#they need a minute or thirty in a quiet dark room | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvyu · 6 months ago

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MIDNIGHT INK

pairings. jungkook x female reader genre(s). smut,fluff

summary. a faded tattoo marks your heartbreak. desperate for a fresh start, you visit Jungkook, a trusted tattoo artist and secret confidant you secretly love.

warnings. explicit language, sexual themes, past relationships, heartbreak, and emotional healing, swearing, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, oral sex, missionary position, and implied consensual rough sex.

sitting on your bed, you watched your reflection in the mirror, your fingers tracing the outline of the faded tattoo on your lower back. once a symbol of love, it had become a haunting reminder of heartbreak. you needed to rid yourself of it, something to signify a fresh start.

finally, you picked up your phone from the desk and called the one person you trusted implicitly.

"hello?"

"hey, before you leave, can i get a quick one done on my lower back?" you asked hesitantly. "trying to get a cover-up."

"yeah, sure, be here by eleven-thirty, okay?"

"alright, cool, thanks." you stayed silent for a minute, hoping he'd say more, but the call ended abruptly.

glancing at the clock, your eyes widened. it was 11:20. with a groan, you grabbed your keys and rushed out. the tattoo shop was only five minutes from your home, but october's chill and early darkness made the journey feel longer.

despite the recent breakup with your boyfriend, you always found yourself returning to him—jungkook. he was the man you confided in, sharing all your problems, including tales of your toxic relationship. though he listened, sometimes distant, you sensed he disliked hearing about your ex. yet, he was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on; truth be told, he was the reason you frequented the tattoo shop.

upon arrival, the sign's lights flickered at the entrance. taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. jungkook looked up from his station, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tattoo-covered arms. his dark, intense gaze swept over you, making your heart flutter.

"hey," he greeted, a slow smile spreading. "ready?"

you nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "yeah, thanks for staying late."

"no problem," he replied, his voice low and soothing. he gestured to the tattoo chair. "take a seat. let's see what we're working with."

as you settled into the chair, a mix of nerves and excitement coursed through you. jungkook moved with practised ease, gathering his tools and preparing the area.

"alright, let's take a look," he said calmly, lifting the back of your hoodie. his fingers brushed against your skin, lingering longer than necessary, sending a shiver down your spine.

jungkook's gaze flickered to yours, a hint of desire in his eyes before he focused back on your skin. "15th of… december… 2023," he murmured, staring at your tattoo.

embarrassed, you leaned your head against the seat. "yeah, that's when we started dating."

he hummed in response, studying the faded tattoo. "this will be a great cover-up. do you have a design in mind, or want me to freestyle something?"

"i trust you," you whispered. "just something that represents a new beginning."

jungkook nodded, his expression serious and thoughtful. "got it. i'll sketch something out quickly."

you watched as he worked, his hands moving swiftly and confidently. the room was filled with the soft hum of the neon sign outside and the quiet scratch of his pencil on paper. after a few minutes, he held up the sketch for you to see.

"how about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for approval.

the design was beautiful—delicate yet bold, perfectly capturing what you wanted. "it's perfect," you grinned.

"glad you like it. let's get started," he smiled.

he carefully transferred the design onto your skin, his touch sending another shiver through you. "ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

you nodded, unable to find your voice. the first touch of the needle was sharp but bearable. the pain quickly faded into the background, overshadowed by the sensation of jungkook's hands on your skin. each touch, each brush of his fingers, felt amplified in the intimate quiet of the shop.

jungkook worked with steady precision, his eyes never leaving your skin. "you're doing great," he murmured, his breath warm against your back. "just a little longer."

you tried to focus on the rhythm of his work, but your mind kept drifting to the closeness of his body and his hands' warmth. the tension between you was palpable, each minute passing in a haze of anticipation and desire. his fingers occasionally brushed against your skin in a way that felt more intentional than accidental, sending waves of heat coursing through you.

as the tattoo session continued, you found yourself mesmerized by the sensation of his touch. the combination of the late hour, the dim lighting, and the intimate nature of the session made every moment feel charged with electricity. you could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the soft brush of his breath on your skin.

"how does it feel?" he asked softly, his voice a soothing balm with a dark, underlying current.

"it's… it's good," you managed to reply, your voice shaking slightly. "thank you, jungkook."

he smiled, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "almost done. just hang in there."

the final strokes of the tattoo machine were almost a relief, though you couldn't deny the pang of disappointment at the thought of his touch ending. when he finally finished, jungkook leaned back to admire his work, his expression of satisfaction mixed with something deeper.

"all done," he said softly. "take a look."

you stood up and walked to the mirror, turning to see the new tattoo on your lower back. it was beautiful, a perfect cover-up that transformed an old regret into something new and meaningful.

"wow," you said, your voice filled with genuine awe. "i love it."

he stepped closer, his gaze intense and dark with unspoken desire. "i'm glad you like it," he said.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with unspoken feelings and charged with undeniable tension.

"thank you," you whispered, your eyes locking with his.

jungkook's hand brushed against your cheek, and your heart skipped a beat. his touch was gentle yet firm, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. "you're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "anytime."

as you stared into each other's eyes, the air between you seemed to crackle with electricity, the line between professional and personal blurring beyond recognition. the tension was almost unbearable, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more.

jungkook's fingers trailed down your cheek to your neck, his touch igniting a fire within you. "you know," he said softly, his lips just inches from yours, "i've always been here for you. and i always will be."

his hand lingered on your neck, his thumb gently brushing your jawline as he stared into your eyes. the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and the air between you crackled with unspoken desire. you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing the growing tension in the room.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted this," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with longing.

your breath hitched, and you leaned in closer without thinking, your lips just a breath away from his. the anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, drawing you in.

unable to resist any longer, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss. jungkook responded immediately, his lips soft yet insistent against yours. the kiss deepened slowly, fueled by the weeks of suppressed desire and the intimate setting of the tattoo shop. his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further. the sensation was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through your body.

your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. the sensation of his heartbeat under your palm matched the frantic pace of your own. every touch, every movement was charged, making your skin tingle with anticipation.

jungkook broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he trailed kisses down your neck. "god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming over your back, tracing the newly inked tattoo.

you let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. "me too," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "i've wanted you for so long."

he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and filled with desire as he looked at you. "then let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice a low growl.

with a swift movement, he lifted you onto the tattoo chair, positioning himself between your legs. the cool leather against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat building between you. jungkook's hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up to reveal more of your skin. he kissed a trail down your collarbone, his fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra.

your breath hitched as he pulled the bra away, his lips capturing one of your nipples in a hot, wet kiss. you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavished attention on your breasts, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

"jungkook," you moaned, the sound of his name a desperate plea on your lips.

he responded by kissing his way back up to your mouth, his tongue parting your lips as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. the kiss was deep and fervent, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when they parted. his hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

you could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the sensation only heightened your own desire. with a trembling hand, you reached down, palming him through his jeans. he let out a low groan, the sound vibrating through you and making you even wetter.

"need you," you gasped against his lips, your voice breathless with need.

jungkook pulled back just enough to tug off his shirt, revealing the expanse of tattoos that decorated his chest and arms. you couldn't help but run your hands over his skin, tracing the lines of ink with your fingers.

he made quick work of your clothes, stripping you bare before him. the cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, but the look in jungkook's eyes sent a new wave of warmth through you. he kissed you again, his hands exploring your body with a fervent intensity.

his fingers found their way between your legs, sliding through your wetness with practiced ease. you gasped, bucking into his hand as he teased your entrance.

"you're so wet for me," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "i want to taste you."

before you could respond, he knelt between your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. the sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the tattoo chair as he licked and sucked at your most sensitive spots.

jungkook's tongue moved with expert precision, driving you closer and closer to the edge. just as you felt the first tremors of your orgasm, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

"i want you to come with me inside you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

you nodded, too breathless to speak, and he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. the sight of him, fully naked and aroused, made your mouth water. he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours as he slowly pushed inside.

the sensation of him filling you was indescribable, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he began to move. each thrust was deliberate and powerful, driving you closer to the edge with each stroke.

jungkook's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moved faster, his breath hot against your neck. "you're mine," he growled, his voice filled with possessive desire.

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'm yours."

the words seemed to spur him on, and he increased his pace, driving into you with an almost desperate intensity. your orgasm built rapidly, a tight coil of pleasure that finally snapped, sending you over the edge with a cry of his name.

jungkook followed you over the edge, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you. he collapsed against you, both of you breathing heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms coursed through you.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

"that was…" you began, but trailed off, unable to find the words.

"amazing," jungkook finished for you, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.

you nodded, a matching smile spreading across your face. "yeah. amazing."

jungkook pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. "i told you," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "i'll always be here for you."

you nestled closer to him, savouring the warmth of his body against yours. "and i'll always be here for you," you whispered back, feeling a profound sense of connection and contentment.

jungkook pulled back slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "we should get cleaned up," he said, but made no move to let you go. instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

you smiled, leaning into his touch. "yeah, but maybe we can stay like this for just a little longer," you suggested, not ready to break the intimate cocoon that had enveloped you both.

he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "i like the sound of that."

the two of you lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms, the quiet of the tattoo shop providing a serene backdrop to your tender moment. the reality of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant compared to the warmth and closeness you shared.

eventually, jungkook sighed and pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "as much as i'd love to stay here with you forever, we should clean up and get you home."

you nodded, understanding the practicality of his words even though you wished the moment could last longer. "okay."

jungkook helped you off the tattoo chair, both of you moving slowly, savoring the lingering touches and stolen kisses as you gathered your clothes. he was gentle as he helped you dress, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you want to pull him back into your embrace.

once you were both dressed, jungkook guided you to the small bathroom at the back of the shop. he wet a cloth and began to gently clean the areas of your body that still tingled from his touch. the intimacy of the moment, even in such a simple act, made your heart swell with affection.

"thank you," you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. "for everything."

he smiled, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made you feel cherished. "anytime, y/n."

with a final, lingering kiss, jungkook finished cleaning up and walked you to the door. the cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth you felt inside, but you didn't mind. you knew that the bond you had forged tonight was something special, something that would stay with you long after you left the shop.

as you stepped outside, jungkook held your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "call me when you get home, okay? i want to make sure you're safe."

you nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "i will."

he watched as you walked away, his figure a comforting presence behind you. as you made your way home, you felt a sense of peace and fulfilment that you hadn't felt in a long time. the night had been more than just a tattoo session—it had been a new beginning, a step towards a future filled with promise and love.

later that night, as you settled into bed, your mind was filled with thoughts of jungkook, completely forgetting he was waiting for your call.

the intimacy you shared, the way he looked at you, the feeling of his hands on your skin—it all replayed in your mind like a beautiful dream. just as you were about to drift off to sleep, your phone rang, breaking the silence of the room. the screen displayed jungkook's name, and your heart skipped a beat.

you answered the call, trying to keep your voice steady. "hey,"

"hey," he replied, his voice warm and soothing. "i just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"i did," you said, feeling a rush of warmth at his concern. "thank you for checking."

there was a brief silence, filled with the unspoken feelings hanging between you. finally, jungkook broke the silence. "i can't stop thinking about tonight, about you, y/n."

"me too," you admitted, your voice soft. "thanks for the special treatment."

"it was special," jungkook agreed. "i've wanted to tell you how i feel for so long, but i didn't know if you felt the same way."

"i do," you whispered, your heart pounding. "i feel the same way, jungkook."

he let out a relieved sigh, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "i'm glad to hear that. how about we make this official? can i take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

your face broke into a wide smile, your excitement bubbling over. "i'd love that."

"great," jungkook said, his voice filled with warmth. "i'll pick you up at seven. sweet dreams, y/n."

"sweet dreams, jungkook," you replied, ending the call with a smile.

the next day was a blur of anticipation and excitement. as the evening approached, you found yourself carefully selecting an outfit, wanting everything to be perfect. when the clock struck seven, a knock on your door made your heart race.

jungkook stood on the other side, looking effortlessly handsome. he greeted you with a bouquet and a shy, endearing smile. "you look beautiful," he said, his eyes filled with admiration.

"thank you," you replied, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth. "you look great too."

the dinner was perfect. the two of you shared stories, laughter, and tender glances across the table. every moment felt charged with electricity, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. after dinner, jungkook took you for a walk in a nearby park. the night was clear, the stars twinkling above as you strolled hand in hand.

as you reached a quiet spot, jungkook turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender. "y/n, i meant what i said last night. i'll always be here for you. i want to be with you if you'll have me."

your heart swelled with emotion, and you nodded, tears of happiness brimming in your eyes. "i want to be with you too, jungkook. more than anything."

he pulled you into a gentle embrace, his lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss. the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in your perfect moment.

the weeks that followed were filled with joy and discovery. jungkook became not only your lover but your confidant and best friend. each moment spent together strengthened your bond, and your love grew stronger with each passing day.

you found yourself spending more and more time at jungkook's apartment, where he would cook for you, and you would talk for hours about everything and nothing. the walls that once seemed to contain just his life now felt like a shared space where your love blossomed.

one evening, as you lay in bed together, jungkook traced patterns on your skin, his touch sending shivers through you. "i've been thinking about something," he said, hesitating.

"what is it?" you asked, turning to face him.

"i want us to move in together," he confessed, his eyes searching yours. "i want you to be a part of my everyday life, not just the special moments. what do you think?"

your heart swelled with joy, and you couldn't stop the smile on your face. "i think i'd love that. more than anything."

moving in together felt like the most natural step in your relationship. you merged your lives seamlessly, finding comfort and joy in the little things—cooking together, late-night talks, and lazy sunday mornings.

one evening, while unpacking the last of your things, you came across an old photo album. sitting on the couch, you and jungkook flipped through the pages, laughing at childhood photos and sharing stories from your pasts. it felt intimate and suitable, a testament to how deeply you trusted each other.

jungkook pulled you close, his eyes filled with love and promise. "we've come a long way, haven't we?"

"we have," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder. "and i wouldn't change a thing."

as the evening wore on, you found yourselves on the balcony, watching the sunset. jungkook wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. "i can't wait to see what the future holds for us," he murmured.

"me too," you replied, your heart full of love and excitement. "with you by my side, i know it will be amazing."

as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a deep sense of fulfilment and contentment. the journey began with a simple tattoo, which had transformed into a beautiful love story that would continue to unfold with each passing day.

your past no longer held any power over you; you could embrace a future filled with love, promise, and endless possibilities. together, you and jungkook would face whatever came your way, knowing that your love was strong enough to withstand anything.

as you closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace, you knew this was just the beginning of your happily ever after.

(sorry omg i love this pic sm rn 😭😭😭)

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harryspet · 2 months ago

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lonely little lamb | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!stepbrother!rafe x stepsister!reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader, dd/lg dynamic, mentions of violence/blood, somnophilia, stalker!rafe, DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: happy OBX4! This was written before the new season :) Dividers by @/ghoulbloggerrr

In which Rafe knows your secret and just how perfect you'd be together.

word count: 7.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe didn’t catch on immediately. At first, he just thought you were strange, his expectations already tainted by what he'd assumed about you. He’d been prepared for his stepmother’s daughter to be a brat, and on the surface, you fit that mold perfectly. But there was something off about the way you acted around him. You never played innocent, never tried to charm him or win him over like you did with everyone else. You gave him sharp glances at the dinner table when he talked back to Ward and even angrier stares when he disrespected your mother. You never hung around after dinner, always rushing to go back to your room, and “call your friends from back home”. Of course, Rafe listened at your door often and he never heard you making any calls. Having grown up in the house, he felt entitled to know what was happening within its walls.

Your behavior puzzled Rafe to the point of obsession. He woke up every morning to check if your car was still in the driveway and easily memorized your schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you attended classes in the morning at the local community college. On the other days of the week you sat through your online classes. You never ate too early, always going for a late breakfast that usually consisted of avocado toast, a bowl of fruit, and you always came down to refill your “sippy cup”. That’s what Rafe had dubbed it. It was clear, decorated with a stencil design of a baby lamb and had a flip-up spout for easy drinking. You didn’t go many places without it.

It was the small things that fascinated him. The comfort items you clung to, the simple routines that made your life feel organized and secure. You usually took a bubble bath about thirty minutes after dinner, and when you forgot to lock your door, Rafe would slip into your room, drawn by the intimacy of your private world.

He picked up items around your room, like the frame you kept beside your bed. It held a photo of you and your mom: you in your old high school cheerleading uniform, hair pinned back in pigtails, while your mom smiled widely beside you. Despite her cheerful expression, your eyes in the picture looked wistful and lonely. Rafe couldn’t help but imagine you now, with adult curves and eager eyes, wearing that outfit. The thought stirred something in him, making him hard, and he had to tuck himself away, cursing under his breath. At least if you walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in the act.

The more he learned about you, the harder it was to quiet these thoughts. He had always found you pretty, but now his body and mind were becoming obsessed with you. He made a habit of collecting a pair of your panties from the hamper before leaving. He needed them for later, for the release that he craved, driven mad by the scent of you.

The sound of soft, melodic music flowed into your bedroom from behind the bathroom door. Sometimes it was girly pop songs, other times classical, but more often than not, it had the gentle, soothing quality of nursery music. Your bed was always neatly made, draped in a floral quilt, and you kept the same stuffed animals on top, meticulously placed. A small chesnut brown teddy bear, white bunny, and a tiny stuffed lamb. Each one had their own white ribbon wrapped around its neck, tied into a bow.

One time he caught a glimpse of your nighttime skin care routine. You removed the light makeup you always wore and used about ten different products that Rafe didn’t recognize, nor could he guess their use. The last layer was always a light layer of lip balm and Rafe always leaned a bit closer when your puckered your lips in the mirror. His mind easily wandered to idea of your lips around him.

You wouldn’t look so lonely, little lamb, if you just let me in.

He had his suspicions about the secret, kinky things you were into. There had to be a reason you spent so much time by yourself. He didn’t get the answers he was looking for until one night when you’d left your laptop, unlocked on your desk. He took the opportunity to program his fingerprint into it too, just in case he needed to snoop again.

He combed through your social media, public and private, and started checking your messages daily, keeping track of who you talked to, what you were up to. Your public social media was perfect. A mix of selfies with soft lighting, photos of cute coffee shops, and other things you deemed as your “aesthetic”.

It was your camera roll that finally gave Rafe the answers he had been searching for. One folder, marked with a delicate pink heart, caught his attention immediately. Inside were photos of you, taken in front of your floor-length mirror. Each picture was eerily similar, the same vacant, wide-eyed expression on your face, as though you were lost in some faraway place.

