#(side note but rose made a comment about having to sleep on top of each other

[hecatesbroom]

I just watched that s7 episode where Rose, Dorothy and Sophia will have to move out if Blanche doesn't make them co-owners of the house and oh.... oh my god. I knew Blanche's grand gesture would hit hard, but Dorothy's talk to Rose before then?? Giving her an excuse for why she has to say, only to shrug that off and softly tell her the truth ("we love you") and proceeding to tell the permit guy that they're family!! They love each other so much & they can't be separated!! Rose's face throughout the whole thing!! It's so much

[canary0]

July 11th - Dracula 2023

The Personal Blog of Mina Murray

(A/N: Spoilers-ish for DD in August, sorta; there are deviations and similarities, but better safe than sorry if you want to avoid spoilers below the break.)

I’ve gotten some rest, spent some time with Jonathan, and had a chance to speak with the doctor. I’ll address each in turn, as they mostly flow into one another.

After visiting for a short while after I arrived last night, I had to rest elsewhere. It was difficult to sleep, knowing he was only a couple of blocks away. I went straight back in the early morning, and much to my gladness, he was awake. He still looked tired – infinitely tired, as if despite being safe, there was some weight he was still carrying around – and very thing and pale, but he smiled when he saw me and got up, carefully embracing me despite the IVs. He sat back down a few moments later and looked me over.

I noted that I had seen him wake up briefly last night, and that he had seemed unfocused. He told me, “I had a fever when I first arrived. I was somewhat aware you were there last night, but I thought I might have imagined you in how badly I wanted to see you.”

Despite the direness of the situation, that made me happy to hear, and I am glad he is doing well enough to stand, and his embrace has strength behind. As thin and exhausted as he looked, I worried. I assured him that I came as soon as I could after I got the call and packed. He said something odd, then – he mentioned that he was glad. It meant I was not in England. A very odd thing, as I would think after all this time, getting home would be a top priority. I asked him about it, and he said that, although Romania has, in most respects, been a kind and welcoming place to him, he wishes to be home. He is more concerned for me and our friends. He went silent when I asked why.

After a long while, he said that he wanted me to see for myself… to confirm what he’d seen from new eyes, in the light of day. He said there was a usb drive and a book of rail timetables in the lower cabinet of the side table, and that I should look through both. I promised him I would, and he gave the most wan smile I had ever seen on his face that was before full of determination.

I took the items in question out, but the doctor arrived before I could start perusing them. I rose to shake her hand, and I say with no exaggeration that I only came up to her shoulder, and I am not too short myself. She looked at Jonathan and I with the kindest eyes I had ever seen, though, and I couldn’t help but be put at ease. She first asked Jonathan how he was feeling that day while a nurse came in and drew some blood, and he responded that while he was tired, he was feeling a little better now. She gave a little laugh, and said, “No wonder, Mr. Harker. Good company brings comfort and healing, I think.” She flipped through his chart – printed, I noticed, rather than having a computer to access it near the bed.

She explained as kindly as she could that it’s impressive that he’s in as good a state as he is. Apparently his blood cell count in general is low, but recovering. The universal reduction in cells with normal plasma volume suggests to her that he was certainly in hypovolemic shock, or close to it, at some point in the recent past, some kind of serious blood loss. They couldn’t find any major wounds that would normally cause that, though. Jonathan’s expression was grim, and he simply nodded, letting her go on. She added that he came in with severe dehydration, exhaustion, and exposure, including cuts, scrapes, and bruises that would suggest someone who had traversed the wilderness unprepared. He nodded to that, too, but didn’t comment. She thinks he’ll be stable enough to head home in the next few days, though she emphasized how important making sure he gets plenty of iron, B vitamins, and vitamin C even after that, though, to support recovery from the lingering anemia. He should also be careful to protect himself from disease with the low white blood cell count – basically, pretend it’s still the pandemic for him. I was glad I had come in with a mask just in case.

