facing you at the end of the bed. You could see he was aroused, and this turned you on. You had missed his presence and it felt more intense with him watching your every move. You decided to take this as an opportunity to start teasing him. But Eric had control of your body and next thing you know. You’re naked and flustered waiting for instructions for your punishment.

Word Count: 1,485

Warnings: caning, teasing, topless sunbathing

- - -

Lockdown: Day Fifty.

You woke up that morning filled with hope. The day before, Boris had made an announcement that lockdown restrictions would be lightened the following day - today - and if everything went according to plan, at the two-month mark, everything would be going back to ‘normal’. The moment Boris’s press conference had ended, Eric was FaceTiming you and the two of you were making plans for today, your body humming with excitement as you remembered today was the day.

Your phone pinged with an incoming text from Eric as if he knew you were awake and thinking about him.

Eric: Good morning, Babygirl. Sleep well?

You: Yes xx

Eric: Ready for our date this afternoon?

You: Can’t wait!

As excited as you were to see Eric, you were also a little scared. Because not all of the restrictions had been lifted, the two of you couldn’t touch and you had to keep a two-metre distance from each other at all times even though you were going to be outdoors the whole time. It was especially crucial for you to keep the guidelines in check because of your job, and the fact that Eric had started training with the team again and was going to be tested regularly.

You went about your day getting everything ready for Eric’s arrival. He’d said he would pick up the food on his way over to you so all you had to do was clean and make yourself look presentable. Because of lockdown you had kept your place in pretty decent shape, only needing to pick up a few things and wipe down some counters before running the hoover across the floors. Pleased with your work, you decided to relax by the pool while waiting for your man to arrive, smiling to yourself as you shimmied out of your bikini top and laid back on the lounge chair wearing nothing but your bikini bottoms and sunglasses.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Eric’s voice cut through your serenity, his shadow looming over you and blocking out your light.

“I was just sunbathing,” you replied, sitting up so you could take him in.

“I see that.” His gaze roamed over your body salaciously and you lost all train of thought for a moment.

“I must’ve fallen asleep,” you confessed. “It was warm and the sun felt so nice and-”

“I know. You looked so sexy just lying here like that for me to find.”

Your eyes traveled from his face down to his chest and settled at the bulge in his swim shorts. “Seems like you enjoyed finding me like this.”

Eric smirked. “Oh, you have no idea, Babygirl.”

Your pulse skipped at hearing the nickname in person, Eric’s voice going straight to your pussy. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him now that he was finally here, but you stopped yourself. Eric walked away and you watched the expanse of his back as he moved and pulled up your other lounger exactly two metres away. Even from that length apart, his presence was still intense; there was something about having him here in person in front of you that just made your body come alive in ways it hadn't when viewing him through a screen.

“I wish you could touch me,” you said, your voice taking on a breathy quality as you watched him through your sunglasses.

Eric groaned, “Me, too. But I’m here in person which means you can’t hide from me behind your camera. I wanna see all of you. I wanna see you touch yourself and hear you beg - I want it all, Babygirl.”

Goosebumps broke out over your skin and it had nothing to do with the light breeze that just rustled the trees. Without his instruction, you took off your sunglasses and set them on the concrete. Your hands went to your hair next, taking it out of the bobble you’d put it up in to keep it off your shoulders. You watched Eric’s reaction as he watched the tresses fall down, the look on his face making you gain confidence as you ran your hands down your chest to cup your tits and run your thumbs over your nipples, a whimper escaping past your lips at the feeling.

Your hands drifted down, teasing the waistband of your bikini bottoms. You were sure the crotch was soaked and a preliminary brush of your fingers between your legs confirmed your theory.

“Not yet.” Eric’s strangled voice. “You have to ask to touch your pussy, Babygirl.”

Just this once you disobeyed, holding Eric’s gaze as you used your fingers to push your panties to the side and sink two fingers inside your sodden core. “Fuck, that feels good,” you whimpered, thrusting the digits in and out of yourself. It had been so long since you’d had anything inside you - Eric’s orders - and you almost came from a few measly thrusts.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

You moaned. “It’s worth it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Eric stood up and disappeared inside your place, coming back out with one of the more menacing looking canes. “Get up.”

Your fingers left your dripping pussy with an embarrassing squelching sound and you didn’t even have time to lick them clean as you scrambled to your feet. “I’m sorry, Sir,” you said, properly chastised with your gaze on the concrete.

“You will be. Jump in the pool and cool off - you look like you could use it after your little session.”

You didn’t stay in the water long, just enough to get your body wet, and you were walking out of the water unsure what to expect. “What now?” You sassed, already knowing you were in deep so you just committed.

“Hands on the lounge chair. I want you bent over for me.”

Your mind instantly went back to how painful it had been to spank your pussy with the riding crop, fear finally kicking in. “Sir, please,” you begged, backtracking. “I’m sorry, I swear.”

“Like I said before: you will be. Hands on the lounger.”

You did as he said, no longer argumentative. You were acutely aware of every cell in your body - the way your breasts swayed, the feel of the water dripping off your skin...everything - arching your back as you waited.

Eric’s fingers hooked in the waistband of your bikini bottoms, sliding them down over your ass until they were mid-thigh. There was something even more humiliating about keeping them on - you weren’t fully naked, moreso exposed than anything and your face burned hot with shame. “Normally, I’d give you fifty strokes of the cane for being so brazen, but I don’t think you can handle that just yet, so I figured I’d cut that in half. Twenty-five should make sure you learn your lesson all the same.” The cane slid up the backs of your thighs and you sucked in a breath as Eric tapped it against the skin of your ass, preparing you for what was about to come. “As always, you can safeword if you need to, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, swallowing hard. “Please punish me - I can take it.”

The cane whistled through the air, snapping against the sensitive flesh and making you involuntarily cry out. Your feet danced as you struggled to keep your hands where they were. If this is how he canes, I don’t know if my pussy will survive the riding crop, you thought to yourself right before the second stroke landed.

You could feel the welts starting to form around the tenth stroke, the tears gathering in your eyes. You howled when the fifteen stroke landed, finally giving in and reaching back to soothe your stinging flesh.

“Back in position or I’ll add more for disobedience,” Eric chastised, tapping the cane against your hands to get you to move.

“No, please, Sir! I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Ten more. Count them.”

You did as he said, focusing on forming the words to block out the pain.

“Good girl. You took those last ten well,” came Eric’s voice, soft and caring now. “Pull up your bikini bottoms and go cool off. That was intense and you deserve to relax.”

You floated lazily in the pool as you watched Eric grill up the meat and garden-fresh veg he’d brought over. When the two of you sat down to eat - still two metres apart - you sat gingerly on the seat, your ass still smarting from the caning you’d received.

“Don’t worry, Babygirl. Once this lockdown is officially over, I’ll make sure to properly take care of you.”

“I’m holding you to that, Eric,” you said, narrowing your gaze at him. “You’ve punished me twice and teased me more times than I can count. Your cock-replica dildo just isn’t doing it anymore - I need you inside me so badly.”

“Ten more days and I’m all yours.”

#my writing: eric dier #requests: eric dier #eric dier smut #eric dier one shot #eric dier oneshot #eric dier imagine #eric dier imagines #eric dier x reader

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lovee-infected · 4 years ago

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Congrats on finishing exams! I thought of a one-shot request that'll hug you in fluff. In TW, the end of his lab SR has Ortho almost begging Silver to let him use his body's features more and test things, essentially just wanting to play doctor. What about a cute situation with a reader (fem/neutral) who lets him play and poke around to try things out so he can make more use out of it? (Sorry if it's strange, just thought it sounded adorable ^^)

This took me a while to write since I had to translate Ortho's stories to get to know him better

I added some Idia condiment to it to so Ortho will be motivated to use his abilities to help his brother ♥

Someone like you

♦♥♠♣

"Okay , what are we gonna do now ?" you asked with a motivational tone , hiding your great nervousness . You were given the permission to keep Ortho for only an afternoon . Idia seemed pretty unsafe about letting you have him but since Ortho insisted , he gave up : " Be back by the sunset , okay ?" . Ortho has told you how shy and unstable his brother would be if he gets in a face-to-face conversation , so you tried to patch the whole thing up by phone . Honestly he seemed a bit strict on phone but you caught the yes , anyways , under some conditions of course : "No running , stay away from water , don't get into any arguments , avoid unnecessary interactions ," Idia had ruled . You promised to take your best care of Ortho but he didn't seem quite satisfied ; he probably just agreed because of Ortho .

Ortho didn't seem as cheerful as always and that worried you . He was drowning in his own thoughts that didn't recognize what you asked , making you repeat your question to pull him out of his daydreamings . Ortho then dropped his head and gave away a hum sound , probably thinking of something to do . He frowned a little putting a finger under his chin as if he was trying to remember something . "(y/n) ? " he asked , his voice filled with pain . " Yes ?" you answered , wondering if he's gonna talk about what was bothering him .

" My brother has been struggling with his studies a lot lately , he's a real genius , but he keeps on skipping classes and missing lessons , that's a worry . He was even close to getting kicked out of Mr. Crewel's classes for the rest of the year since he missed almost all classes this month , and now he isn't allowed to return to classes until he comes up with aj satisfying project or disquisition that changes Mr. Crewel's mind..."

Your eyes widened a bit at his words , it was this serious ? You knew that Idia was socially awkward for real but to fail him classes because of it...that wasn't something you would have expected .

" I'm so sorry to hear that , is there anything I can do ? " you asked , hoping there to be a way to help . Ortho nodded : " Yes please , I want to put my brother out of this obstacle and... need your help ," he crooned , eyes filled with pain now . You couldn't take him being this sad , that was the total opposite of what you brought him out for . "I'd try my best Ortho , let's save Idia ," you said holding his hand and giving him your best smile . " (y/n)... let's make my brother the best disquisition ever ! something that Crewel couldn't resist ," he declared , now with a hyped tone that proved how determined he was. You gave him a dried up smile while thinking of something to say . One one hand you didn't really know what might satisfy Crewel but on the other you couldn't say no to him , not that you motivated him yourself . " It's great Ortho but , since Ignihyde's the most high-tech dorm isn't it supposed to have the best and greatest scientific researches as well ? I mean comparing to them , my knowledge is pretty scanty ; wouldn't it be better if Idia himself does it ?" Ortho shook his head as a no : "He worked on plenty of great projects , from the history of magic to the rarest formulas of the strongest portions , but Crewel rejected each and every of them . He told brother that he lacked something that cannot be found through internet , that he needed something coming from outside of his room ,"

"I see..." you mumbled . " He most likely wants him to do his investigation out of the computers , to do it by being in direct contact with his environment , " you continued . Crewel really did want him to prove that he can get out of his room you thought , seemed a bit unfair but wise. Ortho now seemed to be really inspired by your words , he hadn't thought of Crewel actually having a purpose under his ask . He thought that the main problem was with his brother's researches not being good enough . " If that's why , then we can do it right now for him ! We already have whatever we might need for a great research and so he would no longer be rejected from his classses ! "

♦♥♠♣

" Plants...? " you asked , pretty unsure if this was going to help . It's true that Crewel wasn't looking for a strong yet totally online essay but it didn't enusre him liking one about flowers grown in Night raven college itself either . " Yes , flowers would be a perfect case since they're grown outdoors , just as Mr. Crewel wanted ! Also if we collect samples from them he can no longer claim that all those information were found through the internet , a real success ! " Ortho seemed pretty confident about his idea , but you couldn't let him do anything if that was going to be useless : " True , but doesn't he know everything about all plants here already ? After all they're all pretty exposed to anyone passing ," you said , but Ortho disagreed : " I've donemy research with that , Night raven's thousand-year old history had been through plenty of ups and downs , some rare species which are long extincted out there , remained here from decades ago , which proves that there are pretty worthy plants left here that Crewel would die to know about ; he would do anything to add new species to his collection . Also , it was only mentioned that Night Raven college has at least more than 250 unique plant species , which means that there isn't even any sure number or limit to them , that would be amazing , (y/n) ! No one has ever thought of doing it before ! We would be the first ones !"

You didn't know if that was a good idea or not , but you had to admit that you were impressed . This college surely did keep tons of mysteries within and you couldn't find any of them without a bit of risking .

" Fine Ortho , I'll take care of it then ," you said , preparing yourself for a long journey : " First , we'll try to collect samples from each specie that we see , then schedule each and every of them , submit details into a chart and finally , check the data with a reliable source to identify each and every of them , that would make a high-key strong disquisition ! " you told Ortho , making him nod happily and give you a tight hug : " Thank s (y/n) ! You're the best ! "

You hugged him back and then decided to start : Okay , first we need to get some small bottles , like the ones used in lab to keep magical materials , we shall go get so-" you couldn't continue as Ortho murmured : " Probe mode- open the toolbox " Suddenly three slides around his waist moved away and shelves filled with forceps , flacons , medicinal alcohol and tweezers , along with anything necessary for a professional sampler came out . You couldn't help but to be amazed , you didn't expect him to be this equipped .

" Seems like brother had optimized me to be in charge of investigations as well , he hadn't mentioned many of them before ," he giggled , fascinated himself facing how well prepared he was . " Wait , I guess we don't have to collect samples one by one , just as you said , Crewel already knows plenty of them . Let's just collect special ones ," he said before making strange sounds again : " Automated analysis -activate! - goal: identification of rare species -" He continued to make strange sounds as he analyzed the whole area , his body bizarrely moving on it's own and making weird sounds which each specie being identified : Primorose-sweet pea-Red valerian- borage-bluebells- woodruff-...

