#that things begin to shift in marcel's mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foreverisntenough · 4 months ago

Text

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 4- 'After After Party' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.3k

[Unforgettable - French Montana 🎶]

The afterparty pulsed with a kind of decadent chaos—the kind only Paris could conjure. A dimly lit lounge attached to a luxe hotel, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the murmur of conversations in a dozen different accents blending into the bass of an unrelenting track, and the shake of cocktails. Faces blurred together, awash in the low golden glow of lights, opulent fabrics shimmering under the light. Here, everyone was someone, yet Trent felt like a ghost. A body moving through the motions, standing still inside his own mind. Because you were here. You had to be. Or maybe he just needed you to be. He barely remembered arriving, hadn’t listened to a single word his brother had said since they walked in. Someone—someone important, though he couldn’t remember their name, someone he really should have been paying attention to—was speaking to him, and yet their voice was nothing but static. Trent’s world had narrowed to a singular point, a fixation he couldn’t shake, a longing he couldn’t reason with. And then—there you were. Not walking towards him. Not looking for him. Not even scanning the crowd, searching for the very thing he’d convinced himself you wanted. Instead, you stumbled—gracefully, but still—a misstep in your over the knee boots, laughing softly as you emerged from a coat room with two men at your side. A chill slithered down his spine. His stomach turned. He felt stupid.

Stupid for thinking that the moment he walked in, you’d feel it too. That you’d be searching the crowd with the same feverish desperation that he was. That you’d be waiting, just like he had been, for the inevitable pull of gravity that always had landed you both in the same place. But you weren’t looking for him. Not at all. Trent clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as the spiral began. The dark thoughts, the ones he hated—the ones that whispered maybe you weren’t the girl he thought you were. Maybe you were just like the rest. Maybe all those footballer shoots weren’t just business. Maybe Ibiza had been just that to you—a fleeting encounter, forgettable. Maybe he didn’t know you at all, like he said to Marcel. Maybe he genuinely was no one to you.

And yet, you were dying inside. Because you were looking for him. Searching in every passing glance, every flicker of movement. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be obvious. Couldn’t let it be known how badly you wanted him to see you first, to make the move, to chase. You weren’t this girl and yet when it came to him, you found the girl looking back at you in the mirror reapplying lip gloss and adjusting her tits for the fifth time, someone you didn’t recognize. You weren’t fearless, not when it came to him. Not when it felt like wanting him this much was akin to giving him every piece of yourself. You had even gone so far as to ask a friend of a friend who worked for Louis Vuitton, the kind of favor that made you cringe, to check the guest list for his name. That was how badly you needed to see him. How badly you wanted this. And the coatroom? The two men? None of it was what he thought. Just an innocent exchange, a favor in return for a favor. Helping someone retrieve a forgotten phone from their jacket pocket before slipping out, right into his line of sight. But what Trent didn’t know hurt him. And what you didn’t know was that he was already drowning in you.

Because he remembered your parting words, ’maybe you.’ The way you had thrown them over your shoulder with a smirk, as if they hadn’t undone him entirely. As if they hadn’t settled in his bones, thrumming through his veins like a slow-burning fire. And now, here you were, existing in the same space but still feeling so achingly far. And Trent didn’t know how to close the distance. Didn’t know if he even should. Because he wasn’t sure if you meant maybe him in a cheeky way or that you had so many options tonight, it potentially could be him. He didn’t like being one of many and he didn’t think you were like that. Was it hypocritical? Probably but he’d never really cared enough to be hypocritical before. He thought you were different, that you had a standard that he was trying to crack and yet he worried you might’ve already been cracked.

The atmosphere was suffocating in its extravagance, Louis Vuitton dripping from every person seated on the velvet sofas low on the group, table lamps that glowed orange, a disco ball that was ironic and a dj, the sound of ice clinking against crystal glasses as servers weaved through bodies pressed too close together. Laughter, too loud, music, too heavy, the air thick with smoke and exclusivity. And somewhere in this sea of indulgence, you. Trent had known you were here before Marcel whispered it in his ear, he saw you when he wished he hadn’t, but hearing it confirmed sent an involuntary heat up his spine.

“So Campbell and Foster’s friend is here,” Marcel muttered as they elbowed their way toward the bar. The crowd was dense, bodies moving in slow waves, and finding anyone felt impossible. Marcel had opted to keep your name out of it—maybe for discretion, but more so for the amusement of watching Trent pretend not to care.

“Yeah, saw her.” Curt. Dismissive. A blatant lie. Trent had done nothing but look for you since stepping into the party, his eyes scanning every darkened corner, every gathering of people, every turn of a delicate wrist that might be yours. He thought he could handle this. Be unaffected. Play it cool, let it go. But the truth was, it hurt. It hurt because the last time he saw you, you had left him with nothing but a smirk and two words that had haunted him ever since: Maybe you and a fucking wink. And now, you weren’t looking for him.

Meanwhile you were flitting from group to group, industry acquaintances, old contacts, friends, laughing at conversations he wasn’t a part of only wishing he was in them. You were purposefully getting lost in the crowd, only in effort to hopefully brush past him. He tried to reason with himself—maybe if he fucked you, he could get it all out of his system. He wouldn’t say no if you made it easy, if you came to him. But it wouldn’t be because he wanted you. It would be to forget you. But he knew that was a lie, too.

“No,” Marcel laughed, eyes glinting with something too knowing. “You were staring at her, bro. You’ve been looking for her all night. Gonna say something to her or just brood?” Trent exhaled sharply, fingers curling around the sweating glass in his hand.

“I don’t know if I want to be around who she’s with… like, all this.” His voice was lower now, edged with something unspoken. Disgust? Maybe. Resentment? Definitely. He was lumping you in with the crowd of the party to make it easier to say he didn’t want you. Deciding you were just like the rest; cigarettes inside places they weren’t allowed, names said deliberately wrong. He didn’t like this world—the pretentious, self-indulgent spectacle of it all. The way everyone here carried themselves with a careful kind of apathy, a curated coolness that meant nothing was ever that deep. And more than that, he didn’t like the thought of you in it. The coatroom. The two men. The possibility that you were someone different from the person he wanted you to be.

“Yeah, but you’re here, too.” Marcel didn’t bother softening the truth. “This is your life, just the same.” And Trent hated that he was right. That the reality was this was his world too occasionally, just like it was yours. That people could exist in spaces that were too cool even if they were kind. It was unfair for him to fault you for your invitation tonight when he had received one too.

Amidst another trip to the bathroom to check how your hair was and reapply your perfume, you found him, after the adjustments, thank god. His side profile, sharp under the ambient lighting, jaw set in quiet contemplation as he listened, half-listened, to Marcel. Trent’s eyes narrowed in the sea of people in front of him, ignoring his 5 o’clock i.e you approaching from an angle. You weren’t sure why your feet moved toward him, why you suddenly felt emboldened to slip through the crowd, dodging wayward drinks and whispered conversations. Maybe you just wanted to be near him. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d been searching for you, too. But before you could reach him—before he even realized you were closing the distance—you heard the words that made you freeze, breath hitching.

“Yeah… Don’t know. She just might be more of a risk than a reward.” It was a simple sentence. No weight to it in his voice, no hesitance. Just a passing thought, as if he were discussing a business deal. A calculation. And that was all you heard. A risk. Not a reward. That’s all you needed to hear. Your stomach dropped, your heart lurching as if it had been yanked from your chest. It was an effort not to react, not to let the breathlessness of rejection show on your face. But your expression betrayed you—your lips parted, brows knitting together in an instant of unguarded hurt before you forced yourself to move, pivoting sharply as if you had never intended to go in his direction at all. Like you had never been reaching for him. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night waiting for him to find you. And Trent, unaware that you had been close enough to hear him, didn’t even notice.

“Shit.” You muttered, your martini nearly spilling onto your corset as you fumbled back through the crowds. You set the drink down on a random table feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. Feeling stupid. You grabbed a few cocktail napkins and wiped your hand dry. You shut your eyes tight and you exhaled before you beelined for another room of the party. It was fine. ‘It is what is’ you told yourself. You didn’t know him, maybe it was all best left in Spain.

[You Doing Something To Me - Smi.le 🎶]

The night had melted into something heady and liquor-drenched, the kind of haze that blurred time and consequence. Call it the after after party. People had left, people had arrived, and with them came new indulgences—the kind that kept the party breathing well past its natural lifespan. It was fashion week, after all, where excess wasn’t just expected, it was curated. And maybe that’s what unsettled Trent. Not the party itself, but you in it.

He didn’t understand this world. He was included in bigger events like this, but as a whole, day to day, no. He rarely bothered unless he was asked. He wanted to be included in nights like tonight but he never understood why it all needed to be this way. Not the price tags of clothing or the celebrity of it all, that he understood, or at least he thought he did. But why party favors had to come in little tiny baggies. The untethered decadence, the way everything felt just a little too slippery, too impermanent, too far removed from reality. He didn’t get how you fit into it. Maybe that’s what bothered him most, that you were here at all.

He sat in an offshoot of the party, some dimly lit side room where time felt even more warped, where too many girls lingered and too few guys enjoyed the imbalance. Marcel was occupied with someone draped over his arm, and Trent, absent-minded, watched the ice in his glass slowly succumb to warmth, swirling lazily, disappearing. He was only still here so he could say he stayed. But he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about this party. He didn’t care about this room. He didn’t even have it in him to find someone else to entertain him for the night. Unfortunately, he still cared about you. Where the fuck were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the night. Had you left? Was that why he stayed, hoping you’d reappear? You had vanished like you were never there at all. Maybe he’d finally done what he never truly wanted to, lose you. But that was all only because you were avoiding him after finding out you were a ‘risk.’ You were hurt. You were the one that tried to avoid the games in an effort to not get hurt. To not feel all the things he made you feel but instead you were more invested in him than ever and it felt like someone had duped your martini on your heart and held a lighter to it. You were burning for him and yet you felt so burnt by him. And in a moment of self invalidation, Trent’s thoughts paused, interrupted by a voice cutting through the room, sharp, invasive.

“Bro, if you’re not gonna participate, you gotta get the fuck out.” Trent didn’t even look up. He didn’t need to. Trent could feel that the comment was directed at him. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the tone was, the entitled drawl of someone who thought they owned the night, who had long since mistaken indulgence for importance. The key in the man’s hand, the quick wipe of a model’s nose beside him, yeah. Trent got it. With a slow exhale, Trent nodded. He really, truly, did not give a shit. Not about this coked-up entitled waif that’s for sure. But you? He couldn’t shake but maybe it was time, he went home. Time he retired. And then, like some cruel trick of the universe, there you were. Standing in the doorway. The sight of you sent his world tilting. A blink. Another. Like his brain needed extra time to process that you were really here, that he wasn’t just conjuring you up in his mind because he’d spent all night wanting to. His brow furrowed but your gaze wasn’t on him, it was locked on the guy who had spoken, your expression unreadable but your presence alone carrying enough weight to silence the room.

“Hey, want to not be a dick?” Your voice was smooth, effortless. You weren’t here for Trent, you had come to find someone else, but instead now you had found him. Your heart thudding as you heard the boy, Martin, some nepo-baby with that carefully cultivated, malnourished Victorian look the industry loved so much— threw some shitty comment at the person that made your feet feel like boulders the second you stepped in the room. It felt like you had walked into a glass door but you were reacting on instinct. And Trent? He was already standing before he could even decide to, like his body was magnetic to you. Martin grinned around his key, sniffing roughly looking back at Trent. Unfortunately, you did know Martin well, but he was amused by you intervening.

“Get girls to fight for you always?” He taunted, eyes flicking to Trent with the kind of sneer that was meant to bruise. “Bet you’ve never caught a swing either, huh, pretty boy?” You turned then, really looked at Trent for the first time since you walked in. He wasn’t even reacting, just shaking his head, unimpressed, detached. It was such an absurd comment, coming from a model type, and Martin was just being rude to be rude, his niche Swiss boarding school accent of european wealth mocking for the fun of it. But before you could say something more, before you could stop him...

“All good. I’m out.” Trent replied. Simple. Unbothered as he placed his drink down on a table. But then, then. You expected him to step past you without pause, to brush by like you were just another body in the room, just another part of a night he was leaving behind. But instead, his hand found your waist. Low. Gentle. Firm. And then his voice, quieter now, softer than you ever expected. “You wanna come with me?” He hadn’t planned to ask that. Hadn’t planned to feel this way. He had spent all night trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, that he was fine, that he could just forget you. But now, with his fingers pressed against the curve of your waist, with you standing in front of him like you had been written into this moment, he knew. He didn’t want to leave without you. He was entirely off script and entirely not himself, but he was okay with that when you nodded, silent but sure.He felt something settle deep inside him. The realization that you felt nothing like a risk and were seeming to feel much more than a reward.

The hallway was hushed, a liminal space between indulgence and escape. The bass from the party throbbed in the distance, a muffled heartbeat behind closed doors, while the glow from the dimmed overhead fixtures flickered gold against polished marble. Beyond the other end of the hall, the entrance to the hotel loomed—dimly lit, an invitation to somewhere more private, more dangerous. Him. You. The choice in the space between. Trent’s palm burned against the small of your back, his fingers flexing idly over the curve of your spine. The heat of him seeped through your skin, anchoring you in place even though part of you wanted to run—because the way he looked at you made escape seem like the safer choice. But you weren’t sure if you wanted safe, not when he’s hands on you felt like this.

“He can be an ass,” you spoke first, voice soft, thick with something unspoken. “Sorry. It’s lame they even still do that stuff.” You felt embarrassed, like you owed him an apology for a world you were a part of but never partook in.

“Nah, no worries.” His voice was low, smooth, that honeyed Liverpool drawl curling around the words. His hand didn’t move. He didn’t let you go. “Let ‘em. Not interested.” That word. Interested. It cut, subtle but sharp, because hours ago, you had heard him say the opposite. Heard him tell his brother that you weren’t worth it, that you were a risk, not a reward. And now? Now his hand was on you, staying on you. His touch felt like a brand, his voice was a shade rougher like maybe he wasn’t so sure anymore. You exhaled, glancing away down the hallway the opposite direction back towards the party roaring on, mentally preparing yourself to go pretend again; pretend like you wanted to be anywhere besides in his arms, pretend like you could forget him.

“Yeah… not interested,” you echoed, but your voice gave you away, featherlight and uncertain. You expected him to step back then. To let go, to end whatever this was before it could unravel into something too real. But Trent didn’t move. Instead, his hand only pressed deeper, drawing you into his side until your chest barely brushed against him. The shift made you look down towards your chest feeling less sure about your decision but you could feel his gaze was already on you—narrowed, searching.

“Hey, what you going shy for?” His voice was quieter now, teasing but tender. Trent’s opinion that you might’ve been this world and not simply a part of it was shaken the second you attempted to stand up for him and completely vanished when you left with him. You barely had time to answer before his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. “You stay back in that room without me?” He teased, lightening the tension with a soft smile. But that touch. His touch. A simple graze of his thumb over your lips, and you swore the air in your lungs turned to smoke. Your stomach dipped—not from nerves. From need. Trent swallowed. His words were light, easy but inside he’s wheels were turning. He was thinking, deciding. You watched his throat bob, watched his pupils bloom wide as his gaze flickered down—to your mouth, to the way your lips parted instinctively for him, to the leather corset hugging your body like a second skin, the corset [ref index] pushing up the tits he’d been dying to see for weeks now, to your thighs peeking beneath the hem of your skirt, the skirt that hid a pair of panties he’d do anything to tear off you. And maybe that was where this should have stopped. But then he looked back up, and fuck—he saw you. Not just your body, not just the way you fit against him perfectly, like you were never a stranger, but just you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just lust clawing between you. It was recognition. A sharp inhale filled the space between you. Your fingers magnetic to lay against his chest, a slow, testing press. Trent exhaled at the contact, his breath unsteady, his chest deflating beneath your touch. Relief? Or restraint? You didn’t know. You only knew you wanted to try. You had to.

“I’m happy I found you,” you whispered. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, like your words did something to him he wasn’t ready for. And then—that smirk. Lazily, it curled at the edges of his lips, soft and utterly smitten. The kind of smile that made your breath catch because it looked real. Trent hummed low in his throat. He stepped into you at the same time, he pulled you in close, closer. Fuck plans. Fuck restraint. Fuck pretending this wasn’t happening. His hand slipped from your chin, tilting to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping slow over the heat of your cheek. You melted. Then— a shift, an inhale, and his hands were on your ass, dragging you deeper, pulling your skirt higher. His touch was rough and sure, fingers kneading, claiming, teasing. You silently gasped, and he fucking smirked. A reminder—this was the same man who had caught you in the club, dragged you back to reality. And yet, here you were, letting yourself fall into him but not without an attempt at composure. “Big risk…” you murmured, teasing, taunting. Trent stilled for half a second. A flicker of something in his eyes—shock, realization that you heard him earlier. Both your hands slid up his chest, slow, deliberate, trailing heat in their wake. Fingertips brushing along his collar, his jaw, curling lightly around his throat. His eyes darkened. And then—his voice, thick with something fatal.

“Bigger reward.” A whisper against your lips. And then—he kissed you. The kiss was a slow, molten thing at first—a testing of limits, a savoring of the moment that had been building for too long. But it didn’t stay that way. It couldn’t. Trent moved against you like a man starved, his mouth slanting over yours with a need that unraveled something deep inside you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to his liking as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, hot and impatient. You sighed into it, your whole body melting into him as if you had been built for this moment, for him. You barely registered the way he walked you backward, his hands greedy—tracing, gripping, learning you. He was everywhere all at once, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You wanted him to take them off your body immediately. His hand splayed over your lower back, pressing you closer, making you feel every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the way his body fit against yours like a perfect puzzle piece. Then, suddenly—the wall. You gasped as your back met the cool surface, but Trent didn’t falter, didn’t stop. He groaned, the sound reverberating between you as he trailed his mouth from your lips to your jaw, to your neck. His stubble grazint your skin, leaving a path of heat as he kissed and nipped at the delicate column of your throat. You tilted your head, baring more of your neck for him without thinking, surrendering to the pull of him.

“Someone could see us,” you whined with no real intention of doing anything about that as your fingers gripped his shirt, tugging just enough to make him groan. The sound shot straight through you, pooling low in your stomach.

“Don’t care and you don’t either,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, edged with something dangerous, something aching. And you agreed, you didn’t care, still, even with the cheek, Trent got the sentiment. You barely noticed how you had started moving again, how your bodies had begun a slow retreat from the open hallway, lips clashing, hands grasping, breathless and desperate. You were barely aware of how you fumbled blindly with a door handle, how Trent's hands slipped down your waist, gripping and guiding you through the threshold until the world narrowed into a dimly lit, intimate space—the coat closet.

[The Party and The After Party - The Weekend 🎶]

The air was electric, charged with the kind of tension that made it hard to breathe. The closet was dim, the sliver of light from the cracked door casting shadows over you both, flickering across sharp jawlines, parted lips, the anticipation strung so tight it could snap. The scent of leather, wool, perfume, and faint traces of cigarette smoke clung to the walls, but all Trent could smell—all he could feel, taste, want—was you. But none of it mattered—because the moment the door shut behind you, it was just him. Just you.

“Always look so fucking sexy,” Trent rasped, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your lips. His hands, rough and sure, traced slow circles over your hips. “You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted this tonight.” You felt it—the heat, the tension that had been simmering for far too long, threatening to boil over. His voice was thick with longing, with something dangerously close to confession. The weight of it made your stomach clench, made your fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing him to close the gap again. But then—hesitation. A flicker of something in his eyes. His gaze shifted, sharp and searching, his grip on you tightening slightly. His head turned, taking in the coats surrounding you, recognition settling over his features. "Baby… You kiss anyone else tonight?" The words came out rough, unfiltered, something almost possessive lingering beneath them. His jaw tensed. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, and you hadn’t even processed where you were let alone the question before your mouth acted on instinct—pouting, just slightly, unintentionally. Trent exhaled, something flickering in his eyes at the expression. His thumb reached up, dragging across your lower lip, his jaw clenching but his body still pressed tight against yours.

“Did you?” You muttered back not meaning to sound smart. You just were unsure what was happening. Trent’s brow furrowed but his face stayed serious. He shook his head ‘no.’ slowly. His answer completely earnest. Then it hit you—that this mattered to him. He didn’t want sloppy seconds, he wanted you, for him. The relief flooded you before you could stop it, warmth pooling in your chest. He cared. He cared. He had been burning for this just as much as you had. You couldn’t help it, the small, breathless giggle that bubbled up past your lips, giddy and unfiltered. Trent didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His hands flexed against your hips, his grip possessive. He needed you to say it. Say it. Tell him he was right about you, that you were what he thought, what he wanted. You went quiet with a sympathetic smile and an exhale. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, but dragging it out ever so slightly just so he knew that he was the one asking for reassurance before you finally answered, breathless but sure.

“No…” Your lips parted on a whisper. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way he held his breath. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.” The words settled between you, tangible, electric. You smiled, soft, teasing, a little drunk on him in a way alcohol could never compete with. Trent exhaled sharply, his head rolling to the side for half a second, like he was both relieved and amused at himself for caring this much. His tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and focused.

"Thank God," he murmured. You giggled but it was muffled when his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, deeper with more urgency, more hunger. His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter, harder against him. The pressure of it made your breath hitch, made you dizzy with how much you wanted him. His fingers curled into the hem of your mini skirt, dragging it higher, his touch branding your skin, claiming. “Been waiting,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing back to your jaw, your throat. “Don’t wanna wait anymore.” You shuddered, your hands moving blindly over his chest, his shoulders, mapping every inch of him as your back pressed into the wall of coats.

“You never had to wait for this,” you breathed. Trent groaned—low and guttural and desperate. Knowing that you would’ve let him have you had him reeling. He kissed you as if he could consume you, as if he could make up for all the lost time in this one perfect moment.

The air was thick, heavy with heat and want, the dimly lit closet swallowing the rest of the world whole. It smelled of expensive cologne, of leather and silk, but beneath it all—him. That intoxicating scent, the one that had been imprinted in your memory long before you ever had the right to crave it. Now, it was all-consuming. It was dark save the dim light slipping under the door barely reaching into the corners of the room, where heavy coats hung like shadows, muffling the outside. It was just you and him, lost in a space that was dangerously small and dangerously intoxicating. Your lips found his ear, warm and teasing, your breath a whisper of wicked intent.