You wore pajamas he’d never seen before, soft and childlike. Sometimes it was pastel-colored footie pajamas, other times it was nightgowns in soft shades of pink, lavender, or baby blue. In a few, you were bundled up in fuzzy socks or slippers with floppy bunny ears. Your hair was always styled with bows, either pink or white. There was a strange innocence in these details, one that clashed with the tension building inside Rafe as he scrolled through the images.

Sometimes you were biting down on your nails, others your thumb rested in your mouth, but most of the time you were gripping one of your stuffed animals tight to your chest.

You looked...adorable. But in a way that made Rafe’s pulse quicken with something darker. The softness, the vulnerability you displayed in those photos, fed his obsession.

Another folder marked with a unicorn emoji held more photos that you’d saved. He recognized some of the characters from children’s TV shows he remembered Wheezie watching. Others were pictures from Disney movies, and Rafe quickly realized you had a special preference for the princesses. You seemed drawn to Cinderalla, Belle, and Snow White. It offered a glimpse into your mind, into your fantasies, how you were drawn to things with an air of purity and sweetness.

Rafe’s heart slowed when a message popped up from someone named Mr. Hayes. Been thinking about you all day, sweetheart. The message said. A moment later, another one came. How was ur bath?

Rafe opened the text thread and began to scroll. Each word that he read made his blood boil. There were too many messages for him to read. You’d sent him photos of yourself, let him call you pet names, and you’d even gone so far as calling him… Daddy. He’d never sent you a photo but that didn’t seem to matter. You were willing to share the details of your life with him.

Rafe’s vision blurred with rage. Daddy. This virtual fantasy, a stranger who you didn’t even know, did not deserve your affection. He decided then you were his, whether you knew it or not.

Rafe decided then to also make it a habit to check your messages.

Several weeks later, you’d finally convinced Mr. Hayes to meet you in person. Rafe couldn’t let that happen. As your stepbrother and your protector, it would be wrong of him to let some stranger hurt you. Besides, he’d become obsessed to the point where now he was dying to know exactly who this man was.

You didnd’t know any better, but he did.

“Hey,” Rafe spoke to you the afternoon before your secret rendevouz, interrupting your fruit cutting, “My Dad just texted. Him and your Mom aren’t going to make it back tonight. There flight keeps getting delayed so they’re going to stay the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” You replied simply, returning back to your task again.

“Wheezie’s sleeping at a friends and I’m probably going to a party at Kelce’s,” You gave him a look, as if it was strange to be conversating with him alone without the presence of the rest of their blended family, “...Do you want to come? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head, “No, thank you. I’ll just stay in.”

Rafe leaned on the marble countertop, staring across the kitchen island at you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you go out one time since you moved in.”

Rafe’s sudden interest in your habits had become more noticeable lately, but you figured it was nothing, just him being Rafe, always lurking in the background, watching everyone, everything. Your mother had warned you that she thought something was off about him and living with him over the past nine months had sealed the fact that you didn’t trust him.

You didn’t trust many people at all, actually, never having had a stable home life. Your mother had always had money, or at least latched on to men who had money, but those men came and went. Even your mother wasn’t someone you could count on. She’d uprooted your life more than once, moving you across states just to be with a man who could give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

Mr. Hayes had offered you comfort in this transitional time. You had no one to confide your secret in accept for the communities you found online. It made you anxious to even think about finding a partner one day and having to explain this side of you. Friends on the internet wouldn’t judge you.

But online, the stakes felt lower. The people you spoke with, people like Mr. Hayes, didn’t judge. The risk of being truly seen, and rejected, was something you couldn’t handle. Not yet.

You paused what you were doing, knife hovering over a piece of strawberry, “You really want to spend the night alone. On a Friday night?”

Rafe sauntered around the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made a shiver run down your spine. He knew he was handsome. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes that always had a raging storm behind them. His gold ring and his gold watch. Most important of all, he knew he intimidated you, his size being enough to make you feel smaller than you actually were.

“I have to study,” You spoke curtly, trying to cut off the line of questioning you sensed was coming. You moved to keep cutting up your fruit but you paused again when Rafe reached out to grab a piece from the cutting board. You looked up at him as he popped the piece of strawberry into his mouth.

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe’s lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was thriving on that power, the uncpoken tension in the air. The way he could make your heart race in that mix of fear and something else he knew you’d never admit.

“Oh yeah?” Rafe placed a hand on the counter, “You have all weekend to study. C’mon, have some fun, princess.”

You took in a breath at the sound of the pet name. He hadn’t ever called you that before and for a moment it looked like he was seeing right through you.

“I-” Quickly, you turned your head away, refocusing on the task, as your cheeks heated with embarrassment, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to come out,” Rafe continued, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, “You got secret plans or something?”

“No,” You said quickly, “I told you, I’m studying.”

Rafe let out a dry chuckle, no real amusement behind it, “You sure you’re not just hiding?”

“It’s not your business,” You snapped finally, your tone icy, “And I… I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rafe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you, princess,” You dropped the knife, your heart beating too fast, and you quickly picked up your pieces of fruit and placed them in your bowl. Rafe leaned closer, watching your every move, and the intensity of his gaze was starting to unravel you, “You’re so jumpy. It’s just me. No need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” You muttered but your fingers trembled as you grabbed ahold of your bowl of fresh fruit and your lamb cup.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rafe took another step closer and you backed away from the counter.

“Stop it,” Your frustration flared, unsure of why exactly Rafe was trying to stir you up. Your lips pressed together and you tried to stop your reaction, but with him towevering over you, invading your space, you felt effectively suffocated. It wasn’t until your back was pressed into the stainless steal fridge, your bowl the only thing protecting you from being pushed against Rafe, that you actually flinched.

“Hey,” Rafe lifted on arm, casually bracing his hand on top of the fridge as he looked down at you, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. His voice was deceptively gentle, “Rafe–”

“I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Something flickered in his eyes, something you didn’t recognize, and for a moment, you questioned if you’d read this entire situation correctly, “I know how fragile you are. How scary the world can seem. I’m offering …you know …because I’d be there to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of him trying to talk down to you. Rafe Cameon almost sounded caring. “You don’t need to be so on guard all the time,” Rafe continued.

“I just …” You couldn’t stop the way your voice softened, “I like keeping to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people. I just don’t …fit in here.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding, and it was the first time you looked at one another as real people, “I get it. You’re not like the other girls around here. You’re smarter, quieter … softer. You can trust me though, yeah? You don’t gotta hide from me.”

For a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. Maybe Rafe had managed to see you and was willing to understand you, unlike anyone else you had met on this island. It all felt real until you focused more on his eyes. Your expression had softened, melted from frustration to wide-eyed curiosity, and that had caused a shift in his eyes. You saw that flicker of darkness that you’d seen before.

“I can look after you, ya’ know?” He said, voice dripping to a lower tone, “Help you. You don’t need to worry too much.”

Before you could respond, his other arm lifted, and you felt his fingers graze your cheek, the touch startlingly intimate.

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Rafe’s jaw tightened, the mask he was wearing beginning to slip, “Don’t be like that, princess.”

“Stop,” You managed to say, “Stay away from me.”

In just a few hours, you’d finally get to meet Mr. Hayes. None of Rafe’s games would matter then. When you went silent, you watched as Rafe’s hand balled into a fist and he turned his body away.

“Suit yourself,” He’d said coldly, his void devoid of any of the warmth that was there before.

You stared down at your bowl of fruit dumbfounded for a moment too long. Princess. How did Rafe know how desperately you wanted someone to call you that?

Rafe stayed at Kelce’s party until eleven He finished his last pabst blue ribbon, said goodbye to only a handful of his friends, before he made his way to his truck. Knowing they would find it strange for him to leave so early, he mad the excuse that he was going to meet up with a girl at the Island Club.

In reality, Rafe was headed twenty minutes away, towards Winward Beach. Mr. Hayes wanted to meet you at midnight. One of the many red flags Rafe assumed you had ignored. You probably thought it was romantic, meeting at a secluded beach in the middle of the night. Like the two of you were fucking Romeo and Juliet.

Stupid, Rafe thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Rafe parked his car in the small parking lot that sat near the boardwalk, turning off all of his lights, and waited for the creep to show up first. Rafe thought for a moment that neither of you might show when midnight started to approach. Maybe you’d wisened up, listened to your gut instinct that told you something wasn’t right. He didn’t believe it for long, you were too trusting. Too soft.

When a tan sedan that Rafe didn’t recognize pulled up in a parking spot close to the walkway, Rafe knew who it was. In the dark and without any streetlights, he only saw a dark figure carrying a backpack make his way towards the beachwalk. He waited until the figure made it halfway before he climbed out of his truck.

The moon was high, casting a white glow over the empty landscape.

Anger simmered beneath Rafe’s skin as he watched the man from a safe distance. He moved with a nervous energy, often glancing over his shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone. Wooden planks creaked softly under his weight but Mr. Hayes didn’t notice, not until he’d made it to the beach, and Rafe appeared behind him.

The man turned his head, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, this was all a coincidence. Rafe was a nobody, just a stranger taking a walk on the beach, until Rafe’s lips pulled into a smile, “Not what you were expecting?”

“Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Hayes was certainly not what Rafe was expecting. A completely unremarkable middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his thinning brown hair, pale skin, lightly freckled and a slight paunch that rested over the waistband of his dreams. A complete creep. Someone completely undeserving of even being looked at by you.

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Rafe was feeling, “You’re Mr. Hayes?”

“What?” Up close, Rafe could see the way the man's eyes started to dart around. He took another step further and the man stumbled back in the thick sand, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just–”

“You’re just a coward?” Rafe finished, his tone mocking, “I mean, I understand now why you hid your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Rafe interrupted again, snarling, his hand lashing out to grab the front of the man’s shirt. He yanked him forward and the man’s eyes went wild with panic, “Meeting up with an innocent girl in the middle of the night? Sneaking around like a creep? What’s in that fucking bag?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Hayes struggled. Rafe couldn’t believe how weak the man was. Strong enough to overpower you, maybe, but weak. As soon as the though of this man pinning you down in the sand crossed his mind, Rafe’s eyes went wild, “Nothing, I’m sorry!”

Rafe shoved him hard and the man stumbled backwards into the sand. He towered over the man, his shadow casting long across the beach. Waves crashed loudly in the background but Rafe’s voice boomed over the sound, “I don’t think you are! You probably thought you could just take what you wanted, huh? Fucking answer me!”

The man scrambled backwards, hands digging into the sand, backward hanging awkwardly from his shoulder. Why didn’t he just drop it …if he wasn’t hiding anything, he would let it go, “I wasn’t — I didn’t mean, I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what? That she was half your age? That she was too good for you?” Rafe’s lip curled in disgust. He knelt down, his face inches from Mr. Hayes’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “She’s not yours. She never will be.”

“Okay,” He nodded, holding out a hand as if to put distance between them, “I just wanted to meet her. I know I lied. I’m sorry. I won’t …it won’t happen again. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at the trembling man. Without another word, he grabbed for the backpack. The man resisted, of course, a series of “Wait, wait, wait,” leaves his lips. Rafe doesn’t leave space to argue because he pushed his palm into the man’s chest, pinning him down, before he lets his fist connect with the side of the man’s face.

The man gasps, whimpers, as he curls into a ball on the sand, “F-Fuck!” The creep moans. Rafe pulls away the bag, ripping open the zipper, and dumping the contents onto the sand.

A cheap blanket, a cheap bottle of wine, and then Rafe’s eye catches on the condoms and then then the thick, coiled string of rope. Without another thought, Rafe was tackling the man, grabbing a hold of his collar, pulling him up and slamming his head into the ground over and over again. Rafe didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into the man’s face harder and harder. Each blow left a sickening crack echoing in the air.

Crack. Groan of pain. Crack. Whimper, “You though you could hurt her? Touch what’s not yours? Brutalize her?” Rafe snarled, voice low and vicious. When the man finally went unconscious, his body limp, face bloody and unrecognizable, “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s chest heaved as he stared down at his work. Nothing about the blood and broken flesh bothered him. He looked down at his hand which were covered in the man’s blood and only felt satisfied.

He’d protected you. His pulse spiked even more as he heard footsteps on the boardwalk. You’d shown up. Rafe watched you kick off flip flops and run towards them. No matter how dark it was, you were easily visible in the baby pink dress you’d chosen. The contrast between you and the violent seen before you sente a surge of protectiveness through him. He stood from where he knelt in the sand and quickly crossed the distance towards you.

You slowed as you took in the scene before you, “Rafe?” you whispered, “Rafe, what’s … that’s not …oh my god.”

Rafe grabbed you by your arms, turning your shaking body away. It was a gruesome mess, nothing you should have to see, “He’s dead,” You spoke with wide, terrified eyes, “Wh-Why? You killed him.”

“He’s not dead,” Rafe said quickly, “He’s still breathing … I had to stop him.”

You didn’t listen, you turned your head and saw the unnatural position the man laid in, “Rafe, he’s dead!”

Rafe shook you slightly, “He’s not. I promise.”

“What did you do?” You cried, tears beginning to stream down your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He tried to assure you, “I had not. He was going to hurt you, Y/N. Look, he brought …he brought all that shit with him. There was rope in his bag, condoms … I did this for you!”

You shook your head, trying to pull away from Rafe’s bloody hands, “You beat him?” Your voice broke under the weight of your fear, “He’s not moving. You can’t …why would you–”

Rafe’s heart twisted in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were supposed to be afraid of, “He deserved it,” Rafe said, voice quiet and serious, “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Rafe tried to pull you but you resisted. Easily, he lifted you into his arms, bloody hands staining your skin and now your dress, “We have to call someone!” You shouted at him, hiccuping through your tears, “Rafe, put me down!”

Rafe ignored you, strides long and steady, carrying you back towards the beachwalk. It was better for Mr. Hayes if the police weren’t involved. Undoubtely, a man like that had a record. Rafe was doing him a favor by only leaving him bloody on the beach.

In his arms, you were powerless. Your mind was reeling. Even in his bloody state, you knew the man there was not who Mr. Hayes had described himself as. Rafe could be right about all of this but it still felt wrong.

In Rafe’s truck, you sat curled up against the door, your knees pulled to your chest. A dark and empty road stretched before you, yacht rock played at a low volume in the background, and Rafe’s heavy breathing was louder than any of your thoughts.

Every few minutes, you stole a glance at him. The tension had yet to leave his body, though he was coming down from the adrenaline. His breathing was heavy but deliberate, as if he was attempting to calm himself, “I didn’t want you to see that, you know that, right?” Rafe said suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence, “Like …I know that was fucked up. You believe me, right? About what I said?”

Your throat tightened so much that your words came out strangled, “I don’t know … what to believe.”

“He was going to hurt you. If I hadn’t stepped in — If I-I hadn’t acted proactively, he would’ve hurt you. He would be hurting you right now. You know that, right?” The brutality of Mr. Hayes’s alleged actions began to cloud Rafe’s actions. He said it over and over. You couldn’t help that now you were imagining it. Maybe this was the only way to rationalize the situation. Maybe you had to believe him.

You saw the items in the sand. You saw that he’d lied about his age, about his appearance, and his intentions. He was the monster. That was the better version. Everything was a lot less wrong that way.

“Y/N,” Rafe spoke again, his deep voice rattling your ear drums, “You know that.”

You finally nodded, “Okay,” You agreed.

“Good,” Rafe seemed to let out a breath of relief. Hands still tight on the steering wheel, he tilted his head back, “He wasn’t some innocent guy. I swear that to you. Like I wouldn’t lie about that shit.”

You nodded until your head started to hurt.

“I did this for you,” Rafe said, “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” You whispered as you wiped the wetness from your cheeks. Your eyes caught on the dried blood that wrapped around in a band on your arm, “...Rafe?”

“Yeah, baby?” Rafe voice turned gentler as he glanced over at you.

“Did you …look at my messages?”

Rafe’s demeanor grew casual, like the worst of his anxieties had passed, “I did what I had to do,” He said, like it was a simple explanation. He didn’t seem concerned at his obvious breach of privacy. Didn’t seem to understand that the pit in your stomach was deepening.

“Then you…”

“Then I know,” He finished and you watched a sinister smile pull at his lips, “Aren’t you relieved? I know and I’m not judging you. I’ve been wanting to figure you out since I met you. And now there’s no secrets between us.”

“Rafe…” You began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, “How could you?”

“I had to,” He insisted, “If I hadn’t, where would you be now? What if he had taken you? Killed you? What would that do to your mom?”

Your brows furrowed, trying to process his words, and the vile images that left in your mind, “The stuff on my phone is …private. It’s private for a reason. I don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” He countered, offering you a patronizing tone, “I know what you want, what you need. I’m happy to give you that. And I’d do a hell of better job than that waste of life on the beach.”

You connected the dots the moment those words left his lips. He wanted to be what Mr. Hayes had been to you. A caretaker. Someone to nurture your most innocent idea.

“Rafe … Ward is married to my mom,” The most logical reason that was a crazy idea came to your mind quickly.

“So?” He replied dismissevly.

“You’re my stepbrother,” Not even that registered with him, “I don’t think …it’s not what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Rafe reached across the console, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of your hand. You stared back at him with wide eyes, your fear obvious especially when he took his eyes off the road, “You’re confused. You were willing to trust a man on the internet when the perfect person to take care of you is right here with you. No one else. Me.”

Feeling trapped, your next thought became calming him down. For fear of him crashing the car or never loosening his grip, you forced your expression to soften, “I know you can protect me,” You nodded your head, “And thank you for that …I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was stupid. I’m …I’m glad you care about me like that.”

Rafe squeezed your hand gently, “Yeah?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I had no idea …I just thought you were usually annoyed with me,” You said and rafe seemed to exhale, his shoulders loosening, “I trust you, it’s just a lot to process right now.”

“I get it,” Rafe let go of your hand, but gave you no time to feel relieved, because next he placed his strong, large hand on your thigh, “I think we’re good for each other. I just have to show you, Y/N.”

Tannyhill was empty except the two of you. Your heart raced as Rafe led you upstairs to your room, hand firmly on the small of your back. When the door to the bedroom softly clicked behind you, closing the two of you in, you felt like throwing up.