After about 5 minutes of analysis , his system got a new notification : " Error - Unknown-or-unrecognizable specie , located in five-o'clock position in a radius of five kilometers to south ," You two quickly went to the location as you were addressed , finding a small bush with a single blue-purple flower . Ortho gasped at the sight : "This is Eris's Orchid ! My brother had told me about them before ! These were told to be a symbol of bad luck back in my hometown , but brother said notto believe any of those words and that they were totally harmless . These flowers extincted in my hometown before my brother was born , I'd only seen old pictures of it . Brother will love this ! " Ortho's mechanical arms carefully picked the flower and placed it into a flacon and closed it . Ortho re-prepared his analysis sensors and said : " Okay ! One collected , way to go ! "

♦♥♠♣

Idia was stressed out , the two of you had to be back hours ago . Did something bad happen ? Could it bd that Ortho had problems with his gears again ? Where were you ? How could he find you now !?

" Brotheeeeeeeeeeeeer !! " Ortho's call for Idia broke the silence loudly before kicking the door open with his rocket leg and wrecking it .

"Ortho , I'd told you not to wreck the door with your- waaa aah- ! " he led out a terrified scrram as he saw the huge board the two of you were holding by hand . " Sorrrry it took so long ! (y/n) suggested we finish sticking everything before we could've lost any of them so we did ! Hope that nothing is missing ," he said , putting the board slowly down so it wouldn't get any damaged . "Wha-what is this ??" Idia asks with his eyes wide open . "Your alchemy project , brother ! Mr Crewel wanted you to give something that required direct contact with nature , so here you go ! Best project ever ! " Ortho explained happily . You could see the light shimmering into his eyes , a light that proved how excited and happy he now was ; just as you wished him to be

Idia was at a loss of words , staring at the board with his mouth open as if he wanted to say something , but no sound came out . His eyes run all over the huge board ; fascinated and shocked at the same time : "Y-you...you two did really did discover more than 100 of ancient species !? My- many of these were considered to be long ago extincted - even the Eris's Orchid ! " Idia replied . He had studied Night Raven being rich in Biodiversity , but this was far greater than his expectations , specially now that he saw you two finding them .

You were relived to see him appreciating your work , even though he was expressing it in a pretty odd way : " So...Idia , you think that's good enough ?" you asked . Idia slowly raised his head and stared at the ground , still too shy to make an eye contact with you : "It's... perfect ," Idia mumbled shyly . Ortho led out a happy shout as he saw his brother satisfied . He quickly jumped into his embrace and hugs him , making Idia lose balance . "O- ORTHO- NO-," Idia shouted before they both fell to the ground . You gasped at the sight : "My god , you two alright !? "

You helped them both stand up and then , it was Idia's turn to speak : " Th-thank you . Both of you . I couldn't imagine someone going out of their way to do such a thing for me..."

"No," you cut him off . You turned toward Ortho and bowed down a bit to be at the same height as him : "It wasn't me , it was all because of Ortho . It was his idea to look for forgotten species and study them , he was the one who could find them using his analytical power and his studies and well-updated datas enabled us to identify each of them , he is really amazing ," Ortho gazed upon you with his eyes filled with disbelief . "I know, " Idia agreed . "Ortho is special and surely way greater than many out there , including me . But he still has hundreds of undetected abilities , which are unknown to even me . Because of someone like you , he discovered more of his abilities and grow even greater , right Ortho ? " Idia asked . Ortho nodded and then , gave you a really tight hug : " Thank you (y/n) , you are wonderful . Because of you my brother now won't get in trouble and I am now more equipped and mighty to be there for him , you are the best ,"

You held your tears of joy back from falling , knowing that they may bring pain to Ortho since he didn't know how to cry . Even Idia now was smiling at you , he seemed a lot more comfortable with you now ; just as he was with Ortho . Your heart as well drowned in joy as you saw Ortho the way you wished him to be : Happy

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Ignihyde #ignihyde x reader #Ortho Shroud #Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud x reader #Idia Shroud x reader #twst fluff #fluff #twisted wonderland imagines #twst Imagines #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst fics #twisted wonderland fics

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angelharness · 4 years ago

Text

Seen a plethora of kink lists for killers but have yet to come across any for the survivors, so!

WARNINGS: n/sfw or at least heavily suggestive

DWIGHT FAIRFIELD

Exhibitionism, Humiliation (Receiving)

His taste is very much surprising. Regardless of his peculiar preferences, he tends to require plenty of encouragement and a heaping of reassurance along the way that he's doing alright. It's something he fiercely represses and never really indicates immediately, but he's incredibly into humiliation. He'd never admit it directly, though drops a number of fairly unsubtle hints. Never expect him to take on a dominant role; it already takes a lot for him to feel entirely comfortable.

MEG THOMAS

Overstimulation (Giving), Light Choking (Giving)

Prefers to exert control. While not listed here, she's pretty into humiliation, something she doesn't express at first. Equipped with an impressive degree of stamina, which she makes sure to exercise during the fact. Might tease your lack of durability, though it's peppered with giggling kisses. Definitely into some slight choking, though is adamant you establish a safe signal. She can get intense but prioritizes safety.

CLAUDETTE MOREL

Praise (Giving, Receiving), Aftercare (Giving, Receiving), a touch of masochism

Unsurprisingly tame. Prefers the experience to be mellow and intimate, and is the type to regularly check in. Horrible at dirty talk anyway, she is more so fond of praise, whether giving or receiving. On the other hand, does have a thing for some light masochism. Nothing intense at all, but there are certainly undertones. It's up to you to catch those indications.

JAKE PARK

Outdoor Sex, Edging (Giving, Receiving)

The former is probably expected. I say outdoor in place of public as he views sex as an inherently very private act, and isn't particularly fond of the introduction of risk. If you can find a confidential spot nestled somewhere in the woods, he's all for it. Doesn't especially mind getting dirty and appreciates a shared shower afterward. Prefers enacting the edging, but isn't against enduring it himself.

NEA KARLSSON

Risky Places, Marking (Giving)

Risky places are a given. This doesn't necessarily mean populated areas, in fact she prefers that hint of privacy, but abandoned lots and structures are a personal favorite of hers. Not partial to receiving bite marks, though may suck it up if you're real enthusiastic about the idea. Likes seeing her work but also finds fun in you scrambling to cover it up in preparation of an upcoming trial.

ACE VISCONTI

Dirty Talk, Light Bondage (Giving, Receiving)

His taste for risk translates heavily into his preferences, but he could tone it down if it's not your style. Always loves dirty talk, whether before the fact or during (and doesn't at all mind some thrown his way, either). Up for campy, outlandish roleplays, especially if it incorporates tacky costumes. Either way, he's going to be grinning stupidly the whole while through. No pain directed his way can seem to rid him of that awful smile. There's no punishment you can conjure up that he won't somehow enjoy.

FENG MIN

Light Humiliation (Giving, Receiving), Denial (Giving)

All about challenge. While naturally gearing towards a dominant role, doesn't like someone who falls instantly into submission, and will quickly get bored if that's the case. Appreciates a little fight, as long as it's all well-natured and reasonable. She's a bit of an experimentalist on the side, is pretty much always open to switching things up, even if it's entirely new territory to her. May be up for some public dallying, too; the risk adds flavor.

DAVID KING

Breath Play (Giving), Aftercare

His tastes are extreme but his implementation is usually fairly easygoing. He needs some time to wind down, always being so wound up; this is a good chance to get him to mellow out. He can go for a good couple of rounds but afterward is out cold. For a long while too. While he prefers control, you might be able to persuade him to take on a more laid-back, passive role, which he surprisingly comes to enjoy. He won't initiate the arrangement, uncharacteristically embarrassed, but gives plenty of cues.

KATE DENSON

Praise (Giving), Body Worship (Giving, Receiving)

Has a rather vanilla palette. Strongly against humiliation and degradation of any kind, though supposes she could try if so desired. She is always incredibly affectionate and makes sure to check in with you routinely. Sex for her is commonly to de-stress, though that doesn't mean it isn't incredibly sentimental to her. Considers the occasion to be very personal and vulnerable, and appreciates that you're willing to expose yourself so.

ADAM FRANCIS

Sensation Play, Aftercare

Like Kate, sees this as a reasonable outlet to cool off and generally unwind. Still, though, it's a very meaningful and sincere act to him. You can probably get him to loosen up and maybe laugh a bit as you maneuver new territory. He's often serious and is silently thankful for the chance to decompress. Your pleasure is often his foremost desire, but always appreciates being taken care of some, too.

JEFF JOHANSEN

Blindfolding (Giving), Biting (Giving, Receiving)

He's a little surprising, though you do suppose it's always the quiet ones. Fits into either role quite easily and is very open to new experiences. If he's choosing, though, the two listed are always safe bets for him. It's rarer for the act to take place in the first place, but when it does it's oddly cathartic for him. In a way, it's a canvas for expression. He makes sure to reinforce how important you are and how much he appreciates you. Very casual about the ordeal; talented in helping to ease your anxieties.

JANE ROMERO

Filming, Biting (Receiving)

Specific to filming, rather than public acts. She likes a little risk, so long as it's in a controlled environment. Adores receiving marks, which she'll sport with visible pride around you. Otherwise, though, she'll bashfully cover it up with heavy makeup. Typically takes on a comfortably submissive position, but is sure to voice her preferences and desires. Always listens to yours, as well, and anything reasonable and safe is pretty much fair game.

YUI KIMURA

Hair Pulling (Giving), Collaring (Giving)

More comfortable expressing control. Somewhere in the future she might be open to a little role reversal, but for the time being she's more inclined to a position of dominance. Despite all this, is very open to receiving minor marking, specifically scratching and biting. She'll wear it proudly (secretly). Very fond of hair pulling. Might tug yours in the midst of a trial just to get a reaction, but is sure to follow up on the teasing afterward.

ZARINA KASSIR

Filming, Risky Places

Much like Jane, she likes filming, though very much prefers the intended audience to remain you two. She keeps the tape as a fun little memento, but is sure to keep it secret. It's great (non-serious) blackmail material, and she makes sure to tease you about it regularly. Also a bit into risky places, but to a much lesser degree. She likes the possibility of someone stumbling across the scene, but isn't so sure of it in actuality.

FELIX RICHTER

Denial (Giving), Aftercare

A fairly mellow guy. It takes a bit for him to loosen up and express his desires, a lot of which he's not sure of himself. Some experimenting has to take place, but once he defines his tastes he's pretty strict to keeping to them. Finds himself enjoying the build up and aftercare more than the act itself (though it goes without saying he appreciates it too); more likely to find pleasure in the experience if he's sure you are first and foremost.

#ns/f/w tag is junkbox #junkbox #dbd x reader #survivors x reader #horror x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #dbd imagine #horror imagine #x reader #reader insert #💾:harpy writez

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poppy-battenberg · 3 years ago

Text

feral // self

Her nails were broken and jagged.

While she was in the hospital, no one filed them down. No one came too close to her, unless she was sedated. Even then, there were handcuffs on her wrists and ankles to keep her chained to the hospital bed. She hated to be awake, to feel the pain that was not eased until the last few minutes before she drifted into unconsciousness. Most of the time, when she was awake, they gagged her to keep her from asking questions. All she saw were nurses with eyelash extensions and horrifyingly stark, bare walls around her.

When they finally released her, it was into the firm grip of a robotic Peacekeeper. It was suggested she not be tased, but if she fought against them too much, they would obviously have to do what was necessary. So she fought. She was tased. She ended up on the sidewalk outside the hospital, and used her forearms to try to avoid hitting her head there. The force of the taser and the sudden fall were still enough to give her a headache, but nothing like those first few days. She spit up on the Peacekeeper’s metallic foot, little more than some hospital fluids in her system. She was hauled into the truck with spit dribbling down her chin, and blood running down her clothes from where the skin on her forearms was torn. She was quiet only as long as it took her to catch her breath, then she started to spit and scream. She really didn’t know what had happened outside the walls of the hospital. She had no idea how many days had passed. She had no idea if she was on her way to her execution, prison, or a comfortable meal at home.

A soldier was in the truck with the Peacekeepers. She was the one who stuck a needle in Poppy’s arm, and the world drifted away quickly again. She hated it. She hated that it was welcome.

When she opened her eyes again, she was staring at a gray wall. Something was missing from her. She was certain she was naked, but when she tilted her head down, she found herself in clothes that matched the wall. The cuffs. They were gone from her wrist and ankles. She reached a hand up to press against the wall in front of her. Rough. Concrete. She dragged her fingertips down through a groove, staring at that broken and jagged index finger nail. It disgusted her. The daughter of a Capitol stylist, there were always certain things she kept tidy and pretty: her nails and her hair. Now she barely recognized her own hand, aside from the bruises on the wrist and scratches on her palm. Her forearms were wrapped in gauze.

Beneath her, the gray was smooth, cool. Like the rails on the hospital bed. Metal.

“You’re up.”

Poppy flipped over quickly. Her stomach was empty, she was dehydrated, and she felt the room spin as she gripped at the edge of the metal bed. Someone else was in this room with her. Another girl, another brunette. Another person in gray, the same gray as her clothes and the wall and the bed.

“Wh-Where am I?” Poppy did not recognize her own voice. She did not recognize her own dry mouth as it opened and closed.

“Capitol prison. My name is Seela.” No games, just a simple response. Poppy could finally see the woman. See the metallic tattoos torn up with scars, the space where her left ear no longer stuck out, the split ends of hair that had clearly been messily chopped off. There was still a little bit of pink dye at the tips. “It’s October 16th. Primrose Everdeen is dead. We eat dinner in five minutes.”

Poppy did not care about Primrose Everdeen. She did not care that the woman she’d only known as a face on a television was dead. That was not a concern to her. She cared if her family made it through this. She cared only about that. When she asked Seela to tell her more, Seela said she wasn’t the Capitol Gazette and sat with her back to Poppy to go back to reading.

