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bunnyluvx · 6 months ago

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spending rainy nights with you.

featuring: vlad dracula ţepeş x gn!reader.

summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.

date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024. date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.

ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3

Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.

You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.

"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.

Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.

There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.

You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.

His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."

This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"

You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."

Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.

You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.

With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.

In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.

A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.

You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."

Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.

"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.

"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"

"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."

Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.

Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."

Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."

Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."

You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.

Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.

Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies. You'll get it back tomorrow."

Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.

You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.

It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"

Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."

You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"

A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.

You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."

An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."

The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.

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thanksbutno98 · 7 months ago

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Power Tools

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price has become expertly good at ignoring his wife, until she finds something he can’t ignore.

Warnings: Domestic argument, swearing, mentions of pregnancy, not edited.

——————

“Joooohn” your voice carried throughout the house as you whined for your husband.

There was silence in return until you heard the television volume turned up loud enough you could now hear it from where you stood upstairs. You swore your eye twitched and the vein by your forehead pulsed visibly in annoyance.

You wanted to kill him.

John had turned into a procrastinator this past week for some unknown reason. Well, you knew why but he wouldn’t admit to it. The man hated decorating to his very core and would find any excuse to avoid it. Thats why you were the one who tended to paint rooms and set out new vases and art throughout the house. John would grumble that he liked it better before you made changes but you always ignored him.

If it were left up to John your home would turn into a museum, never to be altered or updated; a snapshot of life frozen in time. You were not the same. Change felt good, natural, fresh.

With a baby boy about to join your home you felt that there was a need for some freshness, especially in his nursery. All the natural wood furniture was set up and placed exactly where you wanted it. The walls were painted a soothing muted yellow and the juniper green rug was laid out in the center of the room. What was left were the Winnie the Pooh art pieces you picked out and gold rods for the silky white drapes. You also needed to mount the bookcase to the wall because it was at risk to fall over if tugged on hard enough.

“Fuck it. I don’t need a man. I can do this myself.” You mumbled to yourself and stormed downstairs as much as you were capable of at 8 months pregnant.

Once at the bottom of the stairs you caught sight of your infuriating husband. John was laid back on the couch, his back and shoulders propped up by pillows. He had his right arm thrown behind his head and his left hand deep in a bag of crisps that laid on his stomach. He wore black athletic shorts, mid calf white socks, and a long sleeve navy blue shirt, looking like the definition of comfort.

The television was loudly blasting some action movie he decided was much more important than helping you. You let out an annoyed, obnoxious breath as you waddled by which seemed to catch John’s attention.

“Darling, join me.” John called to you but all he got was you walking away down the hall. It was obvious you were mad at him but he honestly didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I’ll rub your feet.” His tone was seductive as if this was enough to persuade you from your prior task.

John watched you falter halfway down the hallway. You clearly were giving it a thought and then were quickly making your way towards the basement. With an eye roll John went back to watching his movie in peace. Your normal sweetness was hard to find on days like today when you had opposing plans to him. So John thought it was best to avoid you to save himself the scolding.

You grabbed the power drill and tool box from the basement and headed back upstairs. You didn’t bother hiding it from view of John but he was too absorbed in his movie to notice. If you could read John’s mind you would find he was thinking about how to ask about dinner without sending you into a fit.

Once upstairs you set everything you would need out and grabbed the step stool from the hallway closet. You took the time to measure and draw a perfect line on the wall in pencil so the large painting would be level and centered. Smiling triumphantly you grabbed the power drill since this piece of art was on the heavy side and needed to be anchored.

Whirling the power drill a few times you were satisfied that it worked and then you climbed on to the step stool. Before you knew it you heard heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs and John call out your name. Not giving it any attention you continued with your task until you had the drill yanked from your hand.

“Hey!” You snapped at John who was now standing next to you with the bright yellow power drill in hand.

“Get down before you break your neck.” John ordered looking utterly annoyed at you.

The sound of the power drill had John rocketing up from his seat on the couch. It half startled him and had him coming to the realization you weren’t going to wait for him. If you weren’t so clumsy John doubted he would react so viscerally but having seen you wield a hammer he had no trust in you with a power drill.

“No! Give it back.” You swatted the hand John had outstretched for you away and grabbed the power drill. Yanking roughly, John wouldn’t let go.

“Enough. Get down and let me do it.” Again another gruff order from your husband that only infuriated you more.

You didn’t need him for this, you were more than capable; at least you thought you were. John had also shown no interest and now shows up trying to help? Not on your watch. You didn’t need him to pity help you now, you wanted his help when you asked for it.

“Give it.” With much more force you yanked again only for John to pull it back. Your grip didn’t let up and the two of you struggled over the power drill until you realized there was no way you were getting it back. That John had it in a death grip and he had you outmatched in strength.

“Fine!” You shouted and let go abruptly.

John had been mid tug and the loss of your force pulling it away from him had the drill springing back in John’s grip and clocking him in his right eyebrow. He stumbled back a single step, his free hand coming up and clutching his forehead.

“Fuckin’ hell.” John half shouted mainly from the pain. The drill hit him right on the bone so it made an audible crack when it connected.

As soon as John was struck your hands flew to cover your mouth in shock. Him getting hurt was not your intention and you instantly felt bad for fighting with him. Normally you would never stoop to that level of childishness to actually fight over an object; like two little kids wrestling over a toy.

“See what you’ve done!” John’s eyes were fiery as he doubled down and snapped at you.

His reaction toward you had all the sympathy draining from you and you were ready to fight again. No one yelled at you, especially not John. And you were ready to make him pay for being so rude to you.

“Serves you right for snatching it from me!” You shouted back. John’s nostrils flared and you could see he wanted to tear into you but was practicing some self restraint.

“For the love of god, get down, and let me do this.” Grabbing your hand John didn’t give you much of an option as he lead you off the step stool, the hand with the drill pushing on your back lightly to force you down the stool.

“Fine. But I’m still mad at you.” The snarkiness in your voice was met with a dry laugh. John had his back to you and was squaring up to start drilling in the anchors for the painting.

“Poor thing.” John answered back sarcastically.

The pair of you were both fuming, anger radiating off of you making the room feel suffocating. You two didn’t tend to fight, let alone like this. It was one of the most juvenile ways you had ever bickered but for some reason you couldn’t stop.

“If anything’s crooked I’m gonna lose it!” You half shouted your warning as you stormed out of the room.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be up to your incredibly high standards, your majesty!” John shouted right back only to hear your bedroom door slam.

——————

A light knock sounded on your bedroom door and a moment later it slowly opened. John’s head poked in to see you sat up in the center of your king sized bed. You had your arms crossed over your chest and an annoyed look plastered across your face as you watched the history channel.

“Darling-“

“Thought it was ‘your majesty.’” You shot back.

John cringed at your words, hating that you quoted him from your previous argument. It wasn’t the nicest insult to hurl your way but it also wasn’t that bad in John’s opinion. You could be incredibly particular at times, so if anything he thought it was quite a clever thing to call you.

With a sigh John decided not to answer right away. He made his way into your shared room taking note how you were eyeing him from the corner of your eye, not willing to fully look at him. Slowly John got on to your bed and began to crowd your space by crawling over to you. Turning your head away, you refused to give him attention. So John got on top of you, straddling your knees and leaning forward so your faces were close together. Only you were turned away trying to keep yourself from cracking into a smile and hold on to the bratty attitude.

“I love you.” John spoke matter of factly.

“Yeah?” The fake bratty tone had John chuckling. He found you to be so cute.

The fight from earlier was a childish one and John had asked himself if arguing with his pregnant wife like that was seriously worth it. He decided it wasn’t and that you two needed to burry the hatchet. In retrospect it was comical that either of you reacted in the ways you did. It was completely out of character.

“I hung everything up just how you wanted. Mounted the bookcase to the wall. Even ordered your favorite takeaway for dinner.” John purred and watched you soften like puddy in his hand.

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled only to be betrayed by your grumbling stomach.

John’s breath ghosting your face and neck was making you weaken and ready to crumble. You were past being mad at him and honestly wanted to move on so you could cuddle and watch a movie.

“That’s a lie.” John countered. Leaning in he pressed his forehead against yours and smiled widely when you finally turned to him and broke into a playful snicker.

“I love you.” John cooed, a chuckle rumbling from his burly chest.

“I love you too.” With a smile you showed off how your sour mood had left you.

“Can we kiss and make up?” John nodded as he spoke which had you mimicking the action.

“As long as you agree we were both out of line.” Putting your finger in John’s face he smirked and leaned back to sit on his heels.

“Fair enough. I’m sorry.” It was an easy sorry that rolled off the tongue.

“I’m sorry too, John.” You apologized just as easily and then the two of you shared a sweet kiss.

“Now, enough with the pouting. Let me show you how wonderful the nursery looks. You picked out some amazing things.” Rolling off of you John was swiftly on his feet and offering you a hand to help you out of bed.

“You really think so?” The compliment had you blushing since John usually hated any change in interior decoration.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

——————

“Joooohn!” You called form your bedroom knowing for a fact he could hear you. This was the third time you had called his name only to be ignored.

You knew he was ignoring you because he didn’t feel like helping you order his sister’s birthday present. He had flippantly told you since you were a woman you knew best on what to get his little sister. Then he retreated to the living room where he seemingly went deaf.

A lightbulb buzzed to life above your head. Tiptoeing to the nursery you saw the power drill and brought it back to your bedroom. Sitting back on your bed and smiling like the devil you whirled the drill a few times and waited. Just like before you heard the thunder of footsteps bounding up the stairs to come see what you were doing.

John burst into your bedroom ready to steal whatever task you were doing and do it himself. Only he saw you sitting in the center of your bed with the power drill in one hand and your laptop open in front of you.

“So this is how I get you to stop ignoring me.” Shaking the drill at John you tossed it behind you on the bed.

John’s face dropped from worry to deadpan. He did not like being made a fool of and here he was falling into his wife’s playful little trap. He could admit it was quite clever of you.

“You’re joking.” John huffed out in annoyance.

“Since you’re here, help me pick out a gift for Sarah.” You motioned to your laptop with a cheeky smile. John simply rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed next to you ready to see what you had pulled up.

You and that power drill would do this trick for years to come. Until one day you realized John had hidden it from you so you were forced to go out and buy your own; which too went missing. So now you use whatever power tool you can get your hands on or even start hammering to get your husband’s instant undivided attention.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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niccolites · 29 days ago

Text

sentinel species - iii. caribou

victorian, zombie apocalypse au. kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You find it strange to be in Mr Garrick’s house without him. You feel like an invasive species, trapped inside and fluttering at the window, desperate to get out.

You sit on the edge of the couch. Perched, nervous as you watch the door. You don’t want to snoop and then get caught snooping. You gnaw on the edge of your thumbnail, watching sunlight drift in through one of the windows, tracking its slow course along the wooden floor. Dust flutters in the air, caught in the sunbeam. Weightless.

There’s a bookcase but there are very few books in it. You decide that you would be allowed to look through these, given that they are on display, an excuse ready on your tongue if Mr Garrick and Mr Evans were to return and catch you.