“Have you been thinking about me, baby?” Your voice was nothing more than a purr, a featherlight tease against the shell of his ear. The words melted into his skin as your teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply through his nose, a slow, deliberate act of seduction. A hum of confirmation vibrated low in his throat as his lips found the sensitive curve of your neck, branding you with slow, open-mouthed kisses. His lips still mapping your throat. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you close as if he were afraid you’d disappear. He was drinking you in, the scent of your skin, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Fuck. He had been thinking about you. Too much. Too often. “Hmm?” you prompted, voice dripping in mischief. You felt like you might’ve finally been gaining some control. Trent exhaled more than sound, too immersed in you. In the way your perfume wrapped around him, how your body pressed against his, every curve fitting into him like you were made to be there. Like this was inevitable. Then you pulled back—just enough for him to chase you, to leave him lingering in the heat of where you just were. And God, he hated it. And yet, he loved it, being lost in you, the way your skin felt against his, the way your perfume clung to the air between you, the way you touched him like you knew exactly how to dismantle him piece by piece. "Been thinking about you a lot," Your breath was cold, minty mixed with vodka and him, your tone weightless but devastating, each word a slow, delicious unraveling. Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, his restraint hanging by a thread. Because fuck, he had been thinking about you. More than he wanted to. More than he should have. You were the spark to gasoline, the match to an already burning flame. Every single thing about you set him alight. But Trent’s eyes were darker than ever now, heat pooling in his pupils, a storm barely contained. His hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you, but you could tell—he was unraveling and you wanted to pull that final thread to undo the woven composure he carried so effortlessly but it wouldn’t be easy, not with Trent. He wouldn’t let that happen, not to him.

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper now, husky with something dangerous, something wanting. He was unraveling, true, but he’d try to convince you otherwise. You didn’t answer, not with words. Rather with a slow, deliberate push. You backed him into the edge of a wooden shelf, the thud of his body meeting it barely registering because his mind was too consumed with you. Even as his spine met the edge, instead of annoyance, his lips curled, a wicked, greedy smile, sharp enough to cut. Your hands, your lips, your scent, he was drowning in you, and he didn't want to come up for air. His eyes gleamed in the low light, dark with desire, with relief. The movement was firm, decisive. Bold. He liked that you were taking control. That you wanted this. “What have you been thinking about?” He asked, smug but hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, like he needed to feel your answer. You hummed as if you were mulling it over, trailing your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling his breath stutter beneath your touch. He was solid beneath your fingertips, his muscles taut, every inch of him tensed like a wire about to snap. Your lips ghosted over his jaw, pressing just enough to feel the way his pulse kicked up beneath your mouth. He smelled like clean skin and spice, a hint of sweat, something uniquely him, and you wanted to be suffocated by it, the distraction that was him, until you realized your fleeting kisses had got your lips to his ear again..

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you whispered, barely there, barely anything, but the way his whole body reacted, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on you tightened—it was everything. Trent tensed, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. He huffed out through his nose a light laugh and a cheeky smile trying to remain calm, cool, sexy. His jaw shifting as he gripped your waist more securely to ground him in the moment but all it did was spur you on. You were two people that knew game strategy but you were struggling to put in practice. It was an ebb and flow of power, in your hands one moment, his the next. One of your hands drifted lower, lower, lower, Trent’s heart rate picking up, until your fingers teased along the waistband of his trousers, slow, torturous. His abs flexed under your palm, and the way he sucked in a sharp breath, a single muscle in his jaw twitching, it made your stomach flip. His head dropped back against the shelf for half a second before he looked at you again, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, filled with nothing but want. A breathy laugh left him, though it was barely amused. It was wrecked, on edge like his smirk still in place, though it was faltering at the corners.

“Alright, baby.” His voice was a rasp, thick with lust but also cheek. He wanted to play too. The word baby was a low murmur, almost a groan, rolling off his tongue like silk. It made your stomach drop, your thighs clench, made you ache for more. You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the way his gaze had darkened, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension so tight it was suffocating. “Can you show me then?” His voice was low, coaxing, full of something both soft and sinful. His hands slid lower, rough palms gripping the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him so you could feel just how much he wanted you to show him. You exhaled a small, breathy hum, your lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, teasing every inch of him as his hands traced fire down your spine. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began, only that you never wanted to step away from this. From him.

Your kisses trailed lower, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned chest, your lips teasing over his shirt, before you pulled the fabric up as you descended down kissing over his momentarily exposed skin, warm, addicting, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His scent—clean, rich, perfect cologne mixed with something purely him—filled your lungs, making you dizzy, drunker on need. Trent’s eyes narrowed on your figure sinking in front of him, this was dream worthy, no, better than. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it out of the coat room and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Fuck off,” Trent muttered in disbelief, voice rough, his breath catching as he looked down at you. You batted your lashes up at him, a feigned innocence in your gaze as your fingers teased at the waistband of his trousers, your touch deliberate, slow. You saw the way his jaw flexed, the way his broad chest rose and fell faster beneath the weight of anticipation.

“You want me to stop?” you asked, lips curling in a taunting smile as your fingers worked open his belt, knuckles brushing against the heat straining beneath his trousers.

“Nah, nah, nah.” He let out a breathy laugh, more at himself than anything. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, not pushing, just needing to feel you there. “I want you to show me exactly what you’ve been thinking about.” Your nod was slow, deliberate, as your hands slid lower, freeing him from the confines of his trousers. He sprang free, thick, heavy in your palm, already leaking, already aching for you. Trent groaned, his head tilting back slightly as you parted your lips and let a slow stream of saliva drip onto him, watching it glisten, watching him twitch in response. “Fucking unreal,” he muttered, letting his head loll back, his grip in your hair tightening ever so slightly as your fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him with an excruciating slowness. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction from his reaction. You were trying to be composed but he was feeding your ego, making you feel things you hadn’t expected and it had you wanting more. You wanted to please him.

“Do you want me to suck your cock, baby?” you asked, voice sultry, teasing, but your eyes never left his, challenging him, taunting him. He shouldn’t have but he loved this. He loved that after he broke you down, pulling you into a toilet in Ibiza, you’d gotten him into a coat closet in Paris begging for you, no different than you had for him. Trent exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as he fought for control. His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice almost a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You needed no further encouragement. Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the swollen head, tasting the saltiness of him before sinking down, your lips wrapping around his length, taking him inch by inch. Trent let out a broken groan, his hips jerking forward slightly, instinctual, primal. His fingers tightened in your hair as you worked him deeper, your tongue swirling, teasing, hollowing your cheeks as you took him further. The weight of him, the heat, the slight pulse against your tongue—it sent a thrill straight through you, a wicked satisfaction at the way he was coming undone above you. Trent’s breath came in harsh, uneven pants as you set a slow, torturous rhythm, your hand pumping the base in sync with the wet slide of your mouth. His head fell back against the shelf behind him, his muscles tight, his abs flexing with every stroke of your tongue. “Just like that.” His voice was rough, laced with pure, unfiltered pleasure. “Fuck, good girl.” The praise made something molten pool low in your belly, made you whimper around him, the vibrations forcing a strangled moan from his lips. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts that pushed him deeper, had him hitting the back of your throat until spit pooled at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin. Your fingers dug into his strong thighs as you took him further, wanting to ruin him, to have him remember the way your mouth felt around him long after tonight. Trent didn’t even know where he was in the world, that's how good he felt, it was almost an out of body experience. His curses came out broken, wrecked, his body tensing, his grip in your hair tightening. “Baby, you’re gonna make me, fuck.” He shut his eyes. You hummed around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, stroking the last bit of him that your lips couldn’t reach. And then he shattered, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He’d thought about this for a month. His restraint snapped. "I’m gonna cum, yeah?." He rasped, shutting his eyes, too caught up in pleasure to say anything sexier as his body tensed. You nodded with a hum. The vibration eliciting a muffled guttural groan from his throat as his release spilled hot and thick down your throat. His body shuddered, muscles locking as you milked him for every drop, swallowing greedily, savoring the taste of him. As he opened his eyes again, still catching his breath, you parted your lips once more, letting your tongue flick out just enough to show him before you swallowed only to open your mouth again to him how good you’d been. Trent let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, his grip softening as he pulled you up, bringing you back to him. His mouth found yours in an instant, deep and claiming, his fingers still tangled in your hair as he kissed you like he never wanted to stop.

The world outside the coat closet was a blur, the pulse of bass-heavy music, the distant hum of laughter, the occasional burst of chatter—but in here, it was just the two of you. Heat thick in the air, hands tangled, mouths crashing together in a fevered, messy kiss. Trent’s fingers skimmed over the tiny skirt covering your ass before slipping down the backs of your bare thighs, then suddenly back up under your skirt to your bare ass all whilst dragging fire in their wake. He pulled your body flush against his, solid and warm and wanting. The urgency in his touch made your breath hitch, made your legs tremble slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth down to your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear where he nipped, sucking just enough to make you shiver. His hands were everywhere, greedy, desperate, sliding up your thighs, palming your ass, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. And then—one hand moved. His fingers found the zipper of your top, tugging at it with intent. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait, wait, baby, ” you breathed out, voice softer now, hesitant but sure. You didn’t want him taking off your corset in here. His head lifted, lips swollen, brows slightly furrowed in surprise. “Can we, like… maybe not do that in here?” The words hung in the air between you, cooling the feverish pace you’d both set. You felt silly, maybe that’s all this was to him, a coat closet fuck, as you watched Trent blink, slightly taken aback. Not because he was upset—he would never pressure you—but because he had really thought this was going somewhere. He let out a slow breath, leaning back just an inch to search your face, his hand still resting against your waist. You could see the patience wash over him. And then, you smiled sympathetically, bashful but knowing. “I… I just want to fuck you how I’ve wanted to...” You admitted albeit a bit embarrassed praying, he’d get it. A slow smirk stretched across his lips, one that sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. His fingers flexed against your hip as he processed your words, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, deep, laced with something dangerous.

“Yeah?” He smirked and it was the same lethal handsomeness you first saw at the club, but now, it felt different, sincere even. You nodded, slow, teasing, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he leaned in, so close you could taste the faintest hint of liquor and mint on his breath. “How’s my bed sound then, baby?” His smirk was smug, unfairly beautiful, and it made you giggle despite the ache pooling low in your belly.

“I guess so,” you teased, biting your lip. Trent exhaled a little laugh, rolling his head to the side as if he was bothered by you accepting with an ‘I guess’ but in reality, in his heart of hearts, something he'd never tell anyone, it was endearing, and another adjective that seemed to populate in his brain when it came to you… it was cute even. His hands squeezed at your ass once more, as if he was grounding himself, reminding himself just how sexy you were even when that word ‘cute’ kept reappearing, savoring the last few moments of restraint.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get you outta here.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Besides, I don’t want any interruptions.” He let you step back, but just as he reached for the zipper of his pants, he leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not for hours with you,” he whispered, punctuating it with a kiss just behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your stomach flipped.

Trent laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm, certain, but still waiting, for your approval, for you to take the first step. And you did. With a soft tug, you moved toward the door, eager, leading him out, but then...

“Oh, shit!” you gasped, turning back so suddenly that your chest pressed directly into his. Trent caught you instinctively, hands gripping your arms, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise. Your eyes going wide at the impact. You swallowed, taken back by your own proximity. “Wait… can I get my jacket?” you asked earnestly. “I really like it. It was a gift…” You pouted, recalling the Louis Vuitton gift you received from the brand today, the PR piece you got to keep, and you definitely didn’t want to leave it behind only for it to get taken home by someone else. His smirk softened into something warmer, something undeniably fond.

“’Course.” His voice dipped again, husky, teasing, but there was something almost reverent about the way he said it. “Baby, I promise, you can do whatever you want tonight.” His lips hovered over yours, close enough to steal, close enough to make you need to close the distance. And you did. The kiss was slow, deep, nothing hurried or frenzied like the ones before. No, this one was something else entirely. Something that simmered, something that curled around you like smoke, seeping under your skin, staining. Something memorable. Memorable in all the ways he was.

Trent exhaled through his nose, his head lulling back slightly when you finally pulled away and turned to rifle through the jackets, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips.

“So was it that good?” you called out teasingly in the small room, fingers closing around your jacket. When you turned back, Trent was watching you, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softer now, holding something deeper.

“You…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Are that good.” And strangely—you believed him. Because it didn’t feel like cheek, or charm, or one of his usual flirtations. It felt honest.

[Say It - Tory Lanez 🎶]

The hotel hallway spun in soft, golden hues, the remnants of too many drinks making everything feel deliciously surreal. You weren’t sure if it was the champagne still fizzing in your veins or just him—his presence, his hands, the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once.

“I like this, you know.” His voice was low, thick with something dangerous and sweet as he turned to face you, his finger hooking under the delicate chain of your necklace. The simple touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was, how his cologne wrapped around you, how his lips hovered just within reach.

“Really?” you murmured, eyes glimmering, half-lidded from the haze of the night. You weren’t sure what was real and what was the kind of intoxication only he could induce. You weren’t sure what was charm, what was cheek, what was just a game and what was authentically him. But it blurred, all of it, like smudged ink on a love letter, and you didn’t care—because the only thing in your tunnel vision was his face, and lord have mercy it was a pretty one. Trent hummed in response, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached behind him, blindly finding the door handle. With an ease that made your stomach clench, he cracked it open and took a slow step back, pulling you forward by your necklace, reeling you into his orbit. You laughed softly at the smoothness of his movements, stepping over the threshold as he let you into his room.

“Where they put the ballers?” you teased, lifting your brows as you glanced around the massive suite, the city lights twinkling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You turned back to look at him by the door.

“Only the good ones.” He smirked, that maddening, cocky, gorgeous smirk that had been the undoing of so many before you. You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as he stepped into you, the door clicking shut behind him, locking you both in—another confined space, another moment where the air grew thick with unspoken things, with anticipation, with the pulse of something electric. His hands found your waist, fingers splaying over the fabric like he was meant to hold you, like he already knew exactly how to touch you. “You’ve been thinking about me?” he murmured, his lips so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin. You hummed, tilting your chin up, your lips practically brushing, just waiting—aching—for that final push. His eyes darkened, locked onto yours with something ravenous. “Good.” And then, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was perfect. Messy and hungry and laced with all the pent-up tension that had been simmering between you for weeks, even in your silences. Somehow this kiss was even better than it was in the coat room, maybe it was the opportunity of possibilities locked in a hotel room with him. His lips moved against yours like they were made for you, like they’d always known exactly where to go. You moaned into his mouth, fingers bunching in his shirt, fisting the material, dragging it up his abs in silent demand.

“Yeah?” he teased, pulling back just a fraction, a cheeky grin curving his swollen lips. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how you were managing this duality. None of it made sense in his head. You were adorable and yet deadly sexy, you were bashfully reserved and yet confident and commanding, you were dominant and yet submissively needy. And he loved every single side of the dichotomy. You barely had time to register your nod before he reached over his head and tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion. Your jaw slackened, just for a beat. Fuck. Tanned skin, strong arms, carved abs, the sharp V of his hips disappearing beneath his waistband—he was unfair. Just unfair. Trent noticed. He always noticed. He smirked, stepping in again, hands settling on your waist, firm and sure. “I took my top off…” His eyes flickered with something mischievous, something intoxicating and then they deliberately flashed down to your cleavage. “Can I take off this one too?” He mused as his thumb graved over the leather fabric. Your breath hitched, but you nodded, reaching back, guiding his other hand to the zipper of your corset.

The pull of his hand dragged the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. The only things left in the air were your ragged breaths, your hammering heartbeat, the sheer weight of his gaze as he watched you, locked onto you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. His thumb drew slow, agonizing circles against your waist as the zipper reached the end. He held the fabric in place, his touch searing even through the layers. And then—he leaned in, his lips trailing down your neck, slow, reverent, burning a path straight to your collarbone. His hands slid up your ribs, pushing the fabric aside, finally pulling it away from you completely. Your breath stuttered, bare in front of him, exposed in every way that mattered. Trent exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was trying to hold himself back, like he was already ruined by the sight of you. The air had gone thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the remnants of cocktails, a heady mix of martinis and something sweet still lingering on your lips. The city lights outside flickered against the towering glass windows, neon colors bleeding into the dimly lit suite, painting the room in shades of gold and violet. The bass from the party still thrummed in your veins, but nothing drowned out the sound of your own ragged breathing—or his.

Trent stood in front of you, broad and perfect, his eyes drinking you in like you were the finest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you. You were normally confident in your skin, in the way you moved, in the way men looked at you. But under his gaze? Something wavered, something small but persistent. You felt more than naked, you felt vulnerable. You began to overthink. Did you look good enough for him? You hated that you even thought it. But then—his hands found your waist, warm and firm, fingers splaying possessively over your hips, dragging you against him, forcing you to feel just how much he wanted you. And fuck, he felt so good. You exhaled a shaky breath, hands sliding up his sculpted chest, tracing over the smooth skin, the ridges of muscle. He was burning hot beneath your touch, a quiet purr slipping from his lips as you leaned up to kiss him. He groaned softly into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing yours, slow and decadent, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His lips trailed from your mouth, down your jaw, across the delicate skin of your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses that sent delicious little shivers racing down your spine. His hands moved up your sides, slow and teasing. You whined softly, back arching instinctively as his thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice thick with want. "You know how fucking sexy you are." He nipped at your skin, just beneath your ear, and you whined, your fingers threading into the curls at the top of his head, pulling slightly. He chuckled darkly, hands sliding lower, over the small of your back, gripping your ass before they traveled further, big hands sliding behind your thighs. “Been dying to see all of you.” Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, hands strong and sure as he picked you up. You gasped, your head lolling to one side, granting him more access as he pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, walking you straight to the bed, and set you down firmly. His grip on your thighs tightened, preventing you from moving too far, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "Gonna let me taste you again?" His voice was thick, his pupils blown wide, hunger written all over his gorgeous face as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, the city lights casting golden streaks over his sharp jawline, his perfect lips. A slow smirk curled on your lips, reveling in the shift of power between you both. You lifted your leg, the heel of your boot sliding over his shoulder as you arched a brow.

"Yeah? You want a taste?" His smirk deepened, his big hands immediately moving to your thigh, caressing up its smooth length, fingers pressing into the supple skin like he was savoring every inch of the moment. With deliberate slowness, he unzipped your boot, tugging it off, his lips brushing down inch by inch, leaving featherlight kisses down your calf, over your ankle, until it dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Then the other. You let your hands slide down your own thighs, watching him as you sat forward slightly. The doubt from before? Gone. You felt powerful now, back in control. There was no second-guessing yourself anymore—not with the way he was looking at you, like he’d crawl through fire just to put his mouth on you. You met his gaze, locking eyes with him. “Can I take this off?” You asked, fingers already toying with the clasp of your little skirt. Trent didn’t answer with words—he didn’t need to. His hands were already helping you pull it down your hips, letting the fabric slide down your legs. He grabbed it, tossing it somewhere in the room without a care in the world because the only thing that mattered was you. And then—his breath hitched. The air was thick, decadent, laced with the quiet hum of Paris beyond the window, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath. He knelt at the edge of the bed, a vision carved from shadow and street lights, his eyes dark, starving, locked onto you like a promise. Your body betrayed you before he even touched you—heat pooling, softening, unraveling at the mere sight of him between your thighs. You swore you could feel yourself melt, feel the slow, sinful drip of anticipation, of need so potent it bordered on pain. Your skin hummed, oversensitized, flushed with the unbearable ache of waiting. He licked his lips—those perfect, obscene lips—and it felt as if the world tilted, the moment stretching unbearably thin.

“Oh my fucking God, baby.” His voice was rough, nearly reverent as his eyes dragged over you, taking in every inch of what he’d been fantasizing about for months. You barely had time to react before he moved. You leaned back instinctively, but he was already there—grabbing you, strong fingers pressing into your thighs. "Nah, nah, nah." He groaned, shaking his head. "C’mere." He pulled you back toward him, his grip firm but deliberate, like he’d die if you moved even an inch further away. His hands traced fire along your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer, like an offering he was ready to worship, exposing your glistening core to him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest. His hands flexed on your legs, almost like he was restraining himself from devouring you right then and there. "Fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. His fingers traced lightly over your inner thighs, his mouth watering at the sight of you, spread out in front of him, dripping for him. And then—his voice dropped into something dark, something filled with hunger and adoration all at once. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." And then, just before his mouth met you, he smirked—because he knew. Knew you were already gone, already wrecked, already his.

The city pulsed beyond the towering windows, neon lights flickering like electricity, casting fragmented shadows across the plush hotel suite. The bass from the party still hummed faintly beneath your skin, but none of that mattered now—not with Trent between your legs, gripping your thighs like a man starved, his breath hot against your already oversensitized skin.

He was teasing, toying with you, but it was a losing battle—his own hunger betraying him with every desperate flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrated against your dripping cunt. He was devouring you, licking and sucking like he’d been craving this, starving for it. His tongue delved deep, curling inside you before dragging up through your wetness, tasting you like you were his favorite sin. And fuck, you were.

You moaned, your back arching off the mattress, hands tangling in his curls, tugging, guiding him, urging him on. But he didn’t need direction—he knew exactly how to wreck you. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking just right, sending fire through every nerve in your body. You tasted like liquid gold to Trent. Like something he’d never get enough of. His fingers slid through your slickness before pressing into you, stretching you open, working in tandem with his mouth. He loved feeling you clench around him, loved the way your body responded so perfectly to his touch. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as he feasted, a man possessed.

“T…” You whined, barely able to form words, your body trembling, pleasure coiling impossibly tight in your core. “Oh my god- you’re so fucking good.” You whimpered. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body. He fucking loved this. Loved making you fall apart on his tongue. Just when you thought you might come undone, he pulled back, dragging his teeth gently over the soft skin of your inner thigh, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his fingers moved with unrelenting precision, thrusting deep, curling up into that devastating spot inside you. The sound was unmistakable. Sopping wet pleasure built up over a month. Your body jerked, overstimulated, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Then suddenly—he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty for the briefest second before his hands gripped your hips hard, holding you firmly in place as he pressed his tongue flat against your cunt again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with ruthless precision. Your breath hitched. You were unraveling, the pressure mounting, your muscles tightening, your body trembling uncontrollably as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot again and again and again. “I’m gonna cum—fuck.” Your voice was barely coherent, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot bliss. And then—you shattered. Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your thighs trembling violently as pleasure ripped through you, your vision blurring as you cried out. Trent groaned into you, loving the way your body reacted to him, drinking in every drop of your release as he lapped you up with deep, satisfied strokes of his tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your soaked skin, the vibrations sending a sharp aftershock through you, making you twitch in his grasp. He chuckled darkly, loving the way you shuddered, completely wrecked beneath him. His lips pressed soft, teasing kisses to your overstimulated, dripping core, reveling in the way your body jerked in response. His face was covered in you, his lips wet, his chin glistening, and fuck, he thought you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Your body was still humming, overstimulated, your limbs feeling weightless, but you weren’t done. Not even close. You felt alive, like you’d been plugged into a socket, your skin buzzing with raw electricity. Your head lolled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to come down, but Trent wasn’t letting you. His grip on your thighs stayed firm, keeping you spread open for him, keeping you his. You forgot what this felt like. You remembered how good he was, how he had this insane ability to ruin you completely, but you forgot this. The heat of his body, the strength of his hands, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire fucking world.