You started to imagine Rafe wandering around, looking through all your things, all without your permission. He felt out of place there in your sanctuary but it was clear he’d made himself comfortable a long time a go. He led you over to the edge of your bed, and shakily, you sat down. He kneeled down in front of you, a position quite to vulnerable and intimate for you.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, voice deep in concerning. Lifting one of your heels from the ground, he looked closely at your legs, as if checking for an injury.

You shook your head, know the most your body had been through tonight had been at his hands, “I’m okay,” You spoke, your voice small.

Rafe looked up at you, “It’s okay if you’re not, yeah?” Rafe said, voice softening as his hand slid further up your leg. When you pulled your leg back, his grip remained firm, possessive, “Everyone’s gone. I’m asking you to lean on me, princess.”

With no hint of asking for permission, you stared back at your stepbrother. You couldn’t help but feel as if the timing of tonight had worked out eerily in his favor. Everyone in your family was gone for the night and there was no Mr. Hayes to text about your feelings.

“I’m going to run the bath for you,” Rafe decided, lips parted as if he was deep in thought, “Yeah, stay right here.”

“I’m fine, I can do it–” You began as Rafe made his way towards your bathroom.

He held out a finger and you stopped your movements quickly, frozen by the intensity in his gaze, “Stay.”

He didn’t have to raise his voice for you to feel the threat in his tone. Somehow, this version of him was scarier than the one that relentlessly struck a man until he was unrecognizable.

The sound of running water filled the room. Closing your eyes, controlling your breathing, the sound brought you to your routine. That sound of running water was always soothing to you. It was usually how your mind was able to slip into that comforting place on the other side of your mind. Things were lighter there, a place where you had no cares at all, and you enjoyed the things that you’d normally be embarrassed by. You pressed your feet into your fuzzy white carpet, your favorite place to listen to music and do one of your coloring books. You were almost there, the water having tricked you into falling deeper, until you caught a glimpse of Rafe standing behind the door, washing blood away in the sink.

You tightened your eyes even more, shaking your head. This was certainly not the time to let down your guard.

He appeared moments later, drying his hands with one of your pink washcloths, “Come on, let’s get you ready,” He said, his head tilted towards the bathroom, his voice deceptively warm.

Your feet betrayed you and you hesitantly crossed the room. Another door between you and your life before you knew Rafe felt this way. When it closed shut, you realized you’d sealed your fate. How could it be a mistake when this was the place in life where you felt safest? To accept something was wrong meant accepting that you had nowhere left to feel warm, innocent, or child-like.

Fingers caressed your skin, lifting the hem of your dress, gently raising your arms, until you were standing in your underwear. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again and it didn’t register how badly your lips were trembling until Rafe’s thumb caressed your bottom lip, “You’re okay,” He assured you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You’d wanted this desperately, for someone to see you and not want to run away. You wanted someone to take care of you, someone devoted to nurturing you. Your eyes locked on Rafe’s and you felt his palm against your bottom, fingers traveling beneath the fabric of your panties. You kept your head tilted up as he leaned down, pressing lips that were softer than could’ve ever imagined, against your neck.

You melted against him.

Vanilla and strawberry swirled in the air, strong but gentle hands caressed you, and your tears started to feel more like a release than a burden. He kissed the spot on your throat that had gone sore from all tears.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered and you felt it everywhere.

After removing your bra and panties, he helped you into the bath. Quickly, the blood and tears seemed to leave your skin, as if you’d imagined them. He touched you in a way that more natural, human, than expected. With deliberate care, he moved his hands over you, an act that felt practiced.

Everything dissolved there in the warm bath, the heaviness of the entire night. Bubbles clung to your skin, and your fingers moved lazily over the surface of the water. Rafe washing you, moving a soapy washcloth over your skin, should’ve felt strange but were left in that hazy place where things were simple.

“This is how things are going to be,” You heard him say, “We’ll make it work, okay? You get to be yourself and I’m the one who takes care of you now. I’m your Daddy.”

You’d never said that word out loud. Daddy. It was a faraway concept, a dream …just like the cloud you were floating in right now. You hugged yourself, mind wandering to that soft bed with all of your plushies.

“Say it, princess,” you turned your head to him, mouth parted, eyes curious.

“Say what?” You asked in a whisper, an innocent haze in your eyes.

He smiled. You had done something right. You gave him a soft smile too. He leaned closer, “Say ‘Daddy’,” He commanded softly, “Please, princess.”

Part of you hesitated, knowing you were giving away something precious. The other part wanted to please him, after all, he’d brought you this sense of peace. And maybe the sooner you made him happy, the sooner he’d tuck you into your warm bed, and let this long day finally end.

“Daddy,” You tested out the word on your tongue and though it sounded fragile, his eyes seemed to light up, “...since you said please.”

Nothing could smoulder that spark of satisfaction in his eyes. The look made your heart flutter, a sharp contrast from before when it felt like exploding.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Your cheeks warmed and you turned your face to hide from him. You couldn’t take it when he looked at you like that. That look made it feel like everything was okay.

“I made a mistake,” Your voice came out in a whine. Rafe ran the warm cloth across your back, a reminder of that peaceful bubble he’d created around you.

He shushed you, “You didn’t,” He assured you, “You’re a good person, a good girl. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His words made you sink deeper. The soft strokes of the warm washcloth, the vanilla-scent against your skin, and the pressure against your most sensitive areas. You felt the tension in your body melt away further.

Slowly, gripping your knees to your chest, you turned your face back towards him, “You can’t tell anybody, Rafe,” You whispered.

“Never,” He said, leaning closer, “Pinky swear?”

Rafe reached his other hand toward you, his pinky finger extended in front of you, moving like he was carefully dismantling some fragile, like a bomb. You stared for a brief movement, surprised and warmed by the gesture. You had no idea Rafe was capable of being so gentle. You unwrapped yourself a little bit, bring your closest pinky towards his hand. Your smaller finger wrapped around his and you were tethered together.

“There, I promise I won’t tell anyone, princess,” He looked at you deeply, “Okay?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, your hand falling gently back into the water, “Let’s get you out of here before you wrinkle up,” He decided and you watched him cross the room to grab your towel hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He walked back with a quiet confidence and his grip was completely sure, deliberate, as he helped you from the tub, “I’ve got ya’.”

He’d wrapped one arm underneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you gently. You imagined pressing yourself into him but a towel soon separated you. You shivered, and instinctually, you wanted to dry yourself but Rafe took responsibility of that as well. He was so close, so protective. It was awkward at first, being able to take care of that mundane task but not having to. You leaned into it, letting your body be soothed by the ritual.

You kept sinking.

“Arms up,” He’d said after bringing you back to your bedroom. He chose an oversized purple t-shirt, designed with small pictures of cartoon pandas. For your underwear, he chose a light blue pair decorated with rainbows. Your eyelids grew heavy and after your first yawn, Rafe lifted you onto the side of your bed, “There you go. All set.”

You crawled into your cocoon further, settling underneat your quilt. You watched Rafe as you settled there, as he moved across the room. Your sleepy eyes widened for a moment, realizing his shirt was gone and that he was fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

It was a threshold you’d never expected to reach, with Rafe or anyone else. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped beside you, your nerves sparked. You grabbed ahold of your lamb stuffed animal, letting that bring you a familiar comfort. Rafe nestled closer to you, his body at ease, relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you.

You did your best to do the same, trying to lean into that same vulnerability you felt when he was bathing you. Warm skin against yours, strong hands on your waist, warm breath against your ear, it was overwhelming, “I-Is this okay?” You asked, breaking the silence.

Looking for reassurance, you turned your head until your noses were almost pressed together.

“Yeah,” Rafe spoke low and smooth, “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, nervously, “I’m okay.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead and you took a deep breath, letting the feeling sooth your anxiety, “I’ve got you,” Rafe’s fingers ran down your arm then to your waist. He held you there, feeling your flesh there, squeezing, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

He touched you in new ways, gripped you hard in some places and softer in others. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your nose and then he placed soft lips against your cheek, “Relax,” He whispered in your ear, “I know you’re sleepy. I’ll do all the work.”

In your state of mind, his words felt like a riddle. What did he mean? You knew you liked his touch and that you wanted to sleep. Rafe knew more than you, clearly, maybe that’s what makes him a good Daddy. You should trust him.

You closed your eyes as you let him press his face into your neck. He kissed you there, finding the most sensitive spot on your skin, and it made your lips part in a soft moan, “Call me Daddy,” He spoke against your skin, “Please, baby? Just say it and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” You whispered back hesitantly and Rafe groaned, “D-Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Rafe cursed, grabbing a handful of your bottom, “That’s exactly what I want from you.”

You felt hardness pressing against your upper thigh and you gripped your lamb tighter. You leaned into sleep, letting Rafe move your body as he pleased, only moving your lips to whisper, “Daddy” in Rafe’s ear. He seemed please and you felt a warmness in your center that you wanted more of.

Soon he was on top of you, your legs spread as he sat in between them. He rubbed you there. His rhythm was perfect, his accuracy impeccable, so much that you didn’t have to even move your hips to get the friction you needed. You panted and when you reached your peak, Rafe swallowed your moans, putting his mouth on your lips.

It didn’t fully register to you when Rafe pushed your underwear aside and started to push inside of you. He was so gentle and you were so tired. He pulled your arms to the side, pressing his front against you, but you kept one hand wrapped around the arm of your stuffed animal, “Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy”

You winced when you felt all of him, and instinctively, you pushed at his heavy arms, “You’re okay,” He said, and his voice was louder to you than his heavy breathing or the sound of his skin hitting against yours, “You’re doing so good. Daddy’s almost done. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, Y/N. Shit.”

The satisfaction and pride in his words brought almost enough warmth to mask the pain of being stretched by him. You slowly grew used to the feeling but the feeling was so intense and you had so little energy to withstand it, to take all of him.

“Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

His thrust slowed but his weight kept you pinned there. He grabbed ahold of your chin and you blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth was parted, his eyes holding a darkness that you thought had gone away, “Jesus, baby.”

As he shifted to his side, all you could muster was to turn away, pulling your lamb close to your chest and allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Rafe nestled against you once more, his hands gripping your hips until your bottom was pressed firmly against him. You felt the warmth of his lips against your hair, and then his sleepy voice whispered, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

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#dark fic #rafe cameron #little space #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader

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ja3hwa · 2 months ago

Text

♡ 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐊𝐇𝐉 ♡

Day Five - Gentle sex

【Synopsis】 : Your loving husband just needed some extra care, and being an amazing wife, you were more than willing to provide.

『Word count』 : 2.02k

-> Genre: Smut. Producer au

Pairing: Husband!Hongjoong x Wife!Reader

[Warnings] : Heavy praise. Slightly subbish Hongjoong, but not really. The reader wants to worship joong, but he wants to do that to her. It's just a bunch of loving cuties. Lingerie. Kissing, making out. Swearing. Oral (both rec). slight cum play. Switches all round. Dirty talk. Body worship. This shit is sappy. Hair pulling. Unprotected sex. I swear I’m never this lovey dovey so if its bad please ignore me. ahhh

Note: Thank you to the sweetest Lilo aka @seonghwaddict for this amazing plot idea. I was so stuck until you helped me, hehe.

Networks: @cromernet @atzhouse @illusionnet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

His eyes could barely stay open, while his mind kept wandering off to la la land. One more hour… thirty more minutes. Just another five and he will be happy. But Hongjoong was anything but happy. This song was unbelievably frustrating and he wanted nothing more than to just simply throw it in the trash. But he won't. He couldn’t do such a thing. Argh but why not, who cares it’s not like his whole team is counting on him or anything….

His phone dinged for the hundredth time tonight. Mostly, you, again. He promised to be home earlier. You told him not to promise such a thing, but he did anyway. He needed to give you that promise. But as his screen lit up with a little message reading ‘I love you’ and the clock saying one, he knew the promise was broken. You were more than understanding, knowing what his job was like. How odd hours were normal. But that still didn’t make it right. It didn’t take his guilt away, promise or not.

“You should go home.” Hongjoong almost jumped out of his seat when his boss suddenly knocked on the table. He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t even see the other man walk in. “I’m sure your wife misses you.”

“She does…But I’m almost done with the arrangement for Monday. I just need—Hongjoong, enough, the boys aren't debuting until five months from now. You need rest. I’ll get Maddox to look over what you’ve got on Monday but for now...” Mr Matthews cuts Hongjoong off quickly, silencing the producer.

“But I—No buts. Maddox will help you on Monday. As of right NOW you have the weekend off, de-stress. Come back here when you have at least had eight hours of sleep.” and with that the man left, leaving no room for argument from Hongjoong.

The drive home was long. Longer than Hongjoong wished, he swore he got stopped at every traffic light on the street. But two hours later, finally, he was home. Punching in the code in the key lock, he tried his best to be quiet. Taking off his shoes softly, before setting them gently on the rack. Placing his keys and such on the counter with not much of a sound. He could see the dining table was empty… again. You most likely put the leftovers in the fridge and like the sad excuse of a husband he is, he would munch on them quickly before waddling to the bed, begging for forgiveness. Even though you never ask for it. You were always so caring, so loving. He didn’t deserve you.

“So are you gonna mope in front of that fridge all night, or am I going to get a hello.” Your voice scared the daylights out of him. Jumping visibly, he shut the fridge absurdly, making a loud echo in the kitchen. Your smile didn’t falter at his actions. In fact, it grew. Your arms were crossed, pushing your breasts up as you took in a deep breath. You were nervous. But Hongjoong didn’t catch on.

“I’m sorry honey I thought you were….” His breath was knocked out of him when he laid eyes on you. His beautiful wife. The nightgown you had chosen to wear tonight wasn’t any ordinary one, no, it had dark emerald green fabric, tight around your bust and flowed out as it hit your mid-stomach. The bra and panties underneath matched making you look like the perfect little present for only him to unwrap. “…Asleep.”

“I wanted to wait for you.” You spoke softly, taking a small step towards him. Hongjoong was lost for words, slight panic was invading his senses. Did he miss something? An anniversary? A special date? No, even though he was a workaholic he would never miss something…right? Your hands moved to his shoulders, making the man let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know what to do, so instead, he just simply froze. “God, your eyes look like they are about to pop out of your head. Calm down, soldier. There’s no war.”

Your voice seemed to calm him, feeling his shoulders relax and his head soft tip forward. His forehead met yours as he closed his eyes, taking in the moment. “I thought I forgot something. I..I’m sorry.”

“Hey now.” You gently cupped his face, your thumb softly rubbing over his cheek. “I just felt like dressing up. And you’ve been so busy with work. You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m proud of you, that's all. You know that right?”

God, Hongjoong can feel his eyes begin to water and his throat tighten. You had to be an angel, he was now fully convinced. You were perfect in every way, there was no other explanation. “I love you so much, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I could come up with a few ideas.” You give him a cheeky remark before kissing his cheek gently before the corner of his mouth, then finally on his lips. The relieving sigh he let out would normally embarrass him but he had grown to ignore the noise you always managed to make him do. In fact he has begun to like them.

“We should go to bed…” He murmured against you, letting your tongue slip into his mouth. His hands flew to your hips, tugging you closer in a desperate attempt to feel more of your body's warmth. He’ll never get over the feeling you give him every time you’re near.

You gently pulled away, smiling as you watched Hongjoong chase your lips. But your hot breath mixing with his along with his forehead now seemingly glued to yours made him feel content enough to take a moment to breathe. “Well go on then, honey… Take me to bed.”

He tugged you by your hand, leading you towards your cozy little room. It wasn’t much but you and Hongjoong had managed to make the perfect nest just for the two of you. He felt the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees as he pulled you flush against him. His fingers grazed over the erotic fabric, feeling every bit of lace that lugged your goddess-like figure. All the while you started to undress your lover boy. Removing his shirt, before unlooping his belt, his lips found yours once again as he sweetly swallowed every breath and sigh you made.

“Lay back, baby.” You cooed against Joong’s lips, gently pushing him until he fell onto the bed with a small ‘oof’. he shimmied out of his pants ungracefully, making you giggle a little before he shuffled onto the middle of the bed. You took your gown off, leaving yourself in only your bra and panties. Hongjoongs' eyes couldn't tear themselves away from your under garments, growing harder by the second. “Relax..”

Your sombre voice melted his nerves as he felt you remove his boxers just enough that his cock sprung free. He bit his lip in anticipation as you slowly wrapped your hand around his shaft, moving at a pace that was enough pleasure to ease his mind but not enough for him to come. “Such a hard worker. Always staying back late. Going above and beyond for others. You are so perfect.”

Your praises caused tears to pool in Hongjoongs eyes as he choked on his own breath. Your tongue licked a strip along his tip making his whole body shiver. His eyes fluttered close properly for the first time this evening, your mouth working miracles on him. A part of him was tugging for a switch in positions. He was the one that was supposed to be praising you, giving you all the love, but here you were squeezing his cock just right, causing his hips to buck staggeringly into your warm mouth. “Fuck, angel. I-I need you...”

He couldn’t hold himself together like he does most nights, feeling him tip over the edge quicker than he would have normally liked. His hot cum spilled into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it quickly before your lover grabbed you by the back of your arms, tugging you up further onto the bed. Even with his tired limbs, he managed to throw you onto your back so he could climb on top of you.

“My beautiful angel. My god send. the only thing in my life that makes sense.” his lips trailed down your body with every word, kissing every part of flesh he could reach. His hands delicately stripped you of your bra and panties in a quick desperation of need. Craving to finally have his favourite meal. “My wife. My pretty little tease. The only person that can make me cum so fucking fast.”

“Fuck…” You whimpered beneath him at his filthy remarks. If there was one thing Hongjoong knew it was that you loved to be verbally praised…and degraded. His lips latched onto your thighs suckling harsh marks in its wake. He loved to see you with his love bites all over, knowing you’d be walking in public with only him knowing what was hidden under your beautiful outfits.

“I love you so much.” His hot breath danced around your core, your hips bucking for friction. He couldn’t help but smirk at the raw neediness you had for him, even after all these years of marriage. You both have never stopped wanting each other. He flattened his tongue on you, licking upwards in one swift motion before sucking sharply on your clit. You gasped loudly, hands flying to your husband's soft locks. Your fingers tangled themselves before tugging causing a growl from him. His fingers traced over your stretch marks, and tummy blemishes for snaking their way down onto your thigh, giving the plump flesh a nice squeeze. Everything about you was perfect, down to the way your heart beat.

You are his everything.