When a bell rang, Poppy followed Seela’s lead. Lined up in the cell, then lined up outside the cell. She tried to keep her head straightforward, but her eyes were darting around, looking for a familiar face. Nothing. No one. All these women, and she didn’t recognize a single one. Were they all rebels? There was a sharp jab of someone’s knee to her back, and she realized she’d come to a standstill at the top of the stairs. She started to walk down, holding the railing for support.

Her body was weak. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. She’d had mono in high school, and it knocked her off her routine for months. She lost muscle, lost motivation. Following the row of prisoners into the mess hall, she wondered what else she lost. Despite her hunger, the smell in the hall did not appeal to her, and the strange soup she was ladled out did not look appetizing. The bread she was given was stale. The milk carton was closed, she could feel the curdled bits inside sloshing against the side as she walked.

Out of line, without Seela walking in front of her, she suddenly felt very lost. Exposed. Looking around the room, she was very aware that all eyes were on her. It was not paranoia. Everyone was looking at her. She could do nothing but stare back, unable to focus on any one set of eyes. What could she do? Apologize for her aunt? Apologize for their loss? For what reason did they blame her for the failed rebellion?

Who was going to come for her first?

She took a seat at the end the only empty table in the hall. No one came to sit with her. No one looked at her once she was seated. She forced down the soup and bread. She opened the milk and set it away quickly, afraid the smell might make her soup come back up.

They lined up again. Poppy could do nothing but sit on her bed as she waited for lights out. She tried to ask Seela if anyone there was from Twelve, and Seela told Poppy to find a hobby.

Lights out.

Wake up at 6.

Line up at 6:15.

Breakfast is over at 6:45.

Rotating shower schedule at 8.

Cell time until 10.

Outdoor rec time until 11.

Lunch at 11:15.

Indoor rec time at 11:45.

Cell time at 12:30.

Line up at 4:45.

Dinner at 5.

Rotating shower schedule at 5:30.

Lights out at 9.

Poppy was punched for the first time on the second day. She tried to fight back, but was easily knocked back down again. There was a shadow of her strength left, and it would need coaxing. It would need help.

Seela leant her a book. Poppy got a headache within ten minutes of trying to read it. She was sent for an evaluation at the infirmary, had her gauze pads changed, and was given something for her head. She barely made it back in time for lights out. She was awoken by a middle of the night cell check. She had nothing for the guards to look through, and Seela only had Capitol-approved books that were mostly about gardening. Two prisoners were found with secret notes from rebels outside the prison walls. The gunshots went off before the cells were all locked back up.

Lights out again.

Wake up at 6. Get up, kid.

Line up at 6:15. Don’t be last in line or you’ll get no bread and whatever is at the bottom of the soup pot.

Breakfast is over at 6:45. Again, don’t be last in line out of here. You’ll be a target for the guards. Cell time. I like silence at these times.

Rotating shower schedule at 8. Don’t get the soap in your eyes.

Cell time until 10. You need to get a hobby.

Outdoor rec time until 11. You should run. Don’t look at her.

Lunch at 11:15. This is the best meal of the day. Don’t get busted up beforehand or you’ll miss it.

Indoor rec time at 11:45. None of the board games have all the pieces.

Cell time at 12:30. You need to get a hobby.

Line up at 4:45. Walk in front of me.

Dinner at 5. Sit with me.

Rotating shower schedule at 5:30. I’m going to shower. Don’t touch my books.

Lights out at 9. Stay. Quiet.

Poppy didn’t think Seela liked her, but every few days someone else was marched out of the cell after another sweep fo the cells. Seela didn’t like her, but she liked blood on her bedsheets less. An occupied cellmate was better than one that got in trouble. Poppy had the energy a week later to say that trouble had a way of finding her.

Poppy started her first fight an hour later.

It was outside, when she was running (or rather, slowly jogging) at Seela’s insistence so she couldtire herself out to sleep. She’d gotten too close to someone else’s territory. Irritated, hungry after being last in line for breakfast, she didn’t have time for a shouting match. She split her knuckles on the woman’s jaw and later had to use her own bed sheets to wrap it. If she started a fight, she wouldn’t get treatment for it, Seela said. There was a bruise forming in the center of Poppy’s back by the time she showered, right where the guard had brought down her baton to end the fight. Poppy was given a warning and told that was all she got. No matter who you are.

Lights out.

Wake up at 6. Stretch.

Line up at 6:15. Don’t look around.

Breakfast is over at 6:45. Cell time. More stretching. Write down goals for the day.

Rotating shower schedule at 8. Calisthenics.

Cell time until 10. Upper body strength and shadow boxing.

Outdoor rec time until 11. Run. Alternate interval sprints and endurance laps around the yard.

Lunch at 11:15. Do not rush.

Indoor rec time at 11:45. Watch the news.

Cell time at 12:30. Lower body strength and hand-to-hand combat drills.

Line up at 4:45.

Dinner at 5.

Rotating shower schedule at 5:30. Cold shower. This is not a time for comfort.

Lights out at 9. Stretch.

Some days, early on, she was so sore she did nothing. Whenever someone new showed up, she asked if they knew anything about Twelve. When they did not, she never spoke to them again. When they did, they never had the answers she was looking for. No one seemed to know what happened to the Battenbergs who’d been hiding in Twelve.

No one also seemed to know when they were getting out, or if they were getting out, either. They hadn’t been executed on the spot, but what came next? No one really knew. No one really knew who was actually a rebel, either. Some were arrested for affiliation, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some lied and just pretended that was the reason they were there.

One day it was too cold to go outside. Poppy was agitated. She’d grown up in the Capitol, she could stand a November chill. She wanted to run, anyway. She’d warm up. She’d be fine. All arguments she kept to herself as she found a space in the corner of the rec room to sit and contemplate what to do next. She was yelled at for blocking the heating vent.

The guard was not faster than Poppy as she lunged at the woman. She was desperate to hit something solid, something real. Something that would bleed. As she got the woman in a chokehold, a baton came down on her shoulder, then her back, then her leg. She was stronger than the prisoner, but not stronger than the guards. When she tried to grab at the guard’s leg to drag the woman down, another guard yanked her arms back and snapped on handcuffs.

Poppy was marched through a new concrete corridor, beyond the infirmary and beyond the mess hall for the male prisoners on the other side of the building. A guard had to turn on a flashlight to walk through a hallway lined with solid doors and Peacekeepers stationed outside each one. A door was waiting wide open, Poppy was shoved inside, and the door shut rapidly behind her. There was a little window just beyond the reach of her raised hand, where light filtered into the concrete room. There was no metal bed, just a thin mattress on the ground with suspicious stains. Poppy slowly moved her arms and twisted her body, testing out where she knew the pain would only get worse. No amount of stretching would prevent the soreness of the next morning.

She sat on the ground, and began to recite to herself survival skills she would tell her tributes.

“Never assume water is drinkable, but always collect it. You can create a fire to boil something easier than you can create water. There are a lot of ways to start a fire...”

Her first stint in solitary was 24 hours. The air shifted around her after that. Seela, favored by the guards for her good behavior, requested to be moved to a different cell. Poppy’s first new cellmate was removed on her second night for a shiv she was hiding in her shoe. The next cellmate tried to strangle Poppy in her sleep, and Poppy slammed the girl’s head on the metal corner of the bed. The guards found them both awake at 6, but only one bleeding, and Poppy was hauled off to solitary again.

Two days this time. She recited her survival tips again. Her first meal back in the mess hall, she and several others got food poisoning. The amount of rebels in the infirmary was so concerning that several Peacekeepers were stationed there as they were all handed medicine. Among the group, Poppy spotted some familiar faces. The older brother of an old school friend. A girl she’d played soccer with.

No one from Twelve.

Weeks had passed, and there was not even a crumb of news about her family. She’d seen the replays of her aunt’s Victor’s Ball speech. She wondered if the woman was cowardly enough to keep hiding out in District Thirteen. Surely, her aunt would’ve said something if rebels killed her only living sibling and his children. Or would that require her to admit to the nation that her own niece was among those rebels?

It made Poppy sick to think about. Her father knew Twelve better than her. Other rebels knew her family was hiding out in the old butcher shop. They must have gotten away. They were helped to escape. Maybe Ian was reading through all new books in District Thirteen now. Maybe Sara was learning that strange language their leader spoke. Maybe her father had lost enough, he was at peace with being separated from his daughter.

She wasn’t dead, after all. She was alive, and as well as she could be under the circumstances.

The headaches ceased. She challenged other prisoners to arm wrestling competitions to win part of their meal portions. She stacked her cell mattresses and pillows against the wall and punched and kicked at them until she was exhausted.

She wasn’t dead. Even after her third stint in solitary, that lasted four days and had her ready to scream her head off, she was not dead. And still no word came of her family. No word came that her aunt gave a single flying fuck that her niece was starting to cause a stir in the rebel prison. Poppy didn’t care for any talk of revolution or rebellion. She didn’t care for much talk at all, really. But she cared for the thrill of animosity directed at her, for the chance to fight once more. Maybe if she was sent to death’s doorstep, someone would finally fucking tell her something.

Lights out.

Wake up at 6.

Line up at 6:15.

Breakfast is over at 6:45.

Rotating shower schedule at 8.

Cell time until 10.

Indoor rec time until 11. Bitch, what are you looking at?

Her nails were broken and jagged. As they curled into her palm, she sliced a little of her own skin. She didn’t care. She took a moment to relish the pinch, the impression, and when the guard swung a baton at her, she ducked. One strike with a closed fist to the guard’s ribs. An unclenched but strong hand jabbed hard at the side of the guard’s neck. The guard used two hands on the baton to shoved at Poppy’s chest. Poppy latched onto the stick as she was tackled, pushing back against the pressure on her sternum. Her legs were pinned by the guard. There was little hope for her in this fight, but she refused to give up as she groaned and pushed back against the guard. A group of guards were present within moments, ready to grab Poppy the moment she was freed. She spit and scratched and kicked and screamed, but the rebels were not the only ones who’d gone to war. The guards had dealt with worse. There was a pinch at her neck, and then the drifting feeling she barely recognized almost two months later.

It was December 15th when she woke up in solitary.

A guard delivered her first breakfast through the meal slot, a change from the usual Peacekeeper delivery. She asked how long she was there this time. She must’ve already been passed out when the guards iterated their usual “for your punishment, you will spend X hours in solitary.” There was no answer from this guard. The meal flap slapped shut.

Lunch was hand-delivered, too, by a different guard. And dinner also. Poppy was unnerved. She tried to exercise, to find a way to train as snow dimmed the outside light from coming in. But her mind was racing, and each time she heard something in the hallway, she found herself suddenly jumping. Had they injected her with anything else? Was she even still in the Capitol prison? There was no way to tell if this was the same cell she’d always been put in.

December 16th.

The worst thing about solitary was the lack of structure. Poppy thought she hated structure, but there was some level of it that was absolutely needed in human life. She lost count of her squats, she barely broke a sweat, she was hesitant to strike even at the air. All meals were delivered by guards. They were more solid than anything she’d ever had in the mess hall. She wasn’t sure when it was night, and she didn’t know if she really slept.

December 17th.

Shortly after breakfast, before her tray was even taken away, there was a clicking sound nearby. The door. It was the door unlocking. Poppy stood immediately, dumping the crumbs from her tray and holding the spoon out like a weapon as she waited to see who would enter. A guard, with a taser already drawn and a new pair of overall in her arms. They were thicker, for the weather that was getting even colder. Poppy did not go after her, and the guard kept the taser drawn until the door was locked again. Poppy changed.

December 18th.

She slept the night before. She started to count to sixty repeatedly, then remembered she hadn’t gone through her usual list of survival tips. She didn’t know why she did it, but it was all she could think to do. Seela told her to get a hobby. This was her hobby. Staying alive.

She thought a lot about Niko and Gemma that day. The inked reminders of her dead tributes were still so fresh on her skin that even in pale light, she could still see each line. Niko’s and Gemma’s were the biggest, perhaps wishful thinking she would not have need for extra space for homages to the rest of the tributes she could not keep alive.

Maybe she’d been saving all the good tips for herself.

December 19th.

A steak knife was on her dinner plate. She kept it tight in her grip as she watched a guard pull back the tray through the meal plate. There was no hesitation as the tray scraped on the floor, then there were footsteps down the hallway. Poppy clutched the knife in outstretched arms, defensive, as she lied down on her bed. She fell asleep that way.

December 25th.

She slept with the knife every night. When the sun rose, the cell flooded with light. She got a new set of overalls, but did not change. She stuffed the collar into a crack in the wall. She used her boots to weigh down the end of the stained mattress, and propped it up to rest under the overalls. The arms rested awkwardly and it ended up shorter than most people, but that didn’t matter. Poppy started to do high-knees, jumping jacks, squats, jump squats, push-ups, anything she could think of to get her heart pumping. The steak knife remained always within reach. When she felt sweat start to drip down her hairline, she snatched up the knife and slashed at the overalls. She cut through the fabric, and through the thin cover of her mattress. She swung again, cut again.

She asked the darkness that night where her family was, as she tried to sleep on a torn up mattress. She got no answer. She’d hoped she was being spied on, that someone, somewhere, might have mercy on her and turn on a tiny little speaker to finally give her an answer. She asked once more, just to see if she hadn’t been loud enough the first time.

She told the darkness to go fuck itself.

January 15th.

She should’ve known something was different when dinner the night before was heartier than usual. She assumed it was going to be an especially cold night, or a blizzard might be coming. When she woke, the first thing she noticed were her empty hands. Before her vision was fully cleared of sleep, she began to feel around in the dark to find the knife handle. Nothing. Nowhere.

“Oh, look at the poor dear.”

The light that hit her wasn’t from the sun. It was electric. A flashlight. Poppy’s groan at the sight of it bordered on a growl as she squinted her eyes, forcing herself not to close her eyes entirely.

“What the f-” The voice was so high-pitched and nasally Poppy wanted to tear the woman’s throat out before she could see the full outline of her ridiculous hairstyle.