Game or not—tonight, you felt special.

Trent pulled you onto his lap with ease, strong hands guiding you until your legs draped over his, straddling him, skin to burning skin. His palms splayed over your thighs, the warmth of them searing into you as his thumbs traced slow, idle circles—teasing, possessive. Every touch sent another ripple of heat through you, another reminder of just how desperate you were for more of him. The air was thick with something electric, the space between you humming with an unrelenting need that had been building since Spain. Every moment apart had only fed the hunger, the tension that had followed you both across cities, through stolen glances and fleeting touches, through nights spent imagining this exact moment. And now, here you were—nothing between you but heat and anticipation. You could feel him—all of him—his thick, aching length pressing against your drenched core, hard and hot and barely restrained. Clothes had long since been discarded, abandoned somewhere between your hunger and his need, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Just tell me you want me.” His voice was a low murmur against the charged silence, rough with restraint, threaded with something deeper than lust, something raw. His dark eyes burned into yours as he leaned back against the headboard, his body a perfect, lazy sprawl beneath you, but his hands—his hands—were anything but relaxed. They gripped your waist, kneading, guiding, rocking you against him with slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping. You ground against his length, the slick slide of your arousal coating him, teasing you both. Your nails scraped lightly against his chest as you leaned into him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice a soft, sultry confession Trent exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening as his eyes drank you in—your bare skin glowing in the dim light, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body poised above him with nothing on but the wicked gleam in your eye.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his smirk lazy, cocky, but betraying the war he was fighting within himself. “Should I let you have me?” He tried to keep it light, teasing, but his voice had that telltale roughness to it, the rasp of a man losing his restraint, of a man undone. You felt it in the way his cock twitched beneath you, in the way his hands dug into your skin, urging you closer. So, you decided to push him further. With slow, calculated movements, you rolled your hips, dragging your slick folds over his length, arching your back, letting your nails ghost down his neck, a sinful contrast to the softness of your touch. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something close to desperation.

“Should I let you have me?” you countered, your voice laced with syrupy defiance as you sat back. Trent’s eyes lit up at the competition you were trying to initiate. You let your fingers trail over your own body, cupping your breasts just enough to tease, to tempt. Torturing yourself with a gentle pinch to your nipples, only in an effort to taunt Trent. Trent’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eye giving way to something more primal, more urgent.

“’Course,” he murmured, voice thick, gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world. “You know I make you feel good, baby.” It was a line, something smooth and confident, something that might’ve made you roll your eyes if not for the way his body betrayed him—his cock twitching against you, his breath uneven, his restraint unraveling one frayed thread at a time. You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly, forcing him to sit in the weight of his own words. Because yes, he made you feel good. But you had him just as wrecked. Trent smirked at your silent challenge, but it faltered when he yanked you down harder against him, your dripping core grinding against his length. A sharp, needy whimper slipped from your lips at the friction, but before you could feel embarrassed, he let out a deep, guttural groan, his head falling back against the headboard, his hips jerking up into you on instinct. And just like that, the power shifted. Trent was learning more about himself when it came to you and fast. That he’d crumble. His cheek and charm couldn’t distract from the visceral reaction you evoked. You leaned in, letting your lips hover near his ear, letting his cock glide between your slick folds with torturous ease.

“Say it,” you whispered, a slow, taunting drag of your heat against him. Trent exhaled sharply, a desperate sound that sent a thrill down your spine. His grip on you was rougher now, his fingers digging in, his self-control slipping with every teasing slide of your body against his.

“Un-fucking-real you are,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, breathless. He didn’t care, this was visceral. You had him responding without conscious control. He felt too good. “Need more of you.” And you felt even better when he said that. His lips found your neck, hot and insistent, kissing, nipping, sucking at sensitive skin, each press of his mouth more fevered than the last. You tilted your head, giving him more, melting beneath his touch, losing yourself in the way his body felt against yours.

“You like it?” you murmured between breathy gasps. “Like the way I make you feel?” His only response was a low, helpless hum against your skin, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth, his composure slipping through his fingers. Between the slickness of your arousal and the thick head of his cock pressing into you, neither of you could breathe, neither of you could think—just existing in the unbearable tension of almost. You knew he was close to breaking, teetering on the edge. And you wanted to push him over it. “I think I know something else you’ll like,” you cooed, pressing a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the mattress fully. Trent let you move him, his dark eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide. And when your gaze met his, heavy with promise, heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken— He knew. He knew he was about to get exactly what he’d been craving since Spain.

The air between you crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something beyond lust but equally consuming. Your bodies had long since abandoned restraint, tangled together in heat and urgency, every touch igniting a fire that neither of you had the will—or the desire—to put out. Straddling Trent, you felt every rigid inch of him pressing against your slick folds, thick and unrelenting, his body a furnace beneath yours. His hands roamed your thighs, possessive and reverent, gripping, kneading, claiming. You rocked against him, teasing yourself just as much as you teased him, dragging your wetness over his length in slow, torturous slides that had both of you trembling. A sharp inhale. His muscles tensed beneath you, his abs flexing as if bracing against the sheer intensity of his own need. His head fell deeper back against the pillow for a brief second, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched. And then his hands found your hips, strong and insistent, guiding you upward just enough—just enough to make you hover above him, to make you wait, to make you beg.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” you whispered, your voice sultry, teasing, though your own breath wavered with the depth of what you were feeling. You lined his cock at your entrance, the tip barely breaching your soaked heat, just enough to have him right there—just enough to drive him insane. You rolled your hips slightly, your own cruel form of torment. Trent let out a ragged breath, his control slipping fast, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. There was no charm in his voice now, no practiced suave grin—just unfiltered, raw honesty spilling from his lips in a husky confession.

“All I’ve thought about since the moment I met you was how bad I wanted to have you,” he rasped, his dark eyes locking onto yours, blazing with need. “I’ve needed this, baby. Needed you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, an intoxicating thrill curling in your belly, tightening the already unbearable tension. Your body answered before your mind could catch up—sinking just slightly, just enough to feel him stretch you open in the most tantalizing way. A broken whimper escaped you, your chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow breaths. Trent’s grip on your hips tightened as he fought for composure, but his self-control was hanging by a thread, fraying with every second you made him wait. One of his hands moved lower, cupping the roundness of your ass, guiding, urging. His voice was lower now, darker, edged with the kind of command that made your entire body hum. “Be a good girl for me,” he murmured, eyes ablaze with hunger, lips curling at the way your body trembled under his touch. “Take my cock. Like a good girl.” And then— The most delicious, devastating stretch, the slow, overwhelming fullness as you sank all the way down to the hilt, as he filled you completely, splitting you apart in the most sinful way. A filthy moan tore from your throat, unabashed and raw, your head tipping back in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Trent was just as wrecked. A guttural groan rumbled from deep within his chest, his head falling back, his brows pinching together as his fingers bit into your skin like he was trying to ground himself, like he was barely holding on. But his eyes—his eyes never left yours, locked onto your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremor in your body, every sound that fell from your lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your body struggling to adjust to the way he stretched you, filled you. “You feel so big—” Trent let out a harsh breath through his teeth, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice wrecked, his restraint snapping thread by thread as he watched you struggle to take him, to fit him. You rocked your hips slightly, a slow roll that had your clit dragging against him just right, sending shocks of pleasure rippling through you. Your walls clenched around him, earning another deep, breathless groan from his lips. The way he looked at you, the way his hands gripped you, the unbearable heat between you—it had you already racing toward the edge, already unraveling. You both questioned if the build up had been too much but with the way this felt, it didn’t seem like enough.

“Fuck… I’ve thought about this so much, T,” you admitted, barely coherent, lost in the euphoria of it all. “Oh my god. Wanted you inside me.” That was it. That was his breaking point. A sound tore from Trent’s throat, something primal, something unhinged. In a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body caging yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, desperate hunger. Desire and need tangled between you, a mess of breathless moans and hands clawing at skin, fingers threading into hair, bodies moving together in a rhythm that neither of you had to think about—only feel. Trent buried himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that was ruthless, devastating, perfect. Each stroke hit deeper, stole the air from your lungs, sent you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it bordered on madness. His lips trailed up your jaw, hot and feverish, his breath heavy in your ear.

“I’ve been craving you, baby,” he growled, the deep timbre of his voice sending tremors down your spine. “I’ve thought about fucking you a million ways.” He punctuated his words with another powerful thrust, making you gasp, making your nails dig into his back, making him groan at the delicious sting. His lips dragged lower, tracing the column of your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. “Haven’t thought about anything else but you since I met you.” For a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—a moment of realization, a truth that slipped past his lips before he had the chance to stop it. And he should’ve stopped it. He should’ve taken it back. But the way your body reacted to those words, the way you clenched around him, the way your lips parted in a soft, breathless gasp— He didn’t care. Didn’t care if he’d just given himself away, if he’d just bared something too raw, too real. Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you moaned his name like it was the only one you knew. His mouth found your tits, lips wrapping around a hardened nipple, sucking, licking, biting—driving you to the brink of delirium, of pleasure so consuming it blurred the lines between body and soul.

“I’ve wanted this,” you gasped, arching beneath him, hands threading through his curls, tugging him closer. “Wanted you. Needed you.” Your confession shattered the last of his control. There it was. This was mutual. Both your carefully crafted plans dissipating. A curse tumbled from Trent’s lips, his pace turning brutal, relentless, like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin, into your soul. His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, his lips stealing every moan, every gasp, every ounce of control you had left. This wasn’t just sex. This was hunger. This was desperation. This was something raw and dangerous and undeniable. And neither of you wanted it to stop.

Trent’s body moved against yours with a relentless rhythm, his hips snapping into you with deep, punishing strokes, each one sending white-hot pleasure tearing through your body. You could feel him everywhere—his heat, his weight, the way his hands claimed you, how his lips ghosted over your skin between ragged breaths. It was overwhelming. It was euphoric. It was perfect. And then— A sudden shift. Trent grasped one of your legs, hooking it under his arm, opening you up to him in a way that made you gasp, made your head fall back against the pillows. The angle was devastating, the head of his cock striking something deep inside you, something electric, something that made your vision blur and your fingers claw helplessly at his back; like it was a place only for him. Trent groaned at the way you clenched around him, the sheer tightness of you, the way your body welcomed him like he was meant to be there. His mind was unraveling, thoughts slipping into dangerous, uncharted territory—because fuck, it wasn’t just the physical. It was you. You beneath him, wrapped around him, taking him so perfectly, so desperately, so good, like you were his.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, voice thick with wrecked pleasure, his forehead pressing against yours for a brief moment before he pulled back to watch you, to see you fall apart. His thumb brushed over your lips, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, consumed by something deeper than lust. “Like you’re pussy’s made just for me. Doing so good f’me.” The words sent a shudder down your spine, something stirring in the pit of your stomach that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way he said it—like he meant it. But Trent’s restraint was slipping, his hips snapping harder, faster, his fingers gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d wear his marks tomorrow. You could feel everything building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, the inevitable fall rushing toward you like a tidal wave. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, desperate, pulling him closer, dragging your foot down the expanse of his muscled back as your nails dug into the hard planes of his biceps.

“T, I’m gonna—” You gasped, the words breaking into incoherent cries as your body trembled beneath him. You couldn’t get the sentence out, couldn’t think, not when he was fucking you like this, not when he was ruining you with every deep, mind-numbing thrust. Trent was right there with you, his jaw clenched, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit. The rough pad of his thumb circled it in tandem with his thrusts, sending a blinding shock of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you nothing but wreckage beneath him.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice dark, commanding, possessive. “Tell me whose cock you’re gonna cum on.” His words sent you spiraling, the sheer filth of them mixed with his deep, deliberate thrusts making your entire body lock up, teetering on the edge. Your mouth fell open, your head rolling back, tears slipping down your heated cheeks from the unbearable pleasure.

“Yours.” The word tore from you in a breathless whimper, your fingers clenching around the firm muscles of his arms. “Fuck—yours, Trent. Made for you.” His dark eyes burned with something wicked, something triumphant, and he wasn’t about to let you hold back.

“Doing so good for me,” he rasped, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to stay on him, to let him watch every inch of your unraveling. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me see how fucking pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” That was it. The words. The way he said them. The way he owned you in this moment. Your orgasm slammed into you like a crashing wave, your entire body tightening, back arching, mouth parting in a silent scream as white-hot pleasure overtook you. Your walls clenched down around him, hard, desperate, milking him in the most sinful way, and it wrecked him. Trent let out a deep, guttural moan, his composure shattering as he watched you break apart beneath him, the sight of you completely lost in pleasure tipping him right over the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, rough, needy, and then he was leaning down, his chest pressing against yours, his weight grounding you as he chased his own release. Your lips found his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

“I’ve only thought about this,” you breathed against his skin, your voice ragged, desperate, laced with something dangerously close to a plea. “About you. Please, please.” Trent groaned, his body tensing, his arms flexing as he held himself above you. He was right there, right on the brink, and your words obliterated what little control he had left. “I want you,” you whined, your nails dragging down his back, your lips brushing against his jaw. That did it. Your whiney confessional did it for Trent. A deep, broken moan tore from his throat, and then he was gone—lost in the most sinful, perfect, earth-shattering release of his life. His hips stuttered, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t be close enough, as he spilled inside you, filling you completely. The sensation, the way he groaned your name like a prayer, like you were the only thing that had ever existed—it sent another ripple of pleasure tearing through you, another small but devastating aftershock of your own orgasm. His strokes slowed, his forehead pressing into yours, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, your limbs tangled together in the aftermath of something neither of you could quite name. For a long moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your mingling breaths, the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Trent hovered above you, propping himself up on his forearms, his forehead damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gazed down at you. And then he did something he never did. His hand came up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your flushed skin. His lips pressed to your forehead—soft, lingering. Then your nose. And when your eyes fluttered open, finding his, that stupid, boyish smile he tried so hard to fight appeared on his lips. And for the first time, Trent didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight you. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded between you. And that? That terrified him more than anything.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 5 - Maybe !

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

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greasermoon · 2 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

Keep in mind that this story is indeed more graphic than regular fanfictions. There will be triggering topics as the story goes on such as: ab*se, add*ction, alc*hol, b|**d, c*ncer, cl*ssism, de*th and d*ing, hateful language, m*ntal illness, misca**iage, pr**nancy and chil**irth, se*ual content, r*cism, vehicular a**idents, violence.. so please, read at your own risk. l'd prefer that minors do NOT read/ interact with chapters that have graphic content in nature. For those types of chapters, I am more than happy to have a small summary of that chapter at the very beginning of that said chapter for those who would like to read it but get easily triggered or are too young.

This is part one, book one or however I decide to call it, this part wont have so much triggering topics in it, maybe only a few from the list up above, but it's a kinda lighthearted chapter (things will progress in a more graphic content way as the story continues, especially in the second part to this story). But either way, please read at own risk. THERE WILL BE TRIGGER WARNINGS (IF NEED BE) AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER. AS WELL AS THIS POST.

Since this is the very beginning from where the gang are their ages and pretty much like the book/movie.. the years will go on, like I said, this was first created when I was a teen in high school but was always afraid to actually write it down and share it with others. So this is an almost fifteen year project. I'd like to think that the gang grew up with me (and my OC's) and so forth. So the next part of this book will be the gang grown up around my current age. Nothing will be left out.

Hopefully everyone can enjoy reading this long overdue fanfiction just as much as I enjoyed creating it. - N. 🌙

Greaseborn is a story about a girl (my OC), narrated by her, told in her perspective (much like Ponyboy). Living as a forced Social (Soc), having sticking to their lifestyle, and fitting in to a box she didn't dare try to fit in. This journey follows her and her sisters as they take a walk on the other side of their born-into ritzy Social City.. and in to Grease Kingdom territory, a place they never thought they'd see the light of day in, but for Kaia, it was almost like a breath of fresh air.....

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞.

⚠️ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: talks of c*ancer

•••••꧁☽𒊹︎☾꧂•••••

I was going home.. but it didn’t feel like home.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as grandma’s driver pulled into the long curved driveway, parking us right in front of the front door. The house looked exactly the same—white stone, towering front pillars, that ridiculous fountain mom insisted was “tasteful.” Nothing had changed.

Except me.

I stared out the window, my hand clenched tightly in my lap, my other hand resting on the suitcase next to me.

Gran didn’t say anything as her driver shifted the car into park. She just looked over at me with those quiet, steady eyes of hers and nodded.

“I’ll help you with your bags or I can have Marcel help you,” she offered gently, turning her head to her driver who was on the other side of the partition.

I shook my head. “I’ve got it.”

I stepped out into the spring air, the warmth of late February already sticking to my skin. The house loomed ahead like a memory I wasn’t ready to revisit. All I could think about was how small I felt again. How loud this house could be with everyone home. And yet, how lonely it still made me.

The front door creaked open just as I was dragging my duffel up the steps. Erin, my youngest sister, stood there barefoot in cutoff shorts and a vintage tee, a popsicle in her hand, blinking at me like she wasn’t sure if I was real.

“Kaia?” she said around the cherry-stained stick in her mouth. “You’re… back?”

I didn’t say anything at first. My throat tightened, but I managed a nod. “Yeah. Just got in.”

She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Everyone’s inside. Mom and Dad just got back from a trip. Gran! Hi gran!” Erin noticed grandma Marilyn come around from the back of the car.

“Hello, half-pint.” Gran smiled widely as soon as she saw her youngest granddaughter. Erin threw the popsicle stick and ran up to give gran a hug. Gran held her for as long as she could but she then had to pull away. She spoke to Erin and I for a minute longer but she then turned her attention to the running car behind her. “I must be going already, it’s going to be an interesting flight back to Virginia. Thankfully I have my private jet and don’t have to rely on an airline schedule.” She chuckled, explaining to us girls.

“You just got here though, gran. Everyone will want to see you!” Erin said to her, wanting for gran to stick around a little longer. But I knew good and well that gran wasn’t too excited to see her daughter and mom wasn’t too peachy either. It’s not like they hated each other, but they didn’t see eye to eye. I understood grans side. Gran shook her head in response, not wanting to go into further detail to her youngest granddaughter about why she wasn’t staying longer, Erin was still too young to understand stuff like that.

Erin hung her head in defeat, knowing she wasn’t going to get through to gran this time. “Okay, well I’ll miss you grandma. Can you come back to visit for longer next time?” Erin said in her slight puppy dog voice, the voice she used to get exactly what she wanted.

Grandma Marilyn looked at Erin with those soft eyes of hers, “Of course, half-pint. You got a deal, next time, I promise but I must go now. I love you.”

Erin nodded saying her ‘I love yous’ and walked away after saying her goodbyes and giving goodbye hugs. I was the last to say goodbye. I walked up to her and gave her a hug, a hug that lasted a little bit longer than I expected. “Gran..?” My breath kinda shuddered as I still kept her in my embrace.

“Yes, hon?” She spoke as we still hugged.

“Thank you, for everything.” I tried so hard to not bring tears into play. What my grandparents did for me was beyond anything that I could’ve asked for. They saved me.

I could feel her nodding in response, we then pulled away from the hug. We were both heading up to the door that was already open due to Erin leaving it open. I wasn’t ready.

But then I felt Grandma’s hand on my back, gently nudging me forward.

“You don’t have to explain anything, remember?” she whispered before turning to leave. “Just be.”

I nodded faintly and watched her go. She paused by the door and turned, her eyes lingering on me like she wanted to say more. Instead, she just smiled softly, and then she was gone.

When I stepped back into my parents' house after nearly six months away, it felt less like returning and more like intruding. Nothing looked different-the same white stone entryway, the same soft hum of the central air, the same smell of citrus cleaner and baked bread wafting in from the kitchen—probably Samantha's attempt at banana bread again. Laughter came from the den. The hum of the TV, voices layered over each other. I hesitated in the foyer, my fingers still wrapped around the strap of my bag. The maids walking up and down the extravagant stairway holding fresh linens. But everything felt off. Like I was walking into a photograph of my old life, not the real thing.

I didn’t belong in the photo anymore.

The door clicked shut.

The moment it did, it was like the air in the house shifted. Ellie popped her head around the corner, followed by Kristen. Their conversation stopped mid-sentence.

Ellie’s smile flickered. “Hey. You’re back. Erin just ran up to me and said you just got in.”

“Hi,” I managed.

Kristen eyed my duffel. “You home for good now?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

They asked where gran was but I told them she had a flight to catch, they understood. They didn’t ask why I’d been gone so long. My parents only knew I was ‘helping’ around my grandparents house for these past few months, when that wasn’t the case at all. Maybe they were told not to ask. Maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they were just waiting for the right moment to poke and prod.

I didn’t wait around to find out.

They all welcomed me back with this weird, hesitant energy—like I was fragile glass someone had dropped and pieced back together, and no one wanted to be the one who made the first crack. They asked surface-level questions. How are you? Did you miss us? Did Grandma’s place smell like mothballs and ancient books? I answered them all with little half-smiles and head nods. I told them I was fine.

I lied.

I took the stairs two at a time and slipped into my room, shutting the door behind me like I was sealing off a storm.

Everything was just as I left it—walls covered in old band posters, my books piled high on the shelf, the bed made up in navy sheets. It felt untouched. Preserved. Like I’d died and this room was my shrine.

I sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled for the first time in weeks. I didn’t cry. I didn’t collapse. I just stared at the wall, at the little sunbeam cutting through my window like a spotlight on a girl who didn’t quite fit her skin anymore.

I had no idea how to be home again.

꧁☽𒊹︎☾꧂

Two weeks passed in this careful limbo of too much silence and too many glances when I wasn’t looking. I kept to myself mostly. Erin tiptoed around me like I was a secret she hadn’t been told yet. The older girls didn’t know how to ask. And my parents—especially my mom—acted like I had never been gone at all. Like if she didn’t bring it up, it would disappear. Like if she scrubbed hard enough, the stain would lift. Although, I understood my father's point, he's a really busy man, so he never did have the time. I knew my dad was happy to see me again but mom, I’d like to think she missed me but I knew damn well she didn’t.

Then came the family meeting.