They’re old books, you remember a few of them with titles that you read as a young girl.

There’s the urge to head up the stairs, maybe find Kyle’s room and have a look at the four walls that he stayed in. Track the progression of his years in each stair.

You ignore the feeling, and pluck a book off of the shelf. There’s dust here as well, caught in the pages. You blow it off and sneeze when it puffs into your face.

You do the same with the armchair in the corner, wafting your hand through the air before any more motes get caught in your nose.

You settle in, rest your hand on your hand and try to focus.

It’s difficult, jumping at any sound that comes from outside. There’s a screech at one point that almost sends you across the room. When you peek outside, there isn’t any sign of life.

You wait to hear it again, eyes intent on any shifting shadow, but nothing further comes.

You wonder if there is anyone else in all of these houses, and they are doing the same as you. Cowering beneath the windowsill and peering back at you. Trying to see if you’re the sick one.

A disconcerting thought. When your eyes start to strain, you force yourself back into your chair and pick your book back up.

You’re startled when Mr Garrick comes back. You almost throw your book into the air when the door slams open. You push yourself up and turn to see Mr Garrick staring back at you with wild eyes.

The facts that your sight is able to confirm is parsed through slowly, as if you cannot comprehend what exactly it is that you are seeing. There’s blood staining the front of his shirt, his collar, his hands. Bright splashes of red, splattered even over his face. His arm, cradled to his chest as if hurt.

“Goodness!” you exclaim, hesitant for a split second before you push through with effort. “What happened - are you alright? Show me -?”

You reach forward, hands hovering as if unsure where to place them but Mr Garrick steps forward into them. They find themselves on his shoulders, a curl of muscle that tenses as your hand curves around it.

A moment and you realise that Mr Evans isn’t there. “What happened?” you ask, eyes darting to the empty space beside Mr Garrick, then to the door. As if you were trying to summon Mr Evans.

“I don’t know,” Mr Garrick admits, head lowered towards yours. His eyes, open and beseeching, catch yours until you return your gaze to him. “It was like - he went mad. He just attacked me, all of a sudden with no warning.”

You gape at him, uncomprehending. “Do you - think he was…one of those things?” you ask, not sure it was even possible. It was one thing to accept those creatures out there, it was another to think of a man that you know becoming one of them.

Mr Garrick shakes his head. “No, those creatures are a different kind of madness. No, Mr Evans was yelling too, but it was words. He wanted me gone.” Mr Garrick eyes dart around your face, grim and serious. “He said that he wanted me away from you.”

“Me?” you ask, disbelieving. “I don’t understand.” Though you and Mr Evans were being set up by your mother, you hadn’t imagined that he had placed much stock in the situation. A passing interest, maybe, but you had always thought that Mr Evans would have settled for anyone. You had always just been the one with the most insistent mother.

Mr Garrick is still cradling his arm, so you force yourself out of your disbelieving musings and usher him to the armchair that you were in before.

You flutter uncertainly for a moment before you go and fill a shallow bowl with water. “Is your arm alright?” you ask, kneeling on the ground beside him. Your handkerchief is loose in his other hand, bloody and ruined. He lets you take it, and you soak it in water to wash the blood away.

“He scratched me some, but I don’t think it’s that deep,” Kyle says, letting you roll his sleeve up and wipe away the blood staining there. “He had a blade, he tried to slash me with it.” Unfathomable, so you just blink and force yourself to focus on the task at hand.

He’s right, the blood has made it seem worse. There’s a cut diagonal across his forearm, but there isn’t much more than that. His knuckles are burst again, blood oozing out and framing the length of his fingers.

“What did you do?” you ask, clearing your throat when it starts to rasp. You don’t look up, frightened to see the truth there.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and it’s enough. You swallow, harsh and blow out a deep breath. If Mr Evans wanted to take advantage of a sick world, then you didn’t blame Kyle for saving himself.

“Do you have any bandages here?” you ask, wiping more blood away from his cut. Something to focus your attention on. “We may have to wrap this, I don’t want it to keep bleeding.” Your handkerchief isn’t going to hold up this time. Mournfully, you wring it out and try to assess if it’s beyond saving.

“Have you done this before?” Mr Garrick asks, leaning forward to peer at you over his arm.

“No, our cook used to hurt himself a lot, so he let me learn to bandage up anything small. My mother went ballistic when she found out, said it wasn’t ladylike to deal with such things,” you muse. “Coming in handy now, though, I’ll be sure to remind her.”

You look up with a smile, half-joking even though your heart feels heavy. It falters when you see how close Mr Garrick’s face has gotten to your own. There’s a mole above his eyebrow, something that you haven’t let yourself notice until now. Devastating, to be so close to someone so beautiful.

“Mr Garrick -”

“Kyle,” he murmurs, before his hand cups the back of your head and he presses his lips to yours.

You’ve never been kissed before, but you had always imagined that it would be like in the books that you would read. Something magical, like a change that would take root and transform you into a woman.

It feels grounded. The cradle of his hand in your hair, the faint pressure of each of his fingertips on your scalp. His mouth, faintly parted against yours. You inhale, instinctively and he presses further forward as if to give chase. Your mouth parts against his and there is a moment where you breathe him in. A slick wet, felt in the slight gap between your mouths, so close that distance was rendered obsolete. It’s never occurred to you that kissing could involve a man’s tongue, and the thought sends you red-hot everywhere. Your mouth, unbidden, parts further, ready -

Kyle pulls back and swallows harshly. Noisy, and you feel spit pool on your tongue and want to taste his instead. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps, pupils blown. You’re still held in his hand, arrested and immobile. You feel the flex of tendon against your scalp, before he pulls his hand back. Restraint, in the tremor of his wrist.

You pull yourself back and close your mouth. Gaping wasn’t ladylike, after all.

“No, that was -” you clear your throat, the heat in your face distracting. A fever, sickness pulsing in your temples. “I was also - it’s alright.”

“I didn’t mean to take advantage,” he adds, scrubbing his hand down his face. A resolve taking a hold in the downward turn of his brow. “I apologise,” he tells you.

You know he’s right to apologise, and you should accept and build that careful wall back between the two of you. So, you do, even if it burns your mouth to push those words through your lips now that you know how his feel against them.

“I think we should continue with our plan,” Mr Garrick decides, ripping the rest of his torn sleeve and wrapping it around his cut. “Take the horse and head to my father’s cabin. Could you grab anything that we may need to bring with us? I have a pack in the kitchen that you can use.”

You nod, and shake your head as you stand. You feel guilty, watching as he neatly ties the ends of your handkerchief around the cut on his arm. The lowering of his head, tilted away from you. You feel like a child, caught and scolded. An irrational feeling; you resolve to not slip up again.

You step carefully through Mr Garrick’s home. Scoop up some linens in case there are any further injuries. A few bottles that you can fill with water.

You return with your findings and lay them out on the kitchen table. You had brought a bag with you with a change of clothes for yourself but you don’t have anything for Mr Garrick. “You should bring a change of clothes for yourself, I didn’t want to go through your drawers,” you say as he approaches.

He stops on the other side of the table, a cavern between the two of you. “I’ll go get some,” he murmurs, and you don’t look up this time, head lowered as you diligently set about your task. He leaves before you look up and you feel like a foolish girl for how rotten it makes you feel.

The sun is high and beaming down on you when you both set off again. Mr Garrick never did manage to find another horse when he set out with Mr Evans, so you are both on the same saddle. You’re dressed more appropriately, at least, in your riding leathers. Able to sit on the saddle correctly rather than side straddle.

Mr Garrick’s hands sit on either side of your hips, loosely holding the reins as you set down the road. You settle in, let the rocking of the horse sooth you. Brick slides away and makes way for dirt and grass instead.

It feels strange, without Mr Evans. He had been a pallid, sickly version of himself the last time that you saw him, but you remembered him as he was. Perhaps self-absorbed and boring, but a decent man before the world was upturned.

You looked up at the blue sky and breathed out a soft prayer for him. It floated up and away, caught in the faint wind. You could only hope that it reached him.

“How far is your father’s cabin?” you ask, turning your head back, slightly.

“A day’s journey, I would estimate,” Mr Garrick muses. “Father used to make us camp half-way through when I was young. There was a river, we used to fish there and make camp to cook it before we set off again in the morning.”

“Why did he live so far from it?”

“It was closer to my mother when they first met,” Kyle says. Unbidden, you lean further back into his chest as you listen to the wistful tone of his voice. “He didn’t want to give it up, even after we moved here.”

“That’s very romantic,” you murmur. Kyle hums in agreement, the squeak of leather as he flexes his hands on the reins.

Most of the day passes in relative quiet. You journey through open fields again, and the sunlight beams down and makes everything seem gentle. It’s hard to reconcile how much your life has changed when you are out here. Morning dew glistens on weeds even well into the afternoon and you feel optimistic at the sight of it. Life is continuing, even in the presence of death. Images of blood and violence are chased away. Even the gashes on Mr Garrick’s knuckles seem less severe out here.

“We could stop by a village, see if there’s any news,” you suggest. He doesn’t immediately respond and you resist the urge to retreat into yourself. “There could be people that don’t know about what’s happened yet?”

Mr Garrick hums, thoughtful. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” It is, so you nod. “You’re right, we could stop by, see if anyone knows anything. Maybe someone might know what’s causing it, so we can avoid it.”

It’s a train of thought that you hadn’t even considered. You imagine it like an infection, a sickness locked in the back of your throat and opening up to bare a second set of teeth. You shiver and Kyle nudges his chin against the crown of your head. Answer and response.

The day slips away as you follow the sun. You ask Kyle about his sisters, listen as he tells you stories to make you laugh. Your own history is left untouched and gathering dust. You start to tell a story of a tea party where you spilled tea all over a gentleman caller and remember that it was Mr Evans halfway through your giggle and choke on it.

You do, finally, come across a village but it’s barren. You both hesitate, on the edge of the path, reluctant to disembark the horse. The sun has been chased across the sky, starting to hide from you on the other side of the world.

The moon is cold and you can feel it start to stretch its fingers out towards you.

“Do you want to stop here?” Kyle asks, voice a low murmur in your ear. You shift, wavering, held back by the firm line of his arm around your waist.

“Maybe?” you respond, gnawing on your lip. Then, force your shoulders into a taut line. “Yes, I think we should. Someone may know something that we don’t.”

“Yes, captain,” Kyle teases and grins when you curl inwards, embarrassed. He deftly slides off of the horse and lifts you up by your waist to lower you to the ground. Even more flustering, to feel his hands sink into the soft flesh of your sides, palms strong. “Y’alright?” he asks when you find your feet, his hands still steadying you.

You nod, shy under his rapt attention. He gives you a squeeze that has you squeaking. His hands a little too firm until you look up at his smile. You replicate it, before you can stop yourself. “Yes, I’m alright,” you say, and he gives you another squeeze, hands much gentler this time and you barely manage to stop yourself from swaying into him.

“Good, alright, shall we?” he says, stepping back but offering you his arm to take.