She also mentioned that the hospital was approached for a DNA test. Apparently there were some disappearances near the town of Prundu Bârgăului, and they had recovered a few hairs from the scene, and there were reports matching Jonathan’s description. No fingerprints, though. I was shocked at the very idea, but Jonathan just grimly gave his permission to do any tests they needed. He didn’t seem surprised.

Eventually, she left, and I pulled Jonathan’s items out of them little cabinet. They were nearly the only things in there – I recognized the set of clothes that were in there, but there were no shoes and just the book and thumb drive. No phone, no computer, no charger or solar cells or his bag. Some old gold, though, which is an odd addition. I’m sure exploring what he wrote will shine light on everything today.

As I opened my laptop and plugged the thumb drive in, he took my hand and said, “Wilhelmina.” Ominous – he’s never called me by my full name almost since we met. “I wrote… a lot in there. My head’s turned around… I don’t know how much of it is real and how much is some wild fantasy I concocted to explain my experiences. Maybe the blood loss affected my mind. I’m tempted to ask you not to open it, to remain ignorant and allow me to remain so. But… I also value your insight. I think you might be able to determine the truth of it in a way I can’t. And I don’t want to conceal anything from you. So… please…”

I closed the laptop and kissed him. I told him, “Let’s wait out that test and get you home first. Give you some time to recover. I don’t like making you wait, but I think it might be easier if we do this together. It sounds like you’ve had a serious shock.”

He looked me in the eyes, and I couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his. “Yes, that’s… yes.”

–

Thank god. The DNA results are back, and Jon wasn’t a match. Oddly, the local police seem to have left it at that. No one has mentioned coming in and taking statements. It’s like the DNA test was just confirming what they already thought – I wonder if Jon was never a real suspect?

Apparently the disappearances are just one of a long string, the three recent ones – two children, and the mother of one of them – are just the latest.

What’s going on out here?

(A/N: Oh man. With a modern combination of technology and attitude, this just couldn't be the same as August's stuff. Stuff's fresh in Jon's mind, and like I mentioned in another post, we're REALLY in the habit of sharing info these days. So much that it often doesn't occur to people not to.

It's also hard to imagine him keeping her in the dark for the reasons presented in the original book these days. It's not a 'woman heart so delicate' thing, but more of an 'I'm afraid to know and I know you'd have to tell me because it is important to share everything with each other' thing. That's part of why I love JonMina, but it just doesn't make sense these days.

Nor does the police totally doing nothing with multiple disappearances, but they're mostly just confirming that this is a Dracula thing. Dude's been feeding the ladies for a long-ass time, and this is undoubtedly just the latest thing. Most of the old-timers know he's out doing his thing, as I tried to establish early on.

These days I also didn't seem them getting married right as soon as they saw each other again. That also means cute wedding stuff at the Westenra place before The Horrors return.)

[wincestisasincest]

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 2: The Flexibility Coefficient

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: This is way faster than I normally write. Sorry this one is a little shorter. Still good though, I think.

Word Count: 4.9k

Taglist (dm me if you want to be added!): @edenstarkk (hi sorry i could not answer your comment directly because this is a side blog but! there is now a taglist! and you are the first person on it! :D )

Okay, so huge HUGE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER. It is heavily implied that reader was sexually assaulted as a child. Because of this there is also vague reference to child nudity. It is short, and will be the most explicit that this fic ever gets on this topic, but I thought it was important to include.

The part is marked so you can skip it if you want to. Please take care of yourselves guys <3. Other than that

Mentions of: okay so nothing for this one actually

Triggers: starvation (again), burns, blood, panic attack(?), heights, language

! Trigger Warning (see above) !

You undid the buttons of your shirt hastily. It felt like you were controlling your fingers from a distance, as though they were attached to someone else’s hands and you were moving their wrists to guide them. They quivered with autonomy, but you were persistent. Feeling the last bit of tension in the shirt release, you shed it to the floor, exposing your pre-pubescent breasts and bony shoulders to the cold.

You slipped your hands under the waistband of your skirt. The fabric billowed into a circle around your feet.

That only left your underwear. Worn. Lacey. Pairs were scarce so you didn’t change them as much as you should. You tucked your hands against your thighs began to usher them off.