“Don’t be a brat, Poppy.”

Poppy sprang up. Before she could take another step, two guards had swiftly moved to grab her and pull her arms behind her, clapping on handcuffs. Behind the woman with the ridiculous hairstyle stood her older brother. Adam. She’d thought about him often, but never when concerned about the health of her family. She never second-guessed he’d always find a way to survive. She still wondered if he played any part in leading the rebels to their aunt’s bunker.

Now here he stood, the man who had the answer to every single fucking question she had. The man with the answer to her one burning question, and his arms were crossed, and his nose was wrinkled up. When had he stopped loving her? Or had he always just been a good actor, and their family the unknowing cast?

“Sara-”

The baby first. The one she feared for the most. Her name was the first thing out of Poppy’s mouth. Adam uncrossed his arms.

“Safe. Of course. Your friends aren’t nearly as good at keeping secrets as you think. We got them out of Twelve before you even got to the Hob.”

The Hob. The hideout. It didn’t affect her, not nearly as much as he was clearly hoping it would. She could see him watching her, waiting for a reaction to a revealed secret she didn’t care about. She didn’t know what past life the Hob belonged to, but it was hazy enough in her memory for her to barely blink. All she cared about was the reassurance, finally, that her family was safe. The palms of her hands grew warm, no longer feeling bare and empty without the knife clutched there.

The woman with the absurd hair cleared her throat. “And it’s Reaping Day!” she exclaimed with a grin.

Sunrise

Poppy was eased back into the outside world. First a quiet, slow car ride in the dark, then her handcuffs were taken off. There was a long pause after, as everyone stared at her, waiting to see what she would do. She was tempted to go after her brother again, but she knew now where that would land her. She folded her arms instead, exactly mimicking her brother’s stance. He sighed, then just her brother and the stylist brought her up the elevator to a Capitol apartment. She saw the name of the apartment on the sign out front. She recalled something she’d heard in the prison.

“Did you get sick when they poisoned the water?” she asked her brother.

“No. I’ve been testing my water for years.”

After the long period of silence, it startled her to hear a response. She imagined it might take some getting used to hearing other voices again. Had Adam always sounded so much like their father? She wished she could talk to him. They’d left Twelve, but gone where?

“Where-”

“Poppy, we don’t have much time. We’ll talk after.”

The stylist reached out to wrap her arms around Poppy’s shoulders, and Poppy immediately shoved her away. She felt no need to warn the woman not to fucking touch her again. She was handed a towel, a robe, a facial waxing kit, and a razor.

For the first five minutes, she showered in only cold water. Slowly, she began to twist the other knob. More and more, then a little off the cold knob. The room filled with steam as her fingers began to prune. She reached out her hands on the wall to steady herself as she began to lower her body, her movements deliberate. Curled up on the tub floor, with nothing but the hot tap on, and sobbed for the first time in months.

Adam said they did not have much time. It was utter bullshit. The sun was an hour away from rising when they arrived in the apartment. He knew. His heart had turned to ice with all his time around their aunt, but his mind was made sharper by it. When Poppy finally emerged from the bathroom, well after the sun rose, he said they were right on schedule. For a moment, she was comforted to see him drinking tea. She thought he might offer her some.

“You need to wax your eyebrows before anything,” he said instead.

“Bitch, you too,” she snapped.

The stylist kept her distance as she led Poppy into the bathroom again. She stood several feet away as she guided Poppy through the proper hair removal and grooming steps. Poppy barely glanced at her, moving on what felt like a reclaimed instinct. When the stylist spoke, Poppy’s memory drowned her out with her mother’s voice. After her skin was calmed, and her hair was dried and styled, the stylist excitedly handed her a garment bag and left. Inside was a simple dark red dress, and Benjy’s old leather jacket on the hanger behind it. She hadn’t worn it since the Presidential Ball, but she’d brought it along to Twelve. She didn’t know how Adam found it.

She remembered something he’d said once, a lifetime ago.

“We thought it was only us. Before you. Me and Benjy and Arissa. We were best friends.”

Adam was a rebel once. Maybe it was a bad family trait, to always want to rebel. Was that it? Or was it the desire to surprise, to draw attention? To be something more than just another bad hairdo at the Hearth Day afterparty?

She laughed. It felt horrible, but she kept at it. She laughed at her own thoughts, as she imagined her mother’s ghost wreaking havoc if a single one of her children dared to go to a party with a bad hairstyle. Still shaking, not wanting to give up on laughing just yet, she started to dress. Wool tights, and a wool bodysuit under the long sleeve dress. Her brother’s jacket was many things, but it was not warm. Inside the sleeves of the dress she could feel the roughness of a lining of fleece that was added. There was a small packet of gold jewelry hanging from the hangers. She reached up to tug and feel at her ears suddenly, but felt no indentations. All her piercings, closed up.

She would get them redone. She didn’t think much beyond that. She didn’t know what came after this, what came after playing dress up to watch someone be trotted off to the death. But she told herself she’d get a piercing again, and it was final. She slipped out the bracelets and rings, and adorned herself with such carefree movements, she didn’t recognize her hands. They were too clean, too soft. Except her nails.

Her nails were broken and jagged.

She stared at them, wondered if she should ask for a file to shape them and apply a sticker manicure. But that wasn’t right. This, these jagged, sharp edges, were the reminder of where she’d slept just the night before. She did not look in the mirror after pulling on the jacket, and walked out of the bathroom.

The Reaping

Poppy hadn’t seen so many people in months. It set her on edge. She kept her hands balled up, and continued to look over her shoulder as the stylist, still keeping her distance, led the way for Poppy to check in. Adam hadn’t driven with them to the center of the city. It’d just been Poppy and this stranger. Now, Poppy and this sea of strangers. She braced herself for the pinprick of the blood draw, told herself not to punch someone in the face. But as the draw came, a familiar scent filled her with calm. It was a perfume that told her it was time to smile, to play, to learn, to trust.

“Poppy.”

Gentle. Aunt Titaniara was always so gentle. Poppy felt the light touch at her elbow before her hand pulled away from the worker. She jerked it away immediately, stared blankly at her aunt. It was not for lack of thought, or emotion. It was too much. She did not know what to do. Did she brave the phalanx of Peacekeepers surrounding her aunt to try to choke her out? Did she thank her for saving the rest of their family? Now, face to face with her, Poppy couldn’t imagine anyone getting close enough to kill this woman. Even now, dressed in white and with an expression of kindness, she looked untouchable.

Poppy realized that her brother chose a pair of short heels that exactly matched the height of her aunt’s. They were the same height, eye to eye.

Poppy remembered the Seam. Remembered the stench of death everywhere. Death did not scare someone like her aunt, born and raised in a district like Twelve.

Death is certain. So her aunt took a bigger gamble: to win or lose. Small games don’t matter, not really. There are greater games, with greater stakes. Auntie Titaniara always loved an underdog, and her greatest bet ever had been on herself.

Death did not scare someone like her aunt. But losing would pack a punch. Maybe that was why she never let Poppy beat her at any games they played, no matter how young and sensitive Poppy was.

“Sit with me,” Titaniara said, as if it was really a suggestion. She held out her hand.

Poppy looked at the Peacekeepers first, and then at her aunt’s hand. Slowly, she reached out. The last time she’d reached for her aunt, she was tased. She tensed her muscles, readied for the pain, but all she felt was her aunt’s gloved hand wrap around her own.

She forgot how swiftly her aunt moved. Poppy had no time to relax into the familiar grasp before her aunt was walking. The Peacekeepers moved in formation. Stiff. Everything was so stiff in this little square that moved around her aunt, who moved so fluidly. Poppy’s feet moved quick, and she was suddenly a child again, rushing to keep up with Auntie Ti in her fun heels as she strolled into the Tower. They scaled the stairs, and it was not until they were seated that Titaniara let go. Not until Poppy was settled did she feel the blood flow quickly to her fingertips, and realized how tight her aunt’s grip was.

Snapping to attention, Poppy checked the clock. Her eyes scanned the crowds, looking for two familiar faces in the crowds. Sara and Ian. She’d never gotten an answer. Where were they? Had her aunt broken the rules to keep them out of the Reaping? Were they out of Panem? Were they in District Thirteen? Was that enough to keep them out of the Reaping? Were -

There she was. In a crowd that never seemed to stop moving, there was her baby sister, looking right at her. Sara was already crying, Poppy could tell from this far away. Her face was flushed, and she wasn’t moving. Poppy looked from her sister, to her aunt, and then back to the crowd. But Sara was already gone. There’d been some commotion as more thirteen-year-old girls joined the group, and a rapid shift took her sister away.

Among the shifting crowds, she saw a familiar gray. Not every prisoner had her privilege. The rest had to show up in their gray overalls, while she sat in a new dress on stage next to her aunt.

The Reaping ceremony began.

While the nation watched a pre-recorded video about Panem, Poppy watched her aunt. Watched her unchanging facial expression. Watched the way she kept a small, tight smile on her lips as there was a disclaimer about rebels paying for their actions.

The Black Eagles never stood a chance against a bitch who refused to die, and refused to lose. Even to a fucking kid.

Poppy really didn’t care about interrupting Honey Bellerose. Poppy looked at her aunt. She was tempted to mimic Titaniara, to match her smile exactly.

Poppy clenched her jaw, and slowly released the tension with an exhale. Poppy found her aunt’s gaze as she raised her hand. Eye to eye.

Her nails were broken and jagged against the blue sky.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

#feral #127 #th:self #self-para #para #reaping

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cradleaine · 3 years ago

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is there a way back home?

I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel like knowing your days are becoming shorter and shorter and a terrifying yet inevitable stop is approaching.

In fact, I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t want to entertain the idea.

I’ve always known myself as confrontational. I used to describe myself as brave, strong, wise. A lot has changed since stepping into harsher and more competitive environments. I realized I was more persevering than wise. More tolerating than strong. More passive than brave. Which, quite frankly, aren’t bad traits at all, but when you put things into perspective and circumstances into consideration, I am more defeated than confronted.

I’ve learned from losing my mom to death at 17 that pain exists to occupy spaces we were used to being filled. Albeit sometimes frank and detached, my relationship with my mother was something I have never found and probably would never find in other people. She was blunt. She was strict. Brutally honest. Had anger management issues. As a teenager, especially one who struggled with the consequences of poverty and a dysfunctional family, most of what I saw were what was missed, what was never had, what was never said. I never realized the other side of parenting, especially doing it alone: figuring out your child’s needs that grow and evolve with time, understanding their development, and, most importantly, confronting the very obvious empty space we’ve seen and felt since the day I was born: a father figure.

I wasn’t blessed with the best support system, either. I was sworn out of anger. Received broken promises. Almost given up on. And I was mad about all of those.

It must’ve been so confusing, figuring out how to help your child survive, give her the best you could, make sure she is satisfied, and doing it all alone. At the time, I despised what I didn’t have: a comfortable life, luxury at the expense of nothing, validation from a father, hopeful romance figures. I think I even blamed my mother for it at some point.

Years later, as I got more exposed to a harsher world, I realized that it is okay to regret my anger, but it is also valid to keep it. I can ponder on how and why I wasn’t done wrong despite not meeting all of my wants and needs, but I can also acknowledge the fact that I wasn’t given the childhood I deserve. That it’s okay for anger and regret to coexist, and allowing myself to feel them and grow from them is something that can help me parent myself better. After all, there is no one left to take care of me but me.

Which brings me to my next point, the most dreadful one by recency.

I accept that I am now a fully grown adult who should make sound decisions and should stick to them and be brave enough to be responsible. I know that, but looking around me, where everyone has their own support systems regardless of degree of helpfulness, it just makes decision-making a little harder and a bit more bitter.

Some kids, those even older than me, get all the help they need whenever they want. Maybe some of them don’t even have to ask for help as everything they need are waiting for them multiple steps in advance. I know comparison will get me nowhere, but in a world where privilege plays all the important factors for survival, can you blame me? I yearn for a consistent support system, but I don’t have that anymore (a question of if I ever had a consistent support system is one that will be left unanswered). I can’t just make decisions and expect to fall back onto something when things go wrong. My time can’t afford mistakes.

Because that’s how it usually goes: my time against the world’s. I feel like I need to be constantly rushing to do something, achieve something, provide something; otherwise, I’ll lose someone at the expense of my comfort.

At this point, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to lose someone.

I fear that every single day I am trapped inside my childhood home. I fear that every minute I spend outdoors. I fear potential phone calls, silences, dimmed lights. I am so terrified of having more proximate space than ever.

As you can already tell, I can’t even talk about it directly. I fear bringing my thoughts into exact words will translate them to reality, and I’m just not ready for that. Other people can say that no one would ever be ready for loss, but they don’t understand that to me, losing one person is losing another fraction of my mind and heart that I can never, ever retrieve. A tragedy I will never recover from. A life I will never get to live.

I fear losing people every single minute I exist. It looms right outside the parameters of my bed. At very strange hours, it lurks under my tonsil, begging for a release, asking for attention and devotion and confrontation and I just can’t.

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mimithings97 · 5 years ago

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Mon Amour (M) - KTH

Summary: The Parisian air has a way about it. To some it’s romantic, to others a source of peace and escape. To Taehyung it spells pent up frustration, heavy balls, and much needed assistance from his girlfriend. Unfortunate for him, you won’t let him touch you. Based on this from the Drabble Game:

#22 “i know i upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days now”

#40 “i’m so horny right now, i couldn’t stop if i tried”

Genre: Pureeeee Smut, Domestic

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Masturbation, Dry Humping, Sex, Spitting, Foot play, Fingering, Oral (m. receiving), Squirting, Fucking FRENCH TAE!