The village is quiet, which isn’t unusual in itself. It is a bit later in the day, but it feels dead out here. It feels abandoned, and you feel a chill at the idea that every place you encounter will be like this. Your town, this village, the city. On and on, you will be the discoverer of empty worlds.

You take Kyle’s arm and let yourself hide in his shoulder as you venture onto the beaten path. The last people in the world, for all intents and purposes.

You knock on the first door, but there is no answer. The next few cottages yield the same result and you give up. There are a few more cottages, but you feel ill. Where was everyone and more pressing - were they all dead or sick?

“If we travel through the night we could reach the cabin,” Kyle tells you as you wander back to the horse and feed it some oats that you had found, left beside one of the empty houses.

You think about the travel through the woods in the dark last night. That creature and its bloody mouth that seemed to glow in the moonlight. “It feels wrong to stay here, but if there isn’t anyone here...” you say, gazing down at the empty path. “Don’t you think it’s odd that no one is anywhere. At least Mr Evans - he was shouting, he needed help. Everyone else is just - vanished.”

Kyle looks back at you, gaze even. “It is strange, but we can’t help anyone who isn’t here,” he points out.

You deflate, smoothing your hand down the side of your horse’s neck as it huffs and chews. “I don’t want to travel in the dark again,” you admit, mouth twisting as you feel a little foolish to admit it.

A shift of movement and then Kyle is tucking your hair behind your ear. “Alright, we can stay here overnight, and set off again in the morning,” he agrees and nudges your jaw with his knuckles until you give him a small smile. You keep giving him these allowances, letting yourself feel his bare skin against your own. You can’t seem to bring yourself to step back too much, already that wall that was built back up this morning is gone. Chased away by the close quarters that the two of you are keeping.

It’s easy enough to leave the horse some water and bring your stuff inside one of the cottages. There are a few beds, and though you would baulk at sharing one, sharing a room to sleep seems acceptable under these circumstances. The rain chases you inside, starting slow, but getting steady until it bangs its feet on the roof above you.

You keep the same riding clothes that you’ve had on all day, but use your cloak like a blanket. You settle into bed, watch as Kyle caps a couple candles but keeps a few of them lit. The candlelight flickers across his face, lighting the curve of his cheek, the brown of his eye turned molten, the bolt of his jaw sharper.

This is an insight that you weren’t meant to see, a domestic vision meant for a man and wife. Watching the line of his spine as he twists to place a candle on the counter. The width of his shoulders, broad, the curve of lean muscle that is barely hidden beneath cloth. The sound of his breath, watching the rise of his chest and knowing that his lungs are expanding just there. Right beneath flesh and protected in the round of his ribcage. Nothing at all, to reach out and touch it. Everything separated by the hard press of your fingers. Delicacy hidden beneath hardness and revealed through effort.

There is a strange relaxation that overcomes you. At the end of the world, there are no witnesses.

Kyle lays out on the bed closest to you, and you tell yourself that the separate mattresses are what counts, not the space between them. He turns on his side and you mimic him, blinking at him. He is haloed by candlelight, and you find yourself in awe.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, tucking one hand under his pillow, the other splayed in the gap between you. One finger on your mattress. You don’t say anything.

“I’m thinking about the people who lived here,” you answer, tucking both your hands into your chest. “There are a few beds here, I wonder if they were a big family.”

“Was it just you and your mother in your house?” he asks, fingers tapping a light tune. The makeshift bandage has held up well, though lightly stained with blood across his forearm.

“Yes, us and the cook and sometimes a maid would stay with us, but they mostly had their own families to get to and would just come to work. Father, once, but he’s been gone a while now,” you say, turning your head to the ceiling. Straight planks of wood, layered upon each other and immovable. The rain patters against it, heavier at times before settling into a soothing rhythm instead.

“What was he like?” Kyle says, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair out of your face. Intimate, in the dark, but another allowance that you give him. You don’t want him to look upset like he did after he kissed you.

You open your mouth to answer but are interrupted by a banging at the door. You shoot up but Kyle is already reaching a hand out to catch your shoulder. His gaze, severe, as he looks out.

Terror grips a cold hand around your throat and you can scarcely get a breath in.

Kyle stands, silent, and treads slowly towards the window. You shift to follow, but feel clumsy and loud in comparison. Your heartbeat must be loud enough to alert everyone outside, you feel caught already.

“Hello? Please, we need some help!” a feminine voice calls from outside. There’s a panic in her voice that reverberates into you in kind. The door handle shakes as she rattles it before she bangs on the door again.

You look over at Mr Garrick and find him frowning at the door, a blade suddenly in his hand.

He looks back at you and after a moment of contemplation, gestures for you to stay and reaches for the door.

“What’s the matter?” Kyle says, keeping the door angled so that you are outside of view.

“Please, it’s our son, he’s sick, he needs help,” the woman begs. You don’t know if it’s the sight of Kyle alone that overcomes her but she stumbles inside and Kyle barely catches her. He tries to maneuver himself between the two of you, but it’s too late. You feel the moment her gaze catches you. You must look more sympathetic, because the woman leans towards you, a gravity pull that almost seems to pull her across the room in your direction.

“Ma’am, I don’t think we’ll be of much help, I’m not a medic,” Kyle tries to explain, trying to keep her back, his hands on her upper arms.

“Please, you have to help, there isn’t anybody, they’re all gone or mad,” the woman sobs, stretching her hands out towards you and you feel compelled to reach back and catch them.

Her hands are cold and wet, rain slicking the space between your skin. You can barely keep a hold of her, but her hands skate up, catching on the fabric of your sleeves and clinging.

“Miss -” Kyle starts.

“You have to come, please, come look at him, please, I can’t let him die,” the woman continues to beg, voice getting louder. You flinch with it, almost cowering as the woman starts to tug you towards the door. You yelp when her hands slip down and catch on your wrists. Her skin is slick but her fingernails catch and keep her tethered.

Mr Garrick looks angrier than you’ve seen him but he can’t reach the woman around you and you are tugged out into the rain before either of you can stop her.

Rain batters down on your face, chokes you as you try to open your mouth to speak. There’s a cart that wasn’t there before, the opposite direction to where you left your horse in a makeshift stable. Another person - a man - darts towards the two of you and intercepts Mr Garrick when he reaches out to catch you.

“Let her go,” Mr Garrick barks, but the man holds his hands up and steps between the two of you.

You slip in the mud and almost go down but the woman yanks and you are righted. You yelp, feel her nails dig in further, traction on your arms.

Kyle yells out again and you hear a crack of flesh behind you but you force yourself to keep looking at the woman. “I’m not a nurse, I’m sorry, please,” you plead but the woman only echoes your cries and ignores you.

There was a dirt-beaten path here when you first went inside, but the rain has turned it into a grimy river. There is no grip in your boots and you slide when you try to dig your heels in and the woman yanks you up again and continues to tug you along. “Please, you’re hurting me!” you try to tell her, choking on water as it beats down on your face.

The wind howls, an angry god in the sky. It feels like a horrible nightmare, even as you try to tell yourself that this is a desperate mother and her desperate husband with Kyle. You want to believe that maybe their child has some kind of catarrh, but you find yourself frozen with terror if their child has the mad sickness that you have seen in those creatures.

Could you hurt a child? If it hurtled itself at you, with a growl and sinew stuck between its teeth?

You don’t think you could. You told yourself that you would speak, at the next danger. You’d been quiet with the man in the field, and quiet with Mr Evans. Two different types of violence, and the propriety that had you trying to diffuse the situation has led you wrong each time in this new world.

“Kyle, help me!” you shriek, and manage to yank your head back towards the house that you were staying in to see that Kyle is already sprinting towards the two of you.

The woman yanks you forward again, fingernails scratching into your flesh. You sob, leaning back against her weight, even as that digs her nails in further.

“Please stop, please - ” you start to say, but the woman doesn’t seem able to hear you. Another yank and you slip just as Kyle grabs the woman by the waist and lifts her up and away from you.

He throws the woman back and she thuds into the ground, slips just the same as you. Where you find mud that catches you, she falls back and even over the thunder of rain, you can hear the crack of her skull against stone.

You stare at her in shock, rain battering your face and blinding you. Mr Garrick kneels in front of you and blocks your view but you try to crane your neck to see her.

“Oh, lovely, no,” Kyle says, cradling your bloody wrists in his hands. “C’mon, we can’t stay here, we have to go.” A rough kiss pressed to your forehead, but you barely notice it. The rain has dulled all of your senses, water-logged you and left you out to drown.

He starts to pull you up, hands gentle, but firm. A balm against the stringing of your skin that you’re only just starting to notice. “We have to help that woman, Kyle, she’s not moving,” you whimper, letting him pull you up. You stand there, lost, staring at how still she is. Flat on her back, eyes staring upwards.

“I need to make sure you’re alright,” Kyle counters, and then finished with talking, reaches down and picks you up.

“No, no,” you murmur, but you can only watch over Kyle’s shoulder as he quickly jogs towards your horse, thankfully still where you left it. The woman doesn’t move, laid out like she was asleep on the path. You pass another body on the path, the man that approached you, maybe. He’s slumped in the doorway to the cottage that you were staying in. His head tilted down to his chest, the water running a red stream down his face.

Kyle helps you onto the horse, side straddle and the two of you take off again.

Laid out in Kyle’s arms, you tilt your head back and let the rain wash over your face. With your mouth laid open like the woman’s, water fills your mouth. You turn your head and spit.

Kyle finds a large overhanging tree that seems to be sheltered from the rain. You’re soaked and shivering, malleable in Kyle’s hands as he helps you down and sits you on the grass. It’s dry, but you feel exposed, even under the leaves of the tree.

You don’t go to suggest another village, any further words are caught behind the chatter of your teeth. “I think you should change into dry clothes, I’m worried about you getting sick,” Kyle says, frowning as one hand rifles through one of your packs, the other resting on your knee. It’s the only warm spot on you, you hone in on it like a beacon. A lighthouse in a storm.

“Out here?” you ask, words stilted as they catch between your chattering teeth.

“I don’t want you getting sick,” Kyle repeats, harsher. He pulls out a bundle of clothes and turns his attention to you. It’s always a spotlight, you can feel the heat of it on your face. He reaches up, cups your face in his hands. “Please,” he says, eyes darting between the two of yours. There is blood on his fingers, you can feel it, tacky against your skin.

You nod, too exhausted to argue, and his shoulders lose some of their tension. He leans forward and you wonder if he is going to kiss you again. However, he just presses his forehead against yours and breathes for a moment.

He keeps catching you off guard, at times a severe soldier, and at others you think he is letting you see the vulnerable side of him. “We can wait out the rain here,” you say, voice hushed. The tree shelters you from the rain, creating a distinct cut between yourselves and the outside world. A bubble, just for the two of you. Fragile, if your voice is too loud.

Kyle makes an agreeing sound, smoothing his thumb down the side of your face. A moment passes and he seems to pull himself away with great difficulty. “Here, I think my spare clothes are thicker than the clothes you packed.”

You make an echoing agreeing sound. You have Mr Garrick turn around as you dress. It’s a pair of his trousers and a large white shirt. You look mournfully at his sister’s cloak, drenched and muddy, and hang it over one of the branches to hopefully dry out once the rain stops. “I’m decent,” you say, settling back down on the ground against the tree trunk.