“I- now what are you doing?” he hummed, satisfied, from the corner.

His crow’s feet loosened as his eyes gouged into your body. The tears were bubbling up to the surface. But you wouldn’t cry. Not yet. You were almost done.

“No, no, put it back on,” he tutted, stepping forward, “I want to take it off myself.”

He advanced, and you lost the rest of your senses. Your vision tunneled into his smirk, a venomous curl of anticipation, getting bigger and bigger.

His breath smelled vile.

! Trigger Warning !

Your chest rose and your eyes opened. You sucked in large, greedy breaths, certain that you would never again have enough air in your lungs.

Your eyes skittered around the joyless beige walls and tiled floors. Where there should’ve been the scent of saltwater and bird shit, there was just a clinical odor not unlike a doctor’s office. No rolling of the waves against the steep cliffside, just the dull hum of electric lamps.

You remembered where you weren’t before you remembered where you were.

You sat up, holding yourself both sides of your ribcage as though you would fall apart. You weren’t afraid of the memory. Or, more accurately, you weren’t afraid of being afraid of the memory. You knew that it was wrong, and that it hurt, and that you would have to spend the rest of your life finding some way to process it. It had just been so long since it had resurfaced. You were out of practice.

Letting your neck slump with the weight of your head, you wallowed in the reluctant return of your heartbeat. At least you had finally gotten some sleep.

You hated to admit that you expected to return to custody. The moment that you leapt onto the ledge of the building, you were intoxicated with the brazenness of a dying woman. Surviving your fall with minimal damage thanks to your use of the canvas top of a market stall as a landing pad only pumped more adrenaline into your system.

But there were just too many damn Enforcers. You wasted hours dodging their field of vision in the convoluted streets, giving them enough time to post whole units at the bridge and the port. The numbers in their patrols only increased as morning finally came, leaving you to vigilantly wait in the shadows behind dumpsters for just the right moment so you could sprint 15 feet your next hiding place.

Oh, and, you were really hungry. Though a chance meeting with a kind girl had alleviated some of it, the fact remained that there was no way for you to buy food, steal food, or even rummage through the trash for it without risking capture.

When you did catch sleep, it was always in short, ten minute bursts that you were abruptly woken from by your hunger pangs. You were weakening. You ran slower, your vision was spotty, and your pulse was barely detectable. Finally, one evening, when you were settling down for yet another short period of rest, you felt the thumps in your chest get dangerously sluggish. And you realized that if you went to sleep there, you would never wake up.

Taking the suggestion of Caitlyn, you turned yourself over to an Enforcer station in exchange for the first full meal and night of sleep that you had in a while. They did insist on transporting you to the campus police station, though, which had no actual cells, meaning that you slept on a grimy mattress locked in a spare room.

A spare room with no clock, you pondered. The lights in the hallway were always on, so there was no way to get any sense of time.

As if sensing your gaze, the door creaked open.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” a female officer crooned, tossing you a paper bag that smelled like mint, “basic toiletries in there. You got 15 minutes to clean up.”

*****

You realized later that the toiletries and the clothes that you had raided from the lost and found were to help the optics of the academy and not for your benefit. Having a smelly criminal walking around, sticking out like a sore thumb with an officer as their escort would not go over well. You weren’t complaining.

You sat on the cheap metal chair in the lobby of the station and waited for… something. The officer hadn’t been specific, but there was only one reason that you would’ve been back on campus. You rested your hands on your lap and kicked your legs back and forth, humming a sea shanty from a place that you would never return to.

“Alright, let’s go,” a familiar, pigheaded voice barked from the doorway.

Jayce brusquely poked his head in and looked straight at you. You glanced at the secretary, who gave you an affirmative nod. Cracking your knuckles and stretching your back, you plodded to the doorway and followed him outside.

It was a brisk, dewy morning in the academy’s courtyard. You tugged on the too-long sleeves of your “borrowed” sweater and sped up the pace, keen to match Jayce’s long stride. He was peering across the way to some students playing frisbee, acting like you weren’t there at all. You didn’t bother to start any conversation.