A/N: A spontaneous little thang because @softyoongiionly royally fucked me up with the whole French Tae thing in her fic ‘La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts’. So big up to you, and as always, enjoy x

It’s the nicest day since you arrived, you’re sure of it. The sun angled just high enough and without the veil of clouds like it had been previously, that your balcony is set alight with the heat of white rays, the plants beginning to wilt in the corner because you hadn’t tended to them and your skin, in all its nakedness, goldening.

Maybe it’s the Parisian air, not that cliche romantic kind of air, but that feeling of spontaneity and carefree that has your robe strewn in the bathroom and your breast decorated in the 2pm sun. It also helped that your balcony was set high enough above the level skyline, perched a little too far to the north of the city and up a slight hill, so that your nudity falls dead to the world.

The click of the front door dispels the peace, though.

A rustle and the thump of bags in the kitchen tell you Tae’s trip to the market was more successful than yours was, but then again, your boyfriends French was on par with the native speakers who line the stalls.

“Ma chérie?”

The book that you’d left flattened and faced down, when sunbathing became more interesting, suddenly finds its way into your hands. It was a novel recommended by him, and something you promised you’d finish by the end of the day, so suddenly your eyes scan the page as though you’re immersed in the plot line of traditional French romantics.

“Y/N?”

“Oui?” You prop yourself in a certain way on the chair, finding the angle that has the rays of light beating your skin in the most attractive way, and give a ruffle to the locks that litter your bare back.

It’s a small apartment, the kitchen meeting the bedroom and bedroom meeting the balcony all in one open plan space - it’s not like you had anything to hide with him - so it’s not long before his footsteps fall onto the concrete of the outdoor space. It’s the clunking of ice that has your lips turning upwards.

“They didn’t have the peach, but the woman recommended the citrus. Said it’s good when the weathers like thi-.”

You take it from where it’s hovered over your shoulder, and immediately the condensation hits your hand, ice cold droplets making their way from fingers to wrist to elbow. Your nipples harden at the sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Baby?”

“Mmm,” it’s both an answer to his call for you and an answer of satisfaction at the bitter liquid, cold and moreish, down your throat.

You know he’s eyeing you. You know his hands are lingering against his sides, fighting desperately against the desire to trail fingertips over the curve of your shoulders and down to your breasts. Your nakedness is another level of tempting he’s not sure his hormones can contend with.

And you know, even more, you’re petty. Teasing to prove a point. Letting his eyes wander and fingers jitter, but not letting him touch.

It wasn’t petty at first, not when your sister’s wedding - second wedding, but the more honest coupling of the two - was sidelined thanks to your boyfriends drunk hysteria. Your dance with one of the groomsmen, a high school friend, had caused jealousy to mix with alcohol and for Taehyung to reach levels of anger you hadn’t seen since his dad left. In short, it was bloody. So, no, your distance was justified, and the absence of his touch was as punishing to you as it was to him. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with it a little, string it on so that honest resentment did, in fact, become a little petty.

“Y/N, baby,” he doesn’t know what he’s asking, or maybe it’s just a plea with himself. But his cock stirs as icy droplets find their way between your breasts. It’s like they’re asking his eyes to follow them. Down, down, and further down, until there lies your bare cunt. He didn’t know you had it in you, but he’s suddenly cursing himself for ever realising you did.

“Fuckkkk.”

You know where his eyes are. They burn a little bit more than the sun that rakes over your body still, so it’s a calculated move when you uncross your legs, slowly, temptingly and you probably taste salty down there from the accumulation of sweat and arousal.

The strength in his neck goes all at once and his forehead drops to your shoulder, an uncomfortable curve in his back, but your scent makes up for it. It’s heady and wholesome and a mix of sweat and shampoo, and he can’t help his hands wander.

The tips of his fingers tingle, and when they meet the skin of your arm, your hairs stand on end. As much as you’d teased him in the last few days, you’d been teasing yourself, fighting inner battles every morning at how his morning wood pressed into you, or how you wanted to french kiss him when he spoke with the native Parisians. Mostly it was the way Paris suited him. It made you want to tangle with one another in your sheets with the balcony doors open and the sun exposing all of you. So his touch effects you and you don’t push it away, not this time.

“Ma beauté, please,” his lips are soft on your shoulder. His teeth not so much, but you know it’s a habit he has when he requires self restraint. “Please.”

His fingers are still light and apprehensive, but they know what they want, dragging southward so he intertwines them amongst yours. He first pulls them up to his mouth, so a kiss meets each knuckle - you know it’s a form of apology, for his mistake, and for what he’s about to do - and then your collective grasp makes a steady path behind you. His shirt is loose, and so are his shorts, and they’re thin enough you feel him heavy, hard and wet with his precum.

“Please.”

His grip fastens around yours, a tight mould that closes around his erection and he gasps, fully and unabashed as though he hasn’t been touched in days. Because, he hasn’t.

“Shit.”

So you take the initiative and work your hand on your own, the fabric harsh against his skin, but he likes the burning pain and vocalises that.

“Fuck yeh, please keep going, please.”

You’ve never heard him plead with you as much, voice still low and gravely as ever, but it’s a whine either way, and it keeps you hand tight to his dick, twisting a little so his balls get caught up in the material too. There’s a light thrust of his hips that calls for more, and he begins hissing and panting into the skin of yours shoulder, his hands occupied with their fierce grip on chair.

“Let me touch you baby.”

“Mmm,” you want that, his hands, his lips, everywhere, forever, but there’s something rooted within you that calls for more of his whines, and another part that wants to prologue his torture.

So the hand working his erection, finds his shorts seam, but much to his disappointment, you don’t venture under the barrier, instead you find yourself pulling him round the chair so his back is lit with the heat of the midday sun and his face, ridden with need and eyes that dart straight to your core, fills your gaze.

“Fuck you’re hot,” and naked, and all for his eyes. But eyes only.

“Kneel on the floor for me,” if you could say it in French, you would, it turns him on no end, but you hadn’t reached that level in your vocabulary book yet. Another day, you think, another day.

It’s almost comical the way he obeys so quickly, so devoted to your every word, it’s love but it’s mostly desire. Particularly now he’s level with your pussy.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he whispers, loud enough you hear, though

“Take your shirt off for me,” he begins at the top, “slowly.” His hands fumble between each button, but he won’t look to aid the cause, his eyes are drowning in the wetness between your thighs. The lust within them is enough to have you own hands wandering.

Your drink was forgotten a while ago, but the lingering ice cold wetness between your fingers is beautiful as they skip from hardened nipples to your stomach. It caves a little at the cold and Taehyung chokes a profanity when your pussy clenches at the same time.

“Mmm,” he’s bare now, with his top half rid of the shirt that marred your view of his body - torso beautifully golden thanks to the good weather and chest lifting too harshly with how his breathing stutters.

“Y/N please.”

“Mmmmm,” it’s so so good when you touch your clit, a gentle roll between your thumb and index finger, and you eye his hands, fists more like from the way they clench, imagining it’s his between your legs instead. Your sticky with sweat, but it’s good, and when a sinker sinks in shallow to your hole, it’s even better.

“Oh my fuckkk,” he’s subconsciously leaning forward, a primal instinct that has his tongue lapping at his lips and a tingling all over that calls out to fucking taste you, and now! He’s horny, too horny, yet there’s nothing that’s going to take his eyes away from where you finger yourself.

“It feels good Tae, so good.”

He literally whimpers. And there’s a sensible part of him, that’s thinking whether or not it’s worth cumming in his Gucci shorts.

But you moan, and he caves.

“Baby, please, let me touch you, please. I’m so hard, want it so bad. Want your hands on me, your mouth, anything, fuckk.”

One of your bare feet finds his bare abs, pushing gently because he didn’t realise he’d leaned it far enough to smell you.

“You want my mouth?”

“Mmm,” he licks his lips.

“Where?”

There’s a shaking to his hand, but it takes your foot firmly and drags it southward until it perches on where his cock sits high and hard. You smirk and he moans.

“There?” He twitches when you push harder.

“Fuckk.”

“You upset me though. Properly upset me Tae.” And it’s the first time his eyes meet yours in favour of your cunt.

He’d known he fucked up, bad and big. He’d known you cried the first two nights when he slept on the sofa at the other side of the room, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and had two cups of coffee that morning - you hate coffee. He’d known he’d wait until you were ready, emotionally and then physically, pushing back every instinct to drown you in his love, with his words, his mouth, his hands, because, like he said, he’d fucked up big.

And if that all meant keeping his hands to himself, his dick tucked away painfully, and resist the urge to taste you even when your fingers are sinking deeper with every twist, then, fuck, he’ll do it.

It doesn’t make it any easier though.

“Hmm?” You push harder again, foot to straining erection.

“Fuck, baby, I know I upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days. It’s painful, I’ll do anything.”

You scoff a little, then proceed to curl your toes around his head so he gasps out and flutters his eyes closed. They open to your pussy gushing dangerously around three fingers now.

It’s good, the friction, inside you, on your clit, hot and cold and so, so good. You’re moaning lightly, out of pleasure but also to string along his pain. Tae loves when you’re vocal.

“Just suck me a little, or let me have a taste. S'il vous plaît, mon cherie, s'il vous plaît.”

Fuck, you might know Tae but he knows you better, and the baritone of his voice, lustful and pleading, and in French, you release your foot and loose every internal battle.

“Come here.”

Giving in never tasted you good, his mouth meets your fingers first, salty, wet and so fucking delicious on his tongue, before you pull him by his hair so you kiss. And kiss hard. Starved and deprived means everything is on the line in a single few seconds of being joined at the mouth, and your moans is a trigger for him to dive deeper.

His hands feel bigger than they ever have when they wrap around your thighs, searching for a secure purchase before you’re lifted and swung around, roles switched, and him finding place on the chair. Neither of your tongues leave one another, and the way he’s open mouthed, breathing erratically, the kiss is sloppy, beautifully messy and his hips bucks when he thinks of something.

“Baby,” you’d sneaked a hand between you, and he’s not prepared when you squeeze him wholeheartedly, “f-fucking shit Y/N.” So you do it again, and again.

“Fuck, baby, please.”

“What Tae,” your tongue still laps at his.

“Spit in my mouth, I need it.”

You pull back, a little caught off guard by his desire. It’s not that deep and not that dark of a notion, but my god, if you don’t want to get on your knees and suck him dry at the thought. “Jesus.” So, with one hand firm on his dick, the other presses his cheeks harshly until they hollow. You suppress the desire to choke him, and instead collect your saliva, both his and your, aiming the spit deep into the back of his throat.

If it’s possible for a guy to cum without ejaculating, then that’s exactly what Tae just did. He tastes you, so far back in his gullet, and swallows, and moans.

“Good?”

“So good, please, more.”

So you do, again, finding his tongue with your spit and his hips begin to set a pace beneath you, into your hand through the layers of his shorts. They desperately stutter.

“You’re that horny huh? Won’t stop until you cum in your pants huh?”

“I’m so horny I couldn’t stop if I tried.”

“They’re Gucci, Tae, fuck that.”

He thinks it must be Christmas when you sink down beneath his thighs, spread and shaking from the torrent of blood rushing up to his dick. You’re fast on the zipper and faster at latching your mouth to his dick once they’re sufficiently down his legs.

“Holy fu- shittt.”

You take him straight down in one, the only teasing part being your fingers kneading at his balls, too gently for him to moan like he does when you twist them. But he growls, instead, when your throat constricts and quakes around his head and the vibrations travel everywhere through him when you moan at having him so deep.

“Baby, hold up a bit, pleaseee. I’ll cum.”

You twist his balls.

“Fuck, oh my god, oh my god, baby, I want- ohshit, I wanna be in you.”

Your pussy throbs enough that you take him up on his want, prepared to discard every last piece of restraint you’d kept up for the last 5 days, because you’d forgiven him before he’d even fucked up.

“Wowow, wait, just, I’ll cum too quick, just-”

You hover, panting a little from when you’d sucked him so your lungs dried up.

“Okay,” tenderly, one of your hands, shaking from the pent up hormones, finds his cheeks, his hair, his lips, easing him and lulling him, “calm, you’re good.”

He presses a fleeting kiss to your palm, and then licks a stripe up his own, salty from sweat but it reaches for something saltier. It cups you with little reservation, heading straight for your clit whilst two fingers nestle deep inside you. His eyes finally open to watch the way yours roll back.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeh?”

Three fingers. And deeper.

“Shit, Tae. Yeh.”

He eyes where his hand sinks into you, and the image doesn’t help how his stomach is clenching his orgasm away. He starts bucking into the air instead, possessed by your moans, your wetness, the way your body begins to drip, golden in the sun.

“Fucking hell that’s good.”

He loves when you’re vocal.

“Tell me you love me, baby, please.”

It’s hard. He’s curling his fingers, eyeing you with a need that borders on crazed, yet your heart beats faster from his words, not just the way the need to cum is creeping up on you.

“Mmm, je t’aime, mon amour, je t’aime.”

“Oh fuck,” you almost gush when his dick replaces his hands, too fast for you to unclench and make way for his length, and he chokes, dropping his head in between your breasts and squeezing your back. His hold is enough that you’re lost, drowned amongst him, and his thrusts make you fall limp.

“I’ll cum, Y/N, I’ll cum quick, holy s-” his head throws back when you hand finds his neck and squeezes, it mirrors your cunt.

“It’s okay baby, cum, please, I want it.”

Tae’s on a mission, to find his end and yours, planting his feet and becoming delirious as he drives into, so fast you can’t actually moan, or scream, because he’s in your throat, big and hard. It hits you in that place you want, once, twice, again and again.

“Oh my god, Tae, oh-”

“So good, fuckkk.”

He thumbs your clit too hard for you to prevent your orgasm and the gush that cums with it. It’s so powerful that you shake, and force his dick out of you all at the same time.

“Fucking hellll.”