If Kyle has anything to say about how you look wearing his clothes, he doesn’t say anything, but you watch his hand twitch at his side as he comes to sit by you.

You feel numb, thinking of that woman that you left out there. You wonder if it even matters, to not help. Was it kinder to teach others the new natural order? You didn’t know.

You have half a mind to shift further away from Kyle, instil that wall that keeps intimacy out. You’re so tired though, and the life that you had merely 24 hours ago feels like a distant dream. You stare out into the rain, unable to see anything and feel something vital give up.

“Kyle?” you ask and he turns his head down to look at you. “Can you hold me?”

He reaches a hand up to cup the side of your face and you feel caught after a tumble out of the sky. “Of course, c’mere, love.”

You let him pull you in, an unruly kitten by the scruff of your neck. Settled in the cradle of his thighs like you were getting used to on the saddle. Your head tucked into his collarbone, nose to skin.

“You know, we were taught when to quit on someone in the army,” Kyle says, voice like a lullaby.

“How do you mean?” you ask, voice sticky and slow, molasses dragging on your gums.

Your request has relinquished some control in Kyle. One hand is draped around your back to keep you close, the other cradles your neck, long fingers into your hair. You feel the flex of them on your scalp and remember this morning, how he had dug his fingers in as if trying to inhale you.

“We’re taught when to let go,” Kyle hums, his hand pulling back just to smooth hair out of your face, rhythmic. “Men go down in trenches, and sometimes you have to assess if you are actually able to save them or not. You need to make the call, to drag a dying man on your back to save him, or realise if you were already dragging a corpse.”

You frown, eyes focused on the bob of his throat as he talks. This close, you can see the stubble just beneath his jaw. You imagine it would feel rough against your skin, the way his palm is calloused, scratching against your skin in a way that has it humming to life. You are a cold, stone woman, and here is Kyle running his warm palms over you and making you human again.

“Surely it’s always worth it, if you have even a chance of saving someone’s life,” you respond, leaning your head back into his palm.

“Sometimes,” he acquiesces. “But, sometimes spending energy on a dead man could cost someone else their life. It was all about knowing when to cut loose. Knowing when someone is already dead and moving on already.”

You think he might be trying to tell you something, maybe this was a thinly-veiled lesson about your mother. Trying to tell you to give up while you had the time to come to terms with it. You’re too exhausted to parse through his words and pick out the ones that he has left unsaid.

“Not you,” he adds, as if to himself. Voice quiet in confession. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

You think of your dead dog, and its bones buried somewhere in your garden. Kyle’s hand cradles your skull, and you don’t think he would ever bury you and leave you alone like that.

A comforting thought, you force yourself to sleep and dream of Kyle’s hands on your skin Buried deep until he’s covered in your blood. It’s in your mouth but Kyle is the one to drink it down like water.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod #nic writes #sentinel species #kyle garrick u are so beautiful i want youuuuuu

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eccentricwritingbaby · 1 year ago

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baby finn series, the last hooray

lando norris x mom!wife!reader

series masterlist

summary - in order to give finn some extra attention before the baby comes, the young family heads to the english countryside, visiting lando’s parents, and granting finn the last little bit of time all about him.

masterlist

“okay finn, what else do you want to bring?” you crouch down and ask your son, attempting to aid his independence while he tries to pack himself.

“hmm,” he mumbles, glancing around his room and then back towards his suitcase, “my toy!”

you chuckle at his enthusiasm, grabbing the toy he was pointing at and throwing it into the bag, “alright, baby, i think you’ve got everything,”

“otay!” he squeals with a clap to his hands, “i show dada?”

“you can show daddy what a big boy you are once he gets home, baby,” you direct to the boy, zipping up his suitcase and pulling him into your arms, “are you excited about this week?”

“yes!” he claps again, “i miss nan and gwampa,”

“i know, but now we’ll be with them for a whole week!” you cheer to him, tickling finn in your lap as he squirms around in a fit of giggles.

“woah, woah,” lando makes his entrance known in the room, leaning against the doorframe, “who’s having all this fun without me?”

“DADA!” your son jumps from your arms, sprinting towards his father to engulf him into a hug. lando scoops up your son, receiving the hug and placing a few kisses to the top of his head.

“hi bubs, what are you and momma doing?” he asks, looking around the room, sending you a wink before taking a seat next to you on the floor.

“packing,” you reply to your husband’s question, “finn didn’t you wanna show daddy?” you nudge your son.

“dada i big like you! i pack myself!”

“really, buddy? good job, ‘m so proud of you,” lando squeezes his giggly son a little tighter, finn absolutely beaming at the praise. he then looks towards his suitcase and starts to show you and lando everything in it. you both giggle in front of him, sounding out a chorus of 'oo's' and 'ahh's' to the little boy. once he was finished, he starts to repack, you internally sighing knowing you'd have to do it properly later.

“alright, baby, daddy and i now have to go pack,” you sigh, “why don’t you read your book for a bit?”

“otay, momma!” finn runs over to his bookcase, grabbing his few dr seuss books and getting situated on his little reading chair. lando glances over at you, six months pregnant and struggling to stand up, holding out his hands to lift you into his arms. once you’re both standing, you leave the room, hearing the quiet mumblings of your four year old trying his best to read the books in front of him.

“i already have most of your clothes set aside that are clean from the wash,” you start, moving around your room to grab both of the suitcases, laying them out on the floor.

“okay, i’m chartering a private flight,” lando breathes out, “so we’ve got to be at the airport by four in the morning tomorrow, the car will be here at three,”

“oh god,” you sigh, “i hope finn sleeps the whole time,”

“it’s like a two hour flight, so we’ll get there around six, but the time difference so it’ll be five-”

“love,” you cut him off, reaching out to take his hands in yours, “everything will be fine, we’ve done this a million times,”

“i know,” he shakes his head, squeezing your intertwined hands a bit, “just never when you were this pregnant and with a toddler,”

“i’m not in my third trimester yet, it is more than safe for me to fly,” you reassure him, a hand coming up to stroke his cheek as he leans into your touch, “and finn will be fine, he’s flown before he knows how it is and he’s always well behaved,”

“okay,” lando’s stress releases a bit, the tension in his shoulders visibly weakening, “you’re right we’ll be fine,”

“yes we will,” pecking his lips quickly, you begin to gather more of your clothes, readying your suitcase for the trip.

“baby,” you shake finn lightly, “we’re here,” he was currently sprawled across your husband's lap, head on yours as he slept throughout the whole flight. he doesn’t budge an inch, ever the heavy sleeper, and lando just laughs at his son’s persistence.

“i’ll carry him, y/n,” he whispers over to you, now grabbing finn in his arms along with swinging your bag over his shoulder. you gather your things, along with some of lando’s, and head down the steps off the jet.

“there they are!” adam hushes out, noticing the tired boy in his own son’s arms.

“hi, hi” you nod towards cisca and adam, lando’s dad rushing to grab the things from your arms as he begins to carry them to the car. you hush out a quiet ‘thank you’ and keep moving, climbing into their backseat. lando begins tucking finn into his carseat in between the both of you, sending you a wink as he finally buckles him in. the drive goes on, lando’s parents asking about the doctor’s appointments, upcoming races, and all around catching up with their son and daughter-in-law.

before you knew it, you had arrived at the parent’s country estate, beyond excited to breathe some fresh air along with having some peace away from the city. exiting the vehicle, adam makes his way to grab your things, lando carrying the sleeping boy yet again, and you all head into the home.

“it feels so good to be here,” your husband whispers out, his mother giving him a side hug to emphasize her own love of her son being near them once again.

“the guest room is all set up for the both of you, and lando, your old room is set up for finn,” cisca directs him, “why don’t you all get settled in, let the boy wake up, and then we can talk about breakfast?”

“that sounds perfect,” you sigh, “thank you, cisca,” she nods in your direction as your young family brings yourselves up the stairs and down to your rooms. once lando had laid finn down onto the guest bed, he moved over to where you were beginning to unpack your things.

“hi baby,” he whispers, still trying to not wake the four year old just a few steps away.

“hi, lan,” you smile, tossing your arms around his neck, his own hands holding your waist steady, “see? i knew we’d be fine,”

“you are always right, my lovely wife,” he shakes his head with a smile, kissing your lips as you sink into him.

“mm, you keep talking like that and we won’t leave the bedroom this week,” lando groans at this imagine, pulling you even closer for another kiss.

“momma? dada?” your son begins to stir, bringing his hands up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“yes baby?” you ask, lando groaning quietly at the halting of your momentum, dropping his head down onto your shoulder.

“are we here?” finn mumbles, now sitting up on the bed and beginning to look around.

“yeah, love, we just got here,” you whisper to him, watching him slightly nod and take in his surroundings.

“where nan and gwampa?” he asks, now scooting towards the edge of the bed, struggling to hop off. your husband now noticing his struggling son, heads over and lifts him onto his hip.

“they’re downstairs, bubs,” lando replies to him, dropping a kiss down to the top of his head, “wanna head down there? say hi?”

“yes! dada carry me?” he looks up at his father, his bright eyes staring up at him in awe, the way he always looks at lando, his hero.

“of course, bubs, let’s go,” another kiss dropped to his son’s forehead and a slight nod to you, the family heads downstairs to be greeted by adam and cisca again. even though finn was still a little tired, the minute he saw his grandparents there was plenty of squirming in his dad’s arms before he was finally set down, sprinting towards them at full speed. after so many hugs and excitement, you catch you and your husband yawning at the same time, both laughing at each other once spotted.

“you both must be exhausted,” adam states, eyeing your appearance, “were you up the entire flight?”

“since three,” lando nods as adam’s eyes widen.

“why don’t you lie down for a while after breakfast,” cisca says, still holding onto her grandson, “we’ll catch up with finn, here,” she smiles in your direction and you give her a smile of thanks, proceeding to sit down at the table. you all share breakfast, stories, and laughs, watching your son ramble on and on to adam about how he is so excited to kart soon. lando emphasizes that it won’t be for a while, but finn doesn’t care, too excited to understand the correction. after the conversation dies down, you and your husband decide to excuse yourselves, ready for a much needed nap.

“oh my god,” lando groans as he collapses on the bed in front of him, “i am so fucking tired,”

“me too,” you mumble with him, joining him on the bed.

“why don’t we have a quick shower and then nap?” he suggests in your direction.

“i don’t think i can get up,” you laugh quietly in his direction.

“i don’t think i can either,” he chuckles with you, “how about a shower after we nap?”

“beautiful,” you sigh, rolling over slightly to be face to face with your husband, “and then we’ll have more energy for, other things,” you smile at him. he leans forward, catching your lips in a kiss, as you hum, loving the feeling after such a long day.

“later, baby,” you giggle into his mouth, “i’m falling asleep right now,”

“you’re right,” he laughs, “i am too,”

two hours later, a steamy shower and a nice nap, you and lando are getting ready to spend some more time with your son and his parents.

“what time are we meeting your mom tomorrow?” lando asks you as you both make your way outside, already hearing the sweet baby giggles approaching.