“You’re smart, so I’m going to be blunt with you,” he began suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets, “your little stunt on top of the building can be easily forgotten, but only if you’re under Hextech jurisdiction.”

“I thought we were done?”

“We were. But then things changed,” he led you through the campus quad, neglecting the starstruck attention he drew from students, “you may not believe this, but we weren’t trying to trick you. It was an incorrect assumption on my part, and it wasn’t fair to you.”

“Okay yeah, but it wasn’t fair of me to jump off a building. I’m a criminal, remember? Hell, if we go back to that lab, I could just do it again for all you know.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Oh, really?”

“No. Do you want to know what I think? I think you’re more self-aware than you’re letting on. You didn’t dive off that building to go home, you did it to distract yourself from your own fear. You knew it wouldn’t work,” he said it without an ounce of sympathy, like a doctor giving a diagnosis.

“Big whoop. It doesn’t matter to the Enforcers,” you crossed your arms.

“See? You’re doing it again. Lashing out because you’re scared.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because, despite what you’re trying to convince everyone of, you’re not a lost cause. The Council wants to worsen your sentence, which I find unreasonable since you were never really given a chance in the first place, and I know that Hextech still has a lot of use for you. So, I told them that we needed you for a little longer.”

You reached the double doors of the science building, pressing open either side in tandem.

“I can’t help you go home. But, I can say that if you keep choosing to help us out, it will pay off. And that’s better than anything that the Council will offer you.”

“I don’t…” you hesitated. You wanted to curse him out for being so goddamn nice that it confused you, “would you be this forgiving if I didn’t have the answers to your questions?”

He actually laughed at that.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you frowned.

“I know, it’s just-“ he chuckled to himself, rounding the corner to a familiar hallway “man, you’re blunt. And your self-preservation instinct could use some work. But, to answer your question, if you didn’t have the answers, then you wouldn’t have made the cannon in the first place, would you?”

“No…” you looked at your shoes – boots 2 sizes too big with smooth soles, “no, I wouldn’t have.”

You exhaled your pride. Maybe your self-preservation instinct could use some work. Starting now.

*****

“Alright. Got a problem for ya,” Jayce employed his salesman smile again as you entered the lab, “let’s say that you were on a Piltover ship. Opposite your pressure cannon. How would you protect yourself?”

“You would need another hex crystal,” you replied instantly.

“Done.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, you’d have to figure out some way to invert the wave so it could cancel out the original blast. If you time and position it perfectly, setting off another pressure cannon would do the trick, but that’s impractical. If there was some way to replicate the effects without…” your mind was on the edge of a rabbit hole to baseless conjecture, before you yanked it back to the conversation, “but I’d need to know the metrics of the actual wave first.”

“Simple enough. Recreate the blast, make an equation, solve for the variable.”

“Still don’t know what an equation is.”

“Right…” he turned on his heel, absentmindedly inspecting a prototype on the workbench as he spoke, “an equation is like a math problem. They’re designed so you can plug in different, changing variables and see the results. They’re consistent. For example, the equation for force is mass times acceleration.”

“Ohhhh,” your face perked up, “yeah, I know what that is. Had no idea it was called that, though. But it shouldn’t be hard to figure out, as long as the measurements are accurate.”

“We can take care of that. For now, your job is to recreate the modifications that you made to the cannon. Just as you did the first time. Tools are over there,” he nodded to the adjacent room, “yell if something comes up.”

He must have really meant it when he said that he didn’t think you would jump off the building again, because his focus was immediately absorbed by the prototype, leaving you to your own devices.

You roamed towards the tools, making mental notes of the lab’s layout. For all of its inner complexity, it was really just three big rooms and a bunch of tables.

The room that you entered in was the one that you were most familiar with. The large window and high ceiling were a sight to behold in the darkness, but with the area now fully illuminated, you realized just how cramped the place felt. It was overflowing with discovery, stifling any moderation with half-finished projects, blackboards (yes, plural) jolted to life with math, and notes frantically written in the heat of revelation.