We were all crammed into the living room, some of us cross-legged on the floor, others sunk into the couches. My father, Rowan, stood by the fireplace with his arms crossed and jaw tight, quiet as ever. My mother, Sloane, paced slowly in front of us, her lips pursed like she was still trying to find the right words. She always paced like that when she had something big to say.

“Alright, so here it is.. Aunt Eloise isn’t well,” she finally said. “As you all know, she has bone cancer and her condition’s worsening. It’s spreading. Quickly. I’ve spoken to her doctor in Tulsa. She needs care—real, consistent help and she doesn’t have anyone there with her. And with her refusing to stay in a hospital or having nurses care for her and having no kids and her never getting married. It’s time we stepped in.”

I blinked. I hadn’t seen Aunt Eloise in years. She was my mom’s eldest sister, always more reserved than the rest. I remembered her humming while she cooked and the smell of lavender on her clothes. I remembered that she smiled with her eyes, not her mouth.

“I can’t leave work,” Mom continued. “Neither can your father. So I’ve decided to send the girls. Jennifer and Samantha will drive and that goes for driving in Tulsa as well. Ellie, Kristen, Erin, and Kaia—you’ll be going too. You four girls are also going to be enrolled at Will Rogers High school, Samantha will be focusing on college, Jennifer will find a job while finishing up college as well, y’all will help out around the house. I expect you three girls to have at least part-time jobs as well,” she pointed to Samantha, Ellie and Kristen.”

“Whoa, I don’t get it.. why all of us girls?” Kristen asked.

“Because your father and I have been given a great opportunity to work on another government project. We will be away at an undisclosed location for about three to six months.. that’s why it’s a perfect opportunity for everyone to.. well, leave. All maids, servants, basically all tending servers, will be relieved from duties starting next Friday.. this house will be completely empty.. for now.” Mom said with a confidence in her tone.

My stomach clenched. I could feel the shift in the room—the sudden confusion, the quiet shock. Another ‘work’ opportunity. God only knew what they were working on this time and I didn’t ask questions.

“Why can’t Michael and Dante go?” Ellie asked about our eldest brothers, ever the logical one.

“They’re of age. They’ve got jobs. They’re living their own lives now. Although, Toren, you will be with your grandparents,” Mom replied. I could hear my youngest brother, Toren, already sighing because of that. “Besides, this is something the sisters can handle together. You’ll leave next week.”

“So that’s it? We’re all just gonna be splitting up now?” Samantha asked with a bit of hurt in her tone.

“Unfortunately, for now.” Mom said and with all that being said, those few moments after, we all dispersed. Thinking about the the sudden and abrupt move we are all having to face now.

I hadn’t even unpacked everything. I hadn’t found a way to breathe in this house again. And now I was being sent away.

Again. Another trip. Another house. Another goodbye I hadn’t planned for.

And yet… something in me stirred. A part of me that wasn’t ready to stay still. A part that whispered: maybe it’s easier to start over somewhere else.

Even if that place was full of ghosts I hadn’t met yet.

꧁☽𒊹︎☾꧂

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The sun was already dipping behind the trees when I made my way down the road to Yanet’s house. I took the path behind the cotton gin—our old shortcut. The one we used to ride bikes through when we were ten, chasing fireflies and yelling at the sky.

Her house came into view, modest and tucked beneath a big oak that creaked when the wind blew just right. Her grandma’s car was in the driveway. The porch light was already on.

Yanet was sitting on the concrete ground in front of the door, like she knew I’d show up.

She looked up when I got closer. “Thought you were gonna ghost me again.”

I sat beside her without answering at first. The concrete was warm beneath me, still holding on to the sun’s heat.

“I’m leaving,” I said finally.

She didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“They’re sending us to Tulsa to help Aunt Eloise.”

She nodded slowly, tucking her long brown hair behind her ear. “I heard. My grandma told me yesterday. Mama Sloane told her, then grandma told me.” Yanet always had called my mom, ‘Mama Sloane’, my mom thought of Yanet as her own daughter as well. She loved Yanet and would do anything for her, especially since her mother passed away in a car accident a few years ago. Her mom, Liz and my mom were best friends, like sisters, they grew up together. In fact, Yanet and I were born a couple days apart from each other, her on November tenth and mine on the fifth. So yeah, of course my mom looked out for Yanet as well.

“You know what? I’ll miss your guts.” Yanet tried to be serious but she couldn’t be serious after saying something like that.

We both laughed, but mine was hollow. I could feel the emotion pulling tight behind my ribs. I didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not here.

Yanet’s gaze softened. “You scared?”

“Of being gone again?” I asked. “Or of feeling okay about it this time?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Yanet always knew what I meant even when I couldn’t say it right.

“I don’t know how to be home,” I admitted. “They all look at me like I’m this ghost. And maybe I am. Maybe I left part of me up there, in Grandma’s house, in that hospital room. With him.”

Yanet reached over and took my hand.

“You didn’t leave anything behind,” she said. “You became someone they haven’t met yet.”

Her words hit something deep in me. I looked down at our hands—hers always warmer, always steadier.

“You’re not coming with us,” I whispered.

“Nope. Grandma needs me here. Plus… someone’s gotta keep your parents from turning your bedroom into a storage closet.”

I smiled weakly. “It wouldn’t matter, everything staying put since they’re leaving too.. but either way you better not let them touch my record player. You know, just in case.”

“Swear on my grave.”

I leaned my head against her shoulder. The doves stopped cooing around us, the oak tree groaned above, and then the whole world felt quieter than usual. Like it knew we were saying goodbye.

“Promise you’ll call?” she asked after a while.

“Every week,” I said. “Every dumb detail. Even if nothing happens.”

“Especially then.”

When it got too dark to see the path clearly, I finally stood. Yanet walked me down the concrete walkway and hugged me tight, her arms wrapping around me like armor.

“You’re still Kaia,” she said softly. “No matter what happens next.”

I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t. Not to her.

So I just walked back, the chill of dusk crawling over my skin, and I let her words carry me forward like a whisper I didn’t know I needed.

Still Kaia.

Even if nothing felt the same…

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

Thoughts on the first chapter so far? I'd love to hear them!

As always, Stay Gold while doing it for Johnny! - N. 🌙

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velidewrites · 4 months ago

Note

I have a question about the Vanserra’s brothers too! Since you made a post answering how they feel about humans, which brother including Eris as well, could you see growing romantic feelings for a human. Gender doesn’t matter. I feel like i can totally see Silas or brother number 6 falling for a human maybe eris lmao Marcel on the other hand i think would be interesting and more so shocking if he did. The whole court would be shell shocked 😳

I love this question so much. I think Sylas would be the most likely, so I'm sharing somewhat of an outline from an x reader i have planned for him! Below the cut is Vermilion and Marcel (please be wary for dub-con).

I imagine there being a war, with you (human) on the opposing side. Perhaps the Autumn Court is invading one of the Human Lands on the Continent, leading his father's army without question. If he wins, Beron promised, it will be Sylas who becomes heir. Not Eris -- Sylas, all his dreams finally becoming true. Desperate, he blindly believes his High Lord, and that desperation is what fuels his hatred, his resolve to despise humans even more. But then he sees you -- so fierce on the battlefield, so unafraid to oppose him, to challenge him, even, and he begins to wonder: what would it feel like if Sylas came to know such bravery? If he, too, could oppose his father with as much ease you were defying Sylas with? Something shifts, then, in his perception of you. You are no longer a weakling, a nuisance, the one thing standing between him and everything he's ever wanted. You're... bold. Inspiring, even. He wants to get closer, he wants to know you, understand you. And the closer he gets, the more addicted he becomes.

Vermilion could fall for a human, to be sure, but Vermilion never falls for longer than a day. He doesn't allow himself more time. Nobody -- Fae or human -- deserves a life by his side, the only kind of life he has to offer. Constantly acting, pretending to be someone else just to survive. Finding moments of reprieve that are so few and far in between you start to forget the last time you saw Vermilion with a true smile, the one you fell in love with. He would never put his lover through something like that. So he leaves. He leaves every time.

Marcel thinks here is something particularly charming about a little human worm thinking they were important enough to change him. "Let's go away," you whispered to him once, the chains pulling your arms above your head rattling in mockery at your plea. "Let's leave this place behind, start a new life together. I know you want this. I know you want to get away." He chuckles lowly, a sound he knows you love so much. "Soon, my sweet," he murmurs, tightening your restraints. "Soon, I'll give you your freedom." Your strength, after all, is almost entirely depleted. You took his magic so well, have made him understand just how far the hallucinations can go before a creature as weak as you can completely lose its mind. Your eyes light up then, so beautiful and bright. "And we'll be together?" you ask, the childlike hope giving a new strength to your voice. Fascinating. "Of course," Marcel purrs, a gloved, featherlight touch caressing your knuckles. "You have done so well for me. Just a few more days, and I'll be entirely yours." You smile. You don't care if it's a lie. It's beautiful enough to sustain you until the very end.

#ocsylas #ocvermilion #ocmarcel

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rhysharam · 17 days ago

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Tales from the Neon District | S1 ; Chap. 1

——————

Chapter synopsis: The beginning of our sorted tale, a look eight years into the past before our universe's present.

One thing to know? It's fight or die in a world like this.

Word count: 3.8k

Chapter tw: Depictions of violence and child abuse, strong language, blood and injury

Notes: Hello hello! I'm super duper excited to share this story with you all; I have been working on this universe and these characters for over a decade now (back from my little baby tumblr days) and this story means a lot to me, as do these characters.

I plan on not only writing this story, but sharing art as well. I'm still a little nervous about sharing this as an actual webcomic as of right now (mostly because I don't know what I'm doing ^^;), but I hope in the future to illustrate and maybe even animate this story.

For now, I offer to you the actual writing that's gone into this. I hope you enjoy :)

beginning | previous chapter | next chapter

#—2050—#

Cold.

God, it was so damn cold.

Freezing wet winds pushed through the air, whistling through the foliage of the thick and dense woods, the sound shrill and almost excruciating to the ears.

Training exercises were never a favorite amongst the trainees who were pushed until their bodies and minds broke, shattering beneath the strain and abuse.

The boot prints stamped into the snow were the only indicator of where her target had gone—Marcel, the leader of the Vespers, a cruel and sadistic man who reveled in the pain and suffering he inflicted on others, finding joy in the power he could so freely wield over those who were terrified of him.

If only this damn rifle was real…

Sadie gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes.

Fuck. This. Bastard.

From sunrise to now, almost dusk, they had been playing this stupid cat-and-mouse game. She was exhausted, her small body slogging through the thick and heavy snow that covered the ground in an icy blanket, the crunching of her boots shockingly loud to her in the otherwise muffled silence around her as the winds died down. The snow stuck to her pants and boots, soaking into the fabric, and she could have sworn her toes had gone numb at this point.

She gripped the paintball rifle tighter, her fingertips stained red from the lack of warmth and bloodflow.

Where was that bastard now?

She let her eyes track the bootprints, her hazel gaze narrowing sharply as she observed the trail with a practiced eye.

There.

A dark shape shifted behind a snowbank, their rifle strapped to their back. It was him, she was almost sure of it. He was probably watching her, laughing about her incompetence, mocking her perceived stupidity.

She crouched in a nearby snowbank, pulling the rifle sight to her eye, lifting her hand to adjust the scope on her target.

She had always had a pretty decent aim with rifles; it was the only weapon she could use to her advantage, considering others were too big and too awkward, and pistols never allowed her to keep her distance. She was thirteen, after all. There was no instance where she could go toe-to-toe with a fully grown adult and win in that situation.

Sadie loosed a breath, puffing out a white cloud of condensation as she let her finger rest on the trigger—

The teen heard a twig snap nearby, and before she could even muster a turn of her head, she was jackbooted right in the side, leaving her to cry out as she was slammed into the snow by her assailant, one of Marcel’s upper guards.

Motherfucker.

The man, Simon, was a loyal dog to Marcel, one who easily bent to his will and wants with no objection or complaint. It was rare to see one without the other, the large, bulking man acting as a human meat shield to his beloved boss.

He pinned her down easily, his knee planted directly in her back, one massive paw of a hand pulling her rifle-handling arm up her spine towards her opposite shoulder blade while the other yanked at her long, messy mop of hair, forcing her neck to crane back at a torturous angle.

Simon was an emotionless and stony wall as he gazed down at her, nothing but a quirked brow revealing his agitation towards the little brat in his grasp. “Sloppy,” he hissed through his teeth as his jaw worked slowly, giving her arm another yank, practically able to see the muscles and shoulder blades straining beneath her jacket.

“Let. Me. Go!” Sadie would order him, thrashing and flailing on the snowy ground in an attempt to buck him off of her, only making things worse for her as thin tendons and malnourished muscles protested against the inflicted suffering she was experiencing.

“My arm! Dammit, let go, you–!” With a wet and visceral pop, the arm would be dislocated, leaving her throat to go dry as she screamed in agony.

Simon wouldn’t listen. Of course he wouldn’t. How could she have been stupid enough to expect him to listen to her groveling?

“Shut up,” he spat, giving her hair another yank as his knee dug into her spine, earning him another shrill little cry as a reward. “Do you think your enemy will listen to you if you’re in pain? Hm?”

Stars danced before Sadie’s eyes as he continued speaking. “You either fight, or you die. That’s how this world works, brat.”

Fight or die.

Those words knocked around in the teen’s brain as the sadistic treatment continued without an ounce of pity from the man above her. “Simon—!”

“Yes? I can’t hear you when you’re whimpering on the ground.” He gave her hair yet another pull, the roots straining under his palm as he puppeted her head upwards, his face now looming above hers, so close she could smell the acrid scent of cigarettes and stale liquor on his breath. “Speak up, will you? If you have something useful to say—”

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and she was released as Simon lumbered to his feet, tucking his hands behind his back as Marcel approached, stalking out of the shadows with his eyes set on the girl in front of him.

Sadie would manage to roll onto her back, almost relieved at the releasing of her body until the butt of her boss’ rifle slammed into her chest, causing her to choke from the impact on her sternum, her back arching off the freezing ground. Marcel towered over the little girl, looking rather unimpressed with her, completely apathetic to her struggles. He would lean over her slightly, the rifle now loosely grasped in his hand, the end of it nearly touching her shoulder.

“Stand up.”

His voice was a harsh command, leaving no room for argument or protest from the girl beneath him. Sadie let out another sob as she forced herself to her feet, using a nearby snowbank and her own gun as a crutch when her knees threatened to buckle and give out from underneath her. Her chest and shoulders heaved as she breathed through her nose sharply, and yet, despite it all, she forced herself to meet his eyes.

Marcel looked down the bridge of his nose at her, eyeing her much like a hawk watching its injured prey, waiting for a proper moment to strike. The girl had potential, that was for sure; there was a fight within her that refused to break, no matter what he did to her.

But…

“You’re weak,” he finally spoke, his words dripping with animosity. “Pathetic, even.”

He raised his leg, slamming his boot directly into the center of her chest, sending her spiraling back onto the ground as she gave a pathetic whimper, sounding more akin to a kicked dog than a human being. He followed, crouching over her. “No one is here to save you. I’m the only one here. I could end you right now, and you can’t even put up a fight to stop me, can you?”

He pressed the end of his rifle to the center of the girl’s forehead, his finger hovering over the trigger as he tilted his head and observed her for a moment longer, watching as she bit back a frightened noise of panic at the gesture.

“Give me one good reason, brat. One good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger right now.”

There was nothing but silence and cold air between them, the tension so thick and tangible one could cut it with a knife. “Because you need someone to bully who can’t fight back,” She finally snapped back once she found her voice, her throat bobbing as she swallowed heavily. “And I’m your favorite punching bag for some goddamn reason.”

Marcel was almost taken aback by her response, his nostrils flaring as his eyes widened slightly and he stared at her. She had spunk, a fire and drive that made no sense to him. Sadie wasn’t much just from looking her over, nothing more than some scrawny, starving little toothpick of a young girl with her head held up by his rifle to keep it from falling forward.

And yet she was defiant, even with a gun to her head.

He let his smirk return to his face after a moment, a cruel and sadistic look in his eyes.

“You never learn, do you?”

With that, he flipped his rifle and slammed the butt of it into her face, cracking her nose and standing as he ignored her blood dripping into the crisp, white snow beneath his boots. He watched as she twitched and cried, gripping her bleeding nose, her face wet and stained red, snow and ice clinging to her damp hair, which fanned across the ground in long, stringy tendrils.

“I hate you!” She screamed, her voice muffled into her palms as she glared up at him. “I fucking hate you!”

She was still fighting.

She was still resisting.

It pissed him off to no end, enough so that he slammed his boot into her ribcage to just shut her up. He didn’t understand how something so damn small could be so full of fire, anger, and spite, enough so that she still pushed back against him, no matter how hard he attempted to break her down.

“Shut up,” he ordered her before looking at Simon, snapping his fingers like he was commanding a dog. “Take her back to her room. I’m bored with her.”

Simon simply nodded, not saying a word as he approached the girl, grabbing her by the front of her jacket and tossing her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a sack of flour. Sadie glared over the larger man’s shoulder as she was carried away, her nails digging into the rough canvas of Simon’s jacket, her eyes still locked on Marcel.

“I hate you!” She screeched again, tears welling in her eyes as she set her lips in a little snarl, her eyes burning holes through her boss’ very being. “I’ll kill you one day, I swear to God!”

Marcel watched them go with a cocked brow and a smirk on his face, listening to her curses and threats, finding great humor in what he saw as empty promises. She was a brat, as Simon had called her on many occasions, but one with a will that seemed unbreakable.

That made him chuckle.

He could twist that to his own demented ideals; he just had to be patient, he told himself as he watched the two figures disappear into one of the three large compounds the criminal syndicate owned.

Stepping into her room, Simon threw Sadie down onto the cold floor, the door slamming shut behind him as he left the poor girl swimming in her own agony and hatred.

And the young teen cried, her sorrows ripped from her as her arms wrapped tightly around herself and she curled into a small ball.

There was nothing else she could do, after all. This room was a prison to her, a bare space with no creature comforts of any kind, simply fitted with a bed, an on-suit and almost sterile bathroom, and a small wardrobe that held very plain and almost militant outfits.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, everything becoming a blur. This room didn’t possess a clock of any kind, after all, nor did she have a window.

What would cause her to stir was the door opening and shutting again some time later, heavy bootfalls thumping against the cold concrete floor of her “room”. She whined as a pair of large, muscular arms wrapped around her and picked her up, her head falling to rest on the person’s shoulder as she was carried yet again.

She recognized the scent of oaky cologne and cigarettes, a familiar smell that would bring her some modicum of comfort in a world of torment:

Bram— her adoptive brother.

The older teen carried her to the bathroom, carefully setting her down on the tub before turning and rummaging through his backpack he’d tossed down nearby, searching for his first aid kit. When he found the small, white box, he turned back to her, taking full stock of the extent of damage inflicted on her.

The white fluorescent light above their heads made Sadie’s skin almost look gray as he observed her, and she was in a pretty horrible state as she shivered, still dressed in her clothes that had been soaked through with ice and snow. The blood smeared across her face, the way her undereyes began to bruise… It made his heart ache for her.

He approached the girl slowly so he wouldn’t scare her, crouching in front of her as he rested a hand on her knee, shaking her leg gently. “Hey… You with me, sweetpea?”

There was no answer from her, no sign of acknowledgement or that she had even heard him. She continued to stare off into space, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused, clearly not in the present moment with him. Bram would sigh, his hand raising to carefully cradle her face, his fingertips warm against her skin, turning her head this way and that before reaching for the first aid kit, producing an alcohol wipe to clean her up. “It’s okay, I gotcha, darlin’.”

He began to carefully wipe at her face, his brows knit as his teeth sunk into the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek. The older boy was gentle with her; he always was when she came back from Marcel’s tests in states like this, though this was the worst he’d seen her.

“Mh… You almost got’em, huh?”

Marcel didn’t like to lose; the fact that he’d beaten the shit out of her like this proved just how damn close she’d really been to finally getting a leg up on the jackass.

The younger brunette finally looked up at him, her eyes glossy and her expression vacant. She had gone somewhere else, Bram knew, somewhere she could escape the pain if only for a few moments, her young mind trying to compartmentalize and push through the trauma that would surely cement itself into her very being for the rest of her life.

He knew this all too well from his own personal experience.

His hand moved from her chin to her shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into her filthy jacket. “You spaced on me,” he informed her softly, a frown tugging at his lips. “Where’d ya go this time, hm?”

She let out a soft, shaky sigh from her chapped lips as he continued to clean her up, the cold alcohol of the cloth stinging her cuts and scrapes, the sensation burning her flesh. It was painful, and she was exhausted, but his presence was somewhat of a comfort. She tried to focus on his voice, on the familiar low timbre and the southern twang that accented his words when he spoke.

“S’cold,” She finally mustered, fresh tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks in tiny, glittering waterfalls, “And it hurts. I wanna go home.”

Home– Bram knew what that meant.

She was talking about something that didn’t exist for them anymore; their previous caretaker, an angry little spitfire of a French woman that had taken care of them for two years, and her home that resided in the peaceful countryside.

The boy sighed, his heart twisting painfully in his chest at her words and her soft, broken voice. He finished cleaning her up, his hand instead moving to cradle her cheek again. He used his fingers to brush her hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

“I know it hurts and I know it’s cold, but we can’t go home… Not anymore. Y’know that, sweetpea.”

He hated having to tell her that, having to force the words around the lump forming in his throat that made it almost impossible for him to breathe. He knew just how much she missed it. Hell, he missed it too, even when it had seemed that old bat had it out for him half the time.

“Hey, look at me.” His eyes would catch hers as she obeyed, her lips trembling against the sobs that he knew wanted to break free from her lips. “‘Member the bedtime story I used to tell you when you were just a lil' anklebiter? The one about the fox and the raven?”

She nodded almost automatically in response to his question, her mind immediately going back to the times when she was younger, barely coming up to Bram’s knee. She recalled how he used to hold her in his lap, cradling her against his chest as he told her the story to get her to fall asleep.

“I remember.” A weak smile found it’s way to her lips despite the tears in her eyes, and she raised her hand, wiping away her tears with the heel of her hand.

He was relieved to see her smile, even if her face told him how much pain she was truly in. He dabbed at a rather nasty cut on her lip. “It was a long, long time ago, huh? There was a clever fox who lived in his lil’ den and a raven who would watch him from the trees.”

Sadie hung onto every word, the familiar bedtime story lulling her into a strange, almost dazed state, back to a time where everything was simpler. His voice was soothing to her; it always had been, the words rolling off of his tongue easily despite the fact he’d come up with the story on the fly one night when he was desperate to get his gremlin of a little sister to finally go to bed. He continued to speak of the fictional animals and their adventures, the story and memories flowing out of him like a rushing tap.