“five in the evening, she grabbed us some reservation in the city near my dad’s office,” you shrug, “so we’ll meet her and then make our way into town,”

“that sounds perfect,” lando nods, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“MOMMA! DADA!” finn comes running at you both like a bullet, his knees and hands filled to the brim with mud, just as you’d hoped. living in monaco, in an apartment building, he didn’t have as much time playing outside as you’d hoped. both you and lando grew up in the country, and you’d wished for him to still have those experiences when he can.

“hi baby!” you laugh out, “are you having fun?”

“yes!” he giggles, holding onto your husband’s leg, “i play with dada’s old car!” you look off in the direction of adam, standing near lando’s old kart he had when he was finn’s age.

“how’d you get so dirty, bubs?” lando asks, looking down at his little twin caked with mud.

“i play in dirt,” finn shrugs, beginning to head back over to his grandfather.

“oh,” lando laughs, still holding onto you, “well that’s specific,” he jokes.

“that’s your son,” you shake your head with a laugh, moving towards cisca where she was sitting on a bench near the family.

you and her both watch as the boys run around with finn, hearing his giggles along with your own husband’s and father-in-laws. you can’t help but smile at the scene in front of you - lando attempting to instruct finn the right way to drive, showing him everything he knows. in return, your son is eyeing his father with focus, holding onto every word that drops from his mouth. you watch the duo, and relax, knowing that once baby girl norris was here, finn wouldn’t feel left out or forgotten, him and lando held such a special bond that couldn’t be broken.

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papercorgiworld · 4 months ago

Note

hi!! Could I request a fic with like Mattheo and Theo, or either of them. The reader wears glasses but only for reading stuff so her "friends" makes fun of her and Mattheo or Theo comforts her?? Love your fics xx

I got this request a century ago, but I promised myself I would only post this if I finished the second request as a way of keeping myself motivated... Did not really speed up the writing process, but here we are! The good news is: I finished the second request... bad news, I will only post it if I manage to finish the third request.

Anyways, thank you for the request and I'm sorry for my absence, I hope you've all been well. Either way you all deserve the world and lots of happiness. Sending you lots of love! AND of course: Happy Readings!

Merlin, she looks beautiful

Reader that needs glasses with Mattheo or Theo

Gently you stroll through the endless bookcases searching for something that would help you and your friends with your Transfiguration’s group project. “Found it.” You mumble to yourself, thinking that no one would hear you. However, a sneaky slytherin was adoring you from a bit further. Lounging with his friends in a corner of the library his eyes traced you until Draco snapped his fingers. “You’re gonna start drooling if you don’t stop that.” Your eyes move to the laughter but you can only guess what it’s about.

Your friends groan as you drop the books on the table. Honestly you weren’t excited about it either, but the work had to be done. Everyone grabs a book. Flipping through the pages you quickly spot an interesting chapter. You squint your eyes as you try to read, cursing yourself you grab your bag searching for your glasses. You blink, remembering how much more fun reading is when you don’t struggle with every letter.

Merlin, she looks beautiful.

Your one paragraph in when your vision gets misty. Confused, you take off your glasses and everyone at your table starts laughing. The person opposite of you had used a spell to fog your glasses to everyone’s amusement.

You felt your insecurities peak. Wearing glasses was new for you and you hadn’t quite adjusted to life with them, feeling a little stupid. “What’s up with the glasses? Are you going blind?” Someone at the table quipped, making the others chuckle. Instead of explaining why you had to wear glasses you just fell silent, everyone staring at you until you finally stuttered some words out. “I’m gonna read this later. I need to meet up with someone.” You could hear the snickering as you left the library.

You feel your heartbeat quicken and turn around a corner, pressing your back against the wall you try to calm yourself. You look down at the glasses in your hand and for a moment you stare up the staircases. If you would go up and drop your ugly glasses, you would be rid of them forever. It wasn’t going to work like that, but for a second it seemed like a good idea to just pretend like you didn’t need them.

Theo

POV: Theo watching you when you hurried out of the library, clearly upset.

You sigh and turn to continue walking without having anywhere to go, but suddenly you feel magic tug at you. You’re swirled around so that you’re now face to face with Theodore Nott. “Ey bella, you seemed upset when you left the library.” You blink staring at Theo who you had never known to show emotion leave alone concern for you. “Uhm… no it’s fine. I’m good.” You nod a few times as a way of convincing him, compensating for your shaky voice. “You forgot this.” Theo shows you the case for your glasses. You stare at the pattern, a bit concerned about whether or not he thought it was cute or not. You mentally cursed yourself for caring about what Theodore Nott thought of you simply because he was a popular guy. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Thank you.” You reach for the case but Theo immediately lifts it higher and out of reach for you.

A slytherin bully playing around was really the last thing you could use right now. Even though Theo and his friends were notorious for causing trouble, you had always been spared from it… that is until now. “Can I please have it back?” You bravely ask, stressing the please and hoping that the slytherin would be merciful. “Only if you promise to find some better friends.” You meet his eyes and he can see the clear confusion. “They make you feel unhappy with yourself. You make yourself small when you’re around them, I’ve noticed and I don’t like it. So promise me you’ll hang out with other people.” Your eyebrows knit together. “You noticed? Have you been watching me or something?” At your question Theodore's confident smile turns into a nervous chuckle. “I’m allowed to admire beautiful things, am I not?” His eyes look at you with cheeky innocence.

You blush and bite your lip. “Admiring, huh?” Theodore smiles at you and hands you the case for your glasses. “Yes… and I hate it when others dim your light.” You look away from him as you put your glasses in their case. “My friends aren’t that bad. The glasses just make me look silly.” Theo shakes his head at your words and closes the distance between the two of you. “I disagree.” His voice is raspy and you can’t believe the slytherin heartthrob is standing so close to you. “Bella, look at me. You’re gorgeous. Glasses or no glasses, you turn heads when you walk by.” You drown in his eyes as his words soothe all your insecurities. Theo gently pushes your chin up. “Promise me that you’ll hang out with better people.” He whispers with an enchanting voice. When you nod, he smiles and takes a step back. “Good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and winks before walking away.

There’s a silence as you stare at him with dreamy eyes. “Hey.” You suddenly say, to your surprise, out loud.” You can feel your heart thump loud when he turns to face you. “Can I hang with you?” The left corner of Theo’s mouth tugs up and his hand leaves his pocket gesturing for you to come with him. “Of course. I don’t mind. I could admire you all day.” You bite your lip to try and hide your happy smile and walk with him.

Mattheo

POV: Mattheo anything but pleased with your snickering friends as you leave the library with teary eyes.

“There you are.” You wouldn’t have thought those words were meant for you if you weren’t the only one there. With dumb eyes you stare at none other than Mattheo Riddle. “You alright, love? You seemed upset when you left the library in a hurry.” Your eyes widen at the realisation. You thought you were hiding it well but it was probably obvious to anyone with proper eyesight that you were close to crying when you practically ran out of the library. Mattheo took your silence as an invitation to get closer to you. Significantly closer. It made you worry what people would think if they saw you so close to him. Hogwarts loves juicy gossip.

“You look gorgeous with or without glasses so don’t worry about it.” Mattheo smirks, confidence radiating off of him. Not knowing how to take the compliment, you chuckle and look away from the handsome slytherin towering over you. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to lie?” You replied jokingly, but as soon as you meet his eyes you realise that considering who you’re talking to that it was a really bad joke. Your eyes fill with panic as you question whether to run or apologise. Meanwhile Mattheo lips form an amused smirk and his eyes playfully watch your nervous figure. “Not really, I was thought to never get caught in a lie. But what I said about your glasses was not a lie. It was a compliment. You’re gorgeous. Don’t doubt that, love. However, when the professors ask me later if I had anything to do with turning your friends’ hair into snakes, I’ll lie without shame.” Your mouth drops when you hear his confession. You immediately forget the sweet things he just said and panic. “What! Oh Merlin, no! Why did you do that?” As you try and walk away, back to your friends Mattheo stops you. “They deserve it and you know that. You don’t need glasses to see that they’re not real friends.” He’s still holding onto your wrist when you move closer to him. You let your head hang in defeat for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But still no reason to hex them.”

You give Mattheo a judging look, but your soft smile gives away that you don’t really mind that he hexed them. His eyes land on your smile as he chuckles. “Hexes were invented specifically for people like them.” You shake your head but at the same time you feel yourself drawn to him. His hand moves from your wrist to your hip. “You’re stunning. So don’t ever let anyone make you feel bad about yourself.”

Just when Mattheo is about to make a move Pansy’s coughs, making you jump and take a step back. Standing at the end of the hallway, a very sassy looking Pansy darts her eyes between you two. “Am I interrupting something?” She asks with obvious fake innocence. You immediately shake and say your goodbyes to Mattheo.

“What did I ever do to you, Pansy?” Mattheo asks after he watched you leave. “I think it was something you said in first year.” Pansy bluntly answers before walking away. Mattheo nervously chews his lips wondering if you were okay and curious if you had felt the heat as much as he did.

***

You had gotten so flustered after Pansy had caught Mattheo and you so close together that you went to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. Feeling fresh and calm you step outside again, only to realise that you were late for class. You rush in to find Mcgonagall stare at you in disappointment. “Let’s not waste anymore time standing there. Take a seat.” You nod, wanting to disappear now that the whole class is staring at you. You look to your left to see Mattheo sitting alone. Puppy eyes locked onto you.

Look at his eyes!!!!

You freeze as you feel the heat on your cheeks return. I must look like a tomato. Mcgonagall turns away from the board to see you still standing up. “Miss (l/n), is there a problem?” Her stern voice sends shivers down your spine and you feel like you’re a first year again. Within seconds you're seated next to Mattheo with your books in front of you. “Hello again.” Mattheo whispers amusement ringing in his voice. You nervously flip through the pages. “Chapter 4 and don’t forget your glasses.” Mattheo whispers, you softly chew your lip as you fumble to get your glasses. “I think you look cute with them.” At those words you turn to Mattheo with glasses, blushed cheeks and wide eyes. He gives you a cheeky wink… and that class you did not hear a thing the professor said to you.

Picture 1: I lost the source, sorry 😞

Picture 2: https://pin.it/57e7ZitKL

Picture 3: https://pin.it/5i3RGZvgQ

Picture 4: https://pin.it/37cX6axUM

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #papercorgiworldwritings #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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judenostopwaitkeepgoing · 8 months ago

Text

Your Villain Against a Wall...! 🫠

18+ | MDNI | Explicit Content | EN-released Villains x Reader

What if... your villain f*cked you against a wall? Wouldn't that be nice?

CW: fem!reader, p-in-v sex mostly, explicit, some villains have a higher word count (sorry, for some reason I rly popped off with these for only some of the boys—if your fave's is shorter, I promise to make it up to you soon!!), teasing, some of these depict sex in semi-public, pet names (my little robin, lil lady, princess, etc.), EN-released villains only!