The room that you weren’t invited to seemed the least interesting. Just office space, with the expected desks full of high stacks of paper and small lamps for burning the midnight oil.

The workshop was… beautiful. Every tool that you could’ve imaged and more, either hung up on pegs along the wall or stored somewhere on the back shelves, all waiting for you. The tables had signatures of dedication – burns, scratches, cracks, divots, and inexplicable holes that went straight through. Instead of chairs there were three-legged stools, perfect for maneuvering your body to just the right angle to fine-tune your work.

You almost smiled. Then you noticed the figure in the corner slaving away over some pile of scrap metal.

He didn’t acknowledge you from his distant corner. Perfect. You would simply do the same from the other distant corner.

Now closer to wall of tools, your middling joy caught in the back of your throat, and you almost choked on how overwhelming it was. You didn’t even know what some of this stuff did, though you would never admit to that, and part of you preferred the freedom of your usual pocketknife improvisation. And yet, the relic of pride in your chest crushed these worries as quickly as they came. You were here because they needed you. You were not out of your depth. You had made this thing, and you could make it again. You just had to get started.

Culling your needs down to a few tools from the more mundane selection and enough broken machinery from the salvage pile to build a car, you settled into your workspace.

After half a second, you realized that sitting upright was terrible, and moved yourself to the floor, leaning back against the wall for support and holding your project on your knees. It brought you dangerously close to where this whole journey had started; you, on the deck of a ship, building a fucking superweapon like it was your birthright.

You weren’t proud of it. You never would be. But it was so painless to return to the simple rhythm of doing what you did best.

*****

Unwieldy tension mounted as you stood there, side by side with Viktor, looking over the hanging tools for the one that suited your purpose. You still refused to concede his existence, and he seemed to have the same idea.

And then his hand started to prowl the same area as yours and you wanted to die. Your fight or flight was pushing you in the more cowardly direction, and for once, you agreed. Just get what you need and go back to where you were.

And then your fingers skimmed each other as you both reached for the rotary tool.

You quickly pulled your hands apart. He fixed you with his taut gaze, and your eyes constricted with resent.

“I need it,” he said.

“So do I.”

“It’s my lab.”

“Yeah, so use it after I’m gone.”

“Yes… and that will be soon, but not soon enough.”

“I get that you don’t like me, but I only need it for 10 minutes. Then you can use it to get yourself off, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

He turned his body to completely face you, and somehow, even his arrogant blink was scathing.

“Let me explain something to you,” he tilted his head down, testing your resolve to not spit on him again, this time right onto his slightly crooked nose, “you are here because of the good will of Jayce. Do not mistake this for authority. Your crime does not disappear in this space, and once you have worn out your utility, you will face consequences.”

“My utility, huh? Hey, I think I know some pirates you’d get along with,” you growled, “gods, you really are the same people up close.”

“Then do not look close,” he shifted his weight, “look far. Look at the long-reaching effects of my actions and yours, hm?”

“Oh, hey, your face is tolerable from this distance,” yeah, it was a low blow, but you weren’t in the mood to talk philosophy with this pompous ass.

“Quip all you like. In the end, it changes nothing. You have exactly 10 minutes,” he turned to leave, his cane thundering against the floor and landing dangerously close to your feet, “oh, and one more thing,” he called back to you, “if you spit on me again, I will break your toe.”

Your eyes scampered to the end of his cane as he lifted his arm to move it. You subconsciously braced yourself for the lurch of pain, starting in your right foot and burgeoning up into the far reaches of your calf, but none came.

He just abandoned you with your temper. You were not violent by nature, but as your mind festered in the rout of his words, you found your fists curling like you were once again holding a pocketknife. You wanted it not for the utility, but to drive into the back of his tailored vest.

*****

The moment that your oppressive hearing left the lab for the day, Viktor audibly sighed and sat down next to his partner.

“I suppose you don’t have any ideas on what to do about her situation?” he rubbed his temple lethargically.

“No, sorry, I’ve been working on this thing,” he gestured to what was to be the transistor of their proposed teleportation device, “but Mel’s due to visit soon. She’ll have something.”

“Good. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this.”