“The raven was a curious fella now, and he would always fly down to the ground to watch the fox, pesterin’ him and askin’ him all about what he was doin’.”

Bram moved to her side to fix up her shoulder, wincing slightly as his hand moved to slip the oversized coat off of her spindly little frame, noting the way her skin began to bruise and turn an ugly shade of mauve. “Now one day, that wildly ol’ fox decided to get into a chicken coop that belonged to a grumpy bastard of a farmer, and he got caught up in a trap the old man set–”

Crack.

A sickening snap filled the air as Bram reset Sadie’s shoulder, catching her small frame as she surged forward, one hand braced against the tub to hold himself up as the other tangled into the hair on the back of her head, holding her against his chest. The girl’s shrill scream was muffled into his shirt as her fingers gripped his arm to hold herself up, her jagged nails biting into his skin as her knuckles turned white. Bram couldn’t help but cringe as his muscles stiffened at her reaction, sympathetic to the hell she must have been going through in the moment.

“Shhh, I know, I know, sugar. I know it hurts,” he murmured into her hair, his eyes screwing shut as his jaw clenched tightly, “We’re almost done, okay? We’re almost done. Just keep bein’ good for me, yeah?”

His hands moved to her arms as he held her out in front of him, shaking her gently to force her to focus. “Hey, hey– ‘Member what that dumb fox said when the raven freed him? Can you tell me what he said?”

It was a clear distraction, a way for him to try and give her something else to focus on. They both knew this, and yet, they allowed themselves to get wrapped up in the moment, if only for a little while.

“He thanked him. He told him that he owed him, and that if he was ever in trouble, the fox would do anything to help him back.”

“That’s right. Atta, girl. Just hang in there a little while longer, sweetpea. Just keep bein’ my little trooper for a lil' longer.”

For a moment, the two were silent, with only the sound of self-adhering bandages being unwrapped filling the air. Bram then reached for Sadie’s arm, supporting her elbow as he began wrapping her up, creating a mock splint for her injured arm, soothing her as she winced and dug her nails further into his arm. “So, when winter came around, that crazy raven was stealin’ grain from the nearby village, wantin’ to make sure the other critters in the forest were taken care of. What happened then, hm?”

“The farmer caught the raven stealin’ his grain and he got hurt?”

The older boy nodded as he finally finished taking care of her wounds, scooping her up in his arms as he held her close to his chest, slowly rising to his feet. “That’s right. The raven got beat up pretty bad and his wing was broken. The fox came to his rescue, brought him into his den and stayed with him, just like he promised.”

He carried the girl back into her room, easing her onto the flat and uncomfortable mattress after helping her into the hoodie he had previously been wearing, wanting to warm her up and try to detour her from getting sick. He then sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing circles into her back as she shifted and attempted to get more comfortable. “And the fox and the raven became best friends, right?”

For a moment, Sadie’s brain lagged, a splintering migraine beginning to form right behind her eyes, akin to an icepick chipping into her skull and optical nerves. However, after a moment, she managed to nod, burrowing into the very lumpy and lackluster pillow. “Right… They helped each other out and stuck it out through everything.”

“Mhm. Just like us, huh? Ain’t that right, darlin’?” He pulled a thin blanket around her shoulders and tucked her in for the night, watching as her eyes finally slid shut. He then leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple and letting it linger for a moment. “You’re my crafty lil' corvid, and m’the big, ol’ grumpy fox, right?”

Sadie couldn’t help the small, weary giggle that escaped her as she nodded, pulling the pillow closer to her as she burrowed into it. “Mhm.” It wasn’t long before she finally slipped into sleep, mumbling something akin to an almost unintelligible ‘I love you’ before her breathing evened out, her body rising and falling in time with her steady breaths.

Bram simply watched her for a moment.

She always looked peaceful in her sleep, her face no longer marred by stress or pain or fear. His fingers threaded through her hair, attempting to untangle the knots from the wild rat’s nest on her head. She was too damn skinny, and he didn’t like the fact he was able to see the outline of her ribs through her shirts on most days.

“Someday, Sades,” he muttered to no one in particular, his shoulders slumping in on themselves as his own exhaustion began to tug at the corners of his mind.

“Someday I’ll get us outta here. I promise."

#writing #original story #original characters #cyberpunk #dystopian #futuristic #writeblr #webcomic #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #tftnd

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velvetcloxds · 4 years ago

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AND WHATEVER COMES AFTER THAT| K.M.

Pairing: Klaus x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1991 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Klaus has been trying to convince the reader to be with him for years, but has always failed. At the end of one of Elijah's peace parties, Y/n finally gives in.

“For the lady…” Rebecca says with a smile, holding out my glass of wine for me.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the glass in my hand before refocusing my gaze on the dancefloor where the last few people are still keeping up with the silly beat of the current 60’s song. “You’d think they would have given up by now.” I say, laughing softly as I point down to where Hailey and Elijah are dancing, attempting to keep a somewhat respectable distance between them. Rebecca smiles and moves to rest her glass on the banister of the balcony.

“You’d also think he’d have officially made a move by now, but my big brother does things in his own little way.” She tells me, smiling still as her eyes linger for a sweet second on Marcel Gerard who is making quite the show of the way he’s twirling around his date, her dress shifting higher up her thigh with every turn. Rebecca scoffs softly, taking another large sip of her drink.

“He’s not the only one.” I say with a raised brow, her glass making a soft clinking noise against her ring when she grips onto her glass tighter, eyes drawn tight to show me she’s not exactly pleased with my statement.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Y/N, but I’d remind you to think very carefully about what you’re going to say next,” She says and turns to face me, leaning forward to make sure I could hear her. “You may very well be my dearest friend and my brother may very well be completely smitten with you, but I’m not above kicking your ass.” She tells me and though her words would prompt a serious tone, I catch the little smile that slips onto her lips when our eyes meet.

“I have yet to see you try, Rebecca,” I offer in reply, laughing lightly as she shakes her head. “Besides,” I start, taking a sip of wine before handing her my glass. “I’d have to remind you that you’d be ruining your own clothing in the process.” I tell her as I move to do a slow twirl and she gasps softly, taking in the Audrey Hepburn inspired ensemble, the black dress and gloves being something that Rebecca had kept from her time spent in the actual decade. Her shock sinks into a small grin as she looks me over, eyes lingering on the pearl necklace we brought at a secondhand boutique last week.

“You look perfectly in place,” She tells me and nods towards the hallway behind us. “Maybe you could convince my brother to step out of his hole long enough to save you a dance.” She says and squeezes my arm softly as she passes by me, losing the glasses on her way down the stairs where she calmly clears the last few guest from the dancefloor and out the door, waving quickly as she closes the door of the ballroom behind her.

I smile, the music seeming louder somehow now that I’m alone in here and I find myself almost drifting down the stairs. I hum to myself, dancing towards the drink table. Swaying to the rhythm as I start pilling empty platters and used plates together.

“You missed the party,” I say softly, not stopping what I’m doing as I hear him still on the balcony above. “It was quite the turnout.” I add, stepping back from the table to look up at him, his lips tilting into a lopsided grin when he sees me.

“My apologies, love,” He shrugs eyes darkening as they slowly make their way from my lips downwards, lingering for a second on the pearls around my neck before slipping lower and lower, until he clears his throat softly, meeting my gaze in an instant. “I clearly had no idea what I’d be missing out on.” He tells me, voice low as he pulls a hand through his hair.

“Maybe you should come down here and get a better look.” I offer, tone matching his as I step back even more, slowly making my way to the dancefloor where he meets me in mere seconds, hands carefully resting on my waist as I move slowly to sway to the gentle melody, eyes glued to his as he lets out a soft breath.

“You are…” He starts, moving a hand to carefully take hold of mine. “Ravishing,” He whispers, the sound sending an almost electric shiver down my spine as he lifts my hand to his mouth where he places a delicate kiss to my palm, not once breaking eye contact. “Tell me..” He begins, using his teeth to carefully pull the glove away, holding my bare hand tightly in his own as he leads me into a dance. “Why won’t you be mine, Y/n?” He asks, holding me against him as he dips me backwards slowly, carefully turning us together before pulling me up to be but inches from his face. “Why won’t you let me love you?” He asks, keeping hold of my waist as he turns me around in his arms where he nimbly lifts my hand in the air, removing the other glove as he attentively traces the length of my arm until I can feel his skin against mine, the glove dropping soundlessly to the floor as I tilt my head to the side to see him.

“We’re dangerous together,” I tell him, carelessly letting him guide my hands to where he needs them and numbly allowing him to spin me out and then in before once again coming face to face with him. “We’d hurt each other,” I say, moving with him as we move one step forward and one step back, twirling and then repeating. “You’d hurt me.” I say, momentarily leaning back against him halfway through the twirl.

“I would never,” He offers and pauses as well, risking the loss of the rhythm to touch my cheek and gain my attention. “I could never.” He adds and I turn around in his hold.

“That’s what they always say,” I say and move my hands to his shoulders where I lead him into the same steps as earlier. “They always promise me forever,” He holds my waist delicately. “They never mean it.” I tell him, his eyes darkening as he tries to read my emotions.

“I am not them, my love,” His eyebrows knit together as he looks me over. “I will gladly give you forever and always and whatever comes after that. I love you. I burn for you,” He announces simply and I let out a shaky breath. “Can you truly say that you don’t feel the same? Tell me you don’t feel anything at all for me?” He asks, voice raw as he waits for a reply and I shake my head, dropping my hands to the side when he suddenly released me from his hold, looking to the sky as he shakes his head as well.

“Klaus,” I begin, pulling at the pearls to release the necklace from my neck, it along with the very obvious tension in the room making me feel like I’m suffocating. “I do feel the same. I feel everything and more, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t do this. I can’t possibly give you the power to hurt me.” I drop the pearls to the floor as I fold my arms around me, the playlist coming to an abrupt stop when the slow song ends.

“I understand,” He says after a moment, looking around the room, eyes scattering through the mess of dirty glasses and plates and coats that were left behind. “We should probably allow the staff to clean this place,” He tells me and forces a slight smile when our eyes meet. “Give me a moment to retrieve your things from upstairs and I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I say, guilt filling my heart as I see the hurt in his eyes that he couldn’t possibly hide from me even if he had attempted to do so.

“I know,” He says, picking up the fallen gloves and carefully handing them to me. “I want to.” He says, giving me a soft wink before walking up the stairs.

I let out a shaky breath as I pick up the pearls as well, folding them into the gloves to keep them safe and before my mind could even process the thought, I’m walking up the stairs, following the sound of his heartbeat that leads me to the room he spent the night in hiding away from the guests.

I use my foot to carefully push open the slightly ajar door, Klaus’s silhouette visible at the end of the room where he pushes handfuls of paintbrushes into cups of water as an overturned painting rests against the dresser.

“I couldn’t leave them uncleaned,” He informs me, my own heartbeat probably giving me away. “I got distracted downstairs is all, completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay,” I say and he looks at me quickly to nod before going back to his brushes and I walk to the center of the room, pulling at the string to turn on the light and get a better view of everything. “You were painting?” I ask, now noticing not just the one canvas, but a whole collection of them, all scattered and resting against multiple pieces of furniture.

“I felt remarkably inspired.” He comments shyly and I smile.

“By what?” I ask, mindfully reaching to turn around the largest of the canvases, the one I saw first and I can’t prevent the audible gasp that leaves my lips when I see the beautiful medley of colors that he’s somehow managed to create my face with.

“You.” He answers absentmindedly, shrugging slightly as he waves my coat and purse in the air to show me that he’s found it amongst everything in here. I smile, bending down to take it all in, every brushstroke and color, every piece of himself that he used to create every stroke of me.

“This is beautiful, Klaus.” I laugh softly, holding the hand with the gloves to my heart as a sudden rush of emotions run though me.

“The painting is only as beautiful as the muse who inspired it,” He comments simply, looking at me sweetly. “I don’t think I could ever verbally explain how much you mean to me, how much I care, how much you’ve changed me purely my existing. I don’t think I could ever completely fathom how remarkable you are and how extremely lucky I am that by some strange twist of faith I’ve been lucky enough to know you,” He laughs softly as well, smiling sheepishly as he catches my gaze. “I want to live my life with you, and I’d wait however long it takes for you to feel the same.”

“Forever?” I ask, standing up and placing the gloves onto the dresser beside me. He nods.

“And always.” He adds and I smile, the dreadful and fearful feeling in my stomach slowly dissolving.

“What about just one more minute?” I ask and he tilts his head, smiling as I slowly make my way towards him, pausing only for a second before cupping his face in mine. “Thirty seconds,” I say and he holds onto my arms. “Ten seconds,” I whisper, his forehead against mine. I breathe out slowly, nodding when our eyes meet, silently asking for permission before his lips delicately meet mine. My entire body filling with butterflies as he pulls away and I smile. “Let’s get married…” I say and his chest vibrates lightly as a happy laugh fills the air, pulling back slightly just to see me.

“Are you sure?” He asks carefully and I nod, pulling him closer to me again.

“I am yours, Niklaus Mikealson. Forever and always.”

“And whatever comes after that.”

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus x reader #the originals #the originals x reader

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mysweetgirl2-love · 3 years ago

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Roughened Warmth - Reiner x Reader (softtober prompt #3)

Welp. I was on a roll a week ago and now writing is slowing down-- Nevertheless! Here we are again, I'll try to get back in a groove but I do have a friend visiting on TOP of midterms, so expect these to most likely stay sporadic.

This day happened to be Reiner Braun! Ironically after Erwin, I know. It's based in season 1 since I don't know if they ever have a snow experience besides getting stuck out in the woods? So, I just hope it works with what we now know about Reiner.

I'm not giving a COMPLETE spoiler warning since s4 is now animated, but this does talk about Marley... because, you know, what's fiction without trauma.

Here's to another Softtober day!

Prompt #3: Gloves/Mittens (mittens are more convenient for what I wrote.)

Word Count: 2.4k

✦✧✦✧

The bitter cold of Paradis was not something you had prepared for that day so many years ago. You packed many things up when high-tailing it from Marley, but gear against the harsh winter had not crossed your mind. Now caught in a terrible snow storm, stuck in an old wood cabin, most definitely trapped for as many hours as the weather raged on.

The window was frosted over in delicate ice patterns, painting across the pane in fragmented designs that jutted this way and that. You heavily sighed and stared at the piles of snow that were building near and far from the mock-base as of tonight, and you waited in anticipation to see if Ymir would follow through in bringing Daz and Christa back safely. Intuitive as you were, it wasn’t a surprise that you found Ymir to be one of the more suspicious cadets apart of the Training Corps.

Not like you were much better. Your group was a considerable danger to these… Eldians. Ones who you once were convinced to be monsters, slowly were beginning to prove that… they too were merely human. Seemingly afraid of “they mystery of the titans,” something you found to be basic knowledge back in Marley. How could they not understand the horror in which they existed in was due to their past crimes?

It got you thinking as to why you harbored so much blame towards them, why Marley held such high standards towards a past that no longer existed? They were clueless to life off of the island, thinking Paradis was merely the rest of the world and there was nothing beyond that. Their innocence made the anger ease, and only led to your confusion.

Spiraling, you don’t show it. Your face remains calm, staring at the icy drawings on the cold glass as the snow blew wildly in the storm. A hand delicately pressed into your shoulder, jumping you both out of your thoughts and physically in that moment. You sharply turned over your shoulder to find a timid looking Reiner waiting for your attention—clearly having grown concerned when his calling of you fell on deaf ears, and you remained so enamored with the outside snow.

“Shit, Reiner…” you hushed, knowing from the look in his eye that the approaching conversion wasn’t for other’s ears, “is everything alright?”

He visibly swallowed, bringing his hand back to his side and shifting his gaze to reflect out the window, “Just worried…”

Reiner Braun was no stranger to you, knowing you maybe inside and out at this rate—being raised and trained together back in the internment zone. It was maybe the only perk to Warrior training you could ever feasibly argue for, seeing at how it shaped the man before you.

You had always taken a liking to the large blonde, finding his nurturing spirit to be sweet while preparing for who would become a Warrior, and who would not. He was kind, naive, not someone you ever considered to be named a Warrior for Marley. Shockingly enough, like Porco Galliard, he was chosen as the Armored Titan. Along with Berthold, Annie, and Marcel, all appointed to protect Marley with the abusing of their own Eldian blood.

Shocked Reiner was picked over the both of you and Porco, you went to General Magath—begging to be apart of the Paradis operation regardless your lacking of power from one of the Nine. Arguing that you were a terrific strategist and intellectual when it came to a land like Paradis, and if allowed to embark on the long term fight in taking back the Founding Titan beside the Warriors you would prove your worth in potentially inheriting the Beast Titan.

Knowing your worth in such a plan, and holding personal belief that you were maybe the strongest thinker among the Warriors next to Annie, Magath is able to convince Marley’s generals in allowing you to also embark on the journey. It’s what got you here, five years later. In a creaky, old cabin, sought after for comfort by someone as expectedly strong as the one to inherent the Armored Titan.

“Worried.” You repeat in a warmer tone, a light smile teasing at the corners of your mouth, “Never thought you’d feel such a thing.”

Reiner’s brow tensed, not entirely appreciating the tease. You snort a light laugh, pulling your legs closer towards your side in giving him a space on the window sill. He didn’t hesitate—familiar with the gesture, he paced himself closer and leaned up across from you.

“About what, this time?” You quietly asked as he seated himself, the man responding with an elongated sigh.

“This. All of this. I can’t—“ He paused suddenly, a sharp inhale, “I really can’t have anything happen to you guys.”

Silence hangs for a longer moment between the both of you, wind lightly battering at the window, and you snort humorously. Reiner remains still, peering up at you from the corner of his eye as you watch with the same, lazy smile.

“First of all, thinking like that isn’t going to allow us to succeed. Stopping with that kind of behavior should be your first step. Secondly,” you lightly kick your foot out towards Reiner, knocking him gently on his shin, “we’re going to be fine. All of your friends are capable of handling themselves.”

“Not all of them.”

You tensed at him interjecting, confusion sweeping through you as you could tell his words clearly meant more than he was letting on.

“No?” You asked earnestly, trying to be patient for the rest of his response.

Regardless of you not having a titan, you all had learned what it meant to protect yourself in a place like this. Losing Marcel was nothing any of you had ever dreamed of happening—all in silent agreement that he was the most capable of your group and definitely who would have the steady head on his shoulders. Next thing you all knew, a titan erupted from the ground and boom. He was gone.

It was then that you remaining four would have to be on your guard’s at all times. The unpredictability of Paradis was proven to be the most dangerous element of this mission, so far. But you four were the only foreigners, everyone else had grown up in such uncertainty. So why—

“… I don’t think I follow.”

Reiner straightened up, making sure you followed him as he nodded towards the upper part of the cabin—where the rest of the Trainees had gone to rest through the storm. The suddenness hit you square in the chest, hardly leaving you with enough room to breathe. “Reiner—“

“I know! I know, I shouldn’t, I just—“ His head fell into his hands, the weight of his admittance quite literally crushing. “…I can’t help it. They all hold so much potential.”

“Good for them, but that’s not why we’re here.” You sternly remind, knowing exactly what he was talking about and not having the will to want to admit it to yourself. “We have a job, Reiner. Keep that in mind… this isn’t a trip to make some friends.”

More silence, Reiner’s fingers curled further into the blonde of his hair as he tugged at its roots. You frowned, head drooping as you pushed off the side of the window in the direction of him. You reached out carefully, pulling a hand from his hair and holding it between you both.

“Listen, I know it’s hard…” You hush now, your defensiveness carefully easing, “They’re good people.”

“Which is just the worst part of it all…”

Reiner’s hand softly squeezed around your own, pulling it closer to his being while he sat up. He finished pulling your hand into his lap, simply holding it there. About to ask, you watched him carefully observe and study the way your hand looked in his. He pushed and pulled at your fingers, spreading them gently before finally encasing them in his much larger, tattered palm. Roughened warmth holding you there.

“…” There seemed to be no pressing thoughts bursting at his seams, seemingly caught between two frames and content with how he came to be. Not you, you knew how he would shut himself up like this and anguish in the looming dread all by himself. It didn’t have to be like that, you always tried to convince him. Showing had always proven to be better than telling.

Starting to pull your hand back, you enclosed his hand this time and brought it back in your direction. Wanting to at least try and spark a hope in him, even if the flame had been dimmed a long time ago.

“We have to do this. If not for ourselves, for the people in Liberio.” You are focused on his knuckles in turn, now, gently brushing the pads of your thumb over his skin. “We deserve to be free of these people’s sins… our families are too important to let the devils worm their way into our hearts.”

There was a twinge of guilty pain that pressed into your heart, pulled at its strings and solidifying the feeling of being a bad person. Reiner’s hand closed over yours, and it shook you from the darkness clouding your mind. You turn back up to him, seeing that he too had been watching your hands, still.

“You’re right. This is our mission… we gotta see it out til the end.” He encouraged, and you couldn’t help but sadly smile at the drastic shift in attitude. He had continued to be torn between being that powerful warrior he showed to his comrades in the trainee program, and the insecure maybe undeserving Warrior that had left Marley. It didn’t matter to you, he was always going to be Reiner—the same boy you cared for since you both were children.

“…I wish I could feel more like Annie.” You hummed in trying to bring a playful nature back to your voices. Reiner finally was receptive of the idea, snorting a gentle laugh in response. Pathetic and void of any true humor, but most definitely hinted at.

“Glad I’m not alone in that way of thinking,” he chuckled, looking back towards your hands so innocently intertwined, his brow quickly screwing into a scowl in that general direction. “Your hands.”

You tilted your head in confusion, following his movements in staring down at your collective hands, “Yeah…? What about them?”

“They’re freezing.” He retracted his palm quickly from the one, his hand diving into the pocket of his uniform much to your dismay.

“Hey! They’re not made of ice—you don’t have to react like that!” You whine in meaningless complaints, more so wanting to poke fun. “Don’t tell me your that chicken of holding cold hands…”

“What? No. That’s not at all what I was trying to do.” He scoffed, smiling gently to himself as his hand still moved in his pocket. Very clearly digging for something. “I’m trying to give you something.”

“Oh, woo—ow…” you pretend to murmur in awe, “a gift? You shouldn’t have. We don’t even get paychecks, yet.”

“No, no. Not a gift…” he groaned, shaking his head with your sarcasm, “here.”

Out from his pocket, his hand which returned now clutching around two pieces of black fabric. Rugged and looser in some places versus others, they weren’t the prettiest accessory you’d ever seen. But, they were clearly made with care, and looked like an amateur’s knitting job at best.