“I love you Joong. So, so much.” You felt yourself slipping closer towards the edge. Hongjoong noticed as well, dipping his hand between both your bodies before sinking two fingers into your aching cunt. A relieving sigh left your lips as you felt the curled-up pleasure finally letting go. Your hips shuttered against your lover, feeling yourself let go, coming all over his face with a silent scream. Hongjoong’s giggle against you caused a tingle to spike up your spine, he loved it when you came while he ate you out. “I need you, please.”

It was your turn to whimper those three words, grabbing Hongjoong by his shoulders, you pulled him up until his wet pussy drunk face was inches from yours. His lips tasted of you, and his tongue even more so. Every sense in your body craved for this moment to last forever. Without breaking the kiss, Hongjoong opened your legs, hooking each over his waist before lining himself up to your dripping cunt. “I love you.” He whispered again, meaning it just as much as he did the first time he ever spoke the phrase to you. His thick cock sunk in slowly until he completely bottomed you out. And in that moment it was like the world had stopped. Nothing else mattered anymore.

It was just you and him.

“I love you too.” You replied against his swollen lips, feeling complete with him by your side.

—

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

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writingmar · 4 months ago

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girllll, we need a part 2 for “behave back there”!! it was so good! it could be what happened in their hotel room after the car ride hehe

nsfw ੈ✩‧₊˚ mdni

'𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝.'

𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

'𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.' 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰.

after you took your time teasing spencer during a car ride back to the hotel, he decides it's time to take what your body has been promising him...

wc: 1.3k

content & tw: smut. this is just smut. dom!spencer, sub!reader, fem!reader, risk of being caught, pleasurable punishment, choking, use of a gag, spence being a munch, fucking the attitude out of you, dirty talk.

a/n: i am honoured people were actually asking for a part two of this so i tried my very best here!!

['shut up,' spencer said, his voice cracking slightly on the nerves, but you know that in about thirty minutes, he will be knocking on your hotel room door and he will be everything but for nervous...] - ending of 'behave back there'.

you know garcia is the true oracle of quantico, but you feel like you deserve an honorary mention in that title, because it is exactly thirty minutes after you left the car that spencer knocks on your door.

you take one quick look thru the peephole, just to be completely sure it's him, and smile as you open the door slightly to see your favorite profiler standing there. 'doctor reid, what are you doing here? do you even know what time it is?' you say, a sly smirk on your face.

'cut the crap, princess. you know exactly why i'm here,' he says, his voice low and husky. you don't even have time to throw back another snarky remark before spencer pushes the door open and slams your back against the wall, kicking the door closed behind him.

he wastes no time, passionately connecting his body to yours, the two of you coming together in a mix of lips, teeth and tongues. 'damn, spence, i had no idea i had this much of an effect on-' you start to speak, but spencer cuts off your breath, wrapping his hand around your throat. 'shut up, brat, you knew exactly what you were doing.'

he holds his hand on your throat, using the other one to lead you backwards towards the bed. when your legs hit the frame, he pushes you onto it. you catch yourself and watch as he undoes his tie and throws his sweater vest to the floor.

he leans down, his body towering over yours as he pins your arms into place above your body. 'fuck, that was the longest car ride of my life,' he pants between passionate kisses. you start to speak, but spencer silences you immediately with a passionate kiss.

'if you know what's good for you, you will shut the fuck up. i am this close to losing my shit already, and if you give me that attitude i fear neither of us will get any rest tonight,' he says. there is a certain darkness in his eyes, a hunger that you know exactly how to still. as much as you love being a brat, you're well aware that now is the time to be obedient.

'i'm yours, doctor. whatever you need,' is the last thing you say before wisely keeping your mouth shut. spencer smirks against your lips, 'fuck, that's my good girl,' he says, his hard length already pressing against you.

he kisses down your body, pulling your shirt over your head and unbuttoning his own blouse as he bites the soft skin of your lower stomach.

he unbuttons your jeans, pulling them off your body with haste, your underwear coming off with them. before you know it, spencer lowers his mouth to your core, licking and sucking like theres no tomorrow.

'oh... oh...' you moan, your eyes shutting instinctively. you feel spencer smile against your sensitive skin. 'i'd try to be quiet, princess. hotch is over in the next room, morgan on the other side,' he says. you look down at him, his hair already messy as he looks up at you with sparkling eyes.

he licks you exactly where it feels good, and you just know he's proud of himself. it's almost like his movements are saying you should have behaved, i can tease you just as good as you can tease me.

you feel your orgasm building inside of you, crashing over your body like a tidal wave before you know it. you cover your mouth with your hands and squeeze your eyes shut as you try desperately not to make a noise. the idea of hotch or morgan, or worse, hotch and morgan, hearing what's going on here makes you nervous, and the nerves make you hornier than ever before.

you're pretty sure spencer shares the same excitement as he doesn't slow down or change his movements in the slightest. not even when your thighs squeeze around his legs as your second orgasm ripples thru you. 'fuck, princess,' he whispers in between strokes of his tongue, 'are you trying to suffocate me? oh well, if this is how i die, i'll die a happy man.'

that sentence is enough to unravel you again, this time not being able to keep quiet. 'f- fuck!' you moan, probably loud enough to be heard thru the walls. you immediately feel your cheeks heat. spencer tsks and moves himself back up towards you, unbuttoning his trousers and freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear.

he kicks his trousers to the floor, but holds his boxers into one of his hands. 'i don't believe this pretty mouth won't get us into trouble, baby... open up,' he commands, and you do as your told, following thru on your previous promise and open your mouth. spencer stuffs the black cotton boxers into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

'how's that, princess?' he asks, and you try your best to form words but obviously, they come out muffled and far from articulated. 'what's that? i can't understand you,' spencer says mockingly before kissing your neck and positioning the head of his cock with your entrance.

'if anything is wrong, tap anywhere on my body twice and i stop immediately, understood?' he asks, and you nod. that was all spencer needed before pushing himself deep inside you. he buries his cock into your body all the way to the hilt, and you bite down onto the fabric, soft whimpers escaping thru it.

'oh my god, baby, you feel so fucking good,' spencer groans softly before settling into a steady but punishing pace. you feel your orgasm building already as he hits the most sensitive parts of your body.

you moan as quietly as you can, but you know if there was no risk of getting caught, you would be screaming his name until your throat hurt. he fills you up completely and you feel him thru your entire body.

your moans climb the scale like a symphony reaching its crescendo, every sound escaping from your lips reaching a higher and higher pitch until your body tenses and you fall apart underneath him.

'i love the sounds you make when you're trying to be quiet,' spencer says, his own breathing becoming more and more ragged. you can barely remember your own name as spencer thrusts into you, the pain and pleasure mixing into a beautiful cocktail.

you feel your fifth orgasm of the night building, a tear rolling down your cheek from the perfect intensity of it all. 'f- fuck, baby, you're so tight, fuck,' spencer whispers into your ear, and his movements grow more and more erratic.

when he finally falls over the edge, his cum shooting into your body, the sound he makes, the low whimper thru his ragged breaths, is enough to send you into an orgasm once again. spencer stills inside of you, catching his breath as he hangs above.

he looks at your face, the mascara stains and his boxers in your mouth and can't help but smile. 'so gorgeous,' he says before pulling the fabric from your mouth and placing a kiss on your lips.

'thank you, doctor, you don't look too bad yourself,' you say, running your hand thru his beautifully messy locks.

'maybe i should tease you more often, if five orgasms is what i get out of it,' you say with a smirk as spencer gets dressed again, ready to go back to his own room.

he looks over his shoulder back at you. 'try that at your own risk, princess, i won't be this nice to you every time.'

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #reid #smut #spencer reid smut #dr reid #doctor spencer reid #doctor reid #reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #reid x reader

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mayghosts · 5 months ago

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Touch Starved: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Summary: Paige is tired and cold, you like blondes

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff + comfort, not proof read

AN: haven't written for blondie in a hot minute, hope this feeds my Paige girlies out there 🫶

You stepped out of the bathroom in your pjs and flicked your lights off, slipping under your duvet you felt the exhaustion hit you like a train. Pre-season workouts with Geno and the UConn staff were always so tiring and you could feel your muscles cramping and aching already. Just as you were about to close your eyes, your bedroom door flung open to reveal a freshly showered and energized Nika Mühl.

“Heyy, sorry I didn't know you were asleep-” you propped yourself up on your elbows, squinting at the girl in the doorway. “But I invited the team over, you know, pizza… bonding…” you groaned, rolling your eyes and glaring at the girl. “You don't need to come out, but they're coming in like ten minutes and there will be pizza!” blinking absently at the girl you finally gave her a response “Can you get out please?” Smiling and nodding, Nika quietly shut the door.

Thirty minutes later you woke up to voices in your living room. Grumbling, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way into the kitchen in search of water. Shuffling into the kitchen you silently waved to Aubrey who immediately greeted you. As you stood in the fridge light, waiting for your cup to fill, you felt a presence behind you.

“Hey.” Spinning around you were met with an equally tired Paige. “Hi…you okay?” it was quiet for a moment, “uhh…yeah yeah! Just tired.” Grabbing your water and flicking the spout off, you moved to sit on the counter.

“You did really great in practice today, you look a lot stronger. Not that you weren't strong before but… God, I'm so tired.” She buried her head in her hands. You giggled before sliding off the counter and wrapping your arms around her torso.

You could feel her melt in your arms, her hands gripping the fabric of your sweatshirt. “Sorry” you pulled away, holding her arms. “Want to go take a nap?”

As you slipped into your bed, you could feel her scooch closer and pull you into her chest. As you laid there, breathing in her minty body wash and running your hands through her hair, you could feel time slow. Suddenly tomorrows 5 AM workout seemed so far away and all that mattered was the feeling of her thigh pressed against your leg and the warmth the radiated from your bodies.

“You know I'm here for you right?” you pulled away slightly looking at her face in the dark. “If you ever wanna talk?” A small smile grew on her face as she pulled you back in, squeezing you tighter. “I know,” her voice came out small “Please don't let go yet…”

“I won’t… I promise.”

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thevoidstaredback · 6 months ago

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

A knock on the door was not what Danny was expecting that evening. In the two weeks of observation and one week of actually staying with the man, Danny had figured that Dick, for as friendly as he is, did not have many friends. And if he did, they didn't visit him a lot, if at all. So, a knock on the door exactly thirty minutes before Nightwing was set to go out was a suspicious surprise.

He answered it anyway.

On the other side of the door was a kid about his age, an inch or two taller. He had dark hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and eyebags dark enough to rival Danny's own. He also smelled faintly of coffee.

"Um," Danny started dumbly. "Hello?"

"I'm looking for Richard Grayson." The kid's accent was stronger than Dick's, putting him as a born and raised Gotham resident. There was also a hint of something that reminded Danny of Sam's parents. This kid comes from money.

"And you are?"

Obviously upset about being stalled, he huffed, "Timothy Drake. Are you going to let me in now?"

How does someone sound so rude and so polite at the same time? Obviously a skill Danny needs to learn. "Why-"

"Who's at the door, Danny?" Dick called from the hallway, making his way closer. He was in his Nightwing costume, minus the mask, but had covered it with a hoodie and sweatpants.

"Tim Drake," Tim introduced himself again, pushing Danny out of the way and entering the apartment to greet Dick with a handshake. "You're Bruce's Wayne's kid, Richard 'Dick' Grayson."

"Yeah, that's-"

"You need to come back and be Robin again."

There was a moment of silence as Danny closed the door softly. Then, "Excuse me?" Dick's smile was strained and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You need to come back and be Batman's Robin again. You don't have to don the suit, but he needs you." There was a hint of desperation in Tim's voice now. "He's been spiraling since Jason died, and he's starting to hit harder. Most of the guys he beats up end up in the emergency room! Some of them have even died from their injuries! Batman needs your help! He needs a Robin."

Dick was quiet for a moment. "No."

"What?"

"I won't- I can't go back to being Robin. I can't go back to being in that house."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Now, I don't know how you found me or how you found out who I was, but you need to go back to Gotham, Tim."

"But-"

"Now, Tim. You're parent's are probably freaking out about where you are right now."

Tim didn't say anything for a long moment, he feet rooted in place. Just as Dick turned around to go to the fire escape, he spoke, "My parents don't care where I am." Louder, he said, "Bruce is going to start directly killing people if you don't go back there and help him."

"Why should I help him?" Dick demanded. "He didn't even tell me that my little brother had died! I didn't even get to go to his funeral! And then Bruce had the audacity to punch me in the face and blame me for not being there! I'm not going back to Gotham, I'm not putting on the Robin suit again, and I sure as hell am not going to help Batman. he made it clear that he works alone, so let him." With his peace said, Dick took his hoodie and sweatpants off, donned his domino and escrima sticks, and left through the window fifteen minutes early.

Neither Tim nor Danny said anything for a long few minutes, neither bothering to move. Too many thoughts in each of their heads with no way to properly form words.

Finally, after nearly seven minutes, Danny's voice broke through the air. "I'm sorry he yelled at you."

Tim, having forgotten Danny was there, jumped and turned to face him. "What?"

"He hasn't been the same since Jason died, not that I know what he was like before."

"What do you mean?"

Danny moved into the kitchen, pulling down two cups, filling them with water before offering one to Tim and leading him to sit down on the couch.

"I don't know a lot about the situation, I've only been here for three weeks now, but I know that Dick is still hurting. Nightmares, hallucinations, the works. He's been more violent recently, too, but obviously not as much as Batman has been."

"You, uh, you know?"

"Yeah. Kinda hard not to figure it out while living here, and you coming in today didn't help that." Tim blushed and sipped his water. "Though, like you, I showed up on Dick's doorstep already knowing he's Nightwing."

"Oh? And how well did that pan out for you?"

Danny shrugged. "I offered him help and refused to leave until he accepted it."

Tim laughed. "That's what I did to Bruce!"

They shared a smile. Danny lifted his cup as if to toast. "Here's to a couple of goblins with hero complexes." Tim lifted his cup to join Danny's toast and they both took a drink.

Giggling, the two finished their water in relative quiet, the air around them comfortable.

"Say," Tim asked, putting his cup down on the coffee table, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen. You?"

"Same."

"Cool."

"You're parents know where you are?"

"Nope. I would ask if yours do, but you already answered that."

"Yeah, they aren't really around much. I did tell Alfred I'd be gone, though, so he knows I'm not home."

"Yeah, but does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Hm." A beat. "Who's Alfred?"

Another laugh startled out of Tim. "Bruce's butler. Did Dick tell you nothing?"

Danny shrugged again. "I haven't pushed for answers about anything; I'm not a therapist. I'm just here because he's going to end up killing himself at the rate he's been working himself."

"So is Bruce," Tim admitted softly, "But he's going to end up taking Gotham down with him if no one stops him."

"So what are you going to do?"

He thought for a long minute, weighing options in his mind before saying, "I guess I'll have to be the help he needs me to be."

Danny tilted his head sideways like a dog. "What do you mean?"

Tim squared his shoulders, though he was still hesitant. "Batman needs a Robin, and if Dick isn't going to be that for him, then I guess I'll have to be."

Another beat. "But do you want to be a vigilante?"

"Does it matter if I want to be?" Tim asks, "If I don't then no one will." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Gotham is my home. I can't let Bruce destroy it in his grief."

"I understand." Danny nodded, "But what you want does matter. I know I can't stop you, so I'm not going to try, but I'm going to make you promise me something." He made sure to hold Tim's gaze. "You ask for help when you need it." He held out his hand and waited.

"What?"

"You're phone. Give it to me." Reluctantly, he did so. As soon as the flip phone was in his hand, Danny put his number in it before giving it back. 'You don't have to do this alone, okay, Tim? Promise that you'll call me when you need help, okay? Any time of day, I'll answer."

Tim stared at his now closed phone, the weight grounding him for a moment. "Are you going to be a vigilante to help Nightwing?"

"I already am."

"Huh?"

"It's why I'm here, It's why I know I can't stop you and why I'm making sure you know I'll be here to help you."

Nothing else was said between the boys. Nothing else needed to be said.

Part 7 Part 9

Tag List: @flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581 @blueliac @talia-scar123 @cyber-geist @violet-foxe @currentfandomkick @jaguarthecat @moonchild0924 @tonicmii @bushbees @idekwutoput @justalittleghostkid

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 8 months ago

Text

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

527 notes · View notes

perlelune · 9 months ago

Text

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“Oh, do you mind if we take a little break?” Clemensia asks almost as soon as you’ve begun working on the task she gave you. You blink, a little confused as your gaze roams across the table. There’s still so much to do. You’re not sure if the girls are just that slow but it’s clear that it will take at least a few hours to get all of it done.

But Clemensia is in charge of the ball committee. You don’t picture yourself telling her what to do or how to do it. After all, you are an outsider. A foreign element infiltrating their ecosystem. You have to play by their rules.

If they want to take a break, who are you to argue with that?

You begin to rise.

“Oh, a break, sure…”

Clemensia’s lips pinch as you try to follow them. “It’s just that…we’ve been doing this for so long, all by ourselves. I even broke a nail.” She pouts, showing you her hands. “But it needs to be finished today.” She nibbles her bottom lip and sighs, eyes pleading yours. “If no one stays behind…”

You mull it over. While you’re not thrilled over the idea of working on the decorations by yourself, you did just get here. You suppose you could hold the fort while they stretch their legs…or whatever Clemensia and her friends like to do when they hang out.

“I guess I could stay,” you concede.

Clemensia flashes you a broad grin.

“You’re so sweet,” she chimes. “Thank you. We won’t be long, promise. Ten minutes tops.”

You shrug and return to your chair. Ten minutes. That sounds reasonable. You pick up the scissors and start cutting more of the tree shapes.

“No problem.”

But one issue arises.

The promised ten minutes expand into thirty. Then an hour. Then two. At first, you don’t let your mind dissect it too hard. It’s a stupid thing to overthink, isn’t it? A silly thing to chop into pieces until your mind bleeds with doubt and insecurity. You surmise it was more of an approximation. People do that all the time, say something while meaning another. At least you believe they do. Besides, you find ways to keep yourself busy, even getting started on the sparkly globes lying on the side of the room. You figure out how to use most of the tools on your own and get wrapped in your own bubble of quietness.

Silence is a familiar companion, the one constant that never judged you, never asked for more of you. In your Silence, you get to be you. Nothing more; nothing less. So you let yourself sink in its warm, snug embrace.

Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, thoughts meander passively… What is taking them so long? You steal a glance outside the window. Orange and purple hues are already bleeding into the sky, a sign of the evening nearing its end.