“Already? You barely even looked at each other.”

“I do not… enjoy having her near our work. It worries me.”

“She worries you, or what she could do worries you?”

“It is the same thing, is it not?”

“Maybe,” Jayce mused, moving his head from side to side, “jury’s still out on her. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lied, “I was just under the impression that when we agreed to take her on, you would be a lot less, eh… friendly?”

“I’m just being polite and giving her something to do. But,” he exhaled, “I see your point. She did some bad stuff, and it is kind of strange that she just… is a lab employee now.”

“Very strange. One might even say unrealistic.”

“Well, yeah, but what else am I for?” he gave Viktor a lopsided grin, “In all seriousness, though, I’m not trying to reform her or anything like that. But if we don’t give her the environment to try and do something productive with herself, then how can we expect anything to come of this? Wait it out a little longer. See where it goes. It’s not forever.”

“I need to stop letting you talk me into things,” Viktor rolled his eyes, but smiled in spite of himself.

*****

“Y- you’re finished?” Jayce peered over the brown paper bag he was holding with both hands. He had just gotten back from picking up lunch.

You nodded.

“I do not believe that,” Viktor grumbled, leaning against the doorway to the office space, “it took you a week the first time and now it only takes you a day and a half?”

“First of all, I’m not done with everything. I still need to attach the stuff and make the recoil mechanism on site. Second, it took me five days, not a week. And third, I had to break down a bunch of random crap for parts and my only tools were an army knife and a wood chip,” you rejoined, planting your hand on your hip, “so yes, it was a lot faster this time.”

“You don’t need to worry about recoil,” Jayce, already taken with your reasoning, put the bag down on the table, “we’re doing it on solid ground.”

“Oh. Alright, then yeah, I’m finished,” Viktor grunted at this, and you once again faced him, “it’s on the table over there. You’re welcome to check. Just don’t break anything.”

“I’ll admit,” Jayce said, “that was very fast. This, uh, presents a problem.”

“It is not a problem,” Viktor muttered. He was holding his cane with both hands and leaning forward, appraising your work as hypercritically as he could. Fortunately, you anticipated this, and already triple-checked for any faults.

“We don’t have access to the cannon until next Wednesday,” Jayce said it like it was an apology.

“What he’s trying to say is that we don’t need you at the moment,” Viktor refused to show any satisfaction on his face, but it seeped from his words like drivel.

“Okay. Well, you know where to find me,” you shrugged.

“Wait, wait,” Jayce waved his hands, “that is notwhat I was trying to say. I mean, I don’t think I need any help at the moment, but I know that Viktor-“

“Absolutely not,” he instantly straightened his back.

“You asked me to help just this morning. You said it would go way faster.”

“I asked you. Not her. I am fully capable of doing it on my own.”

“It’s not safe to do by yourself, either.”

“It will be fine.”

“It’s one thing to not like something but it’s another thing to actively endanger yourself and slow down our work.”

Your eyes moved back and forth between them as they bickered, finally getting to rest on Viktor, taking his time to think of a reply for Jayce’s last point.

“Fine,” he relented and his shoulders dropped.

“Great! Don’t forget to wear safety goggles this time. Penny, I brought back some bread if you’d like.”

“Oh shit, bread,” you said between a breath, mostly to yourself. You speed-walked to the table like a moth to a flame.

“I did not forget to wear safety goggles last time. They were not necessary.”

It was fresh. Your stomach gurgled as you ran your fingers over the crispy, rugged crust with flour still flaking off. Most of the background arguing was drowned out.

“Lab safety regulations would disagree.”

“The lab safety regulations are stupid.”

You had just a single, small loaf, about big enough to make a sandwich if you had other ingredients. You broke a piece off, watching the steam unfurl from the yeasty sinews. Your mouth was watering.

You pecked it from your fingers and had to stop yourself from moaning at the taste – your memory from that one time with the apple had caused a level of self-regulation. You basked in the onset of good thoughts from the bread euphoria. Feeling a kick of inspiration, you took out one of the napkins from the bag and began to jot down some numbers on it.