ENJOY, MY SWEET LITTLE WH*RES ROBINS! 😙

William Rex

You sneak out of a party together, retreating alone to a secluded area of the garden. You kiss desperately against the cold castle wall, damp from recent rain. Your making out grows more and more fervent, and before long William is suggesting that you relocate to his room but, to his surprise and delight, you refuse by quietly murmuring, ‘Let’s stay right here.’ You pull your own skirt up, hitching your leg onto his hip and pulling him back to your kiss. This sets him over the edge! He doesn’t even care if a stray partygoer happens to find you two, he wastes no time diving his cock inside you, pushing you up deliciously against the stone wall.

Harrison Gray

After a mission you and Harry sit together in the library. He’s watching you finish your report and trying to distract you with his stare. “I’m almost finished, be patient please.” “You want me to suffer.” He sighs dramatically. “I do not Harry, please, let me finish.” “What, I’m not allowed to look at you?” “You know how you’re looking at me...” “Oh? Do I? How’s that?” You finally meet his sly gaze, walking around to his side of the table and attempting to push him away. But he teases you further and doesn’t budge, smirking at your cute attempts to move him. “You know, it’s unwise to punch above your weight.” he’d say, then pushes you back, completely overpowering you until you’re flush against a bookcase, with his tongue quickly invading your mouth. You’re stunned, but his kiss feels so delicious that you get taken away by it. Your panting breath is the only sound filling the library, and Harry works you up so much that you almost want to have a quick one right here... turns out you two are on the same page, and you feel his hand gliding up your skirt. “Ahhn,” you moan softly as his fingers enter you, your head leaning back against the shelf. “Mmm, does the lady like it when I touch her in the library like this...?” he murmurs in your ear, “She must—since she’s so soaking wet...” “Please, Harry...” you pant, unable to take his teasing any longer. “Please, what?” He’s enjoying this. “Please, right here... right now... let’s...” he cuts you off with his kiss, already sliding his cock out of his pants, ready to thrust into you against this bookcase.

Liam Evans

You scurry backstage after the performance to Liam’s dressing room. He’s the star of the show, so he gets his very own place to get ready. You peek into the room to see him removing his makeup. “You were amazing, Liam!” he turns quickly at your voice, beaming at the sight of you. “Y/N!” He pulls you into his dressing room, already filled with flowers and gifts from fans. He closes the door behind you, sneakily locking the door... he actually got kind of flustered when he saw you from the stage tonight. You looked so radiant, he wanted to steal you away and get you all to himself. Little did he know that you were thinking the same thing! ‘The part where your character was almost killed was so convincing that it made me really sad!” you exclaimed. He was close to you already, but that made him take you into his arms. “I’m sorry for making you sad,” he said, “don’t worry I’m not going anywhere.” You cuddled into his chest, and he could feel a heat rising inside him. “Let me make it up to you...” he purrs in your ear, sending a pleasant shiver through your body. Before you know it, he’s tilting your head back and pressing his soft lips to yours in an eager kiss. He kisses you breathless, until you pull away, panting “Couldn’t someone come in...?” “Don’t worry, I locked it when you came in,” he winks at you. “What!” You laugh nervously, kind of happy that he was already thinking about doing this with you... He starts to guide you over to the setae in the corner, but you stop him. “I want you right here,” you said, pulling him close by the lapels of his jacket, sandwiching yourself between him and the locked door to his dressing room. Liam is taken aback for a moment and then completely overwhelmed with desire for you. “Y/N,” he breathes out as he deepens your kiss, already hoisting you up so that he’s gripping you firmly by your thighs, ready to fuck you with not a care in the world for anyone who might walk by the shaking door.

Elbert Greetia

The two of you had been steadily clearing out the items in Elbert’s room. You’d initially thought that there were so many priceless treasures in here, but you’ve learned that it’s really a stifling coping mechanism for Elbie. “What about this painting?” you ask. The two of you have reached a spot of wall that only has paintings hanging up left. You felt like it would be fine to leave most of them, but Elbert insisted that he wanted to start fresh. “Let’s take it down,” he says, and you can feel his ocean blue eyes roving over you as you gingerly lift the painting from its hooks. “Wow, there’s quite a lot of wall space now!” you step back, taking in the progress you’ve both made. “Yes, indeed...” and suddenly, you feel Elbert’s arms wrapping around you. You turn in surprise, but before you can even ask him what’s up he’s kissing you softly and earnestly. You indulge his sudden kiss but ask what’s the matter when he pulls away. “Nothing I can put up on the wall could compare to your beauty now,” he says sweetly.

Alfons Sylvatica

You and Alfons were spending some quality time together in his bed, just idling the Sunday morning away. He’d spent a rare night in your bedroom with you instead of out on the town, so you were trying to draw things out as long as you could. His gloved fingers danced playfully across your skin, brushing against you every so lightly as he stretched languidly beside him. “Mm, you have such a nice body, y/n,” he murmured, sending a flush across you instantly. “It’s so soft and spotless... It makes me almost want to scar you up a little.” His blunt words send a pleasurable shiver through you, and you snapped your face toward him. “Just kidding,” he smiled his usual vaguely unsettling smile, and you were relieved for a moment that he didn’t mean it. But... you’d be lying if you said you hated the idea of him marking you as his own... “Alfons,” you whispered quietly a moment later. “Yes, little robin?” he asked turning his face from laying across your bare chest to face yours at the top of the bed. “What if...” your eyes trailed to the side, embarrassed to ask for what you were really imagining... but it seems that Alfons was on the same page as you. “Perhaps my little robin wouldn’t mind me branding her..?” his words purred into your ear made you let out a soft, pleasurable breath. You looked him in the eye, his gaze both merry and merciless. “Stand up over there, my little robin.” You obeyed him, slipping out of bed and standing against the nearest wall. You were completely naked, still, and the cold air of the room made your cute nipples stand pert. Alfons loved your body, and he took a moment to scan you up and down before removing his gloves and coming to stand right before you, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck delicately, and before you even noticed a difference between dream and reality, he was lifting you against the wall, biting hard on your collarbone, making you yelp out in pain. you felt his teeth sink into you, drawing blood even, before you felt his hard length piercing you suddenly, thrusting you up and against the wall as he landed more and more bites to your skin... it hurt all over, and your legs were trembling, but he didn’t stop until you were both satisfied.

Roger Barel

Roger was running some experiments with Liam and Harrison late into the evening, and you hadn’t seen him all day. You weren’t usually like this, but you were feeling... jealous. You knew that nothing untoward was happening in these experiments—Harrison certainly wouldn’t have agreed to them if that were the case—but you felt starved for Roger’s attention. So you crept out of bed, not even caring to change out of your nightgown and robe and snuck into his lab. Liam and Harry were gone by now, but you could see Roger hunched over his notes, writing something quickly. He looked like he was concentrating hard. “You know I could hear you coming all the way from upstairs, right?” he suddenly broke the silence, making you jump a little. He swiveled around on the stool he sat on to face you. You were pouting at being found out, but also at his total nonchalance. Like he wasn’t as touch-starved as you were... making you feel foolish... “Oh, that’s quite a look...” he was smiling sideways at you. He’s actually enjoying this? This made you pout even further. “I’m not cursed... so I can’t help with your research... but there is something that I want to try.” You tried to bury your frustration, but Roger could tell what you were thinking by the blush on your face and the fast pace of your heartbeat that he could hear across the room. He wanted you to say it, though. “Mmm? And what would that be?” he was enjoying drawing this out. “I couldn’t sleep... and I was hoping that you would...” you trailed off, too embarrassed to continue. “Mm, my hearing is good, lil’ lady, but still not good enough to hear your thoughts,” he was smirking, and had shifted his position so that he was sitting wide legged, everything about his body language cocky and relaxed. You hated and loved how confident he was with you. You wished you could muster that kind of confidence just once... so you walked right up to him and threw your arms around him in a sudden kiss. Roger is so surprised that it takes him a moment to react, but before long he’s wrapping his solid, muscular arms around you, pulling you in closer as he deepens the kiss—sliding his tongue inside your mouth and eliciting a whimper from you. But you refuse to back down. You’re going to show him just how impatient you’ve gotten. You pull him in even closer by the lapels of his vest, and he is taken aback again at your enthusiasm. “I want to know just how strong these arms are...” you breathe into his mouth in between kisses. He’s gripping you securely by the waist, your bodies flush against one another as he lifts you effortlessly and turns you toward the nearest vertical surface, the side of a bookcase near his desk. You can feel his grip resettle underneath your thighs, his large hands forming a kind of seat for you as he presses you against the shelf, his mouth not leaving yours for a moment. “Does the little lady want to try my patience, is that what she wanted to try?” He murmurs seductively into your ear, sending a shiver through your body. He has your skirt hiked up in no time, using his thigh to rub slowly against your soaked core, things devolving from there... ;)

Victor

Showering with Victor would be so fun. Imagine washing and playing with his pretty hair, and his practiced hands sliding soap all over your body... he would lather you everywhere, lifting you against the slippery tile like you weighed nothing, your tongues entwining luxuriously as the steam from the warm water made your blood pump even faster. You’d feel his enormous cock getting harder beneath you, and he would waste no time slipping it up inside you, making you moan deliciously—your lewd noises echoing against the tiled walls of the entire bathroom.

Jude Jazza

“You somehow managed to put that birdbrain to good use.” Jude was smirking at you, his legs crossed at the ankles, resting his expensive, polished shoes on his desk as he leaned back in his chair, his arms stretched up and behind him, cradling his head in a cocky, relaxed pose. He looked at you the way the same way he would appraise at a product. And, perhaps for the first time, you could tell he liked the deal he was getting with you—which stirred a strange mixture of achievement and attraction in your chest. You had managed to convince several noblewomen to draw up exclusive contracts with the interior design firm that Jude had recently acquired. It was a major sale—a few of them placed orders right away. You didn’t want to appear overly excited, knowing that Jude would just mock you for it, but you couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through you as you met his satisfied—dare you say even proud?—sideways grin. “You’ve made me into an excellent saleswoman.” You said, not even really meaning for it to sound like such an obvious appeal to his ego. “Ooh, you think flattery will get you everywhere, princess?” he let out a haughty chuckle and you swore you noticed a brief flash of wildness in his eyes. He stared you down before suddenly asking, “Does the lil’ birdie think she deserves some kind of reward for all her hard work?” Damn. You knew you couldn’t get anything past him. But... he did seem like he was game for a little fun... which could either go well or badly for you... Then, suddenly, he stood from his seat, his black jacket swirling behind him as he made his way around the desk to where you stood in one fluid sweep. He peered into your face, his righteous look only growing more and more dangerous. “You’ve earned exactly one request,” he whispered into your ear, sending a lightning bolt through your nervous system, “just this once.” You knew that even this wouldn’t be a no-strings-attached offer, but you didn’t care. “Fuck me against that wall right there.” You decided not to hesitate, to call him on his bluff, to get sassy on purpose (yes—perhaps, unconsciously, so he would punish you). “Oh, someone’s feeling cocky—” Jude’s face had cracked fully into a smile as he grabbed you roughly, taking an assured fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck in his grip. If it had been anyone else, you might have tensed, but Jude had manhandled you hundreds of times by now, your body trained to go limp at his touch. He pushed you against the wall, his hips grinding hard and final against yours, making you almost moan. “Mm, you did a good job, little robin, but I still can’t help wanting to make you beg.” He tugged on your hair with just enough force to make your head loll backward, while simultaneously diving into your neck with his mouth, biting the sensitive flesh hard... It was going to be a long night!