“Where’d you find those?” You curiously breathed, leaning closer to try and get a better look at the item which he gladly presented.

“They’re mittens.” He chuckled, flipping them over in his hand before running a thumb against the yarn, “I made them.”

You finally understood the feeling of one’s heart leaping into their throat, you having to take a moment to swallow before further assessment of the gloves. No wonder they looked sloppy, Reiner had never picked up knitting before.

“How?—“

“I had some of the girl’s help me… never thought it would actually be that hard.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and take the mittens in your own hands—giving them another look over much to Reiner’s amusement. He chuckled at how you studied his handy working, quietly shaking his head to himself. “Clearly, I underestimated the skill needed for knitting.”

“Awe, no, stop that.” You quickly counter, trying to ignore how right the comment resonated within you. “They’re not… that bad.”

“Mmm, not that good either.”

The two of you only quietly laugh at that, knowing that no argument would be able to deny the fact that… gloves, even in times like these, certainly had tighter stitching than this. Regardless of how they might hold up against the weather, you proceed in slipping them on your hands—now spreading your fingers in the cottony covering and watching as numerous holes appeared with every way your hand bent.

You turned towards Reiner, watching his face screw into one of slight disappointment. He eventually moved back to focus on you, nodding pathetically in the direction of his craft.

“I stand by my not that good comment.”

You chuckle again, pushing him off against his shoulder with a light pressure from your hand. Scooting closer, you begin to press a little against his side, “Ultimately, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Thoughts don’t help against cold weather.” He reminded.

“Stop being so critical! You were making mittens! For the first time, too. Not many people can say they’ve ever made a pair of mittens—me being an example!” You encourage, “You need to give yourself more credit.”

Reiner turned his head closer in your direction, not caring that your faces now stood just inches apart. He hoped that, regardless of the amount of warmth which the mittens may provide, that you could at least feel the heat in his heart he always would hold out for you. That something as cheesy as love really could protect you against the harsh cold of your shared realities. He gave one final huff of wavering humor, facing forward to then lean his head on the side of your own scalp.

“Maybe.” He remarked softly, letting your shared body heat now invade every sense of his in wanting to maybe be numb to the rest of everything else around you both, “Maybe one day I’ll go easy.”

You grew quiet at his sudden point of contact, not shying away from mindlessly returning the unspoken affection. In this window sill, you didn’t think it could get warmer anymore. The wind giving a now pitiful pattering on the glass. “I hope that day comes soon.”

#aot reiner #reiner x reader #reiner x you #fanfic #oneshot #attack on titan #anime #writing #softtober #mittens #snow in aot #i don't know what else to tag #x reader #aot x reader #incredible ily aot #slight angst #short and simple #short and sweet

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bakugohoex · 4 years ago

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I'm so happy for you! Congrats for 1k! 🥳🥳🥳 I saw there was one fluff prompt left, number 10 I believe. If it's still available could you do it with Porco?

“we were never just friends”

pairing: porco galliard x female reader

cw: fluff, language, a lot on intimate moments that make me sad that I’m alone

word count: 2700+

a/n: please im sorry that im still working on my 1k event when i have a 2k event going on at the same time, but i wrote this fic in a sprint thing on discord and surprisingly I think i did okay with it.

summary: in which Porco relives moments of his love for you until he finally gets what he had always wanted

1k event masterlist

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

Porco didn’t understand the first time he met you would be as children; he saw those tender eyes and that soft sunflower dress, and he couldn’t help but fall in love. Maybe it was a childish dream or some misconception that this was the love that he had so often seen between his parents. But he knew from that very moment seeing you with your hair up in pigtails playing in the sand he had fallen in love.

His eyes stayed focused on you, his shorts showing the grazed knees he had had from sliding along the grass against his mothers will. But the sound of his screams as he ran towards the sandcastle you had made, and the crying as a consequence of the fallen castle made him realise this wasn’t a real way to introduce himself. He looked between those damp tears and the sand that speckled across your chest and knees and he knew this moment would be ingrained into both of your minds for the rest of your life.

He knelt in front of your timid body, eyes tearing up as you looked like you wanted to chuck sand at him. Your mother hadn’t noticed the tears as they were silent, but as Porco brought his hand out, moving his small fingers to touch your cheek he felt the cold tears stream down your face. It wasn’t his fault, or maybe it was, but at the time he felt bad. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up to meet the blonde, his dinosaur t shirt and beige coloured shorts made him look like any other child. You don’t know what got into you too stare at his childish figure. Maybe it was because you were a child yourself but seeing this random child apologise for kicking down your hard work and effort. It brought some relief, “it’s okay.”

He wiped away the tears as he spoke once more, “I’ll help you build another one.”

You nodded in an instant as he grabbed the plastic mould and started digging for sand. Maybe it was the start of a new friendship he didn’t know at the time but here he was lying on his bed reliving those childish memories that he had had with his only love.

It had been years since that incident, a decade even but you still remained close to him, still had him at arm’s length. He was the boy who had spent years pining over you whilst you always just seemed out of his grasp. He stared once more at your text message, once again speaking about your date with Reiner.

All he could do was send good luck for it, what else could he do? You were his best friend, key word being friend and nothing else, nothing more. He could only just wish to see you happy and if it meant with Reiner who was he to suppress your happiness.

He couldn’t help but admire his lock screen, the love and admiration he had for you, maybe it was because of the many years he had spent following you around like a lost puppy, but the way his eyes would almost widen each time you spoke. He looked down through his camera roll, he couldn’t help but relive all these memories he had had with you.

The first time you both went into high school together, the first day that you both had found other friends. Met new people and happened to form your own group, Porco knew everybody knew of his little crush on you. Who wouldn’t, the way you’d both walk to and from school or the way he’d always be on call with you to just talk about anything.

Maybe this was the sign, the push to admit his feelings but he never did. It had been a stupid party; his camera being filled with that night months ago. The night were you both went to Eren’s stupid party, the night where he had found you in the arms of another.

“I hate Eren.” You had muttered to the boy.

He scoffed as his arm rested loosely against your shoulder, “who doesn’t, he put me in a headlock in PE once.”

“And you didn’t fight back, aww I’m proud of you Poc.” He rolled his eyes at the nickname, he hated it, but he knew that from your lips any name of his would sound so pretty. “I heard Reiner’s going though.”

Ever since that stupid Maths class with Reiner you almost seemed infatuated with the boy. Porco hated it and knew he’d have to keep an eye on you for the rest of the night. As you both walked through the doors, already seeing drunk teenagers and couples making out. Porco became jealous, he might have hated the idea of ever having his first kiss with you in a rowdy party. But the way he wasn’t even able to keep you by his side, to show you off to Reiner and the others because you really meant more than the world to him.

Your eyes scoured around the room and in a matter of seconds you faced the brute of a blond, he hated how you left his side. Hated how Reiner beckoned you forward as if you were his, you weren’t you were Porco’s. Porco shook his head as he stared at the two of you before going off to find anybody except the two of you.

He didn’t know what went into his head to drink as much as he had that night. He stared at the photos on his phones, many drunk ones of him falling about but he might not have remembered the night that well. But a memory would forever remain ingrained in his head.

The shift of his weight from the alcohol and the way his eyes landed on you. His sweet childhood friend on Reiner’s lap, his Y/n, the girl with the sundress now draped across Reiner’s lap, hands around his neck as your lips had been attached to his own. The couples Porco had seen, had envied for not being the two of you had all divulged into you and Reiner.

His arms against your waist, your hands tugging at his blond hair, Porco eyes flashed red. He wanted to run up and take you away, grab your arm and leave but he didn’t. He looked at the two of you and left. Walked out of the house, telling Mikasa to let you stay the night and then left, he couldn’t face you, couldn’t walk home with you and see your smudged lipstick, see your dishevelled hair.

Porco’s eyes stayed firm at the multitude of texts that came through, you had sent him voice notes after voice notes about what you were wearing and the plan for the night. Now here he was listening to them and replying half an hour later, you were probably out there, probably with him, kissing him, holding him, loving him.

He chucked his phone to the ground as he stared at the many photos of the two of you and your other friends. Every moment with you always felt like a whole other world, maybe you felt the same way or maybe you didn’t. But he would always keep it hidden, he knew better than to let his emotions fuel his rage. Because in the end all he wanted was for you to be happy and if it meant giving up his own, who cared.

The sound of his doorbell going off made him sign it was probably his mothers friend. He stayed staring at the memories, he could have been out right now. Could be with Zeke or Pieck or anybody but no he was in his bed mopping per usual, his mothers voice boomed through the house as she shouted his name.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” He groaned as he swung his legs off the bed, his eyes straight down the stairs. He didn’t know who it could be, possibly Bertholdt wanting to borrow his switch again or Colt asking for Marcel as well.

He rubbed at his eyes as he was finally met with you. In that pretty dress you only wore for special occasions, those bright eyes that brimmed with tears and that soft smile you tried to put on. His mother left as you moved towards the stairs, both unable to speak as you walked up to his room, the room you had spent countless nights sleeping at. The room where you both spoke of your dreams and aspirations, the room where he had fallen even more in love with you.

You sat on his bed refusing to meet his eye as he leant against his door, “what happened?” His phone remained chucked to the ground, the lock screen of the both of you flashed as the group chat seemed to be buzzing about something. He was about to walk over and check it but your croaky voice stopped him.

“Don’t…please.” He looked at your figure, the way you look vulnerable and almost nimble, he moved to your body, hands against your shoulder as you leant into his own. Tears finally falling freely onto his shirt, “I…I thought he liked me Porco.”

“What did Reiner do?”

The whisper and tension around the room was low but he kept you close by his arms, “we…we were supposed to hang out and when I met up with him he was all over Historia.”

Porco’s eyes flashed in rage, Reiner had no right to do that to you. To his girl and at that moment all he could think about was the hurting you must feel, he may have hated Reiner from the beginning but seeing you with tears from an undeserving man broke him the most. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You both stayed in each other’s arms, his lingering touches and eyes that filled with so much love as he kept a hold of you. His perfect girl that would never be his, “don’t leave me Poc.” It had been a whisper but the way his hand caressed your hair, the illuminating moon cascading through the background as it lit up the room. Every memory and past version of yourself, you looked out seeing the picture of the two of you from years ago, “that was the day I fell in love with you.”

Porco stayed silent, he didn’t think you understood what you had said, pointing at the two of you at the treehouse his father had made for you at 13, but he remembered that day as if it was yesterday.

“I can't believe he actually made it for you both,” you got all giddy as you climbed the ladder, Marcel already up there, you helped Porco up as you looked inside the treehouse.

Porco shrugged as you both looked around the place, the disposable camera your mother had given you around your neck as you stayed firm in your want to take pictures of the world. He watched you take pictures of the different parts of the treehouse, one of Marcel sleeping as he finally showed you what he had brought.

“We can put our names in the tree, make the world know we were here.” Your eyes widened as Porco wrote his initials with a plus underneath and you wrote your own. The way he told you to keep your eyes closed as he engrained around your names a heart, you had always thought it was a friendship heard but wanted it to be a heart of love. A sign of new beginnings of a relationship that could possibly occur. “Now we’re together forever.”

You hugged the boy as the two of you spent the rest of the day in the treehouse, his mother coming and taking the exact picture of the two of you that was now plastered against Porco’s wall.

It was beautiful and you didn’t mean to confess your own truths, Porco stared back at you, his eyes widening as he grabbed your wrist. “Y/n…”

“Forget what I said.” You muttered as you looked back out of the window, more and more memories each one holding moments of how deep your love ran for one another. The first time you both went swimming and Porco helped you into the deep end or the many trips out to the beach where you and Porco would run into the sea.

Childhood friends meant nothing when all you both really wanted to be was lovers. And as his firm grip stayed on you, his eyes filled with wonder and desire looked back at you with lust and love. All he could see was love, a type of love that had only ever been shown for you because he knew there would never be anybody else.

“It’s you, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I hope what I heard was true, I pray it was because Reiner doesn’t deserve you Y/n, I…I need you.” The last part was nothing more than a murmur but as you finally looked into his eyes, his pretty smile and pretty face. He knew you knew; he knew that there was something more than that, “we were never just friends.”

With those final words, reality hit the two of you both were never just friends. He gave you a look, his eyes filled with lust as he looked down at your lips, hands moving to hold onto your waist. His love, his girl in his arms for the first time, “I love…”

You trailed off as his lips met your own, the tears having stopped and your hands cupping his cheeks. His soft full of life cheeks filled with admiration and adoration at the girl that had finally become his, he loved you, he did and now he knew that you loved him.

The kiss was soft, you both stayed in one another’s arms as his soft lips kept at a boundary but as soon as a moan slipped from your mouth his tongue had divulged inside. The heat from the past decade all coming to this one kiss, one look at you and he finally saw his love, the truth behind his sadness.

He had hated seeing you kiss Reiner, he had and now he would put that hatred and replace it with the love he had for you. He put you down onto his bed, his hands around your waist as he kept his mouth on your own. Kissing you with such passion and drive that his parents could probably hear the squeak of the bed.

He looked down at you, having finally let you go, arms to your side as he looked at his love. “I love you.” He knew he was repeating his love, but he wanted you to know, wanted you to never forget that his love knew no bounds that he would forever be yours and hopefully you’d forever be his.

He was about to kiss you once more, but you spoke just as his lips gilded against one another, the hush of it all, the way his breath fanned against your lips. You licked your lips and Porco could almost taste your saliva as he waited to hear your words. Waited to see the woman he loved speak truths about their future with one another, your hands wrapped around his neck making sure to not bring him to another kiss.

Instead to see his eyes widen at the proximity of another, the way he kneeled between your legs, spreading your dress apart, the way his hands stayed firm against your head. An intimate moment for the two souls who had finally become one, “I want you, you…you deserve to know the truth.”

He hesitated but nodded waiting for a reply, he didn’t care if whatever your next words ruined any moment the two of you were about to have. He just wanted to hear you say your wants and needs for him one last time.

“Reiner…he was a distraction…I thought you liked Pieck so…so I let you pursue that.” You whispered, he hated thinking that you thought he liked Pieck, the way you went to Reiner as an alternative when the two of you could have just spoken about your feelings.

But at this moment he didn’t care, he had you in his bed, in his arms and the past meant nothing to him when he knew there was a future for you both. “I’ve loved you since I kicked your sandcastle Y/n and I’ll love you for the years to come”

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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idkxwriting · 5 years ago

Text

We’re Not Friends

Author: idkhaylijah

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, mentions of Elijah x Hayley

Word Count: 2.5K

Request: Requested by anon - Hi! Can I request an Elijah x reader one-shot; the reader is jealous of Hayley, who keeps trying to hit on Elijah even though he’s taken? Oh, and maybe the reader is super clingy cause she wants to show Hayley that she doesn’t share? Hope it makes sense, haha

A/N: 18+ smut Idk if I did this justice - I’m just kind of running with these one-shots and not checking them that hard lol and I think I may have gone a slightly different direction? This one was a little tough, because I’m a big believer in playing it cool lol. Idk...vampire smut so hopefully you enjoy, anon!

If you’d like to be on a taglist, just follow @idkhaylijahwrites and turn on notifications :)

I am not a jealous person, Y/N reminded herself for the umpteenth time as Hayley tucked her hair behind her ears, flashing Elijah a bashful smile.

She watched them for a moment from across the room, Elijah saying something that had caused Hayley to laugh. He smiled in return, and Hayley placed her hand on his arm, leaning up and whispering in his ear. If Y/N wasn’t seeing red already, she would have lost it when Hayley leaned up on her toes, kissing him sweetly on the cheek before stepping away.

Y/N watched Elijah watching her walk away, growing more jealous with each second that passed and hating every moment of it. She shook the thought away, resolving to not let it ruin her night, and moved across the room toward him.

She was stopped by Klaus, pulling her effortlessly into his arms and moving across the dance floor. “I thought you couldn’t make it this evening, love,” he smiled knowingly at her.

She turned her head, searching for Elijah. “Well, I’m here….” she muttered.

He twirled her, pulling her in once more and forcing her eyes to meet his. “I’m sure your schedule miraculously clearing up would have nothing to do with a certain wolf being back in town…”

She glared at him before glancing away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grimaced. Was she that obvious?

“Well,” Klaus’ breath danced across her skin. “It looks like our little wolf is back and on the hunt.” He tilted his head and she followed his gaze to find Elijah, Hayley clinging to him as they swayed at the other end of the dance floor.

“He can do what he wants,” Y/N all but growled, her frustration growing rapidly - at Elijah, at Hayley, at herself. “We’re just friends…” she had said the lie so many times it fell from her lips with ease.

“You have many talents, Y/N. Lying is not one of them. Besides, love, green isn’t your color,” Klaus smirked and released her, gone before she could tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her.

She blinked, realizing she was alone in a crowded room. She knew she had no right to be jealous, Elijah was more than capable of making his own decisions. She had told him as much, refusing to put a label to anything they were, refusing to be his date so publicly to this stupid ball. He had wanted more and she pushed him away- and for what? So she could continue to build walls and not get hurt?

She scoffed at herself. She had worked so hard to keep him at arms length, and it hadn’t mattered.

She turned once more to find the music shifting into another song, Hayley leaning back to look Elijah in the eyes, as if trying to convey an old feeling.

She considered her options for a moment, no longer caring about the consequences and marching over towards them. She tapped Hayley on the shoulder, who turned with a shocked look. “Y/N, I didn’t think you were coming…”

Y/N smiled tightly at her, turning her gaze towards Elijah. “May I step in?” She asked politely, though she felt anything but. She clutched her hands behind her back, her nerves causing them to shake.

Elijah lifted a brow at her, and turned to address Hayley. “Forgive me,” he said. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation another time.”

Hayley looked between the two of them. “Yea, sure…” she trailed off, shooting Y/N a look before dismissing herself.

They stood and watched each other for a moment before Elijah held his hand out. She took it wordlessly, and they began to move across the floor.

“You came,” Elijah noted after a beat of silence.

She nodded, leaning back to look up at him.

His eyes searched hers and it took her a moment to realize the music had stopped, Klaus tapping a champagne glass to gather the attention of the guests. She hadn’t heard what he said, but followed everyone’s lead to their tables, dinner beginning to be served.

Another pang of jealousy and annoyance shot through her as she realized Hayley had taken the seat next to Elijah, immediately placing her hand on his wrist and leaning in to speak to him.

She took her own seat on Elijah’s other side, Hayley’s movements not lost on her. She shuffled her chair, squirming in her seat.

“Is everything okay?” Elijah asked.

Y/N shook her head. “No, the chair is wobbly…” she shifted again. “I’m sorry, would you mind switching with me?”

She was sure she saw Elijah smirk, and his sister, Rebekah, stifling a laugh from across the table, but she held her ground.

“Of course,” Elijah stood, pulling her chair out and letting her take his seat so he sat between his brother, Kol, and Y/N.

Hayley scoffed and Y/N made herself comfortable. “Much better,” she narrowed her eyes at Hayley.

Kol chuckled. “The chair seems fine now, darling…” he commented with a grin.

Y/N just shrugged, and she scooted in closer to Elijah, aware of everyone’s glances, but pressing forward.

Conversation carried on, which Y/N was grateful for, but as Kol got up to fetch drinks from the bar, Hayley moved to take his seat, asking Elijah if he remembered the time they had attended one of Marcel’s parties together.

Y/N wanted to groan, but instead she placed her hand on Elijah’s leg casually. She was sure she felt his eyes on her, but she ignored it as she continued to trace her thumb along his thigh, leaning into him as she continued her conversation with Rebekah.

She was aware she was laying it on thick, and it made her want to cringe, but she wasn’t about to lose Elijah to his ex without a fight.

Hayley intertwined her fingers with Elijah’s on the table. “We had some fun, you know,” she said.

Y/N had enough, her temper flaring as she turned towards her. She knew Hayley could kick her ass without even breaking a sweat, but she was beyond caring. “Hayley, how’s Jackson, by the way? That’s his name right? The guy you dumped Elijah for?”

The table went silent, all eyes on her. Elijah cleared his throat. “Y/N, a word?” He hissed into her ear, not waiting for a reply before standing and gripping her by the arm. He hauled her away from the table, Rebekah and the remainder of his siblings exchanging smirks.

“See, I told you,” Hayley laughed, leaning back.

“You’re a shameless flirt,” Rebekah remarked.

Hayley shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? Maybe now Y/N will come to her senses…”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “They’re both fools,” he muttered.

*****

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, trying to keep up with Elijah. He had stormed out of the ballroom, straight past the bar and onto the dimly lit patio. String lights gave the small area a soft glow, but he moved them so they were away from prying eyes, warm shadows dancing along their faces.

“What exactly are you doing?” He demanded, releasing his grip.

She shrugged. “You asked me to be your date…”

“And you refused,” he said, still angry at the rejection. He placed a hand in his pocket and shifted his weight away from her.

“I changed my mind.”

He shook his head, frustration playing on his features. “Because of Hayley?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed. “No….I don’t know, okay?”

His jaw clenched. “Y/N, I made it very clear where I stood. I told you I wanted more, that I wanted you…”

“I made a mistake! I just...I’m not good at this, Elijah. And I am sorry, I know I’m late, but I’m here.” Her chest heaved at the confession. “For you,” she added.

“You made it perfectly clear that you and I are nothing more than friends.” He sighed.

She shook her head adamantly. “I know. I messed up, and I’m sorry.” she breathed. “I know I told you that we’re just friends. I’ve been trying to convince myself the same thing for weeks because if I’m being completely honest, what I feel for you? It scares the hell out of me, because we’re not friends, Elijah. I don’t want to just be friends.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment, and she began to wonder if he was searching for a way to let her down softly.

The phrase ‘too little, too late’ danced around her thoughts. She turned away, deciding she wouldn’t survive hearing the words that he had chosen Hayley. “I don’t know why I came, I’m sorry,” she said, walking away before the tears could fall.

She felt his hand on her then, spinning her back to face him. His dark eyes bore into hers, and not for the first time she felt like he could see right through her. His gaze dipped to her lips, and she traced her tongue over them, her mouth suddenly dry as the tension rose.

She wanted to speak, to make him understand that she knew she was broken, but Elijah made her want to be better, to do better. Her words were lost in the haze though, and suddenly he was moving again, his lips descending upon hers.

She had shared several kisses with Elijah, and they were all incredible- she often tried not to think about the experience that came with a thousand years, but loved to reap the benefits of everything he had learned.

Still, this kiss was world-ending.

It was fire and fury, demanding and leaving her no choice but to give in. He spun them, pushing her further back into the shadows, her back hitting the stone wall beside them. She was vaguely aware of his attempt to hide them, to give them privacy, and though she should have cared she found she didn’t.