*****

The purr of the soldering iron reminded you of tropical rain; the kind of torrential downpour that submerged windows. At times like those, you couldn’t even make out the individual pitter patter of the droplets, just one giant curtain of rain. It was peaceful, as long as you weren’t out in it.

You and Viktor had not spoken a word to each other aside from a brief confirmation that you were ready for him to begin. Your job was to hold open different parts of convoluted circuitry to reveal the wires that had sunken underneath them as Viktor slowly linking different parts of the electrical labyrinth together. His left hand coiled around the edge of the table for stability while his right hand warily crept through his task.

Now, with undisturbed time to look at his face, you granted that he was kind of handsome. Even with the safety goggles on. Actually, especially with the safety goggles on.

You weren’t afraid of a pretty face. Assholes could be handsome. It made no difference to you how every part of his expression was acutely carved like a sculpture, but when you pieced together the whole puzzle, there was an unmistakable softness that you couldn’t understand. Could you try to understand?

“Kurva!” he hissed with uncharacteristic urgency. Your concern was quickly replaced by white hot pain digging into your ring finger.

“Shit!” you yelped and pulled your hand back, snapping some of the wires and brushing the soldering iron aside, inadvertently sending it towards Viktor’s flesh.

“Debil!” he dropped the still-hot soldering iron on the table and clutched his own hand.

You ripped your goggles off and examined the bubbling flesh that was eating around the outside of your ring finger.

“What the hell was that for?!” you snapped, gritting your teeth against your misery.

“You idiot, you got both of us hurt with your knee-jerk stumbling!” he pulled off his goggles and completely ignored your question.

“Well, if you had been paying attention in the first place, then this wouldn’t have happened!”

“I wasn’t paying attention?! You were the one who was staring off into space the whole time!”

“That shouldn’t matter because I’m not the one holding the fucking soldering iron!”

“So you weren’t paying attention.”

“I- let’s just- UGH!” you groaned, staring at the ceiling, begging the gods to end you now, “forget it! It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna run this under water.”

You shot up from your seat with your good hand and made for the sink in the main room, barely keeping yourself in check.

The heavenly shock of cool water on your finger dissolved some of the tension in your chest. As you brushed off dead skin with your thumb, you felt your lazy pulse for the first time since your near-starvation, and allowed it to coax your thoughts back down into logic and restraint. Through stream of water, you could see the sweltering pink flesh dotted by small islands of dark red skin. You hoped that that tiny bit of white stuff wasn’t bone.

The pain dulled. You wiped your finger clean with a paper towel and returned to the workshop. Viktor was on his feet, sifting through a white box on the table. You let him work, taking the initiative to turn off the soldering iron and pick up the scattered pieces of wire from the floor. You wondered if he was feeling the same reticent shame that you were.

You heard his unambiguous walk leave the room and permitted yourself to sit back down. On the table was alcohol, cotton balls, and a roll of bandages.

You pressed one of the cotton balls against the opened bottle with your thumb and flicked it over quickly. Your finger soaked up the splotches of stinging pain as you gently padded it down, taking care to subject every part to the alcohol’s wrath.

You placed the cotton ball to the side and took the bandages, maneuvering them between your middle and ring finger. Viktor returned, cleaning his own wound while you methodically covered the entire injury, careful that it was loose enough to offer freedom of movement. You set the bandages down and admired your work like jewelry.

You looked at the clock. Almost 5:30. An officer would be here soon to take you back. You made use of this, rising from the table and gathering your sweater that you hung on the back of the chair. You turned and left through the front door, leaving the air weighed down with the rueful pettiness of two animals licking their wounds.

*****

You brandished the soldering iron like a blade, eyes wild as you backed out further onto the ledge. Viktor inched closer to you, feeling a blast of rigid wind on the left side of his face, the same that he had felt when he watched you give yourself up to the void all those nights ago.

“It does not need to be like this,” he said slowly, palms up, “you can still do the right thing.”

He took another unsteady step forward.

“You first,” you snarled. The soldering iron was orange with heat.

“I will. I promise. Just…” he advanced on you again, “just give it to me. Please.”