The sight sets him alight as well. His hands too occupied on holding you upright that he cums untouched, over your stomach, over your pussy that quivers with wetness, he doesn’t stop either, leaking endlessly, because 5 days worth of blue balls had really kept him on edge.

Breathing is all that ensues. A silence that has you both trying to ground yourself. The cum, everywhere, is a little distracting.

“Messy.” You pant, tired, spent, but not quite exhausted enough that you don’t play with his cum. No, it’d be a waste, so you drags two fingers to the head of his cock, he hisses, and through the pile collecting on your stomach before you drag it deep inside of you.

“Fuck that’s hot.”

It hurts but you thrust them in and out a few times, relishing in the notion he’s deep and set inside of you.

“Baby, stop or I’ll get hard again. And I’ve been hard for like four days straight, it’s not fair.”

So you peck his lips.

“Sorry.”

And kiss him again.

“Me too.”

You stay naked, together, the whole day. You remain embraced and bare into the night also. He cooks for you with his cock hard between his legs, and he doesn’t even have to ask when you get on your knees at the dinner table. He fucks you in the bath. You fuck him on the bed.

And three days later, when your bags are packed, the plants on the balcony are dead and Tae has fucked you enough to make up for the 5 days missed, the lovely old French lady on the front desk, in the most beautifully sweet accent tells Tae,

“s'il te plait, ne baise pas sur le balcon, certainement pas nu.”

You’re glad you’re not fluent.

#kim taehyung #taehyung smut #drabble game #BTS v #bts drabble #bts taehyung #bts taehyung smut #v smut #french tae #taehyung things

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tinycaprisun · 4 years ago

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a song not about love

title: a song not about love characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 1864 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, no character names are said (but the perspective is alluded to be chuck’s and the “best friend” is trent) a/n: hi! so, holy crap i’m actually doing this... i know, it’s freaking me out too. i guess for context, yesterday i literally did not sleep at all and in a 5 am sudden burst of energy, this little fic came out of my brain. i’ve never posted my work online before, so this is kind of a big thing for me? also, this is so different from how i normally write because there is next to no dialogue, and it’s not, uh... funny? but it sure is something ahah

He won’t say it. That one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He will not under any circumstance say it, or hell, even feel it. It sets you up for failure, for a gashing claw directly to your heart as it punctures and plays with what little you have left.

It’s like that song from Hercules, he thinks. The one where Meg is singing by the fountains about her feelings for Hercules and denying them every step of the way. It feels like that, except the brunette knows this isn’t some sappy Disney movie. This is real life, the one that made him hate himself every time he looked in a mirror. The one that gave him no other option to cope with everything that swirls in his mind at blinding rates than to drown what he does have away.

Words were never his strong suit, with him always clinging to actions and movement, as more often than not, his mouth would betray him with what would come out of it.

There’s this burning sensation, festering deep under his skin, well into the flesh, that tingles and jumps no matter what he does. It gets worse when he’s around. Not that he would know it, his friend was never good at picking up on just about anything. Itching, almost, with him unconsciously rubbing his arm over and over trying to forget that was where he had last touched him. A congratulatory pat, and that was it.

The thought of already being dead crosses his mind. That perhaps, he is already dead, and that what he is living now would be his own personal hell. Set up explicitly to torture him for the wrongdoings of when he was alive. He wonders what that life was like, and if the people he knew now were there. That gave him no solace, as even if he were still living, there would still be his best friend there ruining it all.

Ruin in the best way possible, he amends. Because without him, the brunette can’t picture his life in any capacity. There would be none as far as he is concerned. There was so much of him that did not have, that lived in his friend.

Someone a long time ago said they were soulmates. Platonic, he assumed at that moment, was what the man meant. All this time later, he knows what he was getting at. He won’t say it, he never will, but he knows why the other man said it. That memory liked to crawl into his brain sometimes, replaying like a song you have stuck in your head until you can’t take it anymore and finally listen to it. It does not ease your pain, the song is still stuck.

Soulmates were someone that housed all of the pieces of you that you did not have. The parts of you that you could fully - the word - because they were in someone else. Maybe that was why he liked keeping his friend around all the time. Because they were the same person.

Except they weren’t. His only slightly shorter friend was better than him at literally everything, not that it bothered him. It just made for more to... This was getting harder and harder to not say by the ever so slowly ticking seconds.

His mind takes over again. Blocking him even farther from reality than he already was, to think.

It’s the way he smiles, he ponders. But only when it’s at him. Tiny, unguarded, and sweet like pineapple fluff. Adoration is always in there too; along with warmth, and if he himself was feeling extra in his own head, intense longing. He silently prays for the last one. Never has been sure why, but he hopes with everything he’s got, that it’s in there somewhere.

What was longing? Catching his eyes across the room as they sparkle under even the dingiest of LED lights? They’re brown, like rich earth that used to be beneath their feet when they would do an outdoor show. Exposed from years of treading, letting others walk upon it without question, working down to its most basic form. It’s very core. He decides that him and the earth aren’t so different.

There is no reason to be like this. So deep into his own recesses that even the most forceful of tactics will not rouse him. Akin to a coma, however his eyes are certainly still working and there is definitely a concerned friend staring at him through their own pair of sunglasses and a neutral expression.

He says something, slow and quiet like he usually does. It does not compute. His friend says it again. He cannot speak, but he can shrug while moving his gaze to stare past him.

It’s radiant over there, a shining oasis asking to have its glory basked in. Unsurprisingly, it’s him. Recognition helps bring back his question. Longing is time. All of it wasted, even if there is still so much to go. No mercy is given to him, not that he believed he deserved it.

His mind jitters and trails off again as it usually does. It’s his voice, he considers. Peering at him would make you guess it’s low and gritty, but he knows far better than that. His voice is of a baritone, but it’s far too uplifting and sometimes outright high to be anything else. Smooth also felt applicable, calmly finding its way to the right words and pitches as his hands say what his mouth can’t. He really enjoys that quality about him.

Reality is boring, he concludes. Sinking back into his cave of wonders and mostly misfortunes he calls his brain. He has his muse of which to think about... again, and the brunette couldn’t be any more content.

Content is the wrong word. Again, he is no good with those, but he does know that content is something he will never be. His is different though, for a reason he will not say. Fuck, are we really back to thinking about longing? For a third time? Is this what he wanted; to be caught in an infinite time loop, ala Groundhog’s Day, where he relives every thought he’s had for the millionth consecutive time?

To be fair, that was how it always was when he saw him. Everything surfacing at the same time and he gets caught in the crosshairs, winning the wonderful luxury of wading through them again.

His laugh is nice. His hair looks good today. The tank top he has on is way too tight fitting and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not hard to imagine anyways, he’s seen it a thousand times, having roamed it with his hands. But only briefly, and the idea sends him into a tizzy.

One that marks the end, the one that finally has snapped him and made him have a new goal. It’s like drowning again, except not in his usual Crown. This is one where he actually can’t breathe, unable to get above water safely and take those precious gulps he so desperately desires.

He is standing in front of him now, fueled by this very known force that has a known name that managed to carry his battered body to the other side of the room, without him even noticing. There is no one else in the room. Or maybe there is, but he can’t tell. For him, it’s only his friend and himself, which is all he could ever want.

His best friend asks him how he is. He does not answer. The other brunette seemed vaguely alarmed by this, commenting on this fact and letting the notion hang in the air. There is no true reply, not to what he is asking nor to anything else. They stand in silence, pressure building and concern rising, like a dam that’s about to burst open and destroy everything in its wake.

Being forward has always been his calling card. Breaking any tension or an awkward silence with little tact and a lot of bluntness. He’s rough around the edges, as are most things in his life.

This one comes off as a cliff though, hurtling himself off of it and waiting until he hits the bottom. But there is none, all there is- is his best friend, still concerned for his well being, because of course he was. Did he really need another reason?

Now there was even less reason to be cautious. If he didn’t say something now, the brunette was going to faint, the lights behind his green eyes going out like the flickering flames of a candle. Where he would drop, essentially dead to the world, straight to the floor and live there for eternity. Or until his friend kneeled down and checked on him.

That idea… The thought of waking up to his face. Seeing him tending to him because for his friend, life seemingly depended on it. But he didn’t know that. What he did know was that the thick and uncomfortable quiet that had filled the room; reminiscent of a smog like haze, was becoming unbearable.

Caution. Wind. Blunt. Do it. He has to. He will explode if he doesn’t. His best friend is staring at him with what feels like baited breath and stitched brows. He looks completely mental, clearly needing to say something, anything really to amend the situation. At this point it doesn’t matter, he’s so gone for him that even if this irreparably damages their relationship, he would at bare minimum be rewarded with getting real sleep at night.

His mouth opens on its own accord, letting the words waterfall out nearly unceremoniously as he keeps eye contact with his friend.

“I’m in love with you.”

He says it.

The one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He says it out loud, to his best friend’s face, with a few words before and after it. Sure, he could say that they don’t matter as much to this whole ordeal he got himself into, but truly, they make up the full saying that has been playing on loop on his head for months.

His friend doesn’t react, not instantly, staring at him with a blinking gaze as either his brain self-destructs, or tries to figure out a way to let him down easy. Heavy doubt sinks into his bones, weighing him down and taking residence within him.

It’s a new, hellish, spiraling sensation that the brunette was not ready for. He was used to his usual downward hole of thoughts, usually brought about by his unmitigated need to bash himself, but this… This feeling didn’t even compare, with it being so much more destructive and raw, it opened him up like he was a frog being dissected and leaving him vulnerable to the world.

He finally speaks, his words soft and slightly timid as he can’t seem to look away from him. Unlike what he was expecting, his friend's expression was open and understanding, albeit still taken aback by his forwardness.

“I… I love you too.”

#chuck taylor #trent beretta #chuckie t #trent?#no real names #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #shut it liz #tinycaprisun writes #my writing #chuck tea #trenty b #fics #current song: why not me

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

Text

The period smut

My babies, thanks for your patience with this. I hope it was worth the wait. I missed writing these two in a longer piece.

A few things, before you proceed:

1) Tiger has a safe word. She says no, in this. She pushes him away. But in their dynamic, she has a safe word and until she uses it--it’s a green light. She can say no as much as she wants, it’s part of it. She knows--and so does Bill--that if she wants it to stop, she just has to say her safe word.

2) I get that this kink isn’t for everybody. It’s why I’m tagging it as appropriate, so you can blacklist it if you want to. But that being said--friends, ain’t no kink shaming in my house. Life is too short.

***

It hit at the worst time.

There was never a good time for your uterus to attempt to kill you, but smack in the middle of a beach vacation was less than ideal. It usually never hit you too hard, but a lack of exercise and an overabundance of alcohol, of blissful sex most nights and an avalanche of Bill’s subliminal pheromones being exuded in your general direction meant you were in for a rough, hormonal ride.

You felt it the second you woke up, a deep clenching of your lower abdomen that had you curling in more on yourself as you roused from sleep. Bill took your shrinking form as a sign you were needing more affection, so he wrapped even tighter around you as you tried to make your way out of his arms and to the bathroom. It took a few seconds, petulant whining on his part as you undid every new limb he wrapped around you until you took to just smacking him away.

“Quit it you dick,” he mumbled sleepily, and you rolled your eyes.

“Bill I have to pee. I can do that in the bathroom, or on you,” you snapped. He smirked, his eyes still closed, but you clamped a hand over his mouth before he could speak.

“No,” you said, “Just no. Don’t even.”

He huffed, grumbling at you, as you promised him you’d be back in a second. He didn’t notice your discomfort on your way back to bed, walking gingerly with a hand pressing tightly into your lower stomach, and he was all over you again the minute you laid back down. You let him curl around you, his body heat helping soothe the deep cramps gripping your lower belly.

You thought—you hoped—it would get better the more you moved around, got some food into you, some soothing ginger tea. Advil would have been a smarter choice, but as the cramps got worse over the course of the day and started to nag at your lower back, you turned to your favourite pain relief: alcohol.

Sitting up gingerly from your towel in the sand, you stood slowly and looked for Bill out on the water. You didn’t have to look far, catching the glint off his mirrored RayBans as his long legs hung out the sides of the inflatable swan anchored in the ocean. You waved your arm up high and saw his head tilt, waving a hand back. You motioned to the hotel lobby where the best outdoor bar was—the one that had the heaviest hand when it came to the rum cocktails—and started to make your way over. You moved slowly, your back aching, your entire front doubled over in pain.

“Can I get a Pina colada, please?” You asked the bartender, folding your arms on the counter top and resting your weight on them. You hunched over as another cramp hit, the dull ache radiating to your lower back, and suppressed a groan.

You jumped slightly when a big hand rested on your back, your startled movement jarring you and you grabbed your abdomen as the tense muscles spurred another vicious cramp.

“Easy kid,” Bill soothed, crowding your space, “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m dying,” you groaned, “This is death for sure.”

“What’s wrong?” He tried to keep his voice even, calm, but you saw the creases of worry on his features.

“Death by cramps, this is the end for me.”

His brow pinched in concern.

“It’s your stomach?” He asked, reached his hand for it but you flinched and curled away. You winced as the dull ache from your back eased it’s way down your sciatic nerve.

“It’s not my stomach, bud,” you quirked a brow at him, arching your back to ease some of the pain.

“Oh,” you watched as realization clouded his features, “Oh.”

The bartender plunked your drink down then, and you greedily reached for it and managed a few hefty gulps before you felt the brain freeze start to take over.

“And is…rum…a good idea for that?” He asked skeptically. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“You know what? You’re right,” you tapped the bartender on the shoulder, “Can I have 25 shots of tequila please?”

“Tiger, no,” Bill said, his eyes wide.

“Tiger yes,” you insisted, clutching your pina colada and trying to gulp the rest down.

“Alright kid, that’s enough of this,” he pried it from your grasp as you clutched on, your mouth chasing the straw, “Go on upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.”