She only cared about the sudden need to feel him.

Her hands buried into his shirt, bunching the fabric between her fingers. His own trailed down to her hips, the heat seeping through her dress and grabbing greedily.

She trailed down, fumbling with his belt buckle, completely oblivious to the fact that they were still in public.

He pressed into her, and she felt him against her thigh, moaning softly into his kiss. His lips pressed at the corner of her mouth, nipped at her ear and sent shivers down her spine. The tip of his nose traced along her skin, dipping low so he could kiss her neck, bruising the skin until she felt a sharp graze.

She stifled a cry into his shoulder as his teeth sunk in, the pain twisting into pleasure as he drank from her, and she knew he was marking her as his.

He hiked up the skirt of her dress and pushed her panties aside as she undid his pants, freeing him. He trailed one hand down to her thigh, lifting her leg so he could meet her, pressing into her with an urgency she had never experienced before.

They were lost in each other, and there was a small part of her that reminded her she should be quiet, but with each thrust up into her she found it more difficult, her pleasure building. She felt lightheaded, lost in a dream as he continued to thrust harder and harder, his hands rough - a contrast to the way his lips pulled from her neck so sweetly, as if savoring every second.

She had never let him bite her before, and he had never tried. Rebekah had told her once what blood sharing had meant to a vampire, and she knew this was everything to him.

She locked her leg around his, pulling his wrist up to her kiss swollen lips and pressing against his pulse.

He released her neck then, leaning back to take her in, his eyes heavy with want as she met his gaze. His movement paused and she bit her lip, her walls clenching around him.

He groaned and pushed her hair behind her ears, cupping her face and kissing her sweetly before he bit into his own wrist, offering it to her.

She took it willingly, keeping her eyes locked on his as she tasted him. His eyes fluttered shut, pleasure washing over him. His free hand traced his thumb over the punctures on her neck, slowly disappearing as his blood coursed through her. He slammed his hand against the wall, bracing himself as she fed from him, hiding his face in the crook of her neck as he began to move once more, his breath hot on her skin.

He bit once more, and as he pulled her blood she felt everything. Everything she had felt for him, everything he had felt for her, euphoria rushing through her veins and making her skin come alive beneath his touch.

Her belly tightened and she released his wrist, crying out as his hand moved to her mouth, keeping her quiet as her orgasm ripped through her, his quickly behind.

They stood there, panting quietly and catching their breath, when suddenly Elijah moved them. Before she could register what was happening her dress was fixed and she stood, her legs shaky, under the patio lights. Elijah appeared as pristine as ever, as though nothing at all had happened.

“Ahh, there you are, brother,” Klaus stepped out onto the patio. “How was your chat?” He raised his brows innocently and glanced between the two of them. “I trust you were able to work things out?”

“Y/N and I are fine, thank you for the concern, Niklaus,” Elijah said dismissively.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat as Kol and Hayley stepped out onto the patio as well, so sure she had that ‘freshly-fucked’ look you could only get organically. She ran her fingers through her hair, her hand coming up to her neck that apparently Elijah had already cleaned.

“There you are,” Hayley said, her eyes trailing over Elijah. “You promised me a dance.”

“And since he’s preoccupied I thought you wouldn’t mind a dance yourself, darling,” Kol held his hand out, quirking his lips into a sly grin.

Y/N tried to act natural, like she hadn’t just been having the best orgasm of her life. She smiled politely at Kol, taking his hand, but Elijah stepped forward, his hand coming to lay possessively around her waist.

“Kol, perhaps your time would be better spent finding your own date.”

Kol shrugged with a smirk. “What happened to ‘just friends’, brother?”

Elijah simply glared at the younger Mikaelson, dismissing him with a look. Kol backed away, nudging Hayley on his way out.

She turned, addressing Y/N. “Took you long enough,” she winked. “Elijah’s one of the good ones,” her eyes held a heavy sadness behind them, but she smiled before turning and following Kol.

Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion. What was that? She pondered until Klaus stepped into view. He held his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowed in amusement.

“If you expect any of us to buy your ‘just friends’ bit...” he said cooly, stepping into Y/N’s space. His hand came up to her cheek gently, and she could feel the tension rolling off of Elijah. His thumb swiped at the corner of her mouth, and he held it up for them to see, a crimson dot smeared on the tip. “...you’ll have to get better at sneaking around.”

He turned and began to make his own exit when Y/N called after him.

Y/N grinned, the blush crawling up her skin as she turned to look at Elijah. She leaned into him, intertwining her fingers in his. “We’re not friends…”

Elijah smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.

Y/N turned back to Klaus. “You can fill everyone in if you want, we’re gonna need another minute…”

She could feel Elijah grin into her skin, his arms wrapping around her. Klaus rolled his eyes and excused himself, Elijah still wrapped around her. “Did I mention how lovely you look this evening?” He whispered against her.

She bit her lip and shook her head softly. “I don’t think it came up…”

“Come.” He grabbed her hand, leading her away.

“Where are we going?” She laughed.

He pulled her in, kissing her once more. “I intend to spend the rest of the evening reminding you just how lovely you are.”

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written-beyond-the-grave · 4 years ago

Text

Mikaelsons Black History Month

First off, I’m starting by saying that even though it is no longer Black history month it will always be melanin everyday and black people every day. And everything else under the sun, and if you don’t like it then the exit is to your left. Everything you own in the box to the left

Being part of the Mikaelsons is very fickle business and be some bs. Like really, you’re here with supernatural beings who are over 1000 years old. Who have traveled the world, gained endless knowledge, seen a lot of bloodshed, but you know what they haven’t seen? Their token human (black ofc) being ignant for black history month, I mean who even fully celebrates? How does one even celebrate?

Granted, they’re not racist. But with the writing Julie Pleck did she was playing honestly. That was the worst writing I've ever seen since who knows when. Maybe the nine lives of Chloe king or something? But in my originals universe they were probably racist in the beginning to an extent then grew out of it.

Anyways, they never met someone who celebrated until they met you!

Now repeat after me: I’m black y’all, and I’m black y’all. And I’m black and black and black y’all! FYM

Now…. picture this: A moderately quiet day in the Mikaelson household. Kol is minding his business for once, Rebekah is trying to find the perfect pics for her next instagram post, Elijah is enjoying a good read, and Klaus is organizing his art materials. But then here comes you, the human, opening the door and walking right in like you pay bills (none of them do but you get the picture) in the midst of the most deadly people. Walking in and greeting everyone, walking in with the most hotep, Dr. Umar bullshit getup they ever seen. Coming to America headass.

They recognize your footsteps from a mile away, so when you walk into the kitchen and no one really looks up at first it’ll be a sight to see a whole ass pelted lion on your back. The kente cloth hat (no idea the actual name for it, sorry babes), a saber tooth necklace (for my mans T’Challa), and the red stiletto nails with the afro out here banging.

SHEEEEEEEEESH

Once Elijah is done with his page he looks up to greet you, but then stops… Bitch, fuck is you wearing? This was worlds away from the sweats, and skinny jeans you wore on the daily.

“Greetings Y/N you look…. Fashionable.” Mans didn’t know what to say. Did he miss something about your Africna roots? Was there a holiday he hadn’t heard of, doubt it, but what else was there?

“Thank you Elijah.” You fluff out your lion pelt for added effect, if there was ever going to be one time you outdo the Mikaelsons’ especially Elijah in being dramatic with a coat or cloak of somesort, it would be now.

At this point the Kol and Rebekah have already looked up and were confused. Why are you dressed like that?

Kol is the first one to speak up “Darling, Rebekah likes a fashion show more than anyone, but why do you have a lion… on your shoulder.”

Lifting up your large ass shades you supplied an answer: “Black History Month”

They all looked at each other… they didn’t get it. Like they know what it is, but never actually understood how to celebrate and all that nor did they ever actually give it mind. When you saw that they weren’t making a connection, you started phase 1.

“Alexa, you know what to do.”

And there goes their manor playing: NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA I’M ONE HUNDRED PERCENT NIGGA

LMFAOOOOO you got the white people shook. Klaus just dropped one of his expensive ass bottles of art sealants and is vamp speeding to the kitchen to figure out what the hell is going on. Elijah having a mid century crisis on how tf they even found you and deemed you worthy of being in their presence so casually. Kol is having fun in the back, still laughing at your get up. And Rebekah wishes she went to the mall instead, she wanted a girl bestie and got you instead rip

“WHAT IN BLAZES- Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DO- WHAT ARE YOU WEARING! ALEXA STOP THE MUSIC-” And the big bad wolf has arrived. You put your finger to Klaus’ lips which stuns him bc… you’re still HOOOMAN like damn, death wish much? And you look this man, straight in his mit and say “Looks at, look at me” and pause for dramatic affect, “I am the captain now”

Room silent as hell till Kol starts cackling

You’ve made Dr. Umar proud, the ancestors are shining on you once again

With that you lead into a whole speech about the black struggle and black history month, bottom line: REPARATIONS. Because being the only nigga in the Mikaelsons (we don’t claim Marcel) is exhausting, white people shit everyday that you complain about in their faces

TBH at this point they’re indulging you in this escapade.

First victim is Elijah, you ask for his wallet. He gives you a look, I mean he does technically give you what you want and whatever (when y’all dating, refer back to my dating Elijah post), so he ask you why. Reparations sis why, but then you stop yourself. This man gives you his wallet every other day, half the time you not even asking. What could you rob this man of…. Ah. You ask him for the deed of one of his estates in Prague, why? Because you bitches can’t even spell Prague. And under section S line 45 subsection Y it does state that estates are eligible for reparations. Fuck 40 acres and a mule, you got 300 acres, some stallions in the back, a quite possibly haunted mansion, and a heavy dicked (yeah I said it, a sis been trying to reality shift) original who will turn you out by the end of the day and the end of the month…. Wait till women's history month boo

We know his pockets figgity fat, and it would be figgity wack to not get some

Ngl you take Kol with you so he can buy you food. Granted, he knows what you’re doing, but if he’s going to spend money on anything it will be thawed and it will be music. However, one thing leads to another and you’re both at Wal-Mart waiting to find a parking spot. You stole one off a white minivan trying to move in. Not thinking anything of it because who in this small ass Mystic Falls ass, clown ass town really about it? Apparently Karen.

But you know who else what about it? Kol (tbh mans had nothing but time, and he claims you so why tf not.) he out here NY stomping on her and coming at her for badly glued extensions. Cheap ass bitch, ain’t even blend in correctly.

After that Kol and you left with some groceries, a new story to tell, and a chopped cheese.

With Klaus, he frfr wasn’t finna do shit. Being ordered my a human? Lmfao, go find another simp sis. But… once you suggest that his art skills may not be up to par on what you have in mind as a new family room piece for your house he’s all ears. He knows what you’re doing, but… he still wants to prove you wrong. But anyways, you give him a theme… reverse racism. IK y’all, it’s not a thing, but mans has ideas. And he outdoes himself. That and the recreation of the moorish chief bc that man...mmmmm that man was giving.

Ok so Google wanna hoe me, but there was a painting of a black man in a kkk cloak and behind him were white people being hung from a tree. Say what you want, but that photo was fire. If any of you seen it please share it below.

Anyways

Rebekah tbh wants no part in this, but I feel like she’d gave when you ask her to give you all the finest dresses bc it’s an excuse to exhaust Klaus’ money.

Through the month you give the Mikaelsons a run for their money, and maybe sanity. Klaus is in the back trying to research who tf Dr. Umar is and why is he your inspiration

They had to pull you back when the sheriff asked you for your ID. You ask why you needed white man paperwork!

You are pleasing the spirits, what bonnie could never do lmfaooooo. The powers of you enemies aren’t prospering this month nor next month.

You’re not poor this month, anything you poor of is pouring a little more (bars nigga)

LMFAOOOO imaging asking the fam to go to paris, like, they not invited it’s a self trip funded my the Mikaelson Y/N Trust Fund of Public Decency ™

Klaus would be the first one to speak because this man is TIRED, “Love, why do you need a trip to paris? What’s in Paris?”

Knowing better, you look to Kol to answer the question, “I don’t know, Kol, who’s in Paris?” Niggas b. Niggas in paris…. Lemme chill

LMFAOOO enjoy

#klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd x reader #the originals #black reader #black!reader #poc!reader #poc reader #niggasbelike

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imagines-oneshots-galore · 4 years ago

Text

For Science

A/N: Hello all, it’s been a hot fucking minute. Some things have changed in how I write/ When i write/ etc. So I have no idea when I’ll get the time to write. Which brings me to the reason for this fic. I started watching the originals, and was immediately obsessed. Personally, I’m an Elijah girl, but this popped into my head and I couldn’t get it out fast enough. Wrote this in two hours 😅 Hope it’s okay! It was my first time writing for the Mikaelsons.

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 1,587

Summary: It’s the Fourth of July, Klaus isn’t home, Rebekah is oddly silent and Elijah, Hayley and Y/N decide to conduct a scientific experiment.

Warnings: Some saucy implications, swearing, Klaus, innuendos

AO3

Masterlist

Rebekah was up to something, a notion they could all agree on. Elijah, Hayley and Y/N sat on the couch in the living room of the Mansion, not hearing a sound despite knowing she was home. The one person who wasn’t present, was Klaus.

Thus, Rebekah was definitely up to something, but what it could be?

Lots of possibilities, with many different levels of peril, all designed specifically for one Niklaus Mikaelson. They knew they should probably get involved, especially Y/N, whose very boyfriend was the one at risk. But they also knew the outcome would be spectacular, so they all silently decided to do nothing. For now, Y/N would continue to write on her computer, and Hayley and Elijah would continue reading the same book together.

It may be a national holiday, but they had other things that required their attention at the moment.

A loud crash came from above them, followed by a curse only heard by the ones with supernatural hearing. They all looked up to the ceiling, right where they knew that Klaus and Y/N’s room was located. Simultaneously, they looked back to each other, one more silent conversation later, and they returned to their activities.

Hayley felt a buzz against her hip, and she knew it was Elijah’s. She reached between them to grab the phone, opening the notification.

“Klaus just texted saying he was on his way, based on the colorful vocabulary, I’d say the negotiation with Marcel didn’t go as planned,” Hayley said quietly to the group, not loud enough for Rebekah to hear as she showed the text to Elijah.

“He said he’ll be here in a few minutes. I wonder, should we tell her of her expedited deadline?” He muttered, thumbs poised working as he replied to his brother.

“Hell no,” Y/N laughed, and soon as it happened, the three paused, making sure Rebekah wasn’t listening into the conversation now. When nothing was heard yet, they all let out a collective breath.

“I want to see this play out, without interference” She said, softer this time as a wicked smirk came upon all of their faces.

“A scientific experiment, if you will,” Hayley said, suppressing the urge to laugh.

“Yes, for science.” Elijah said, and without another word, they all resumed what they were doing moments ago.

As promised, minutes later, Hayley and Elijah heard the faint hum of Niklaus’s vehicle. Apparently, Rebekah did as well, judging by the way they all heard another curse, followed by a frantic shuffling, and then she ran down the stairs and into the foyer.

She was slightly out of breath, and her eyes looked wild. The most damning piece of evidence was the lone feather sitting in her hair.

It didn’t take a conversation to know they would keep that information to themselves. Letting the cards fall where they may, in the name of knowledge. Rebekah smoothed out her shirt, letting out a breath as she walked over to sit next to Y/N on the adjoining couch. She picked up a random book as the car drew closer.

“I hope that I can trust you all to agree that I was here the whole time,” Rebekah said sweetly, an underlying threat laced in her words as she kept her gaze on the book.

“As long as my room isn’t destroyed,” Y/N said just as sweetly, and Rebekah paled slightly. Y/N may still be human, but she was still able to make Rebekah gulp.

“Rebekah…” She began to warn, right as they heard Klaus make it to the driveway. Only moments now.

“I will fix it myself but please say nothing,” She whispered, speaking fast, pleadingly, and before Y/N could agree or deny, Klaus sped into the mansion. His posture was tense, and his brow was furrowed. They all knew Hayley’s suspicion was correct.

“Marcellus Gerard is a conniving twit and I will be glad when we finally dethrone the treacherous bastard,” He huffed, as his gaze shifted to his girlfriend, and he softened in front of their eyes. He plopped down behind her, pulling her body closer to his chest. His hands traced down her arms as he whispered loud enough for only her to hear. Not that any of them would want to hear whatever it was. Based on their facial expressions, it wasn’t hard to guess what was being said.

“I rather think a long relaxing wash in my multi-headed shower sounds rather spectacular before the upcoming night of festivities” Klaus grinned into her skin. She shivered as she felt his warm breath on her neck, and she began to nod her head. But then she opened her eyes and gazed back upon Rebekah, with the damn feather in her hair.

She quickly thought of an excuse.

“I’ll be up in a moment, I have a couple more things I need to write down before I forget them.” She said, a little breathy. Both at the thought of what was promised, and her being put on the spot. Then another thought crossed her mind, as Klaus nodded, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

If she didn’t say anything, she would surely not get to experience whatever Klaus was cooking up in his gorgeous head. But if she told him. He might forgive Rebekah’s attempted prank in favor of private time with his girlfriend. She locked eyes with Rebekah, and saw that she knew what Y/N had on the line.

After a tense millisecond, Y/N rolled her eyes, and let Klaus get up without another word. Rebekah breathed out imperceptibly, and Hayley rested her mouth against Elijah’s shoulder to conceal her smile.

Right before he left, Klaus turned and looked at Rebekah.

“There’s a feather in your hair sister,” He said, before turning back around, as Rebekah frantically pulled the feather from her blonde curls.

Klaus finally left with a pleased smile on his face, and suddenly they all felt a bit guilty.

Only for a moment though, he had staked and tortured (except for Y/N and Hayley of course, though Hayley was not immune to his taunts and quips) them many times over the centuries.

“Thanks for telling me,” She growled quietly, and Elijah casually looked up at his sister.

“For the results to be as accurate as possible, we could not interfere” He said matter of factly, as Hayley nearly snorted, her hand gripping his button up shirt. He reached up to grab hers, and brought it to his lips.

Before Rebekah had the chance to ask what the hell he was talking about, they collectively heard Klaus open his door, and then a mechanical grinding. Something that sounded like a liquid fell to the floor as Klaus cried out in clear surprise. Moments later, and a loud wooshing sound was heard.

It was silent for a few moments, and everyone waited in bated breaths for what was to come next.

“REBEKAHHH!” Klaus screamed dramatically, and before the name was even finished, she was out of the door, running away like her life depended on it. Probably because it did.

The group busted out laughing, and Hayley and Y/N looked to each other. Another wooshing sound and there he was.

Covered in thick chocolate syrup and a shit ton of feathers stood a murderous Klaus Mikaelson. Even the stoic Elijah couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips at the clever prank.

“First, Marcellus turns down a perfectly good exchange of power, then my sister proverbially tars and feathers me, and now I begin to realize that my sweet Y/N let her devoted boyfriend walk right into a trap,” He said, continuing the dramatics as always.

“Happy American Independence Day brother” Elijah sighed, as fireworks started up outside. Hayley turned excitedly to the window, and his gaze turned to her, adoration clear on his face. Without another word, he stood up, Hayley cradled in his arms as she yelped at the sudden movement.

“If you’ll excuse us, I will be going to take my partner to watch the fireworks,” And he ran out of the room before Klaus had the chance to argue, Hayley’s giggle echoing in the wind.

Klaus huffed indignantly, getting himself all worked up again. Y/N lifted the laptop from her lap, setting it to the side so she could make her way to her whining boyfriend.

“I’m going to find Rebekah, and when I do I’ll…” He ranted, Y/N wrapping her arms around his neck, not caring about the sticky transfer of chocolate sauce and feathers onto her clothes. His arms wound around her waist as she quietly interrupted his threats.

“Pretend to laugh it off, to lull her into a false sense of security. Then you’ll come back to me to plan your revenge,” Her lips ghosted over the skin of his neck as she spoke, before her tongue darted up to lick a bit of the dark syrup.

“For now, I promised you a nice long shower,” She said as she pulled away, and met his signature smirk.

“You are truly wicked my dear,” He all but growled, pulling her harder against his body as she giggled. “I believe you are correct, I will most definitely be needing your assistance, love,” And as soon as the words left his lips, he picked her up and ran them to the washroom, the need for revenge forgotten for now.

A solid day's work in the name of Science.

#the originals #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #hayley x elijah #hayley marshall #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine

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thebookreader12345 · 5 years ago

Text

Jealous Much?

Pairing: Crockett Marcel x reader

Summary: Y/N and Crockett have been dating for a while, and one day, one of the new med students flirts with him because she doesn’t know he has a girlfriend

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: slight swearing and a steamy make out session

Word Count: 1,131 Words

As soon as the door shut behind us, Crockett pushed me up against the nearest wall and smashed his lips to mine. I smiled against his lips as he rested his hands under the top of my scrubs against my waist. The feeling of his hands against my bare skin sent shivers down my spine. And the thought of what those hands could do to me........ Crockett then moved his lips to a spot on my neck, and as he sucked at the skin, I couldn’t help but let a small moan escape from my lips.

“Mm. Crockett,” I breathe out and tangle my hands in the hair at the base of his neck. Crockett smirked against my neck before deciding to slide his hands from my waist to my butt. “You’re a terrible person. Did you know that?”

Crockett pulled away from my neck, a small smile gracing his lips. “What?”

“You’re terrible because you’re turning me on so damn much, and we’re at work, so I can’t do anything about it,” I say.

Crockett laughed softly. “I guess you’ll just have to wait until later then.”

I huffed. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Crockett countered as our pagers both beeped. “Looks like we’ve got work to do. Oh, and you might want to put on your jacket. You’ve got a little something there.” Crockett pointed at my neck, and when I took out my phone to see what he was looking at, I saw that there was a hickey beginning to form.

“I’m going to get you for this,” I tell him.

“Mmhmm,” Crockett hummed and placed a peck on my lips. “Lets get back to the ED.” When Crockett and I exited the supply room, I quickly made my way to the doctors lounge and threw on my fleece jacket. That way, none of my co-workers would see my hickey. Yes, everyone knew that we were together, but we didn’t like to show PDA in front of everyone. So, if someone was new here, they would have no idea that we were dating.

“Hey, Mags. What do we got?” I ask.

“Oh, uh, Dr. Marcel and Dr. Sima are already on it,” Maggie informed me. I looked over to the trauma room to see that what Maggie had said was true. Crockett was already working on a patient with Audrey, one of the newest med students interning here.

“Oh, uh, okay. Just page me if you need me,” I say and turn around, making my way back to the doctors lounge. This time, when I entered the room, I found Will sitting down at one of the computers.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s up?” Will asked. I sighed and sat down in the other computer chair, sneaking a glance at the trauma room where Crockett and Audrey where working.