You retrieve your pocket watch from inside your skirt. A frown wrinkles your brow. At a time like this, you would usually be home, curled up with Walter on your bed as you go over your notes for the week. It often takes you hours just to decipher the course transcripts.

“Wow, you did such a great job,” Clemensia whistles from behind you.

You gasp and whirl. All smiles, the girls fill your sight.

They approach the table and examine some of the decorations you put together on your own. Realization sweeps through you as the fog of your thoughts clear. It didn’t hit you before, not until you absorbed the current state of the crafts table, brimming with the results of your solitary labor. You’ve been busy. Spinning crystal balls, pine cones, silvery garlands and a heap of snowflakes meant to hang on the walls and ceiling. Clemensia admires your handiwork, seemingly impressed.

A little peeved, you point out, “I mean…had you guys even started? Most of the decorations needed to be cut, glued or assembled…”

“I have delicate hands,” Livia sighs, examining her manicured nails.

“I’m very slow, sorry,” Ivy says apologetically.

Your frown deepens. Was this whole thing a setup? You sacrificed precious time to be here and you shudder to think the entire purpose of your presence is some kind of childish prank.

Coriolanus’ words echo in your mind. He argued the girls weren’t like that and that they left the immature tricks back at the Academy. You truly want to believe that none of this is designed to embarrass you, that perhaps, again, all of this is in your head. But your aching fingers, sore from doing crafts most of the afternoon, suggestotherwise.

Unleashing a sigh, you gather your satchel and head towards the exit.

Clemensia obstructs your path, holding up her hands in apology.

“I know we should have been back earlier. I’m so sorry. We ran into the Dean and it turned into a whole thing.” She seizes your hands, remorse twisting her pretty features. “I feel so horrible. I invited you so we could do it together as friends.”

Your shoulders slump. As you soak in the look of genuine contrition on her face, doubts lurk inside you. Your confidence about being the victim of some prank wavers. Perhaps, you overreacted. Incidents happen. Besides, the chances of you joining Clemmie’s committee are slim, as you’re already swamped with assignments. A promise was made and you kept it. But this likely will be a one time thing. School dances are at the bottom of your priority list right now.

So you discard it all with a wave of your hand and a contrived smile.

“It’s okay. No apology needed. It’s not your fault.” You note how much darker it’s gotten outside. “I should go back home though. It’s already so late-”

Clemensia stops you again, her hand tightening around yours as she offers excitedly, “Wait, you should come to game night at Liv’s.”

“What?” Livia snickers. Clemensia shoots her a withering glare and the blonde clears her throat, correcting herself, “I mean…yeah, you totally should come.”

You fidget and adjust the strap of your satchel. You may have heard whispers of those game nights. Mystique surrounds them as only a few chosen people are invited to attend. You, of course, were never invited. And it isn’t hard to gather how Livia feels about you coming from her reaction. Why force your way into places where you aren’t wanted?

“I’m already behind on my revising for the day. If I don’t go over my Molecular-”

“Boring,” Ivy sings sarcastically.

“Don’t be mean, Ivy,” Clemensia scolds, elbowing her in the rib.

Clemensia tilts her head, her tone turning beseeching.

“Please…I really want to get to know you better.” She huffs out a long breath as she seems to sense your hesitation. The brunette leans closer, hands clutching your forearms. Sympathy twinkles in her onyx orbs. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Always striving to be the best at everything I do.” A hollow giggle slips through her lips. “It’s how I got in trouble with your mother actually…I wanted to win so badly and she decided to teach me a lesson.” Sadness pinches her delicate features. “But by always striving for greatness, you miss out on life. I learnt that during the Games...”

“...Surviving isn’t living.”

She studies you before saying, “And it’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Surviving.”

Eyes on the ground, you chew on your lip. You never imagined someone like Clemensia Dovecote - the most beautiful, popular girl at the University - could feel this way…let alone relate to you.

“Clemmie…”

She hunkers a little so your eyes meet.

“Come on, I really want to make up for today.” She laughs. “Show you I’m not a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” you say.

She places her palm on your cheek. “See? You’re so nice. That’s why I want us to be friends.” She bends over your ear, the words she mutters almost too quiet to be heard, “I can barely stand those two on most days, but appearances must be kept.”

Your gaze swings upward, shock pulsing through you.

She beams at you. “It’ll be an intimate gathering of just a select group, close friends. We play cards, chat, and have a few drinks. That’s it.”

Your forehead creases.

“I don’t drink.”

Squeezing your shoulders, she assures you, “Then I’ll make sure not a drop of alcohol passes your lips. Promise.”

“It’s casual, I swear. You can even leave early if you want.”

This grabs your attention, as you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night without craving to return to the safe, familiarity of your apartment. The potential for escape makes the offer far more enticing.

Obviously, Clemensia cares about you showing up. While you don’t fully grasp why, you also never had anyone go out of their way to spend time with you. During the Academy days, everyone avoided you like the plague, either finding you odd or fearing you were as terrifying as your mother. The University doesn’t seem much different so far, groups having already formed from previous camaraderie. Bonds that were forged years ago and cemented over time while you endured in the back of the class. The forgotten one. And you always figured it is the most you can aspire for. Being ignored and left alone.

Until now.

“Really?”

Clemensia’s smile widens.

“Yes. You can stay as long as you want and leave.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a party,” you muse, pursing your lips. Your tiny, limited wardrobe has always prioritized function over fashion. There are your Academy uniforms, a few loose, unflattering clothes you rotate between. A single formal dress more suited for a funeral than a game night. Nothing impressive because you never had anyone to impress.

You also have no sense of fashion, the trends shifting too quickly for you to keep up. So you’ve stopped trying to.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” she chimes. “The girls and I always get ready at each other’s house anyway. And you’re one of the girls now.”

You peer down at you and Clemensia’s entwined hands. One of the girls. No one’s ever spoken about you that way. As if your mere presence made something better, uplifting it instead of leading it to its ruin. As if you were solid, more than a wisp of air, a waste of breath. As if you mattered. So, despite the sizzling weight of Livia’s blue eyes on you, you smile back at Clemmie and give a bashful nod.

Your eyes feast on every detail of Clemensia’s living room as you enter her home. Her parents’ apartment is every bit as large and opulent as you imagined. Every exquisite detail screams wealth. The unabashed, showy kind that stoked the embers of bitter unfairness in the Districts, leading the Capitol to where it is today. A city risen from the ashes. Your attention lingers on the expensive artwork exposed in glass cabinets. A lot of it appears to be memorabilia from before the war. You’re willing to bet the combined value of every overpriced trinket in the house could feed an entire District. Paintings of Clemmie’s illustrious ancestors hang over the damask walls, their stern stares seeming to follow you. Almost as if they were ready to leap from the eroded gilded frames and berate you for being an intruder in their family home.

Clemensia tugs you along.

“What are you dawdling for? Come on,” she urges.

You trail behind her as she takes you to her bedroom. You smile when you see it. The somber, tasteful hues are so very her. The hinges of her wardrobe whine as she opens the large, wooden doors. A vertiginous row of clothes crowd your sight. You gawk, a little amazed but also slightly terrified. Who needs this many clothes? A sour expression scrunches her features.

“I know,” she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “This is a little embarrassing. Most of these are soo last season.”

You tilt your head at her dizzying collection of shoes, clothes, accessories…the kind a legion of girls would kill for.

“Right,” you blindly agree. Nevermind you can’t even tell the difference. You glance around. “Shouldn’t Livia and Ivy be here too?”

Her brow twitches as she sits on her massive canopy bed. She pats the spot next to her and you awkwardly plop down. The plush silk and soft mattress dip under your weight.

“We decided to meet later,” she reveals. She pauses, a heavy sigh fluttering through her painted red lips before adding, “Besides, I told them to be nicer to you and they got upset and pretended not to know what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

She waves her manicured hand dismissively.

“No, don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Clemensia licks her lips, her face etched with reflection, as if she were assessing the weight of her words before releasing them. Her hand settles on your arm.

“Look, here’s the thing. Livia’s had a crush on Coriolanus since he returned and they had a sort of fling.” Your mouth drops open. This is news to you. You didn’t catch any hint of lingering longing between the two back at their lunch table. But now that you’re mulling it over, perhaps…Perhaps, Livia’s eyes kept seeking Coriolanus’, while his treaded their own path, never crossing hers. “Things were going pretty well...for a little while. But then, you came along.”

Your brows furrow. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Clemensia’s bell-like laughter resonates in the room.

“God, you’re a sweet thing…just like Snow said.” She beams at you. “Don’t worry. Liv will get over it. She’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”

Her attention travels to the dark fabric peeking from your bag.

“What’s that?” she asks, pulling out the garment.

“The only dress I have.”

She inspects it with a displeased frown.

“Were you planning on wearing this?” She shakes her head as your mouth clamps shut. “Oh, this will not do.”

She takes your hand and drags you to her wardrobe. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she rummages through a numberless heap of garments.

“I have some clothes that my cousin left,” she explains while frantically searching. After a while, victory flares in her orbs. She unhooks a sleek, crimson dress with a tight bodice and flowing sleeves from a hanger. She holds it against your body, chiming, “She’s about your size so they should fit you.”

“I can’t accept this, Clemmie.”

You attempt to push her hands away but the brunette shoves it in your arms, insisting on you at least trying it on. You press the soft fabric between your fingers. It’s more revealing and form-fitting than you’re used to. You gather it would cling to your body like a second skin…one you aren’t used to wearing. Still, you must admit that it’s a lovely dress. One that could look good even on you. Temptation claws at your resolve, digging deeper and deeper grooves, right into every insecurity you ever had. That thing other girls had that always eluded you. That little secret you were never privy to. The key to that door that never opened. The dress is the key. And you find yourself unable to resist turning the lock to find out what secrets lie beyond that mysterious door.

Beneath Clemmie’s eager stare, you remove your clothes and slip on the dress.

Smug satisfaction hovers on her lips as you peer at your reflection. Words fizzle out on your tongue. You are looking at a complete stranger.

Clemmie rests her chin on your shoulder. “See? I knew it.”

She then has you sit at her vanity to help you do your makeup. Do your makeup…The words sound alien even in the private confines of your thoughts.

As she draws a neat black line over your eyelids, she says, “It hasn’t been long since makeup’s returned to the Capitol again. It used to be near impossible to find.” When she’s done, she turns you towards the vanity mirror. “Those colors will bring out your eye shape and color.”

The air leaves your lungs in a quick rush. You lean closer to the mirror, once again in disbelief that you are truly looking at your own face.

Fingers twisting the delicate fabric of the dress, you pivot to Clemmie.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you blurt out.

Her eyes widen briefly before her expression softens.

“You remind me of me.”

Confusion surges through you. There is an ocean of glaring differences between you and Clemmie, one you couldn’t swim through if you tried.

“What?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident.”

Your brows knit, Clemmie’s statement making little sense. If confidence wore a face and had a name, it’d be Clemensia Dovecote’s.

Gripping your shoulders, she turns your focus back onto your dolled-up appearance.

“Alright. Look in the mirror, what do you see?”

You blink. You see a girl playing dress-up, pretending, but you don’t utter those words aloud. They sound lame, even in your own head.

“Nothing,” you tritely respond, dipping your head.

She lifts your chin, moving her head to disagree.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes twinkle. “I see infinite potential. So stop selling yourself short.” Covering her mouth, she laughs. “His jaw is going to drop.”

“Whose jaw?”

She smirks at you. “You know whose jaw.”

Heat sneaks inside your face.

You fidget in the chair. It’s not like what he thinks matters, right? He is no one to you, just that boy with the unsettling blue stare who won’t leave you be for some strange reason.

So why is there a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through your veins when the thought of him seeing you like that permeates your brain?

A vigorous gust of common sense sweeps away your wayward musings.

You don’t care what he thinks. Of course you don’t.

“I-It’s not really my style,” you stammer as you get to your feet.

The sparkle in her onyx orbs doesn’t waver.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a style yet…so how would you even know?”

“Shouldn’t we be at Livia’s already?” you ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

She considers you as if you were the most endearing thing in the world. She grabs your hands. “Here’s another rule. Never be on time for anything.” A haughty smirk creeps upon her red lips. “Make them wait for you, not the other way around.” She cocks her head. “One of the things about confidence is knowing that you are the sun, and standing in your orbit is a rare privilege.” She scoffs, “People should feel lucky you even bothered showing up.”

She approaches you and touches up parts of your hair, visibly elated with the result.

“Perfect,” she trills. “Like I said…potential.”

She herself finishes getting ready. As you absently meander about her room, the doorbell chimes.

Clemmie pauses as she applies powder on her face. She sets aside her makeup tools and escorts you to the lobby, arm threaded with yours.

“Must be our chauffeur,” she states.

Your eyes round. “You have a chauffeur?”

She cloisters herself in cryptic silence, humming as she drags you along.

When the brunette swings the door open, a towering, familiar figure darkening her doorway, time hangs still for a few seconds.

Your mouth opens wide enough to catch flies.

A smug smile unfurls on his lips.

“Angel,” he greets, gaze locking with yours as he completely ignores Clemmie.

Her sharp irritated tone shatters the spell.

“You’re late, Snow.”

Coriolanus snickers.

“As if you’re ever on time.”

You trail behind Clemmie as she and Coriolanus keep bantering, his presence still swaddling you in sheer shock. When she tries to take the passenger seat, he drapes a placating hand over hers.

She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly heads to the back of the car.

He opens the car door for you. Recalling the fruitlessness of arguing with him, you climb into the seat. Still, saying you feel awkward riding in the front while the brunette is sulking in the backseat would be a massive understatement.

Few words can accurately describe how peculiar all of this is for you.

“You look surprised,” Coriolanus notes as he takes his own seat and slams the door shut. Your heart misses a beat when his hot breath caresses your earshell. “I did say I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

You look down at your lap. Breathing is laborious, the air in the vehicle coated with the lingering smell of his pricey cologne. You are literally choking on Coriolanus Snow with every breath you take.

“Will you just drive, Snow?” Clemmie snaps, crossing her arms.

“Relax. Patience is a virtue,” he says, not sparing her a glance, zeroing in on you instead. The drumming of your heart swells to an uproar in your ears when he reaches across your body. You hold still while he ties your seatbelt for you. Blue eyes rake over your form in brazen appraisal, his deep voice lowering. “And good things come to those who wait.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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kaybreezy3000 · 28 days ago

Text

Inside of You ~A Five Hargreeves / Female reader insert request

(5714 words) Rated Mature for sexually explicit content.

While joining Five for family night at his brother's house, he gives you an unexpected treat to add to the fun, ending the night by leaving you feeling more loved than you ever thought was possible.

Warnings and more summary: Five and Reader are adults, Smutty smut, Cock warming, Dom Five, cocky Five and sweet vulnerable Five, s4 setting-assuming that all that sort of went down only with a twist in brief mention that Five in the end saved the day (because he's the man of course and I can't do it any other way), also Lila and Five never got stuck in the subway-so no worries on triggers for that-pretending that didn't happen, this one's all about you and Five 😉

2 days ago, Anonymous asked:

Hi! Thank you, that other fic was amazing! Can I request maybe a dom five smut where he's really cocky at how quickly he can make the reader cum, maybe with overstimulation and cock warming? Thank you!

Answer: Sure, here you go. 😊😉 TY for the kind words.

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

Inside of You

“Mommy!!! Daddy! we can’t sleep!”

“Me either!” Grace yelled.

“Bloody hell.” Looking tired, Lila glared at Diego. After finally agreeing on a movie to watch, it had only been quiet for about thirty minutes into the film, and this was the third time a little voice had called out, needing something.

“I’ll take Grace this time, if you take the twins,” Diego grumbled, already getting up. Stomping down the hall towards the kid’s bedrooms like a dad sized Godzilla, he turned back, looking at Five as he said, “I know you two kids are getting serious, or you never would have subjected her to one of our family nights, so I’m going to give you a little piece of advice. Unless you want to be interrupted every five minutes for the rest of your life, put a rubber on it.”

Casually swirling his drink between his legs as he sat there across from you on their couch, Five’s usual mask indifference was the only reply Diego got, but as soon as they were gone, he turned his attention to you, a playful smirk making him look so handsome but also so characteristically smug and dick-ish.

He knew that he didn’t need to wear a rubber with you, but he’d also made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t opposed to somewhere down the road performing the act of breeding with you with the intent of starting a family, not just to get you screaming his name.

All night long, Five had been looking at you like he was up to something, and knowing he was probably up to no good, you decided to stay in your chair on the other side of the room.

He quirked a dark brow at you, and his dimple deepened. Leaning back, his thighs spreading wide, undeterred, Five padded his lap. “Join me?”

A rush of wetness leaked between your legs from just looking at him over there, dressed in his slim-fitted dress shirt with his long silk tie dangling down between his legs.

You knew about the Hargreeves family and their powers and how they’d saved the world multiple times. Everyone knew about them after they averted The Cleanse, but even so, you swore Five’s real power was not in his ability to blink, or time travel, or in how he and a deli full of other versions of him had figured out how to destroy new elemental forces that were set to bring on the end of the world. His gift wasn’t even in his ability to have a cocky answer to everything.

No. All that was true, but Five’s real power was in how easily he could take away your ability to think of anything other than pleasing him, all with nothing but one of his mischievous smiles.

As if drawn to him by a magical force, you stood up, coming his way as you anxiously ran your hands down the front of your skirt to press out the invisible wrinkles.

As soon as you were within arm’s reach, Five reeled you in fast, knocking you off balance, making you land on top of his thighs, straddling him, face to face. The second you were touching him, he nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling deeply.

“I love when you wear these girly little skirts, and the way you smell,” he whispered as you delighted in the sensation of his lips pressing against your skin, and your bare thighs resting against the softness of his wool dress pants.

Springs, squeaking from two very naughty twins jumping on their beds down the hall, accompanied by the sound of glass smashing, and Diego and Lila simultaneously swearing, your head swung that way.

“Sounds like they might be busy awhile,” Five chuckled as he continued placing slow kisses in a carefully charted line along your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you tilted your head to the side, giving him more skin to work with as your hands ran up his arms, your fingers digging into his shoulders, shaking him a little. Your mouth dropped open. “We really shouldn’t- “

“Shooooosh.” Five laughed, cutting you off as his hand slid up your thigh, moving under your skirt. When his mouth reached your collar bone, he started sucking, making the blood rise to the surface of your skin.