Ellis Twilight

“Ellis... ah... are you sure... I’m not too heavy...?” You managed to gasp out your question between ragged breaths as Ellis held you up flush against the stone wall of Crown Castle. He had returned from a mission quite late, but you hadn’t been able to sleep. You knew he was capable, but you always worried about him regardless. Plus, something must have happened, because immediately upon seeing you—you’d been taking a stroll in the gardens to clear your head—he took you into his arms, holding you so tight it almost hurt and kissing you fervently. “You’re as light as a feather,” he smiled at you, his sweet voice sending a shiver down your neck as he whispered to you. You could feel his muscles tense as you held on to his shoulders... But it was true, other than that, he didn’t seem to be exerting any effort at all as he held you up, his cock growing harder and harder between your splayed legs. He was holding you up underneath your thighs as he trailed his tongue against your neck, sucking on the skin occasionally, drawing out sweet moans from you. “Mm, you sound so pretty, Y/N.” You could feel his lips curl into his devilish smile. “Ellis, shouldn’t we—” you were about to suggest you relocate to somewhere more private, but were cut off when you realized that he was starting to undo your blouse... with his teeth!? Your brain became overwhelmed, all of your thoughts seemingly evaporated, by the sheer eroticism of his gaze as he stared you down. What on earth happened on that mission? “Y/N... I’m sorry, but... I can’t wait anymore.” Ellis looked at you apologetically before you felt his hand slip up your skirt, stroking your soaking wet cunt before long. You instinctually gripped his midsection even tighter with your thighs, unable to resist his long, dexterous fingers as they slipped inside you... You’d have to figure out what had gotten into him some other time...

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 9 months ago

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You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada or Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It��s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Duh, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #my fic

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aylinmoss · 6 months ago

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✦ Pack of poses: Library ✦

✦ The set includes 12 poses ✦ - 6 couple poses for male and female near the bookcase

✦ You will need: - Andrew pose player and Teleport Any Sim - Book ([MB] Book Accessory - Right) - The Athenaeum bookcase from the "Crystal Creations" Stuff Pack

✦ Instructions: - Put the teleporter in the center of the bookcase - Attach the book in all poses to the girl (the book is in the hats category) - Do not use with the growth slider! (The height is adjusted in the pose, the male character is higher, the female character is lower)

✦ Download: - SFS (free) - Boosty (free)

✦ TOU: - Do not pass it off as your own, do not steal, do not re-upload! - For personal use only! - If you are asked what kind of poses - send a link to this post!

More pictures:

@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc Thanks for the reblog!

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jacky93sims · 4 months ago

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Vintage Spring Set for The Sims 2

These are 4to2 conversions from Novvas, Sims41ife, SIMcredible!, low poly. Dressers are functional, books work like a bookcase. All recolors included.

DOWNLOAD HERE

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

If you want to support my creations, you can send me a donation with Paypal or Ko-fi ☕ If you want to ask for a Paid Commission, HERE you can find more details. Thank you ❤️

#ts2 #the sims 2 #sims 2 cc #sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #ts2 download #4to2 #4to2 conversion #buy mode #dresser #bed #loveseat #sofa #books

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stars-eclipsing · 2 months ago

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ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part 1! (Part 2 is up)

Tags (pls read): Domestic violence, themes of abuse, choking (not as a kink), almost fainting, sinister mark is his own warning. Notes: I tried to make the reader seem bad but you know, anyone can look good next to fucking lucifer over here.

There’s a crash, and your bookcase breaks into many halves when Mark throws a lamp at it. The glass shatters, sending the wood splintering across the room. You cover your face with your forearms.

“You always do this. You always fucking do this!” He huffs like an aggravated bull. The sound of his voice just makes you sigh in annoyance, your eyebrow twitching at the mess. Which apparently, is enough to set him off.

Enough to scream so loud the walls shake slightly. “What? WHAT?” With the speed of a viltrumite, Mark slams you into the wall of the living room, his forearm against your neck, holding you high, “Got something to fucking say?”

You feel your face instantly flush and you kick his chest and scream, clawing at his arms, he barely deters. “Mark-" You sputter, "Put me down!”

He puts you down. Or rather, drops you so you fall on the wooden floorboards. You wheeze in a breath and cough painfully, trying your best to fill your lungs with oxygen with a sharp intake of air. You bring your hand to your neck, trying to feel at it as you cough. Your eyes are familiar with the sight of wooden floorboards, even with your vision unfocused.

“That’s what you get… for being smart with me.”

His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him, you instinctively hold his wrist. When you glare, he grips you with such vigor that you’re afraid your jawbone might shatter under his hold. You breathe madly, still not recovering from the choking he had decided to give you.

He leans in closer, “Are you done?” His voice sounds like he’s speaking through a broken megaphone, and you’re starting to see double of the bastard.

You feel your eyes droop and your head spin. Nonetheless, you spit blood on his face, “Go to hell.”

His hold on your jaw turns crushing, but even with all the pain in the world, it won’t stop you from acting in spite of Mark. Never will. And when he sees the unadulterated hatred in your eyes, he yells, but lets go of your face harshly, your hand immediately going to your jaw. You hiss, finally feeling the burn.

He paces around the room with shaky fists. He never really could accept that you didn’t love him. Though technically, you wouldn't call whatever twisted form of affection he has for you 'love'.

He's hyper aware that with one more wrong move, you’ll die. So, he directs his punch to the wall instead.

“Why?” He says shakily, with his fist still connected to the wall. “Why, why, why, why?” He punctuates each word with a punch, the last one breaking a hole in the wall.

Still unsatisfied, and still brimming with anger, he turns his line of view to you. You're completely still on the floor with your forehead to your knee, panting.

He clenches his fists, they continue to shake. “I do everything for you. I make sure you’re fucking spared, you even have a goddamn house.” He gestures to the place, the one that is now in complete ruins, “And you’re still. So. Ungrateful.” He laments. You don’t hear him.

He continues to bitch (all he’s good for, anyway). You’re starting to come down from the dizziness, feeling the bruising on your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot something painfully bright green in your monotone living room.

You mistake it for a trick of the eye, your dizziness playing with your perception. But you see it, just out of the corner of your vision...

You double take, and it’s real. You tense. Some kind of wormhole that whirls in on itself. A portal that’s ripped the fabric of reality momentarily. Even Mark's shut up.

It’s presence darkens the room, but it’s green makes up for it by illuminating, casting you in it’s bright glow.

You squint your eyes, leaning forward on your arms, “What the–”

You see something, like a mini movie, but it’s blurry, and you can barely catch a sliver of it. However, you can hear it.

It’s… Mark’s voice. If you had the strength, you’d turn to him, because it somehow sounded less irritating than it always does.

Before you could question who was talking (because that soft voice couldn’t be Mark’s.), you see yourself walk into frame, talking to someone chirpily. You look healthier, stronger, your expression relaxed.

“The fuck is this?” Mindlessly, you lift a hand to silence Mark as you try and pay attention. Somehow, he doesn’t comment on your ‘rudeness’, letting it slide. Or perhaps just as taken aback by the portal’s abrupt presence.

Then, there’s Mark…you’re talking…laughing with Mark. He looks so…different. Much younger, much cuter, much softer.

You don’t know how long you’re staring for, completely astonished at what it is that you’re seeing— But without your permission, it leaves just as suddenly as it came, swirling in on itself, disappearing into a wisp. It dissolves into the tiniest of sparks, leaving you with the deafening silence of the room. You blink, sitting back down on the floor.

You hate Mark, you really do, and you would never speak up to him first unless he had threatened to saw you in half or something. But this time, you couldn't help yourself, “You just saw what I saw, right?”

“Of course I did, I have eyes.” He says far too quickly, you’re too tired to roll your eyes.

Without even thinking about it, you lift your arm up. Mark takes it, lifting you up, “Was it an illusion?”

“Because it's so hard to believe I'm actually nice somewhere.”

You ignore his insistent grumbling. “So, it’s a different reality.”

You shrug off him rather forcefully and walk to the bookcase, the one that now looked more like a crime scene than anything peaceful. You crouch down and filter through the fallen books.

Mark crosses his arms, “What are you doing?”

You move a piece of wood weakly and look under it, “You could have ruined any piece of the house, by the way.” You chastise.

“Well, I specifically wanted to upset you. So that’s that.” He says matter-of-factly. He walks over and lifts the wood piece without effort. You crawl under it to try to find what you’re looking for.

“Not even a thank you?” He says when you ignore him. You crawl out and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, a book in your hands. He lets go of the broken wood and it snaps under its own weight. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at you as you flip through the pages.

“I’ll ask again, and I want an answer this time. What are you doing?”

You land on the chapter you were looking for, splaying your hand on the page. You blink at it, and a soft smile spreads across your face, “Mark," You begin, "Do you want to expand your damned viltrumite empire, or not?” You say calmly.

He bites his lip when you say his name like that, but a sadistic smile makes its home on his face. “Well, don’t fuckin’ keep me waiting then.”

You feel a sense of peace amidst your headache, like the clarity after a cry, because you had just hatched an idea, a brilliant idea, to get rid of Mark, forever. Where he’ll be gone some place far, far away. And you doubt he’s bright enough to come back all on his own. Ridiculous in his perseverance at times, but not at all brilliant.

The book in your hand shakes, you’re convinced he’ll think it’s just because you’re still in pain.

“There is this man, his name is Angstrom Levy.”

He laughs, “What a terrible name to have.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: I think this is weird on top of being non-canon compliant? But im gonna expand on it nonetheless because i have some ideas

#cw: abuse #cw: choking #If there r other tags/ warnings can someone pls let me know and ill add them!#invincible #mark grayson #sinister mark #mark grayson x reader #sinister mark x reader #eclipse's case files #Eclipse's Mark Grayson

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noicevibes · 3 months ago

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18+, minors dni. just some quick diluc smut... yanno. :3

“Stay with me.”

He knew it was a long shot. Well, you both did, really. Not a single day could pass that Diluc Ragnvindr wasn’t forcibly holed up in his office to handle the estate’s most private affairs, or had to help in cellars, or return into the bustling city of Mondstadt, or — and of course, you knew about this; anyone with a brain could put two and two together when a tall man with long red hair that carries a Pyro Vision and wields a flaming claymore — taking down Mondstadt’s enemies in the dark cover of night. His work was twenty-four hours a day, eight days a week.

Asking you over to the Dawn Winery to keep him company while he attempted to finish that work was almost too hopeful— four hours, half a novel, and a short nap later that you’re only just stirring from now, you find that he’d gotten through only a third of the stack of paperwork that threatens to teeter off his desk with the slightest disruption to its perfect balance.

“… Diluc,” you call softly, to not startle him. He’d been staring down hard at the handful of papers pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “You should take a break.”