But you kept reaching for your drink and he held it high above his head, laying a quick kiss on your lips when you lunged for it.

“Go,” he admonished again, giving your backside a light pat as you grumbled.

You slowly made your way back to your room, stopping every now and then to clutch the wall when a cramp hit particularly hard. When you finally made it in you stripped down to your underwear immediately, pulling on the shirt Bill had worn last night and tucking yourself under the covers. You heard his key slide in the lock a few minutes later, and he rounded the corner with two mugs in his hand.

“This might help a little more than rum,” he said, handing one to you as you sat up. You sniffed it, cupping your hands around the mug as you brought it to your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, the warm liquid soothing a bit of the ache as it settled in your stomach.

“What hurts?” He asked, wrapping his hands around his mug. You placed yours on the nightstand and flopped back onto the pillows.

“Everything,” you whined, “My entire lower abdomen is just…throbbing. My back is killing me. My boobs are killing me. Everything is killing me.”

“Do you want to take something for it?” He asked, but you just shook your head.

“I didn’t bring anything,” you said, throwing a forearm over your eyes and groaning as another cramp hit.

“I couldn’t find a hot water bottle,” he mumbled, pulling the covers down. He gently rucked up your shirt as you protested, and he tutted you softly. “But maybe this will help?”

Putting the mug on the floor, he lightly placed his hands on your lower abdomen, applying just a bit of pressure. His hands were hot from the mug, fanning out across nearly your entire stomach as he pressed down lightly. You groaned in relief, your eyes closing as you went limp.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, the pressure and the heat easing the tension.

“Good?” He asked, switching the position of his hands and rubbing lightly.

“Press down a bit harder please,” you begged, your eyes closed. You sighed heavily when he did, adding just a bit more pressure as he stilled his hands.

“Does it help?” He asked, hopeful. You managed a small smile as you tickled your fingers up his forearm.

“Big time, bud. Thank you.”

“You know,” he started, moving his hands to another position, “I heard an orgasm is also incredibly effective at relieving cramps.”

You opened your eyes, glaring at him.

“I swear to god,” you threatened, “My uterus is literally shredding itself into pieces. Shredding, Bill. And you are seriously proposing that I fuck your brains out for relief?”

He stared back, unblinking.

“No, I’m seriously proposing that you lie back and let me fuck your brains out, for your own relief,” he picked up the mug again, warming his hands for a few seconds before placing them back on your lower abdomen.

“It’s gross,” you snapped. He shrugged.

“It’s science.”

You just shook your head, flopping it back on the pillow. A second later you heard the bedsheets rustle, felt the weight on the bed shift as his hands slid off your stomach.

He ran his nose along your jaw, steadying his weight above you with a knee planted on the mattress, before placing his lips on that sensitive spot below your ear. He sucked on it softly as you inhaled a sharp breath, willing yourself not to whimper. He released it with a lick, swiping his tongue over his lips before planting them again an inch down, sucking on your pulse point.

“Bill, no,” you sighed, but his hands came up to tangle with yours and you held on.

“Okay,” he mumbled into your neck, moving his lips down to kiss and suck at another spot. His mouth was warm and soft, leaving a wet trail in its wake as you tingled.

“Stop,” you whimpered, but he just nipped gently at your sensitive skin as you craned your chin up to expose more of your neck.

“Alright,” he conceded, moving his mouth to the hollow of your neck and down your collarbone, peppering suckling kisses along it. He made his way back up your neck and when he got to your sweet spot—a small spot halfway up your neck and a little to the back—he sucked on it a little harder as he softly rolled his hips down into yours. You gasped and moaned; you were already so sensitive, but now you were dialled to a hundred. He rested his hips lightly against yours, keeping a lot of the pressure off your stomach but pressing down just enough to relieve some of your pain.

“Bill it’s…it’s gross,” you tried, but it sounded pitiful even to you. He rolled his hips slowly into yours again and you dug your nails into his biceps, moaning softly.

“S’not gross,” he murmured into your neck, “And it’ll help you.”

“It’s messy,” you bit your lip, but you could feel your resolve crumbling the more he pushed his hips into yours.

“We’ll put a towel down,” he moved his face from your neck, kissing down your nose before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You whined into it, already worked up and hormonal, even more so knowing that the release you were now so desperately craving would have to wait a few days. You broke the kiss, frustrated, and tried to sit up.

“This is mean,” you started to push away at him, his lips softly pressing all over your face, “You’re getting me all horny and you know there’s nothing we can do about it for a few more days.”

“We can do something about it,” he insisted, kissing you again as you struggled, “I’ve done it before.”

That gave you pause as you looked up at him, and he held your gaze.

“You have?” You asked meekly. He nodded, and gave you a half smile.

“Yeah, in fact I had a girlfriend who was super into it. She swore it was the only thing that ever helped,” he wove his hands with yours again, kissing the corners of your mouth, “I was happy to do it.”

He bumped his nose with yours, kissing the tip of it as you contemplated.

“Which girlfriend?”

“Tiger,” he rolled his eyes, “Look, if you really don’t want to, then we won’t. But don’t hold out on relief because you think it’s gross. It doesn’t bother me, kid.”

You stared at him long and hard, waiting to see a crack in his facade. But irritatingly, all you saw was kindness and sincerity. And as another cramp clenched your lower stomach, you caved.

“Fine,” you agreed, “But there’s no way I’m doing this without a shower first.”

Smiling, he moved off of you and pulled you up slowly. When you made your way into the bathroom, he followed but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Nuh uh, buddy,” you pushed him back, “You wait out here.”

He whined petulantly but you shoved him back and slammed the door.

You took your time under the stream of hot water, both to gain courage and to soap up a few times. When you weren’t getting any cleaner, you shut the water off with a sigh. Running a towel through your hair, you wrapped it around you after and took a deep breath as you opened the door.

Bill was sitting cross legged on the bed, moving to his knees when he saw you. He had spread out towels—the dark blue ones, typically reserved for the beach—all over the bed.

“I thought the white ones might freak you out,” he reached his hand out and you walked towards him, taking it, “I asked the hotel to bring me these ones.”

“Good call,” you muttered, “Now get me off my feet before gravity takes over.”

Your attempt at grossing him out didn’t work, when all he did was pull you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he captured your lips in a lingering kiss. He shifted, pulling you onto the bed and settling you under him, resting some of his weight on you. He moved his lips from yours to kiss your chin, nipping your jaw.

“I’m serious, bud,” you tried again, “It’s going to like…gush.”

“Okay,” he mumbled unaffected, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. You whimpered, craning your neck up to give him better access.

“It’s going to look like a crime scene,” you couldn’t keep the edge of a pleasured sigh from sneaking out as he nibbled on your ear.

“Alright,” he mumbled again, moving his lips down to suck the water droplets from your neck. He moaned, his lips vibrating against your sensitive skin, and pulled at the knot in your towel. He trailed his mouth over your collarbone as his hand came up to cup your breast, running his thumb over your nipple. He kneaded it softly, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger before pinching it lightly and you groaned. You were so sensitive already, the hormones putting all of your nerve endings on fire as he licked the hollow of your neck, dragging his tongue down the middle of your chest. He rolled his hips into yours as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, and you gasped.

“You know,” you started, pausing to moan as he flicked it with his tongue, “You really don’t have to uh, warm me up.”

“Mmm,” was his non-committal reply.

“There’s going to be enough…wetness,” you tried again, “But it’ll be blo—”

He cut you off with a rough kiss.

“You get an A for effort in trying to gross me out, kid,” he murmured, “But you still lose.”

He kissed you again, rolling his hips into yours again and you clung to him, digging your nails into his back. He sucked on your bottom lip, running his tongue over it as he laid his palm flat on your chest, dragging is down slowly to rest low on your belly. It knocked you back into the present.

“Whoa hey, hang on,” you broke the kiss and grabbed his wrist firmly, “Hands stay up top.”

He sighed and moved his hand, shifting to balance his weight on his forearms he looked down at you.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because, that’s some next level shit I’m not ready for yet,” you said. He kissed you lightly, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Tiger, if you don’t want to do this, then we won’t do it,” he said as he stroked your cheek. You shook your head.

“No, I want to,” you insisted, “I’m just…I’m not ready for your hands to be all up in that mess.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, “Are you sure? About wanting this?”

You nodded.

“And if you change your mind about it all? And you want to stop?”

“I’ll tell you,” you promised, and he smiled. Weaving his hands with yours, he placed them by your head.

“Good. So I’ll just keep my hands up here,” he murmured, “And maybe I just keep doing this, instead.”

And he thrusted his hips into you again, making you moan as he brought his mouth back down to your chest. Licking between your breasts, he nipped at your soft mounds before capturing your nipple back in his mouth. He rolled his tongue over it as he flexed his hips into yours, sucking hard on it as you whimpered. Releasing it with a pop, he dragged his mouth back to yours for a deep kiss while he let go of your hands.

“Take my pants off kid,” he commanded, “I’ll keep my hands up here.”

He moved them into your hair, scratching lightly as you fumbled for his pants and pushed them down over his hips. You used your feet to drag them down his legs, until they were low enough for him to kick off. Settling his hips onto yours, he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.

“Line me up,” he murmured against your mouth, and you reached down to position his head at your entrance. He moaned at the contact, fisting your hair a little tighter.

“You good, tiger?” He asked, and it came out as more of a sigh. You nodded.

“Yeah bud,” you couldn’t help but grind up against him just a bit, making you both moan, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Removing his hands from your hair to weave back with yours, he kissed you as he slowly pushed into you. He groaned from deep in his chest and you felt him twitch, pressing in until his hips sat flush with yours and he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Bullseye,” he sighed.

You were clenching around him already, so worked up and hypersensitive, and now stretched so deliciously with him inside of you. His head rested heavily on that sensitive part of your walls, already pulsating against him and he squeezed your hands tighter.

“God, kid,” he moaned, “You feel fucking incredible.”

You took a deep breath in, tried to calm the tight coil you could already feel building low in your gut but it was no use. You felt yourself fluttering around him, your muscles clenching rhythmically as he pulled his hips back and slowly rolled them into yours again.

“You ok?” He checked in, and you raked your nails down his back as you craned your head up for a kiss. He moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips down and rubbing against your clit with his lower abs.

“So good,” you whimpered, tilting your hips up into his for more friction, “So good.”

He thrusted into you slow and deep, and you were already losing control. Burying his face in your neck, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against you, “You’re ready to come already.”

You let out a frustrated cry and he felt you bear down on him, gritting your teeth to try and stave it off. He nipped his way back to your mouth, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“Oh no, kid. No way,” he groaned, rolling down into you with a bit more force, “Don’t hold back.”

Gently, he eased his thumb into your mouth as he ground his hips down onto your clit.

“This is for you, sweet girl,” he bumped his nose with yours and closed his eyes, cursing lowly when he felt you squeeze around him, “You let go whenever you need to. I’ll catch up.”

He thrusted deep into you again, staying in and rubbing his pelvis against your nub as you groaned. Your walls fluttered around him and you whined as you bit around his thumb.

“Give it to me, kid,” he coaxed. He gripped the bedsheets tightly in his fist, cursing and biting into the pillow to stave off his own release when he felt you start to clench rhythmically around him. Your back bowed off the bed as you stilled, everything tense and wound tight before it snapped. With a soft cry you clutched at him, biting down hard on his thumb as his hips continued to move slowly against you as you spasmed. He rested you gently against the pillows as you rode it out, not stopping his movements as you writhed and whimpered.

“Good girl,” he praised, a guttural groan clawing its way out of his chest, “God the things you do to me, tiger.”

Easing his thumb out of your mouth, he bit down hard on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth, parting your lips to glide his tongue inside.

The way he kept his movements slow and steady, not stopping as you came down from your high meant that you were soon climbing again. You made a strangled noise, feeble and needy, as you felt it start to build with his gentle thrusts, the rhythmic roll of his hips into yours, the slow drag of when he pulled back and the sweet satisfaction of when he filled you back up again.

“Wrap your legs around me kid,” he commanded breathlessly, “Nice and tight.”

You did as you were told, rewarded with a deep moan as he repositioned his weight on his hands, thrusting in deeper.

“Touch your clit for me, sweet girl,” he sighed, grinding into you, “Nice and gentle.”

You whined but he shushed you softly, licked the pads of your first two fingers before coaxing your hand down. You pressed down gingerly on your oversensitive nub, causing you to clench around him and he moaned, kissing you hard.

“That’s it, tiger,” he praised, “Just like how I would do it.”

But you whimpered, grabbing at his hand and placing it low on your belly.

“You do it better,” you whined, “Please Bill.”

“You sure, kid?” He asked, “I thought you didn’t want my hands—”

“Please,” you cut him off with your begging, feeling the pressure building in your stomach as your body thrummed, “Please just touch me.”

You didn’t need to ask again; he dragged his lips to the sweet spot on your neck, sucking on it as he gently pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger. You were so sensitive, already so close again that you let out a loud cry and surged forward. He groaned, thrusting in deep and doing it again.

“Bill,” the whimpers tumbled from your lips as you started to tighten around him, raking your nails down his back. He twitched and thrusted in hard, slamming into you with a loud groan.

“Fuck,” it was loud, almost a yell, as he pinched your clit and slammed into you again. It was enough to send you over the edge, tumbling into bliss a second time as you dug your nails into his back and tightened your legs around him. The feeling of your spasms around him triggered his own release and his hand shot out, gripping the headboard as he let out a loud cry. His back tensed, his hips thrusting in deep and staying there as he crushed you to him, groaning as he twitched through it. He couldn’t hold his weight as the aftershocks took over, his muscles jolting as he collapsed on top of you. He sighed, his chest heaving with deep breaths that he struggled to take. He stayed like that for a few minutes, his full weight crushing you to the mattress as he tried to catch his breath.