Forgetting any argument you had about why this wasn’t a good idea, a soft moan fell from your lips. The feel of Five’s semi hard cock under you had you craving more friction between your legs, so you began to rock your body against him. The movement got Five growling so cutely in response, but it was the painful points of his teeth biting into you where your neck met your shoulder that made your entire body go completely still.

His firm hand moved further up your leg, blazing a predatory trail of warning along the creamy span of your flesh. Then one of his fingers glided along your underwear, playing along the slightly damped slit splitting the mounds of your arousal.

“So wet for me already, sweetheart. You are too easy,” he mocked, his lips spreading in a wicked smile against your neck.

With that shit, you no longer cared that Five’s brother’s family, all seven of them when you included Lila’s parents, were on the other side of the house. All you could think about was that unbelievably sexy jerk who was laughing at you for wanting to jump his bones.

Five wasn’t wrong. You never could get enough of him. You’d been dating for months, but almost as soon as you’d taken your flirtations past antagonizing each other daily while in passing, and into the more physical joys of getting to know each other, as soon as his hands were on you, a desperation like you’d never experienced before felt like it was going to consume you if you didn’t have him.

“Please, Five,” you moaned.

Giving in, Five’s fingers shifted the thin swath of material covering you to the side, so he could slide his finger up and down your soaking folds. Your breaths soon turned to pants as his thumb found your clit, circling the spot over and over.

Your forehead limply fell to Five’s shoulder. His erection was so hard underneath you, and as pathetic as it was, you were about to beg for him to take you, right there, hard and fast, on someone else’s couch, when you could be walked in on at any second.

To your relief, he seemed to be thinking what you were thinking because his thumb moved away, and just as fast, he was gripping your embarrassingly wet underwear.

“These need to go,” he gently whispered in your ear, just as he tore the small piece of lace from your body.

Your startled yelp was quickly followed by the sound of Five unzipping his trousers and your shocked state was made no better when his cock sprang free.

Knowing Five could blink you both out of there if you couldn’t finish fast enough, you eagerly attempted to rise to mount him, but he stopped you, gripping your hips, so he could forcefully turn you, so you were sitting on his lap, facing away from him. Your sudden change in position momentarily threw you off balance, but as soon as his hands gripped the outside of your thighs and his lips found your neck again, it grounded you to him.

The tips of Five’s fingers dug into your backside, his palms against your thighs as he urged your hips to move. He’d purposefully wedged his cock between your legs from underneath, and the sight of it being long enough to protrude out from between your thighs, making a little tent in the fan of your skirt, had you cursing under your breath.

Reaching around, Five flipped his hand under the frill of your skirt, and started in again, pleasuring you, only this time by pressing the warm tip of his cock against your clit.

From there, you fell into a smooth rhythm, of you doing the moving, and him letting you use him to get off.

You knew this couldn’t go on. You could hear your hosts tell their kids that this was it; we aren’t coming back in here even if Godzilla comes out of your closet!

You were dying to get Five as excited as you, to suck his dick, to have him fuck you properly, anything to have him inside you, but to your dismay, he didn’t seem to want that.

With what he’d been through with being trapped and alone, and being used and abused, over and over, normally all it took was the go ahead from you, and that chocolate haired menace would be slamming his dick inside you, grinning ear to ear, looking every bit the horny young man he was, while also proving he was the old deprived soul he claimed to be.

Five was always a paradox of extremes, but when he was with you in bed, he was like a man possessed, hell bent on making up for lost time. That was what you were used to. Not this…this poorly timed patience.

As soon as you started shifting your body up and down with any real spunk, Five’s hands flew to your hips, forcing you to slow your grinding.

“And they say I’m the one who has no impulse control,” he breathed in your ear, which earned him a frustrated groan. His chuckled laugh rumbled along your back, but again, he gave in, seemingly listening to your silent plea.

Removing his hand between your legs, Five readjusted your position, leaning back into the couch. He gripped your hips and lifted you, so you were hovering over him. After lining you up to his length, he slowly guided your body down.

He let out the sexiest sounding hiss of satisfaction as his slicked length impaled you.

You mewed and thrashed as the thick head of his cock came to a stop when your ass pressed back down in his lap. You couldn’t stay still. “Holy ff-ah-ck, Five!” you quietly stuttered as you moved up a little, only to fall back down when your legs went weak, causing the fullness of his cock to overwhelm you all over again.

Adjusting himself so the angle of his dick wasn’t quite as jarring had you both panting breaths of relief, but your quiet exclamations were still coming out much more panicked sounding than his.

Again, when you tried to move, Five wouldn’t let you, going so far as to wrap his arms around your waist, causing you to have to lean back against him, fully flush.

“Don’t move,” he warned.

You felt helpless, like you were nothing more than an object put there for Five to use as he pleased, and as messed up as that was, that idea and reality of it happening was making you so aroused it hurt.

At the new sounds of Diego and Lila talking in the kitchen, only a room away, and the popping of popcorn, you were so wound up, just waiting for Five to take you over the edge, and end this, that your body started to tremble. You started rolling your hips, but Five’s hands gripped you tighter, insistently keeping you still.

“We tired the little beasts out this time! We’ll be right out,” Diego’s annoyed voice floated from the kitchen.

To that, you tried to get up, but Five held you tight with one arm, the other reaching for the throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch, covering you both like he planned on staying right there, and he confirmed as much when he said, “I think it’s time I give you a lesson in delayed gratification.”

When he shifted to better kiss your cheek, his cock buried snugly, ended up shifting too, and that didn’t help delay anything you were feeling. You let out a little whine from that reminder of how good it felt having Five moving inside you.

Five adjusted your thighs, spreading you wide, and getting even more aggravated, and knowing he wasn’t going to let up on this, you rapidly started bouncing up and down, your breathy moans of exertion bitten back by your teeth studding into your lower lip.

Behind you, Five’s body tensed each time you tried to fuck yourself down on his cock. Thinking you could get him to see the light, you reached back, running your fingers through his hair in way that usually made him turn into a mindless puddle of goo, but to that, he only started in again, peppering kisses to the nap of your neck, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Letting you do all the work, only not very successfully with the way he had you detained, he moved his hold to your breasts, groping them through your shirt.

“What are you doing!” you huffed at him as you wriggled. He was still refusing to thrust himself up into you, even though you were wildly kicking your heels into his shins like he was a racehorse you were trying to get moving for the win at the finish line.

“I’m enjoying you to the fullest, but I promise I’ll make it worth it if you’re a good girl and you warm my cock until I say you can please me differently,” he calmly explained while dragging the tip of his nose along your hairline.

The feeling of his fingers skimming under your skirt left you burning up in confusion as your skin tickled with the prickle of goosebumps. You could feel the coil inside of you tightening with every second that this denial went on.

Five always felt so fucking amazing, and the things he did to you were, just wow…but holy hell! All he needed to do was…

“Fuck me, Five! Please!” you begged, but he didn’t move, and not being allowed to do more than torment yourself, you defeatedly stopped fighting and flopped back against him.

Of course, that was when he started rocking his hips needily, pounding up into you, doing it hard enough to make the legs of the couch cry out in protest.

Your body strained as waves of arousal washed through you, making it feel like the temperature in the room had just increased by a zillion degrees. Your muscles squeezed around his shaft, trying to make him cum, so you could at least get the satisfaction of milking him dry before they came back.

Not having it, stopping completely, Five said your name in a very strained voice, followed by a hot puff of air blowing past your ear. “I told you to behave, and be my pretty little cockwarmer, and now look what you made me do, you willful little brat.” Five grunted so annoyingly adorably as he proceeded to rock shallow thrusts of his cock into you while you squirmed in his lap.

You were so turned on now as he attempted to punish you in your favorite way, your cries of pleasure rose with each tug and push of his dick. “Daddy, I am sorry. I need it! I need you,” you whimpered.

You gasped as the heels of Five’s shiny black shoes dug into the floor and his dick bottomed out, making it feel like he’d just stabbed you in the stomach.

Pushing his hands into your abdomen, feeling his own cock inside you, tearing you apart, Five’s hips stilled again, making you take it. You felt a pulse of excitement quiver up his length as aching pain filled you, and the breath you’d been holding came out in a flood of fucks.

Five opened his mouth, his warm breath hitting your ear as he started to say something, but he was interrupted by the loud beep of the microwave, and Lila talking about him. “That demented little pervert better not be trying to screw that poor girl on our couch.”

That snapped you out of your daze and both your backs stiffened. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted your way as Diego’s shadow began moving down the hall in your direction.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you moved to get off Five before they caught you, but to your horror, his fingers tightened on your rib cage, digging in so hard that you couldn’t help it when you started laughing uncontrollably.

“Stay put,” he ordered as he attacked you.

You whipped your head around, your eyes wild. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” he said, totally straight faced, then he gingerly kissed your shoulder, and removed his hands from under your clothes, just as Diego came around the corner with Lila right behind him.

It was impossible to ignore that Five’s length was still rock hard inside of you. You were frozen like a deer trapped in the headlights, but that asshole just sat there and nonchalantly plucked at the cuff of his shirt sleeve, glancing at his watch, like he was irritated they had taken so long.

You were torn between getting up and putting as much distance between you and him as possible, or proving that he wasn’t the only bat shit crazy one, by staying there to finish what he’d started and making it to where you both were never asked to come over for family night again.

“Sorry. Like I said, kids are-” Diego started, then he paused, eying the blanket wrapped around your laps. He raised his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Well, well, well… You guys look cozy.”

Smiling innocently, Five pulled the blanket around you a little, making it cover a little more of your legs, but it still wasn’t long enough to hide that you were basically sitting not just between his legs, but on his lap.

Giving Five the stink eye, Lila smiled just as fake as him, then sat down in her recliner. “Here,” she said, reaching back, offering you the larger afghan in her hand.

She was way too far away for you to reach it, and not at all thinking, you started to rise, but at the feel of Five’s cock slipping out of you, you quickly sat back down. Your eyes felt like they may have rolled back in your head, and your neck turned a million shades pinker from the feel of it. Also paying for that mistake, you heard and felt Five let out a sharp intake of breath.

“What’s the problem?” Lila asked, scowling at him.

“Just throw it over,” Five angrily grumbled at her, and your stomach quivered from the deep tenor of his voice, and your walls reactively clenched around him, trying to prolong the feeling.

Clearly aware something was up, coming over, taking the blanket, before either you, or Five, did something stupid, Diego kindly handed you the blanket and then Five the bowl of popcorn he’d bought for you to share.

“You think you two kids can be good and watch the rest of this movie?” Diego questioned, “Or do you want to call it a night?”

“We’re good. Start it back up,” Five cooly replied, and again, just the feel of his body inside yours as he spoke was making it hard for you to resist moving your hips. How he could act so relaxed was beyond you. You felt like you were going to burst at the seams, and when he leaned forward to set the bowl on the coffee table you almost came right then and there.

What the hell was he doing!!!!!!!

As the TV screen came to life, there was no way your mind could go back to the romantic comedy that was playing, not with Five moving himself, and you down, laying so your heads were resting on one of the end pillows. His warm, heavy cock slipped in and out from the motion, giving you the slightest friction from the adjustment, but just as fast, with one deliberate thrust, burying himself full deep again, he had you. “Oh! Shoooo.....ooot,” you accidentally cried out, quickly acting like you had your hair tangled under him in a way that hurt.

Pretending like he was unaware of what he'd done, Five kicked his shoes off, and his feet joined yours at the other end of the couch.

“Isn’t this nice?” he whispered in your ear, and again, Lila glanced your way, but this time, you swore you saw her trying to hold in a smile.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing. The joy in Five’s voice proved he was thrilled, and that he knew just what he was doing to you, which was driving you insane.

Laying there, mostly hidden under the blankets, Five moved his arm that was draped over your body, his fingers soothingly moving along your side, then your stomach, up and down, over and over.

It felt amazing. This was so sneaky and dirty, but still, you’d never felt anything even remotely like this. All you think about was him. All you could feel was him.

As Five slowly caressed your body, every so often your hips would reactively start moving. You pushed your butt against him, trying to increase the sensation, and just that tiniest movement would make you want to cry because it felt so good.

Planting his feet on the arm rest, doing you even more dirty, Five slowly began to work his hips, fucking his cock into you, so shallow and so agonizing slow. Letting go, you shut your eyes, your pinched breaths falling into cadence with his.

Creeping his hand between your legs, Five was greeted with the fresh wash of wetness of his making. “I could hold you like this forever,” he whispered with his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

His loving words and the feeling of what he was doing made it feel like you were being lit on fire. You were sure that you were glowing with Five’s ethereal aura of blue light, and he was about to blink you out of there, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, gripping your hips to prevent you from grinding back against him, he stopped rutting himself against you.

“Perfect little cockwarmer,” he breathed, so quietly, only you could hear it.

As he worked a single finger, back and forth across your clit, the only sign something was going on over on the couch was the soft, wet sound of movement, but it was too quiet for Diego or Lila to hear it. That was until Five hooked his finger, dragging it up and down even faster. Holding the blanket away from you, so they couldn’t see the quick thrusts of his wrist, the quietest whimper crept from your lips.

Diego looked your way for a second, but Five had already stopped moving his hand, so his brother looked away again, and turned up the volume on the TV. When Five pulled his hand back out from under the blankets, your shamefully slicked thighs helplessly clamped together in protest, then he brought his finger to your mouth, pulling at your bottom lip.

“Open,” he quietly demanded, peering down at you with a glint of fondness in his darkened eyes.

Not wanting him to draw more attention to the fact that you weren’t just sprawled out, spooning on their couch like you appeared to be, you did as he asked, and Five slid himself inside your mouth, the weight of his finger firmly pressing down on your tongue.

“Suck,” he breathed.

Obeying him again, your lips closed, and you were met with the taste of your own lust.

Debasing you as he discretely fucked your mouth with his pussy-soaked finger, Five’s cock twitched with excitement. He was so hard, that he was throbbing. You knew that he had to be out of his mind by then, but then just like that, he pulled his hand away from your mouth and he reached for the bowl of popcorn, instead.

You were going to die.

Yup. This was it. You were dead. Klaus was going to end up being your only company.

On purpose or not, you weren’t sure, bringing a handful back, Five dropped a piece of the puffed corn, and it fell on the couch cushion right next to your face. Going all in with Five in this madness, you shuffled our hand out from under the blankets and popped it in your mouth, chewing angrily.

“I hate you,” you murmured, and Five kissed your temple in reply, then he continued to crunch on his salty treat.

At this point, it had been over a half hour with his cock inside you, stretching your walls, but hardly moving. You were so beside yourself, and you weren’t sure which you wanted to do more, kiss him silly, or slap him sillier. Both seemed like viable options, and knowing Five, he’d enjoy it way too much one way or another.

By the time the movie ended, Five had been quiet for the last thirty minutes, and so had you. You could feel his breathing, deep and slow, as if he was sleeping. When you’d looked back at him, even before the credits had rolled, his eyes were closed, his thick lashes laying in stark contrast to his flawlessly pale cheeks.

He was so beautiful.

Wanting to be with him, even in sleep, you closed your eyes too.

“Should I wake him up so he can get her home?” Diego whispered a few minutes later.

Lila’s reply was just as quiet. “No. Let him have this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that evil little ghoul look so peaceful.”

The sounds of Diego and Lila turning the movie off, and the click of the lights going out, were followed by their feet, treading down the hall towards their bedroom.

You were sure that at some point during all that, you’d feel Five’s dick softening, but you hadn’t. You were also sure that he was out, sleeping just like they thought he was. Then, suddenly, the floor felt like it was dropping out from under you. You were floating through space, crashing through time and space, then thrown back into reality, met with the chill of cold blankets under your back.

Clinging to Five, even though his weight was holding you down, head spinning in a way that wasn't enough to make you sick, but was still plenty alarming, you shivered from head to toe.

Looking around, you realized you were back in Five’s apartment.

“Don’t worry, that feeling will go away in a minute,” he apologized. “You did so good, sweetheart. Now it’s time for your reward.” He pulled out of you, leaving your body bucking, and your cunt spasming from the loss of him filling your hole.

One second, illuminated by nothing other than the dim light filtering in through his bedroom blinds, Five was kneeling between your legs, tearing off his shirt, throwing his tie off in the darkness, and the next, you were blinded by a flash of light and he was back, totally naked, having ditched his pants and socks.

Bearing down on you with his dick bobbing against you, Five frantically worked your shirt up over your head. Once exposed, his lips came crashing down against yours.

“Five, please,” you whimpered as his tongue pushed inside your mouth. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Moving his kisses down your neck, then to your chest, giving your nipples each a few hot licks, Five braced himself on his forearms, then mounted your clit with his mouth, violently and relentlessly sucking you off.

The sloppy sound of him eating you out, and the heat of his breathy growls against your clit, sent jolts of electricity through you. Gripping his messy hair, you forced his face down harder, and Five took it like you knew he would, lapping at you, his tongue and teeth and his whole face fucking you delirious.

He was so fucking good at this, and you were so swollen from hours of him toying with you that all it took was less than a minute and your thighs were quivering around his youthfully smooth cheeks.

“Yes, Five, yeeeesssss!” you wailed as you came, seeing stars as your body writhed and twisted in his sheets and your walls tightened over and over, getting nothing but the empty ghost of him that had been there before. “Five…” you cried, tears streaming from your eyes as you looked down at the dark-haired boy who was giving you a misty-eyed look of his own that was so loving and broken it only made you want him more than you already did.

Barely a moment passed, and you were flipped over, blinked around in the other direction, and Five was entering you, fucking you with a messy pace, so hard and angrily as he slapped your ass, over and over, not hard, but hard enough. “That’s it, baby,” he growled in your ear as he draped himself over your back, using your arm to pull you up from the mattress. “You’re warming daddy’s cock so well.”

At that point, you could only repeat the words please and fuck like a broken record playing a background song of a porno. When Five finally let you drop back down to the mattress and his tightened balls started slapping into your body even harder from the momentum of him fucking you, your hands immediately balled into fists, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were clinging to the bedsheets.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he praised, “Daddy is going to fill you like the perfect little cock warmer you are.”

Again, you were thrown into space, your entire body feeling like it was being ripped apart, then slammed back together in a blast of blinding light that left tingles zipping up and down your spine and your eyes darting around, trying to understand what had happened.