“Nothing much. Hey, you got any cases you need help on?” I question.

“I thought you’d be working with Crockett,” Will responded and spun his chair to face me.

“I did too, but he’s working with Audr- Dr. Sima,” I state, a hint of jealousy evident in my voice.

“Oh, you mean the young, hot new med student who just got assigned here last week?” Will teased.

“Shut up,” I growl and push him away from me playfully.

“Holy shit! You’re jealous that Crockett is working with Dr. Sima,” Will pointed out.

“Well, wouldn’t you be jealous if Natalie was working with some hot new doctor with a 6-pack and a Disney prince haircut?” I ask.

“Okay, one, I have a 6-pack and a Disney prince haircut,” Will joked. “And two, you and Crockett were made for each other. I don’t think some new girl is going to change his mind about you.”

“I’m not too sure about that,” I murmur. Will looked up to see where I was gazing, and I’m assuming he saw the same thing as me, which was Audrey placing a hand on Crockett’s chest, and him not doing anything to remove it.

“Okay, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for that,” Will told me as Crockett began to make his way towards the lounge. “Y/N, please don’t go off on him.”

“Oh, I’m going to do something much worse,” I mumble as Crockett entered the room.

“Hey, guys. What are you guys doing in here?” Crockett asked. Instead of answering Crockett’s question, I ignored him and stood up before stalking out of the room. I was not going to talk to the man who was letting a med student flirt with him. I made my way over to Maggie, who was standing at the nurses station, and sat my elbows on the counter, putting on chin in my hands.

“Mags, I need some patients. I’ll take anyone,” I declare.

Maggie laughed, but extended a tablet in my direction. “All right. We’ve got a bunch of cold and flu patients waiting to be seen. They’re all yours.”

I took the tablet from her hands. “Thank you.” Later that day, I was standing at the nurses station with Will waiting for some tests, and while we were talking, I could see Audrey batting her eyes at Crockett, and she looked like a lovesick puppy. I had to do something, and I had to do something quick. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Will. I then marched right over to where they were talking, maneuvered right around Audrey, and when I got to Crockett, I tugged on the collar of his scrubs and pulled him down to my height, eagerly pressing my lips to his. Crockett was shocked for about a second, but soon kissed me back with just as much passion. For a moment, our lips moved in perfect sync, and it felt like I was dreaming. Finally, I pulled away from Crockett, and placed my hands on his chest. “Is she gone?”

Crockett smiled softly. “Yeah. She’s gone.”

“Good,” I reply. “You know, it really wasn’t cool of you to keep letting her flirt with you.”

“Oh. I see what this was about. You were jealous of Dr. Sima, weren’t you? That’s why you were ignoring me earlier,” Crockett spoke.

“I had every right to be jealous. She’s young and beautiful and-”

Crockett cut me off. “But she could never be you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever met, Y/N. And no one can ever replace you.”

“You sure have a way with words, Crockett. So, about what we were doing earlier...”

Crockett chuckled. “It’s more than okay with me if we finish that steamy encounter after shift.”

“Well then, I guess I will meet you at your place,” I murmur and lean forwards to place a small peck on his lips. “See you later, Crockett.”

“Yeah. See you later,” Crockett repeated.

________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett

#one chicago #chicago med #crockett marcel #crockett marcel x reader #crockett marcel imagine #crockett marcel imagines #x reader #imagines #imagine #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines

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haliyam · 4 years ago

Text

interim (i)

zeke x reader/oc (warning: slow burn with some plot)

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 2

Hi everyone! This is part of the series I mentioned on my oneshot Asset, but it's a prequel. I'd love to continue the season 4 stuff, but I want to see how the manga ends first so I can plot out Reader's part in it all. (Also edit post-139, I've completely fallen in love with Zeke who deserves so much better and while I always intended to take my time with the Asset prequels, I'm in no rush to get to the Asset sequel. I do want to update as regularly as possible though, rl willing!)

The Reader/OC will be a cis-female Eldian character with a set background, as you'll find at the end of this chapter. Reader’s default name is Lucy, just because I personally don’t like writing ‘Y/N,’ but please feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to you or your character’s First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your or your character's First Name. Because reader will have a set background, you'll have a set surname as well.

I will say that Zeke may seem a little OOC/angsty in the beginning of this story, if only because Reader and Zeke were good friends before he became the shitstain we know and love today and Reader is fairly familiar with his true moods even when he is being annoying as hell. (And Zeke is annoying. I swear I do like this guy hahah...)

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

It’s strange how easily you fall into step with the soldier ahead of you.

You don’t march, and your eyes wander stern walls and imposing doors that have long left your dreams, but your footfalls follow only one beat that echoes throughout the hallway as he leads you through it. There’s an almost comforting order to the sound that belies the way your heart tries to hammer its way through your ears or right out of your chest.

It feels like forever and far too soon when you arrive at a familiar waiting room. Motioning to the chairs around a small round table, the soldier knocks twice on the door opposite where you entered. When no one responds, he simply stands there, and you have no recourse but to take that seat.

Voices filter in, muffled, from the other room, and you slip your hands under the desk to squeeze your fingers together. Maybe this was a terrible idea after all. You can still leave, pursue your medical degree back home…

“No,” you whisper to yourself, even if you do abruptly stand from your chair. You just need a moment to freshen up. Facing the soldier, you begin, “I would like to—”

Alarm replaces the question in his gaze when two heavy knocks cut through your words. He stares at you a little longer, a new question, and you reply with a deep exhale.

“Never mind.”

He nods. “They’re ready for you.”

You enter the conference room, which is far too large for the four people sitting at one end of the long table there: an older man with more lapel pins and crow’s feet than you remember, and three others closer to your age—the esteemed Warrior Unit and their commander, Theo Magath.

Six long years later, they all look different enough that under other circumstances, you might hesitate to recognize them. But you know this place all too well, the lighting and their seating arrangement so familiar that you can mistake them for no other than Zeke Yeager, Pieck Finger, and Porco Galliard.

It soon appears from their expressionless gazes that they can’t say the same for you. Not that you can blame them—they had no reason to expect your arrival, and it’s Commander Magath who huffs at their frigid reception. “Is that how you Eldians treat old friends?”

The three glance at one another. You venture a small smile, and the recognition and surprise that sink into Zeke’s features make Magath snort as Pieck leaps from her chair, shattering the chill in the room as surely as she crashes into you with an embrace.

“Lucy!”

The joy in her voice sweeps aside your initial fears and brings your excitement bubbling out of your throat in your own laughter. “Pieck!”

She’s talking before you even part and still holding onto the back of your blouse when you do. “You look so… old,” she grins. “That is—me-old.”

Her languid excitement makes it difficult for you to keep your composure. “I am you-old,” you say, trying not to giggle, but your toothy smile already reaches from ear to ear.

Before you can say more, Commander Magath clears his throat. “If you two are finished…”

Both of you freeze instinctively at his tone. Stealing another squeeze, Pieck steps aside as Magath rises from his chair. “Good of you to drop by, Blanchard.”

You quickly cross the distance to shake his proffered hand. “Thank you, Sir. And congratulations on your promotion.”

He shrugs, taking a seat and gesturing that you and Pieck do the same. “Still not a far cry from playing nursemaid sometimes.”

Pieck shakes her head. “Don’t say that, Sir.”

“You’re right. I’m at least a pay grade or two above nursemaid,” Magath chuckles just a little, and to his right, Zeke continues to stare at you.

“Is that really you?” he asks, mouth set in a line under his new beard.

“In the flesh.” His expression remains neutral through your nervous chuckle. Shifting in your seat, you nod away toward Porco. “It’s so nice to see everyone again. Galliard.”

Though he gave you an appreciative once-over as you entered, Porco is now as uninterested as they come. “I didn’t think you’d still know our names. Thanks for taking the time to drop by, I guess.”

“Oh, come on, Pock,” Pieck teases, ignoring the air of hostility that starts to surround you. As though Porco is only an unruly child, she says in feigned apology, “A few days with the Jaw and he’s already this cocky.”

“Ah.” You can’t bring yourself to mirror her mirth. “I heard about that. I’m sorry about Marcel. And Bertholdt—and Annie…”

Pieck glances away, and because you can’t meet Zeke’s eyes at the moment, you address the commander instead. “What about Reiner? I heard he’d returned.”

“Braun is still undergoing a debriefing.”

A debriefing, you think, when they’ve been back a fortnight already? But it dawns on you easily enough that what Reiner is undergoing is an ideology test. Reindoctrination.

“I see… but…”

“It was on my recommendation,” Zeke cuts in, daring you, a civilian, to protest. His arms are crossed now. “Otherwise he’s in danger of passing on the Armor a full six years too early.”

“I only meant to say that Reiner is the most loyal Eldian I know,” you answer levelly, eyes boring into his. Your nails dig into the cloth of your skirt on your lap as you pretend not to hear Porco’s scoff. Taking the Armor from Reiner? The operation was a massive failure, but that consequence is far too severe... however expected. “After you, of course.”

Zeke tilts his head, obscuring his gaze from your view when the light above reflects off his glasses.

“It’s a good thing, in any case,” Magath explains. “Behind enemy lines for over five years, he—”

Whatever his opinion, the commander abruptly stops himself from sharing it and clears his throat instead. You know better than to protest when an unsettling pause rests over the room—exactly what you feared would occur.

To your surprise, it’s Porco who comes to your rescue, even if his disdain is palpable. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Well,” you begin gratefully, “I’m—”

“I asked her to come,” says Magath, completely ignoring the tension. “But my meeting prior ran overlong, and I have another coming up. Can you come in tomorrow morning? Ten sharp?”

You sit up straight when he addresses you. “Of course, Sir.”

Magath smiles—still a novelty to you—and pushes himself up out of his chair. The rest of you do the same, following him to the door as he speaks. “Go ahead and catch up in the meantime. And Blanchard—it’s good to see you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The rest of you—dismissed.”

He leaves the room with the Marleyan guard at the door. The other three let out a breath of relief once it closes.

“Blanchard,” Porco enunciates, stretching his arms. “Are we really still doing that? Who are we supposed to be fooling here?”

Pieck sighs, but it’s Zeke who stays him with a light backhand to the stomach. “Settle down, Galliard.”

Porco pushes his hand away. “Seriously? Of all people, you—”

“Your first transformation was pretty brutal, Galliard,” Zeke casually announces. He winces for good measure, like he’s actually worried. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

The hostility on Porco’s face quickly shifts to embarrassment, and you feel for him. “You’ve transformed already?”

“I wanted to go check on the Warriors anyway,” he says instead, eyeing you with a curled lip. “Nice seeing you again, Blanchard.”

“You too,” you call out, but he’s already stalked out of the room.

You feel Pieck’s hand loop around your arm. “Don’t take it personally,” she says gently. “Learning about Marcel was difficult for him.”

“I can only imagine.” She gives you a small smile at your words, and you understand. Casting a more pleasant gaze around the room, you ask, “How are you two? I thought it might be nice if we could get some lunch together.” You check your watch. “...Very late lunch.”

“I would love to,” Pieck says cheerfully, leading your way out of the room— “Tomorrow. I still have so much paperwork to do.”

Zeke snickers. “The joys of working with a team.”

“Life is unfair,” Pieck declares, but smiles when her hand slips down to yours. “I’ll pick you up after your meeting with Magath tomorrow. It’s a date, right?”

You squeeze her fingers in return. “Definitely.”

Her leisurely footsteps fade down the hallway, and you soon find yourself alone with Zeke. You dust at your blouse idly, but you must eventually look at him. “I suppose it’s just you and me today, then.”

He only eyes you, scratching the side of his bearded jaw. It’s even worse than him outright declining.

“Unless,” you quickly add, detesting the dead air, “are you… training the new Warrior class?”

Zeke snorts. “No. I’ve been busy with other work, but you can check in on their progress if you’re interested. Seems like the Commander wouldn’t mind, seeing as he invited you here.”

You ignore the jab: And you accepted. “What’s kept you busy?”

“Good question.” His smile is a facetious one. “But you know that’s top secret.”

You scoff, but you were braver in front of the others. Now his indifference is too much to bear.

It’s only after you turn away that Zeke asks, “Why don’t you drop by the house? My grandparents should be happy to see you again.”

“I… actually came from there. They asked me to stay. I hope you don’t mind,” you follow, and regret the words as soon as you say it. It’s like you’re trying to piss him off. “I’ll pay for my share of everything, of course.”

He doesn’t react with anger, but you were stupid to expect him to. “Oh?” he asks instead, managing the most sarcastic one-word question in existence. His voice has gotten so much deeper in the last six years, and somehow that makes it worse. “I would have expected the distinguished Miss Blanchard to prefer better accommodations by now.”

You resist the urge to wince. “Don’t say that. The Yeager household was like home to me for several years. More than home, sometimes.”

There’s a pause where only your footsteps, still in time with one another, are all you hear as you make your way down the empty hall. The thought of Zeke’s gaze right now shames you, but it’s ahead he’s looking when he lets out a whistle. “You’re making this difficult for me,” he laughs. “How can I kick you out after such high praise?”

Your last footfall echoes as you stop, reaching for his arm. “Zeke—”

He yanks it away without even looking at you. “We should head back before the Commander decides he wants something from me after all. Come on.”

Your face burns with humiliation even though there’s no one else around to watch him walk away, his long strides too fast for you to catch up.

The Yeagers are pleased to have you over for dinner and beyond, and though you already dropped by before making your appearance at HQ, Mrs. Yeager does not run out of subjects to discuss with you, updating you on several of your neighbors’ lives. Who has married, who has passed away, and whose children have joined the Warrior program themselves, only to fail. Zeke doesn’t talk except to comment on something his grandparents say, or very rarely something you say so as not to arouse their suspicion. They have none. They are too busy doting on you after your long, long absence.

After dinner, when your stomachs are full and your chest is light with laughter, you stand up to collect the dishes and bring them to the sink. “Absolutely not,” Mrs. Yeager says, realizing your intention once she hears the light clatter of tableware. “You’re our guest, Lucy!”

“Please,” you call from the sink. “I miss doing this with all of you around.”

Dr. Yeager sighs in agreement with his wife. “Not on your first night. Zeke.”

Zeke is already on his feet, leaving only everyone’s glasses as he makes his way to the sink with the placemats. Dr. Yeager has brought out their good wine to celebrate your return. “I can do this myself,” he tells you, trying to wave you aside.

You don’t budge. “But I can help. We’ll get it all done more quickly.”

He levels a look at you—one you haven’t seen since you were very young, from before you were friends. “Sit with my grandmother, Lucy,” he murmurs so that only you hear. “Don’t make her crane her neck just to talk to you.”

Shame and something completely unfamiliar fill you at his reprimand, and you surrender with a nod. You make your way back to the table and squint at Mrs. Yeager. “Only tonight, though.”

Mrs. Yeager laughs, reaching for your hands across the table. You give them to her easily. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” she says. “Your parents must be very proud of you.” You nod with some unease, and Dr. Yeager, even as he enjoys his wine, clears his throat. Mrs. Yeager realizes her mistake. “Ah—I...I’m sorry, dear. I know they passed away several years ago. But I’m sure they would be proud of you now.”

“That’s all right,” you reassure her. “I hope it’s not too bold to say, but… you and Dr. Yeager were mother and father to me for a time as well, when they couldn’t be. I will always be grateful for that.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager smiles, her eyes quickly shining, “That isn’t bold at all. We felt the same way. We only wish you had written more!”

A scoff makes its way from the kitchen. “Grandma,” Zeke reminds her lightly, even as he scrubs the plates with renewed vigor, “you know Lucy has been busy.”

“I know that, dear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“No, it is my fault,” you agree. “I promise I’ll be better about that the next time I go.”

“Next time?” asks Dr. Yeager, suddenly sitting up straight. “Where are you going?”

You blink, turning your attention to him, and attempt to wave the confusion away with your hands. “No, no, Dr. Yeager, I’ll be staying here for a while. I only meant that for the next time I leave Lib—”

“Next time?” Dr. Yeager repeats, his hand knocking over his wine glass as he eyes your left sleeve with intent. It trembles as he grasps at his scalp. “If you’re leaving, why aren’t you wearing your armband?”

The faucet shuts off, leaving only the sound of alcohol dripping from the dinner table to the floor, and Mrs. Yeager turns to him nervously. “Dear—”

“Don’t leave without your armband again, Faye,” he pleads, looking straight at you. He rises from his seat, voice more and more frantic as he swipes at a nearby cabinet with nothing to show for it. “Where is it? Where did you put it?”

Zeke is already wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt, and Mrs. Yeager goes to take her husband’s arm. “Darling, no, this is Lucy, remember?”

But Dr. Yeager is already heaving. It’s not long before tears are streaming down his face and he cries, “Why would you do this to me again? Why did he let you remove your armband, Faye?!”

“Dr. Yeager—I’m Lucy. Lucy,” you insist, hurrying over and tucking your hair behind your ears to show him your face, smiling as you’ve done many times in an attempt to calm him. You hold his arms, trying to jog him back to reality, but by now he is screaming and weeping, digging his fingers into your arms and repeatedly calling out his daughter’s name.

“...Come on, grandpa.” Zeke pries Dr. Yeager’s hands from your sleeve with his grandmother’s help. Stunned by his sudden lapse, you can only watch—able to follow only when they are already struggling with him by the stairs.

“Zeke—”

“Stay there,” he hisses with rancor that freezes you in place. Mrs. Yeager apologizes, but of course you shake your head and return to the dining room. Your hands shake as you clean the spilled alcohol from the dinner table and the floor, going over what you could have said to set off Dr. Yeager.

This is hardly the first time you’ve seen him like this, but it used to take only very specific words to remind him of that event, and so much easier to bring him back from those memories. The memory of his weeping face seizes at your heart, tempting you to launch yourself upstairs and ask after him, but Zeke is right. You’ll only make things worse.

You’re getting started on the dishes again when you hear heavy footsteps plod down the stairs.

Zeke. You cuff the faucet off, mouth already open when he smiles, reaching over to graze your exposed ear with his thumb and his index finger. “Did growing up damage your ears? I said I’d take care of the dishes.”

The unexpected contact sends a strange rush through you, but it’s the insult you focus on ignoring. Even if you do untuck your hair. “I’m sorry about Dr. Yeager.”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugs. “It happens more often nowadays.”

“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.”

“How could you? You’ve been away.”

You gnaw on your cheek at that. “I’m sorry, Zeke.”

For a moment, you finally see it—the recognition of the words you’ve been trying to say since you met earlier that afternoon, and the reason why. An eddy of hurt and confusion reflects in his eyes, pulling at the air around you. You want to rise above it, or else drown, or just beg for his forgiveness, but he knows you, or knew you as much as you knew him, and he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You really have grown up.” His droll chuckle makes your heart sink into your stomach. “You never used to apologize for anything.”

You make a face. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe. You were pretty damn insolent when you wanted to be.”

“I guess I could be,” you murmur. Your eyes lift to his, on a tightrope’s edge. “Remember when Marras overheard me complaining about firearm maintenance?”

Zeke snorts. “Magath had you cleaning Warrior arsenal for a week.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That was awful. Only Marcel snuck out to help me at night, and that was to impress Pieck. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

You squint at him. Zeke grins, warmly now, and hope almost finds you—but your words catch up with you first, and both of you remember when you really are.

“Marcel,” you can’t help but say with regret.

“Yeah.” Coursing a hand through his hair, Zeke brushes past you to the sink. “Anyway, I’ll take care of this. You go to bed. You have a meeting with Magath tomorrow—that’s why you came back, right?”

“No, not just—”

The sudden burst of running water from the faucet and the wall of his back means the conversation is over. Again. Clenching your fist, you bite your tongue and slowly breathe out your growing frustration.

“Good night, then, Zeke.”

You’ve already gone up the stairs when Zeke swallows the lump in his throat, staring at the spoon splashing water upon his palm. He’s been washing it for the last two minutes.

“Night, Lucy.”

Zeke has already left for HQ by the time you come downstairs the next morning. Dr. Yeager is still in bed, exhausted as he gets whenever he remembers his children, but Mrs. Yeager has prepared breakfast. Try as you might, you cannot resist sitting with her and sharing a meal together. You make it to the Liberio military headquarters just in time to hear the new Warrior instructor barking out to the children jogging around the courtyard.

You wander a little closer, unable to help your curiosity—but a nearby guard spots you and quickly corrals you away, back to the offices. “They’re expecting you,” he says, looking you over as he hands you back your permit. “Don’t know what top brass wants with a civilian, much less an Eldian, but...”

“Top brass?”

The soldier almost sneers at you. As if you don’t know, Eldian, it says, and you’re starting to think you actually don’t.

He’s led you not to the same conference room as yesterday afternoon, but to an office that you distinctly remember as off-limits. When the soldiers standing guard let you inside, you understand why.

Top brass is right. More than Commander Magath, there are a number of higher-ups waiting for you inside - some faces you’ve glimpsed since you were a child, and others you have seen as recently as months ago. One in particular stands out—an intelligence officer who reports directly to your brother. Three are generals at some of the highest levels in the army.

“Blanchard,” Magath calls out. You nearly stiffen at his voice again, but relax in time, to the chuckles of the men in the room. The commander ignores them, staring straight at you. You detect the slightest hint of an apology in his hardened gaze, or maybe that’s wishful thinking to keep your growing displeasure in check. “Glad you could make it.”

“Sir, I—”

A nearby general cuts you off. List. “You can dispense with that, Magath,” he says. “We’re all in the know here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

General List turns toward you.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Tybur,” he says. There is no smile in his harsh features, but he is not unkind. Careful, maybe. “Please, sit. We have a proposition for you.”

So... yes! I admit, part of the reason I wanted to write something in the AoT/SnK series is because I loved and hated the addition of the Tyburs. So I wanted to write a little more about the family but also since I'm thirsty, write a Zeke fic and eventually a Levi one (whether AU or not). Obviously we'll eventually go into why the Tyburs would send one of their own into the Warrior program, among other things, but bear with me for now.

Also disclaimer: This is a Zeke/Reader story set in the AOT world, so it’s a romance with a guy who gleefully murdered a shit ton of innocent people and helped Marley level countries. Please don’t look to this story for a completely morally upright character/reader/OC who makes all the right choices. (Though expect that Reader will take them into consideration.)

Last thing! This is a slowburn with some plot, so while you can definitely expect romance (and smut) down the line, and while this fic does go heavily into Lucy's/Reader's relationship with Zeke, it also features interactions with other characters. I just wanted to give fair warning if you expect it to focus only on Zeke.

Thank you for reading!

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