He sighs, his exasperation targeted at the messy spread laid out before him; this, he makes obvious when he sends you a fond, tired smile from across the room. You return it, and rise to seat yourself at the edge of his lounge chair.

“So stubborn.” You extend a hand in his direction. “Come sit with me. I’ll be your pillow.”

“I fear if I do, I won’t end up getting up again,” he says, but he stands anyway, and rounds the desk. “You are a very reliable pillow.”

“Since you won’t let me help you tackle those new contracts, this is the least I can do for the cause.”

“The cause?” he muses, allowing his hands to be scooped up into yours as he stands between your legs.

“Freeing my lover from the evil clutches of productivity.”

Diluc hums. “Perhaps if you sat a little closer to me while I worked, I’d be more motivated to work harder.”

Harder than you already are? your thoughts nearly have you frowning. To hide your concern, you press your lips into his scarred knuckles.

“I think I might provide the opposite effect of what you’re expecting,” you murmur into them. Diluc frees a hand from yours and rests it atop your head. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you when you look just so very handsome sitting at your desk, working so diligently…”

Diluc huffs, and suddenly averts his gaze from on you to the wall-encompassing bookcases.

“… you don’t even have to be in front of me to have an affect on me.” You swallow, cheeks warming.

“Then I should return so you can focus properly,” you reason. His head snaps down toward to you.

“Now that might have the opposite effect.” You raise an eyebrow, lifted higher when Diluc’s hands rise to cup your cheeks. “Stay with me,” he whispers. Gently, he knocks your knees together with his own, and steps forward to kneel over you. “Stay with me.”

He lowers his head, touching his lips to the corner of yours. You squirm, suddenly restless beneath him, and raise your chin to meet his kiss properly. What is once soft and tender morphs quickly into something fervent and intoxicating, the tongue prodding the dark reaches within your mouth leaving you breathlessly dizzied and clinging to the lapels of his jacket to steady yourself.

Your gasp of air when you part is sharp, buzzing; Diluc smiles, and presses his wet mouth against the curve where your neck and shoulder meets.

"Stay with me," he repeats, a heaved whisper weaved within his own panting. Your hands skim up past his biceps, pulling him closer to you with your fingers laced together behind his head, and his own lower to caress and soothe your trembling limbs, your fluttering stomach, your keening pelvis, to slide your long skirt and bloomers down past your knees.

"Stay... with me." Knees kissing the ground, he dives further into you, tongue languidly lapping at the bundle of nerves between your folds, a reflection of his exhaustion; somehow, his dedication to make you come in his mouth surpasses any desire to slow down or to rest, nor to dare to leave you unsatisfied, and the thighs easily trapped beneath his carved musculature as you whine and writhe your pleasure away.

Breaths heavy and gazes lidded, you look to each other. Fingers intertwine between your chests, and his other hand cradles your cheek as he shares your bounty with your lips.

“Stay,” he murmurs against them, but you’re already nodding, “with me.”

please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #had a paragraph of this wip here from LAST APRIL #anyway dilly hours bc im stuck at the office; enjoy~

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finniestoncrane · 11 months ago

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mm I’m haunted by so many visions. When. When Egon Splenger. Makes that joke. The penis joke. And he has that smile. That look. With the bookcase behind him. TUMBLR USER FINNIESTONECRANE! I have NEVER felt such a STRONG urge to shove a man against a bookcase. He just. I. When he. When. Just like. He. When. Mm.

Egon Spengler x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.6k anon you and me both i cant express to you how badly that scene made me want him and i wanted him pretty fuckin badly before that lmao BUT here's some reader who is actually able to prove his theory that the chicks dig his epididymus moore so👻 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, flirting, handjob, good old fashioned ball gargling

"Studious, dedicated. Intelligent beyond need for the work I'd require you to do... Why do you want this position?"

You remembered the moment well. The interview with Egon that landed you the job in his research team. You'd fumbled over the words at first, your entire academic career flashing before your eyes. Ever since you had first seen him in those silly commercials, then watched him as he saved the world and went back to the field for his work, you'd wanted him. The opportunity to work with him was something you had waited your life for. And you thought you had ruined it in the moment.

"I'm a huge fan, Doctor Spengler."

Nothing about your academic achievements, your interest in this particular study, or any of his previous ones. No, you'd muttered a ridiculous statement with no substance that made you seem like a childish moron.

But Egon had raised an eyebrow, a smile raising on one side of his mouth in a knowing look. Almost flirtatious, definitely something behind it.

That's how your relationship had continued, the tension only building each passing day as you worked together late into the evenings and often on weekends, each others' only point of contact for days on end.

Nothing had ever come of it, though, past suggestive remarks and lingering touches, looks that felt like they lasted for minutes. You wondered if you were both far too shy to confront it, or if he felt it would push the boundaries of professionalism.

Either way, you harboured the crush still, and spent your days making sure you worked to his expectations, living to please him in at least one of the ways you wanted to. It was that level of concentration that meant you hadn't noticed when Egon's old colleague, Doctor Venkman, had entered the lab. At least not until he had begun making loud remarks and crude jokes, intended to be at the expense of Egon.

"Bet those science chicks really dig that big cranium of yours."

With a quick glance in your direction, Egon caught your eye. You looked away, trying to pretend that you weren't staring at him, but it was obvious he had caught you. And with a growing grin, he looked back to Venkman.

"I think they're more interested in my epididymis."

You blushed immediately, understanding the joke a lot faster than Venkman, who might not have gotten it at all. Trying to hide the reddening of your cheeks, you buried your face in your paperwork and didn't even bother to look up as Venkman said goodbye and left the lab. You only looked up when Egon cleared his throat, catching him just as he turned his back to you and continued filing through the paperwork and medical books lined up on the shelves in front of him.

That was a giveaway, a hint, securing the possibility in your mind. Egon had been talking about you. The joke, a reference to your clear interest in him, a sly but subtle nod at the unspoken attraction, an inside joke between you and him in front of his friend. The way he had looked at you, the way he always did. It was difficult to deny it. So you took matters into your own hands, a little bit sick of waiting for him to make the first move. You'd applied to the job, you'd complimented him first, you began the surreptitious flirting. You might as well be the one that started this too.

"Doctor Spengler..."

You spoke from the other side of the room, only beginning to walk towards him when he had turned away from the bookshelves and was paying attention to you.

"... do you have any evidence to that theory that you proposed?"

"Which theory?"

"The one about your... cranium, verses other aspects of your anatomy.

As you approached him, he smiled to you, a knowing grin that spoke volumes.

"I've observed a fair amount of evidence to support it, actually."

He turned from you again, filing the last of the files he held in his hands as he continued.

"Although, I suppose for it to be concrete, I would require some quantifiable data. An example that could-"

As he turned once more, he found you right in front of him, reaching your hand out to cup the front of his dark grey, woollen slacks. You stroked down the quickly stiffening length, letting your fingers reach further, teasing at his balls. Leaning into him, you pushed his back against the book case, watching as his eyes widened, his smile grew brighter, and his cheeks began to darken.

"Would this be sufficient evidence?"

Egon's voice shook on the first word, but he managed to compose himself.

"P-perhaps. Although, it wouldn't be much to write about in an academic or research sense."

"Oh, I can give you a lot to write about, Doctor Spengler."

You pressed your chest to him, hands around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. As your palms drifted around to his cheeks, they quickly fell to his tie, tugging on it as you brought him closer, feeling his own hands skimming over your side, settling on your waist as the kiss deepened. Satisfied that he wasn't going anywhere, you let go of your grip on him and began running your hands through his hair, playfully teasing at the curls before you pulled back, watching with glee as he followed you, lips outstretched, before opening his eyes.

"This isn't about your cranium, though, Doctor Spengler."

Sinking to your knees in front of him, you looked up as you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He reached behind him, resting his palms against the rows of books and files, trying to balance himself as he cleared the nerves from his throat. A short inhale choked in his throat as you gripped his cock, removing it from his underwear and letting it bounce free in front of you.

You wrapped your palm around his surprising, but slim, length and being stroking it slowly, watching the way his mouth moved, tongue pressing out, soft gasps emanating from his throat, as you felt him throbbing against you. And just as he adjusted himself to the sensation of your hand pumping his cock softly, you leaned forwards, tongue out, spread flat, and suddenly against his balls.

"Oh-ho... oh my."

With a soft laugh, you placed a kiss to his sack, lips wet from your drool, and let your mouth pull away for just a second before you went back in for another, tongue pushed out from your lips to lap at him as you kissed once more. On the third one, you let your lips enclose over a patch of skin, sucking slightly, tongue tip stiff and tracing over the skin in your mouth before you let go.

You stroked his cock a little rougher, placing your tongue just below it so his balls could bounce and slap on your tongue, the gentle impact rousing a heat in you, the sound almost electric in the air. Egon's fingers were stiff, tensed, tented against the shelves so firmly that his knuckles were white.

"This is... quite sufficient evidence... if you'd like to conclude the experiment."

"Do you want me to stop, Egon?"

He looked down to you, your gaze returned through your eyelashes as you blinked slowly.

"No. No. Absolutely not."

"Me either."

With a grin you kept going, fingers still wrapped tight around his cock, palm sliding against it as you pumped it rhythmically. You opened your mouth wide as you stroked, letting one of his balls rest on your tongue before you sucked it into your mouth, salivating at the taste of him, drool washing over his skin and dribbling down your chin as you hollowed your cheeks.

You let go with a pop, slurping as you released him from your lips, frothed drool spilling onto your chin as you tried to clean yourself up before diving back towards him, moaning as you jerked his cock and lapped at both balls now, futilely attempting to fit both of them in your mouth at the same time.

Instead, you let your tongue glide over them, flitting quickly from side to side as you tightened your grip on his length, only faltering with your speed when he stuttered out some words with a desperate, pleading tone.

"Ah... I think we have... sufficient evidence to... reach a... hmmm... conclusion..."

"Of course, Doctor Spengler. How would you like me to collect the results?"

A strangled laugh barked out of his throat, his eyes pressed tightly shut as he processed the words you had just said, so serious, so familiar, but so filthy.

"T-tongue... tongue, please..."

Still stroking his shaft, you picked up the speed and brought your other hand up to cup his balls, squeezing them firmly, easing up every now and then so he could feel the throb of pleasure as you tightened once more. Your mouth was open wide, a moan passing up and over your tongue which was laid out flat, ready for him.

It only took a few more seconds before his cum was painting your tongue, as well as the rest of your face. Thick, white ropes of his warm seed spattered on your skin, along your taste buds, a not unpleasant tang of salt lingering even after you swallowed what you had collected, still more of it dripping from the tip and onto your hand.

You stroked a few more times, until his body convulsed at your touch, and then you let go, standing up in front of him and wiping a drop of his cum from the corner of your mouth. He was unbalanced, his eyes half-lidded and hazy from the release, but he managed to speak through his lopsided smile.

"Wait until the scientific community hears about that."

#finnie writes #ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1984 #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters fandom #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #egon spengler x you #egon x fem!Reader #ghostbusters egon #egon spengler fanfic #egon spengler fanfiction #x reader

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