Slamming you back down on his mattress as you both landed, falling from his portal, but with your body flipped the other way again, Five moved his hand under your thighs, pulling you to him. Once positioned, he gripped himself, giving his entire length a few long strokes.

“All I have ever wanted was this,” he whispered as he slid inside you, letting out a hissed, fuck as his jaw dropped open.

You could feel nothing but every slow thrust of him pushing deep inside you. You could hear nothing but the sound of your heart beating in your ears and the contented moans coming from his gently parted lips.

Rocking his hips harder and faster, Five jerked his head back, trying to whip his hair from his eyes. Looking utterly shattered, completely focused on you, his eyes narrowed with a darkness that you feared would always haunt him, but you weren’t scared of it, or him.

Lifting you from the bed, thwacking his body into yours, he let the bulbous tip of his cock fuck into you just right, before he’d fuck you balls deep again, making you cry out his name even louder.

With the pattern he’d was laying into you, your second orgasm hit you fast and hard, turning your entire body into a warm pool of nothing, and Five followed you right after, his breathy groans and grunts sweet and innocent as he started to fill you.

You purred into his pillow as you felt the hot trickle of his fresh cum running out of you as he moved his hips, shifting back and forth, trying to coax more out of his orgasm and yours by not stopping even though he was spent.

This was your favorite part about sex with Five, him never giving in, of him falling down on you after you fucked, his breathy declarations of love softly caressing your senses as he kissed you sloppily, any where his lips could reach as he rut out his high.

Once the room was no longer filled with the sounds of you both blissfully losing yourself in the other, and the wet slow slap of skin-on-skin came to a stop. Five could no longer pump his softening cock inside you, but still, proudly knowing that he’d drawn out this moment he’d created to the absolute fullest, he finally pulled out, admiring his hot seed as it drizzled out of you until he reached for his shirt, carefully and gently whipping you down.

Reaching for him, Five was silent as he lay himself behind you with his sweat covered chest pressed to your back.

There was no need for words to say what doing this with you meant to him. You knew.

Five may seem all self-assured most of the time, but somewhere inside him there would always be that lost boy who desperately craved the warm feeling of human touch and the feeling of what it meant to be loved that he’d been denied for so long. Your heart felt so full. Out of everyone it could have been, he’d chosen you to finally have this with.

There was no one else like Five Hargreeves, and he was yours, and you were his, and you kissed the top of the hand that he had clinging to yours, for good measure, just in case he needed more proof of your devotion.

The quiet of the room remained, and you were lost in sleepy thoughts of happy things when suddenly your eyes popped open.

“Five? Where are my underwear?”

His adorable titter of boyish laughter shook you, then the cool feeling of his comforter fell over your bodies, and he threw a leg over yours, ensuring you couldn’t get away.

“Nothing says I am the dirty old pervert Lila said I was than the sight of your torn up panties laying on their couch in the morning. I just thought while I was taking full ownership of your heart, and your sweet pussy with my magical dick, I’d own up to that title too.”

“Five!”

Still chuckling, he snuggled himself into you, his smile plastered to the back of your neck as he breathed you in.

Within minutes of you stroking your hand along his arm that was still holding you tight, Five’s body relaxed into your touch.

He did own your heart and he knew it.

With your eyes drooping, and a soft sigh, you both slipped away-together, warm, and safe and loved.

~~~~~Repost an hour after original post because it wasn't showing up in any of the tags. 😉 Hope you find it anon.

Thanks again anon for reading my stuff and the kind words of support. Let me know if I did okay. ❤️

Link to my tag and my other Tumblr story and art posts

Link to my Master List

Link to visit me direct on AO3

#five x you #number five #five hargreeves #number five smut #number five fanfic #number 5 #number five x reader #number five imagine #number five x you #five x reader #number five fanfiction #anon request #smutty smut smut #number five reader insert #number five hargreeves #dominance and submission #cocky Five #kaybreezy-on-a03 #soft number five

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super-who-locked-me-in-here · 10 months ago

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I've been seeing some articles online about how now would be the perfect time to revive NBC Hannibal because Bryan apparently has ideas and Mads wants to finish the story and also we're coming up on the 10th anniversary of The Wrath of the Lamb in 2025, but how, because of the time between seasons, they'd most likely have to do a time skip in the show.

And I just have to say that I love that idea and I think that's how season 4 could thrive if it happened. Because the fandom has had nearly 9 years to think about and create their own post-fall headcanons, and there are bound to be people who maybe made art and fics and are in love with their post-fall idea and the show wouldn't turn out the way they wrote it in their fic or drew in their art and they'll be upset.

But what about 5-10 years after the fall? I don't know about y'all but I don't see a lot of fan works about that. And I think it'd be interesting to see what the NBC Hannibal team would do with a Will and Hannibal who are fully realized as murder partners, if not murder husbands.

If I could throw out an idea for what I think would be a funny way to show us Hannibal and Will in a timeskip season 4:

~~~~~

We're getting a moving view through their house in Cuba. It's dark outside and dark in the house, too. We can hear the sounds of Will and Hannibal somewhere else in the house, grunting and breathing heavily.

Will pants out, "Move faster."

"Patience Will. I'm not as young as I used to be."

A laugh escapes Will and he grunts again, "You didn't seem to have much trouble thirty minutes ago."

"That was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Perhaps if you're so spry then you don't need my assistance finishing this." Hannibal remarks.

There's a loud thud. "Hannibal!" Will accuses, although he sounds more annoyed than angry.

The camera finally pans to a hallway in the house where we see Will carrying a dead man by his underarms and his lower half is dropped unceremoniously at Hannibal's feet.

Will sighs and looks at Hannibal. "Will you help me with the cuts? Please."