He got his wits about him after awhile, and raised up as much as he could, his arms shaky and his jaw still lax with pleasure.

“Are you okay?” He mumbled. Dazed, you managed a dopey grin.

“I think we’ll be doing that more often,” you said. He smiled, his own lopsided and nearly drunk.

“Are your cramps gone?” He asked, and you nodded.

“You feel good?” He questioned, and once again you nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, pecking your lips briefly.

“Good,” he said, keeping a close hold of you as he rolled off and onto his side. With a deep breath he sat up, struggling to get his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and you shot up in panic.

“Bill, wait,” you said and he turned to you, but your face dropped in horror and embarrassment when you looked down. You had made a mess of him, blood staining his lower abdomen and his upper thighs, and your cheeks burned with humiliation.

“Don’t look down,” you begged, mortified. You scrambled to throw the sheets around yourself, grabbing at the towels to try and clean up, “Please don’t look down. I’ll clean you up.”

Two hands on your shoulders gently pushed you back down as you tried to stand, leaning over you to spread the towel back out on the bed and kissing your lips lightly.

“Tiger, relax,” he soothed, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you whined, “It’s gross. I made a mess on you.”

“Kid, you have literally thrown up all over me. Multiple times. A little blood is not going to gross me out,” he kissed you softly again, “It’s natural.”

“It’s gross. Can I at least clean you up?” You mumbled feebly, but he tapped your nose.

“No. Lie down, I’ll be back in a second,” and with no more room to argue, he shoved you gently back onto the pillow and made his way to the bathroom. He re-emerged a few minutes later, his front cleaned off and with a small container of baby wipes in his hand. Sitting beside you, he gently swiped between your legs with a wipe, cleaning you up as you groaned and threw your forearm across your eyes in embarrassment. But you let him work, dabbing you with another wipe before a crinkle of paper caught your attention, a gentle hand moving your legs further apart.

“Whoa, no fucking way,” you shot upright, grabbing his wrist and snatching the tampon from his hand as he looked at you with a bored expression, “Are you fucking insane?”

“You know, you can be a real prude sometimes tiger,” he quirked a brow at you, an amused grin tugging at his lips. You glared at him, incredulous.

“This is gross,” you accused, “How the fuck are you so okay with all of this shit? Who the fuck tries to put a tampon—”

He cut you off with a kiss, holding your face to him as you struggled.

“You know what? You’re right, kid” he nipped playfully at your nose and you swatted him, “No sense in wasting one when we’re just gonna go at it again in a few hours.”

#period kink #bill skarsgard #bff!Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill HC #bill skarsgard fic

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bearhatarmy · 4 years ago

Photo

I really really miss photography.

Photography feels like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. It pains me greatly that I just don’t have the energy or stamina to do it anymore. It really filled a creative void after I was unable to create my original comedy posts any longer. My illness keeps taking and taking from me and it is a challenge to find ways to adapt and cope.

The saddest part is that I felt like I was just starting to master photography as an art form. I was at that point where I could instinctively do all of the technical things and concentrate purely on the art. Lighting was becoming intuitive to me instead of a complicated puzzle I had to solve each time.

Yes, I took a lot of photos that I am really proud of. (Which I am spreading throughout this post).

But sometimes I mourn the photos I could have taken if my chronic illness hadn’t worsened.

It’s also hard seeing the new cameras and lights that have been released since I had to stop. I *just* missed a technological revolution. New features that would have allowed me to do more with less energy. To push the boundaries of my creativity. To get shots I could only dream of back then.

Full frame mirrorless cameras have opened up so many creative possibilities. The low light performance, the detail, the dynamic range--it has all been improved greatly in just a few years. But there are also many automated usability features that allow the camera to offload work and concentration from the brain. These new digital wonders can even be used as cinematic quality video cameras--something I would have liked to have explored.

I had to take these match photos in a pitch-black room, with a reversed lens, with no control over my aperture, and a manual flash. It took forever to time it properly because I had a whopping 3 frames per second. It would have been a cinch with a mirrorless camera, with super fast burst modes and an electronic viewfinder. You can see exactly what your image will look like before snapping it. But you can also “see in the dark” using a high ISO preview. Before you had to use a live view mode on the back screen. But on older cameras that mode was clunky and slow and... it just sucked.

Enlarge!

MOAR BIGGER!

Weirdly, one of the biggest advances is due to a shortened “flange distance” where the lens connects to the camera body. It seems like a small thing. Literally only a centimeter or so. But because of the lack of mirror, camera designers are able to move the lens closer to the sensor and design more advanced lenses with incredible sharpness. Combined with increased megapixel counts, that would have been amazing for my macro photos.

Electronic viewfinders take the guesswork out of exposure--even in bright sunlight where screens get washed out from glare. And being able to compose portraits with highly accurate eye-tracking autofocus would have been a tremendous advantage.

No more “focus and recompose.”

No more “Did I get the eye? Let me zoom to 100% on this tiny screen.”

I could have spent more of my concentration getting natural expressions from my subjects and composing my photos without distraction.

And IBIS!

I missed out on motherhecking IBIS!

This photo of my wonderful friend Erin was taken handheld at sunset. The original RAW version was extremely dark--even though I was using a high ISO. I had to do a ton of work to get this to not look like noisy garbage. But there just wasn’t any other way to capture it... UNTIL NOW.

IBIS (eye-bus/👀-🚌) or “in-body image stabilization,” allows the camera sensor to kind of... float. You can eliminate camera shake caused by the subtle micro-movements when handholding.

How do I explain it? Ummmm...

It turns the sensor into a chicken head.

So instead of increasing the ISO (which is like a volume knob for light which gets grainier as you crank it), you can lower your shutter speed. In the past, depending on the lens, 1/60th of a second was about as slow as you could set it. With IBIS, as long as the scene you are capturing is relatively still, you can take photos in very low light without a tripod. This is great because tripods are a pain in the ass and you can’t always have one handy. Plus, you can combine an IBIS camera with a stabilized lens to get a de-blurrification multiplier. Then you can get sharp handheld photos that are technically considered long exposure. I’ve heard people say they got sharp photos exposing at several seconds. Literally going from a fraction of a second to 2 goddamn Missisisppi. I can’t even quantify how many fantastic photos are being taken right now that would have been unusable blurry messes a few years ago. We get to enjoy these photos all because they installed a chicken head inside cameras.

AND DARN IT ALL TO HECK I HECKING MISSED IT, GOSH HECKING DANG IT!.

Sorry... didn’t mean to curse like a sailor that stubbed his toe while stepping on a Lego.

I think I’ll have a cool refreshing root beer to calm my IBIS envy.

(Those water droplets are a total fraud, by the way. It’s fake blood without the red added.)

And with the progress in battery and wireless technology, artificial lighting has become lighter and more portable while still being powerful enough to compete with the sun. I could have used strobe lights in my little studio, packed them up into a small case, and gone to the middle of the field to use them there.

Yes, I was able to convert my old studio lights to be “portable-ish” but we had to lug so much equipment to accomplish this photo of Brittany in the red dress. The battery pack alone weighed as much as one modern light. I was stuck in bed for a week afterward from all of the carrying of heavy gear.

Before that, this was my hacked together “outdoor” light. The Flash-O-Tron 3000. It looks cool but it was delicate and hard to get through doorways.

After charging 12 AA batteries overnight, I had to drag this contraption outside at the buttcrack of dawn to get my favorite photo of Otis.

I had to use a handheld mirror to reflect my popup flash in the direction of the Flash-O-Tron 3000 to trigger it. It worked about 25% of the time. Oh, and I was laying on cold wet grass, manually tracking Otis--who refused to sit still. I had to line up a single autofocus point on his head for every snap. The concentration required felt like my brain was juggling chainsaws.

But guess what they invented last year?

PET. EYE. AUTOFOCUS.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

A little robot inside the camera is all, “Hey, that’s your dog’s eye!” and just follows it no matter where your pup moves.

I NEEDED THAT SO BAD!

This shot took 10 minutes of me trying to lock onto his eye with a macro lens. The depth of field at that distance was the width of his eye and, again, he does not sit still.

I want a time machine so I can go back and retake every blurry Otis photo.

Also, many of the modern strobes have NO WIRES. You just stick a thing on top of your camera and you can set off lights several football fields away. My photo studio has tons of wires routed in the ceiling and coming out of the walls.

[Hi-Res Version]

And then those wires all go into a weird analog remote with old school sliders that controlled the power of the flashes. But the sliders were difficult to finely adjust.

Now you can load an app on your phone and adjust the flash power digitally and adjust the brightness in 10% increments. You can save lighting ratios and recall them instantly. And you can preview your work with high powered LED modeling lights so you don’t have to take 50 test shots.

No more nudging a light and taking a picture. Raising the power and taking a picture. Swapping out a modifier and taking a picture. Back and forth, back and forth.

Essentially, what you see is what you get, so setting up lighting takes a fraction of the time and effort with these new lights and cameras. That would have been so helpful with my disability.

Oh... the lights are less expensive too.

The future of camera tech looks exciting as well. I think the computational photography that is in the latest smartphones will soon be added to more professional cameras. That is going to make high-end photography so much more accessible to anyone who wants to try it as a hobby. The learning curve will flatten further, and as long as you are creative, you will be able to take beautiful, high-quality photos.

Some might say that not having all of the new tech helped me gain important experience, expertise, and problem-solving skills. Some believe the inconveniences are a photographer’s trial by fire. The struggle makes the art more authentic. And since I learned how to do it the hard way, my journey is more valid than some photography influencer on Instagram with an iPhone.

To that I say... BULLLLLSHEEIIIT.

Those inconveniences just made me SUPER DUPER TIRED.

And some of those influencers take really kickass photos. Not all of them are butts either.

I love photography but there is a reason I had to stop. Like anything, doing it well was a lot of work. I always ended up having to quit taking photos much sooner than I wanted. I had to scale back my ambition to fit my energy requirements. I could only do photography on days when my body was cooperating fully. I had to cancel many photoshoots because the preparation was just too much to handle. And after my bigger projects it took me forever to recover.

GIVE ME ALL THE CONVENIENCES PLEASE.

That “you have to struggle” attitude is no-good-gatekeepy-ableist crap.

Old photographer grumps are upset because they spent years learning how to focus manually on horseback and use the sunny 16 rule and develop film in a converted shed they built by hand and now “those darn kids” can use an iPhone on a skateboard while doing a kickflip with their eyes closed and still pull focus.

However, despite there being a lower barrier for entry, the technological improvements add new complications to the advanced side of things. So you can make photography as difficult as you desire if you are willing to learn new stuff. Which old school photo grumps are notoriously averse to.

This new tech has all kinds of novel things to discover and figure out. There is drone photography. There is advanced macro photography using robotic focusing rails and ever-improving focus stacking software. You can now network more lights together than ever before. Karl Taylor did a photoshoot with 12 lights! (Captain Picard would totally lose his shit.) Long lasting batteries and computerized sliders have created new timelapse possibilities. Stabilization software allows complex hyperlapse videos. Better low light performance and sharper lenses with big apertures combined with stacking or star trail software has improved astrophotography. Advances in material science have allowed darker and darker high quality neutral density filters for extreme long exposure photos. New focus tracking algorithms have allowed for wildlife photography that was never possible before. You can capture fast-moving birds in the sky from farther away and still get amazing detail. Faster burst modes allow people to capture split-second action. Never miss a good header at your kid's soccer games. (Is that a thing? I have no kids and don’t remember how to soccer.) IBIS allows photography without a tripod. So now people can trek to harder to reach areas, AT NIGHT, and take sharp photos with little noise. Increased dynamic range and new HDR displays will allow photographers to take images of lights and capture their actual intensity. What if the lights in photos could glow like they do in real life? Think about a neon sign at night in the rain reflecting in a puddle. That would look so neat.

Not to mention learning how to process photos in editing software is an entirely separate and challenging skillset you can master. There are thousands of techniques you can learn to elevate your images. Dodging & burning, frequency seperation, and compositing, oh my! Programs like Lightroom and Photoshop are constantly updated with new features that expand possibilities.

None of that is easy. It will all require diligent study and practice to master. Technical skills will always be an aspect of photography that anyone can pursue. But not everyone will need as much technical skill to start having fun and create art.

And much to the chagrin of those grumps... phones are perfectly viable to create that art and they will keep getting better.

You might find it odd that this love letter and goodbye to photography has so much talk of technical gadgetry. But, for me, it isn’t out of place in this sentimental essay. Technology was my first love. My parents bought me a 66mhz Packard Bell computer when I was 12 and technology was the first thing I was ever good at. I learned every function of that machine. I would sometimes break it just so I could learn how to fix it. I took it apart and put it back together. It was my first true obsessive hobby. I found my creativity soon after, and I immediately used that technology to help me create art. I wrote comedy. I learned how to digitally paint. I recorded music. And eventually I found photography. It was the perfect marriage of technology and art. I could nerd out as much as I want while still getting my creative fix.

So yeah... I miss it all.

I miss all of the technical nerdery. I miss trying out new gadgets. I miss editing the photos I’ve taken. I miss taking pictures of my beautiful friends. I miss taking pictures of weird products. I miss asking Delling to call apiaries to find me freshly dead bees so I can take macro shots of their fuzzy little torsos.

I really hope some day I find a treatment that gives me enough energy to take photos again.

Thankfully my writing helps me feel creative and productive and fulfilled. And it’s something I can do even if I’m not able to get out of bed. And I am grateful I have so many awesome people that actually want to read what I have to say.

So thanks to everyone for that.

I always find a way to move forward. That’s just the nature of surviving chronic illness. But glancing back at what I lost is a pain I never quite get used to.

Though, writing this has helped.

Looking back at all that I accomplished has helped.

And I do feel lucky I was able to accomplish what I did--even if missing it makes me sad sometimes.

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