The corners of Hannibal's lips turn up. He's never been able to deny Will when he uses that word. He bends down with another quiet grunt and picks up the corpse by its feet, and the two of them move into a room at the end of the hallway and shut the door.

~~~~~

#listen one of my favorite things in hannigram fics is when they talk about their 'extracurriculars'#and it's unclear whether they're talking about murder or sex #i think that's so funny #hannibal #hannibal season 4 #hannigram #post fall hannigram #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter #will graham

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toomuchracket · 9 months ago

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if you're too shy (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

in which the other music journalist at the magazine you work at is the cutest weird boy you've ever met. enjoy <3

in hindsight, coming back from a two-week holiday the same day the magazine goes to print was a misguided idea.

your editor-in-chief tells you as much when you enter the office, pulling you into a half hug. “don't get me wrong, it's lovely to see you,” she says, scraping her hair back into a bun and securing it with a pencil. “but you'll be doing nothing all day, i'm afraid. maybe some last minute proofing, but i think everyone in nightlife and reviews has been alright. double-check with marianne.”

you do just that, weaving your way through people running copy and coffee between departments until you reach your own. it's mercifully quiet compared to everywhere else, the ten or so people dotted at desks around the sunlit room looking at their laptops and wearing headphones; you actually have to flick marianne on the back of the head to get her to notice you. “oi.”

“who the- oh, hi!” marianne's face softens when she sees it's you, and she stands to pull you into one of her infamously bone-crushing hugs before pulling back to get a good look. “well, you look annoyingly well-rested. but i suppose a fortnight in a spanish villa will do that to you. bitch.”

“i had a great time, thanks for asking,” you grin. “how’s everything been with you? stressful, without your star reporter?”

“well, for starters, you've been succeeded for that title.”

you frown only half-jokingly, scanning the room to try and guess which of your colleagues has replaced you as marianne's unofficial favourite. “who the fuck…?”

“language,” she lightly slaps your arm, in spite of the fact she was just about to say the same thing, then smiles suspiciously. “and i’m talking about our newest recruit.”

the brewing annoyance in your stomach dissipates immediately, replaced by a flock of tiny butterflies. “oh,” you try to keep your smile to a minimum. “that's okay. i like him.”

marianne sees right through you, though. she rolls her eyes. “oh, you would.”

“what?”

she sighs, motioning for you to lower your voice and modifying her own to a whisper. “he’s a curly-haired pretty-eyed vaguely scrawny white boy. you'd like him even if he didn't think the sun shone out of your arse.”

“marianne!” you hiss. “he does not!”

“don’t act all indignant, he has literally looked over at you once every thirty seconds since you walked in - and don't look, idiot, you'll freak him out. we need him on the ball, today of all days,” she rubs her eyes. “but yes, he’s very good at his job. i like him, even if i've no idea what in the world he goes off on his tangents about. great writer.”

“yeah, he is,” you risk a glance towards him, but all you can see is the back of his laptop - covered in stickers for things you can only name half of - and dark curls peeking out from the side of his headphones. “i like the references. different perspective from me, innit? that's why we hired him, after all.”

“who's we? you were too pissed off that i was hiring another music critic to agree to be part of the interviewing panel.”

you'd love to disagree, but you really were pissed when marianne and the other editors told you they were expanding the nightlife section. it didn't matter that it was in response to an increase in funding and readership, with the magazine switching to a print format as well as the online edition you'd contributed to since its creation - your fierce independence and pride meant you didn't take the news well, made you think it was an issue with your competence and writing ability that meant you'd be getting a new colleague. but once you were reassured that you'd still get to keep the Big Gigs and restaurant reviews to yourself, you were slightly more agreeable to the idea.

and once you actually met the new guy, stumbling over both his words and his own feet as he introduced himself, you couldn't quite remember why you'd been opposed in the first place.

“well,” you say, snapping back into reality. “thank goodness i'm over it now.”

“because you want to get under him?”

“no!” you stand indignantly, and then grin. “on top, maybe.”

“good grief,” your boss shakes her head. “don't you go bringing it up to him - excuse the pun - before this edition goes to the printers,” she points at you as you move to walk away. “or talking to him at all until then, actually, you hear me? i love you, but you're a distraction to him, and he's my best journo.”

“he's not, but alright,” you pat her head as you walk back towards the door. “i'll be in the staff room if you need me. and i won't talk to anyone, mum, i promise.”

“i'm only five years older than you!”

“whatever you say!” you reply in a singsongy voice, giggling to yourself as you wander towards the sunny kitchen. the little radio on the windowsill is on, as it always is, and you nod along to the cure while you wait for the kettle to boil. once you've made a cuppa (and grabbed a slack handful of the chocolate digestives marianne always keeps the cupboard stocked with), you settle at the table with your laptop, typing out ideas for your next feature and doing your best not to think about the boy down the corridor you've been instructed not to talk to for the time being. for the most part, you succeed.

that is, until he walks into the staff room two hours later.

you frantically wipe your face of biscuit crumbs as he does, smiling as sweetly as you can for someone with no idea if she has chocolate on her teeth or not. “hi, matty. how are you?”

“oh, hi! i'm, uh, i'm alright,” matty smiles widely enough that his verbal emotional downplaying is blatant - still, he's so cute, beaming at you like that with his little sweater paws. he’s always in a jumper or cardigan or hoodie of some kind, and on more than one occasion in the three months you've known him, you've absolutely thought about literally cosying up into him instead of doing any work. “how was spain? and the wedding - it was a family wedding you were going to, yeah?”

“that's right,” it’s not a big deal, but you glow at the fact he remembered. or maybe it's the soft intent he looks at you with. “it was lovely, yeah. although - wait, have we gone to print?” you ask, suddenly recalling marianne's instructions. “i'm not keeping you from work?”

matty's curls bounce as he shakes his head, light hitting off the metal hoop in his earlobe (that you're only mildly obsessed with). “we've gone. i'm just in here to get my lunch,” he pulls a tupperware from the fridge, cheeks rosy as he waves it. “made some soup last night.”

he makes his own soup. the thought is so endearing that it takes everything in you not to sigh; you settle for a smile. “carrot and coriander?”

“you can tell from one glance?”

you shrug. “s'my favourite.”

“really?” matty's face seems to light up. “mine too,” he busies himself with putting the tupperware in the microwave, taking his time pressing buttons and turning dials before looking bashfully at you. “so, you had a nice time at the wedding, then?”

“i did, thank you. do you, um,” you start, suddenly shy. “d'you want to see some photos from it, while you're waiting for the soup to heat up?”

he nods back just as shyly, sitting quite awkwardly on the seat next to yours; while you open your photos app, matty twists a stray curl around his finger, and the movement seems to send your nerves into vibration as well as the molecules in the air. with a series of shallow breaths, you locate the folder of the wedding pictures and set your phone on the table. “feel free to flick through them, if you like.”

“thank you,” matty sits forward, carefully swiping through the album. you lean on your elbow, doing your best not to beam adoringly at the way he looks intently at each photo before moving to the next. “the venue is really beautiful.”

“yeah, it was stunning.”

the next picture is one of you in your bridesmaid dress, taken by your sister the morning of the wedding. you watch, slightly heartsick, as matty's mouth falls open as he looks at you; the feeling worsens when he tentatively does the same thing in real life, those pretty eyes of his sparkling as he smiles softly. “so are you. really. like,” he looks down at the photo again, shaking his head slightly before looking back up at you. “that colour is beautiful on you. honest. you look incredible.”

“thank you,” the words come out in a whisper, and the two of you silently smile at each other for a moment until you clear your throat. “um, there are more of the official pics on my instagram, let me… actually, do you have my private account?”

“oh, no,” matty shakes his head again - god, you love the way his hair moves. “just the one for your writing.”

“well,” you tap on the app with an almost-imperceptibly shaky finger. “that's the username there, if you'd like to follow. no pressure, of course. don’t wanna fuck up your algorithms or anything.”

your nervous chuckle at the end of the sentence turns to a giggle when you see matty's face as you share your username; it lights up so much that you'd be forgiven for thinking he'd just won the lottery. he pulls his own phone out and taps away at it. “you don't have to follow me back, by the way,” his cheeks flush a deep red, a beautiful colour. “m'not posting anything interesting.”

doubtful. he might be one of the most interesting people you've ever met, all talent and sweetness and a wealth of cultural understanding wrapped up in a sweater and a pretty face. “no, i'd like to.”

“alright. thank you,” matty's cheeks seem to get even redder as he watches you hit follow back, face twitching as though he’s trying to stop himself smiling too big. when the microwave dings, he all but skips over to it, almost tripping over the leg of his chair in a sweetly awkward way; he swears under his breath when he lifts the steaming container out, turning back sheepishly to look at you. “sorry.”

“don't worry,” you grin at him, feeling slightly bold. “i still think you're sweet when you swear.”

he giggles, and the noise makes your heart leap; in addition to being one of the most interesting people you think you've ever met, matty healy is without doubt the cutest. watching his lips pout in concentration as he stirs the soup and checks the temperature, you briefly imagine what they would feel like against your own, how he would be if the two of you were to kiss. just as giggly and endearingly awkward as he usually is, you think - eager to please, lips and tongue a little sloppy and unsure but enthusiastic enough for you not to mind, slightly unsure of where to put his hands so as to not make you uncomfortable… the scene is as clear as day in your head, and you really, really want to recreate it. you'd devour him right now if you could, the sweetheart.

and then, matty reaches up to get a bowl from the shelf, the hem of his shirt goes with him, and your want to devour him suddenly takes on a less pg-rated meaning than it did a second ago.

he has a fucking hip tattoo.

you’re pretty sure it's only a sliver of the full design you can actually see, but the hints of red and blue and black ink and the glimpse of his happy trail are enough to fuck you up completely. as you register what you're seeing - what you're discovering about the seemingly buttoned-up, shy, unassuming-to-everyone-but-you matty - your breath catches in your throat, forcing you to cough quite obviously on the mouthful of lukewarm tea you'd just taken. one cough turns into another, and you clap a hand over your mouth to make your tattoo reaction attack the least obvious it can be.

still, the ever-perceptive man across the kitchen notices, running over to crouch in front of you with concern filling those beautiful eyes of his. “you alright, darling?”

darling?! no, you most certainly aren't alright.

but you can't tell matty that, so you stick to gesturing to let him know you'll reply once you've managed to swallow your tea. “i am, yeah, thanks. tea just, y'know, went down the wrong way.”

matty tilts his head. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, slightly embarrassed. “really. thank you, though.”

“of course,” he smiles in return, knee brushing lightly against your leg as he steadies himself; he looks down, eyes widening as he registers how close the two of you are, and quickly stands. “i'd better, y'know, get my lunch.”

you nod, despite the strange loneliness settling into your bones at the lack of him next to you. “i can head back to the office, if you want peace?”

“no, no, please stay!” matty all but gasps, turning to look at you like a deer caught in headlights - he clears his throat, blinking a few times before speaking again. “please don't feel the need to leave on my account, i mean. or feel obliged to talk, really - i was just going to read.”

“you're sure i won't be a bother to you?”

matty smiles warmly, shaking his head. “that'll never happen.”

christ.

“okay,” you whisper, winking at him - and savouring the little giggle that bubbles out of him when you do - before turning back to your laptop.

matty settles at the table a minute or so later, pulling a paperback from his back pocket and holding it open quite attractively with one hand. you peek over the rim of your laptop at him every so often, never for more than a couple of seconds at a time; partially to avoid the mortification of him catching you, but mostly because if you look at him any longer you know your mind will wander back to that fucking hip tattoo of his, and what it might look like completely visible to you, and what it might feel like under your lips, and what noises matty might make if you slowly dragged your tongue all over it before moving to the side to lick a wavy line up the length of his-

enough. he's literally right there.

the room feels hot, all of a sudden, your cheeks flushing and throat drying to match. on only slightly shaky legs, you pick up your waterbottle and head to the water fountain, crouching as best you can to fill it. even though he stays silent, you can feel matty’s eyes on you from across the room, but it doesn't bother you or freak you out in the way that other men ogling you at a water fountain would - it's quite obvious that matty has some sort of more-than-platonic affection for you, but his gaze has always been one of appreciation and awe when it comes to you, not the predatory one you've come to expect from men. and yet, his is the only male gaze that makes you feel slightly nervous, unused to being looked at with such reverence and tenderness by an attractive boy; in complete contrast, though, it also makes you lower your guard, pull down the bricks from the wall you've built around your heart, and allow yourself to actually feel something for matty, for once. something good, honest, promising.

matty looks up from his book as you sit down, smiling pleasantly. he opens his mouth as if to talk, and then closes it immediately, shaking his head slightly.

this intrigues you. “you okay, matty?”

“hmm? oh, yeah, i was just thinking,” his cheeks go a shade of pink you would buy in blush form if you could find it. “when you were first talking about the wedding… you said although, and then we got off-topic slightly. what, um, what were you going to say, if you don't mind me asking?”

“oh, right,” you wrack your brain, doing your best to not get distracted by how cute you find his perception. “i think i was going to say something about how, as good as it all was, there's nothing like a family wedding to remind you of how single you are.”

his jaw falls open. “you… you don't have a boyfriend? wait, sorry,” he blinks. “or a partner?”

you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip to stop yourself smiling. “no boyfriend, no. and thus, constantly advised by a never-ending flock of aunts that i should get one so i could get married.”

“christ,” matty winces. “yeah, my cousin's getting married in a couple of months - not looking forward to everyone asking me when i'm going to meet a nice girl and settle down, as if i can answer.”

no girlfriend. how interesting. “you're single? really?”

he rolls his eyes, still smiling at you. “be serious. course i am.”

“i am being serious! that surprises me,” you lean on one elbow, tilting your head to look at him. “you're lovely, matty.”

matty’s eyes widen, and he blinks adorably a few times before he smiles shyly again. “thank you. i think the same about you.”

“you do?”

he simply nods, total sincerity in those pretty eyes.

you feel your cheeks warm, but you make no effort to hide it. “thank you.”

matty shrugs. “just telling the truth, darling,” he looks panicked when he realises what he's said. “sorry for calling you that, twice, it just-”

“i like it, matty, it's alright,” you say reassuringly. “and i like-”

“oh, thank god you're both here,” marianne bursts into the room, carrying her laptop; you frown petulantly at her for ruining your moment, but shuffle your chair round closer to matty's so she can sit at the table too. “something weird’s happening.”

matty squints. “what d'you mean by weird?”

marianne pushes her laptop towards you both. “there's overlap in your planned reviews - the band you're going to see at the end of next week, matthew, have just been announced as the opener for the next Big Gig. i need to know how we want to go about this.”

“oh,” he looks at you. “i don't mind if you want to just review them as part of yours.”

you're shaking your head vehemently before he even finishes talking. “no, that's not fair,” you tap your lips with your index finger the way you always do when you concentrate, trying to ignore the glow within your body when you see matty looking at them from the corner of your eye; inspiration strikes, and you turn to marianne. “matty could come with me, couldn't he? if he reviews their headline gig, and then he does a follow-up review of their opening set in the Big Gig feature - we could just do a joint byline, work together on it.”

both of them turn to look at you in slight shock. marianne is the first to speak, her words trickling out slowly as she processes the fact you've just agreed to let someone else work on a Big Gig for the first time. “you're… happy with that?”

“if matty is, yeah,” you turn to him, smiling. “sound alright?”

he beams. “more than. thank you.”

“of course,” you turn back to the boss. “there you go. sorted.”

she sighs, relieved. “thank goodness for that. alright,” she stands, picking up her laptop and heading back to the main office. “i'll coordinate press passes. thanks for making that simple - you're both stars.”

“anytime!” you call after her, before turning back to matty. “you're sure you're happy to do this? i realise i've just given you more work to do, but…”

he laughs, a beautiful sound. “nah, i don't mind. also,” he shuffles in his seat, bashful again. “i actually have a spare ticket for the first show, if you'd like it - bought it before i saw it was on the review roster. doesn't seem fair that i get to go to two gigs while you only get one, i think. i mean, no pressure, obviously, but the offer's there.”

god, he’s so fucking cute. how could you ever say no to him? “i'd like that a lot, matty, thank you,” you beam at him. “i think us working together is going to be a lot of fun.”

matty beams back just as enthusiastically. “i think so too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #office nerd au #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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nelapanela94 · 1 year ago

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“Levi?”

You push the door open with your back and the weathered hinges creak. It’s dark and quiet inside, Levi’s leather jacket hangs over the chair backrest. The window behind his desk is closed, the quill stands in the holder.

The plate and tumbler clatter on the tray as you inch toward the door that connects his office to the room. It is ajar and you, uninvitedly, slip inside.

“Levi?”

A faint glow flickers from the nightstand, and Levi is tucked in bed, like a bundle, covered from head to toe.

Your eyes squint, lines mar the space between your brows. Something doesn’t seem right. You set the tray on the side table and pad gingerly to the bed, lay a hand on the quilt where his shoulder should be.

“Levi? Are you ok?”

What is someone kidnapped him and left the corpse of an animal behind? Panic rises in your chest.

“Y/N?”

His gravelly voice tames the drama snakes in your head. He rolls onto the opposite side. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed dinner. I thought you’d be hungry, so I saved some leftovers…”

“Not hungry.” His voice is shaky, like the rest of his body.

“What’s wrong then? Why are you in bed?”

“Why couldn't I be in bed?” He coughs. “I’m not a child. Get out of here.”

You frown, tap tapping the floor. “You’re acting like one now. And I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re fine.”

He flings the covers off and reveals himself. “I’m fine.”

His eyes are glassy, his lips dry, cheeks red, his hair glued to his face in sweat. He wriggles up against the headboard to a sitting position. You sit next to him, making him curse under his breath, and bring the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re far from fine. Why don’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I don't want to waste their time. Besides, there are others who need it more.”

“You could’ve asked for help at least.”

“I don’t want shitty glasses entering my room.”

“You could’ve asked me.” You jab a finger to your chest, pouting.

His cheeks sizzle with a deeper blush. What a shame it is that you see him in this deplorable state. He is the one who should be protecting you and not the other way around.

You peel from bed and scuff to the washbasin. In the shelf next to it, Levi keeps towels and linens. You take a lavender-imbued cloth, soak it and wring the excess. “Lay down, Levi.”

“Leave me alone.” He grunts and reluctantly complies. You brush his hair off his face and place the cloth on his forehead.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, it’s just the fever. Thanks. Now, you can leave.”

“Are you kidding me? What if you get worse?” You plonk on the wing chair, arms folded on your chest.

“You’re worse than lice.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.” You stretch out your legs, and your ass sinks into the cotton canvas.

Thirty minutes later, your soft snores swarm the room. Your chest rises and falls steadily in your peaceful slumber. Levi sighs. And you were the one who was supposed to take care of him? His lips curve in a half smile. The ache in his bones and muscles is ebbing, the trembling in his limbs is easing. It's not of him to catch a seasonal flu, but a little attention from you doesn't hurt, does it?

He throws a cushion at you, and you jerk awake.

"Water."

#levi ackerman #aot #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi aot #snk levi #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #shingeki no kyoujin #levi ackerman x female reader

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guiltyasdave · 8 months ago

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little lion

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

word count: 394

tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, i think that’s it?

a/n: @catchallfangirl gave me the prompt “finally, something we can agree on”, oberyn and thirty minutes to write. this is the result :)

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here!

dividers by @plum98 <3

She sips her wine, tuning out her father who is rambling on about uniting houses and how much good it would do for the people of the realm.

It’s not about the realm, let alone the people living in it. She knows it, he knows it, everybody in the room knows it. It’s about power. It’s about the iron throne and ensuring who will sit on it.

The man two tables over from hers catches her wandering gaze and raises his own cup in a quiet toast. As he drinks, he winks at her. She hates the blush creeping up on her cheeks, hates the fact that he can see it, even in the candlelight, if the smug look on his handsome features is any indication. She hates his dark eyes, the glinting of the golden chain around his neck, the way it accentuates the panes of his strong chest, his golden skin, visible through his robe.

She needs some air.

Quietly excusing herself, she rises to her feet and leaves the hall, climbing stairs until she reaches one of the higher floors where the thick stony walls open into big windows, overlooking the city below them.

Lights are twinkling in the darkness of the night, until the city gives way to the ocean, moonlight reflecting off of its surface.

She feels his presence before she hears his quiet steps behind her.

“Prince Oberyn.”

“Hello, little lion.”

Goosebumps form on her neck. He’s closer than she anticipated, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. His voice is low, gravely behind her, his accent wrapping around the pet name. The stupid pet name that he won’t stop using and that sounds way too good from his lips.

“I told you not to call me that.”

He tuts gently, twirling one of the long blonde curls of her hair between his fingers, before giving it a light tug.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was bored.”

It might not be the whole truth, but it’s not necessarily a lie, either. He chuckles, still playing with her hair.

“Finally, something we can agree on.”

She turns her head towards him, eyes searching his. He’s much too close. He gently trails one finger over her cheekbone.

“We shall leave the talking to your father and my brother. Let me walk you to your chambers, little lion.”

thank you for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask. interaction is what keeps writers going <3

#janas fics #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn martell drabble #game of thrones #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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bless-my-demons · 1 year ago

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Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Five

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: Holy shit I’m back and boyyyyy does it feel good! I missed you guys and I can’t thank you enough for the love and support🥹 Jasper and Reader need to go through this icky before getting back to normal and going through the craziness of Eclipse. This made me fuzzy on the inside to write because it’s healing this shit Bella and Edward never went through but needed to lol

Word Count: 2125

Series Masterlist

• March 24th, 2006 • Forks HS •

Reader

Two days.

Forty-eight hours since I told Jasper Hale I needed time, space. Insane, really. Insane that even though he��s gravity, he’s in every thought scrolling through my brain, I asked him for the very thing my heart abhors. The very thing my brain needs.

It’s exhausting, my rational brain warring with my irrational heart. He’s here, he’s home, I just need to soak up every second. But on the other hand… for how long? We still have the same issue - my humanity and his control.

My hand shuts my locker door not-so-softly and I stare at my fingers on the cold metal. They could be touching cold skin instead- fuck, this stupid beating organ in my chest.

Frustration drives me to dig my phone out of my pocket as the bell for fourth period rings, the hallway behind me emptying out quickly.

He answers on the second ring and relief loosens the knot in my chest fractionally.

“Hey girly, what’s up?” Quil’s chipper tone brings a grin to the corner of my lips.

“Kidnap me? Please?”

He must hear the desperation in my voice, since he agrees immediately. “Absolutely, I’ll be there in twenty.” A shout of protest echoes in the background and he apologizes quickly, he was in class I can’t just ask him to- “Lunch?” He asks, jogging now by the puffs of his breath.

“Quil, that's a thirty minute drive-” I protest, worried.

“And you need rescuing, figure out what you want for lunch.” He ends the call abruptly as the squeaky door to his junky old car opens.

Sighing at my phone, I pocket it and turn towards my next class. I can survive until he gets here, right? I’ve been climbing the walls for the last two days, the object of my thoughts noticeably absent from school.

That’s a good thing, right? He’s doing what I asked, allowing me the space I need to think clearly, without his persuasion.

When in all actuality, I can’t help but feel like the walls are shrinking.

He’s here, he’s home, he said he wasn’t going anywhere, his family is still here.

The affirmations trickle over my buzzing skin.

I saw Alice in second period. Emmett is sitting behind my empty seat in Trig - I just have to walk through the door.

How the fuck am I going to move forward, to figure out a solution with Jasper, if I’m also trying to tackle their abandonment?

I might as well be trying to move forward through mud - thick, dark, and fucking everywhere.

My phone vibrates about fifteen minutes before the end of class, I don’t dare pull it out of my pocket to confirm that it’s Quil.

My hand raises and immediately catches Mr. Varner’s gaze in the quiet classroom, “Yes, miss Y/l/n?”

“May I run to the bathroom, please?” I ask, trying to keep the sudden impatience out of my voice.

His nod is all I need to pack away my items quickly, behind me I hear the groan of the desk supporting the hulking frame of my other best friend.

“Y/n, what are you-” Emmett’s hushed whisper makes my pulse jump.

“I’ll be safe, promise.” I whisper back and practically run for the door.

A chair squeaks and Mr. Varner calls out, “Mister Cullen, she does not require assistance finding the ladies room, sit down.”

I flash him an apologetic smile as he slowly retakes his seat before I push the door open. I feel horrible, but I need the freedom waiting for me in the student parking lot.

Sprinting through the exterior double doors, a full-on smile overtakes my face as Quil leans over the center console to open the passenger door, “Hop in, loser!”

Sitting in the parking lot facing First Beach with the windows rolled down, munching on cheap burgers and fries, I feel like I can finally take a deep breath.

“Okay,” setting down his shake to begin his interrogation, I brace. “Not that playing hookie isn’t the best idea ever to kick off the weekend, but what’s wrong?”

“He’s back.” I stare at the last few bites of my burger as I set it down in my lap, the paper crinkling loudly.

“He as in-”

“Jasper.”

“Oookaaay,” he draws out the vowels, not really following the obvious dilemma. “You wanted him to come back, right? I mean, you were a fucking mess the last six months.”

“Yes I wanted him to come back! I just-” I hesitate, “I just don’t know how to feel about it.”

“If my boyfriend-” I level a look on him that he ignores, “He’s yours, hook, line, and sinker - c’mon. If my boyfriend up and abandoned me, and I hadn’t gotten over it in six fucking months, suddenly is back in my life, what’s there to feel other than relief? A reprieve from what you’ve been feeling without him?”

“Since when do you know-”

“Stop deflecting, I’m here to solve this shit because my best friend needs help.” He’s munching on fries like this is goddamn entertainment. “Answer. Now.” This fucking fucker.

“Fine.” I puff out a breath and stare at the waves. “We’re still in the same situation he left me in-”

“The situation you won’t tell me about?”

“Yes.” The exasperation in my tone brokers no room for argument on the subject, so I move on. “I feel like the rug is going to be yanked out from underneath me because of it. There’s no way, over or through this mountain, it’ll always be there.”

“Mountains wither over time; if creeks can be persistent enough to become rivers, then so can you. I don’t know what this mountain looks like, but have you ever asked him for help to explore it? To find a path in the trees one step at a time?”

I look at him, gobsmacked. He makes it sound so easy.

“Don’t look at me like that, I may not have experience, but I can tell you what I feel like is right. And it feels right to just talk to him. I can tell you what to do all day until I’m blue in the face, but only he can reassure you in ways no one else can.” The empathy in his face makes my eyes sting, fuck he’s right.

“You are a treasure, you know that Quil Ateara?” I give him a sad smile trying to reign in my stupid tears, reaching for his hand.

He gives it to me and squeezes, “Of course,” he says it like it’s as obvious as grass being green. “And someday I’ll be as wrecked about a girl and you can regurgitate this shit back to me.” His shit-eating grin contains a little mustard in the corner and I bust out laughing.

“Ancestors help her, she’ll have to put up with a lot when it comes to you.” I tease and he winks.

“I’m nothing but a hoot, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cranking his museum piece of a car, he turns it in the direction of his house and we leave today’s worries in the sand to be washed away with the tide.

•March 24th, 2006 • Forks Community Hospital•

Jasper

The swish of the automatic front doors of the hospital snap me from the thoughts pinging around in my brain. The cold crystal in my hand gathering condensation brings me back to my mission.

Striding down the familiar hallway that contains Carlisle’s office, I stop at the door displaying his name. Peeking inside to confirm my hearing, my adoptive father is definitely absent from his worn leather chair. No matter, procrastination won’t win me anything.

Continuing down the hallway, my steps are nearly silent as the nurse’s station comes into view with the object of my mission sitting alone behind a massive monitor.

“It’s after visitation hours, you’ll have to come back-” She finally raises her eyes and her sentence peters off quietly, “tomorrow-Jasper?”

Y/n’s mother stands from her chair as she registers my face, eyes falling to the bouquet of flowers set in one of Esme’s many crystal vases.

“Take this one, she’ll know you mean business.” Esme deposited the vase on the kitchen counter in front of me this morning while I was lost in thought on how to talk to Y/n’s mom. Apparently flowers are still the way women prefer their apologies.

“Y/n is still at the Reservation-” She starts, assuming it’s her daughter the flowers are for.

“I know.” Placing the arrangement Rosalie helped me with on the counter, I turn my supernatural gift inward and mellow out my nerves. “These are for you, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Surprise fills the air as her speechlessness pulses for a few seconds, the beeping of heart rate monitors echo around us. “You didn’t have to-” Gasping, her eyes narrow when they meet mine, weariness floods her senses. “You’re not asking-”

I chuckle, knowing what this looks like, “No ma’am, I’m here to apologize.”

Nerves fill my throat in an unfamiliar sensation for a reason not related to this apology, she thought I was asking to marry her daughter.

I store that thought away in the recesses of my mind, I can’t even begin to fall down that rabbit hole of complication.

“I’m not the one who needs an apology.” Her tone is soft as she plucks at a deep red rose petal.

“Your daughter will get an apology from me for the rest of my life, if she chooses to let me continue to be in hers.” That grabs her attention again. “You deserve one too, you were with her when I wasn’t and it put an immense amount of unwarranted stress on you both. I hope you accept my sincerest apology, even if you decide I’m not worth your good graces.” I take a deep breath and speak from the heart with my next words. “In September I was given a challenge that I failed and it rocked my world in a way I’m not even sure I know how to handle even now. I thought that if I simply removed myself, she could continue on like she had before we met. I know now… I know now that was not the answer and it never will be.”

I notice her eyes begin to turn a little misty as she processes my words and it wrenches a little something in my chest, I didn’t want to make her mom cry.

“She makes me want to be better, do better.” I glance at the empty hallway, quiet this late in the afternoon. “I want to be someone she’s proud of, someone worthy of her, no matter how hard it is. I want you to be able to trust me with her, which is why it was important to tell you how sorry I am.”

After a moment of surveying my face, pure joy radiates from her pores as she rounds the end of the desk to face me fully.

“Of course I accept your apology,” she envelops me in what would be a bone crushing hug, “thank you.”

Relief courses through me as we separate, glad I decided to do this.

“I appreciate your apology and these gorgeous flowers,” she rubs my shoulder in such a soothing mom-manner before leveling me with a no-kidding look. “Whatever my daughter decides, goes.”

“Absolutely,” completely serious, “I am at her mercy and if she wants nothing to do with me, I’ll respect that.”

“I knew you were a good one.” She winks at me before returning to her seat with a smile. “Your dad should be finished with afternoon rounds, now that you got the hard part of your visit over.”

“It’s never hard, talking to a pretty lady.” Now it’s my turn to wink, she responds with a genuine laugh that makes me smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Hale.” I take my leave as she resumes her typing.

Navigating back to my father’s office, I drop myself with relief into the chair in front of his immaculate desk.

“I’m pleased that went well, you did good.” He doesn’t even glance up at me, but the smile and his emotions oozing happiness tell me I did something right for once.

“One down, one to go.” I lean my head back in the chair and close my eyes, allowing myself to feel the relief of winning her mother over again.

“One down, one to go.” He repeats back, his smile evident in his voice.

I needed this win. I needed to succeed at something with this balled up mess in my chest.

Now I just need her.

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