Your face softened. The white in your knuckles faded as you unclenched your hand. Your arm dropped to your side, giving up your defensive stance, and you took swift, calculated steps towards him. He held his own hand out, letting his fingers curl at the end, as if to welcome you. You took a deep breath, shifting your grip to the side of the soldering iron so you could place it in his hand without burning anyone.

Viktor fought the jittery anticipation in his arm. Just a little longer.

Your lips writhed into a cruel smile. You stabbed the soldering iron directly into the center of his palm, setting off a searing explosion of agony. Viktor yelled, supporting himself against the window, but he didn’t move. You just kept pressing.

He woke up in a cold sweat.

He dragged his head from the hard surface of the lab table and straightened his neck. Running his fingers through his hair to pull back the bangs that had stuck to his damp face, he inhaled deeply. The large, open window revealed a sprawling scene of stars and an icy moon that overlooked the sleeping city of Piltover.

His scribbled equations relished in the moonlight. He had stopped writing them halfway through, and, upon waking, had completely lost his train of thought. Next to them was a napkin, with numbers loosely recorded by someone who barely knew what equations were.

Ah, yes, he had been looking at your numbers. They were unpolished, and hardly something that any scientist could make use of, but once he figured out that it was the beginnings of your equation for the speed of magic waves, he had to give it a shot.

You had been caught up on not having a way to determine how easily something gave into movement. He figured that that could be remedied by finding the displacement an object underwent before and after force was applied – something he decided to call the flexibility coefficient.

You were not good with theoretical concepts, he concluded. You were practical. You needed things to work in the world, not just in your head. You should be grateful he was here, he told himself, because the only way that would’ve found out your own flexibility coefficient was by bending something until it broke.

~ End Notes ~

kurva ~ fuck

dubil ~ idiot

End credits song: "Your Mother Should Know" by the Beatles

[imagineaworld]

mr & mrs smith | b.b

part one | part two 

pairing : bucky barnes x reader

summary : bucky and y/n finally learn the truth about their feelings for each other

word count : 2.3k

warnings : 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), swearing

bucky slept through the night. he woke close to lunchtime, beams of golden sunlight shining through the drawn curtains. beside him, y/n slept on, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. 

he crept out of bed quietly so as not to wake y/n. grabbing a fresh set of clothes, he padded to the bathroom to get dressed and brush his teeth. he also spritzed on some of the cologne steve had bought him. 

when he re-emerged from the bathroom, y/n was sprawled out across the giant bed, looking just as ethereal as she had the previous day. she yawned, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"mornin'." bucky murmured, taking his toiletries back to his suitcase.

y/n hummed in response, taking a deep breath. "your cologne smells really good," she mumbled sleepily. 

"thanks," bucky said, flushed. "steve got it for me."

y/n clambered out of bed, stretching upward once she was on her feet. her pink silk pyjama shirt rose up slightly, showing a slither of her bare stomach. bucky swiftly averted his eyes.

"you wanna plant some bugs and cameras while i take a shower?" she asked after she'd finished stretching. "i'll help you once i'm done."

"sure," he said, avoiding eye contact. 

y/n took her clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. bucky didn't hear the door lock. 

he went about setting up tiny, hidden cameras and microphones around the room, the sound of the shower running in the other room. while he was doing his task, he thought about the previous night.

after the two had finished the bottle of wine, y/n asked what side of the bed bucky wanted. he had said he didn't mind, so he took the left and y/n took the right. they'd gone to bed around 1 am, and it had taken bucky a while to fall asleep.

he couldn't stop thinking about y/n beside him, he'd never shared a bed like this before. making sure not to move around too much and to not touch y/n, eventually, he fell asleep. 

his sleep was usually fitful, plagued by nightmares. but that night, nothing. just peaceful darkness and he had woken feeling well-rested.

bucky hadn't realised y/n was out of the shower until she stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a cropped tank top, towel-drying her damp hair.

"how's it going?" she asked.

the floral scent of her perfume filled bucky's nose. "almost done," he replied.

"let's finish up and get out of here."

-

within a few hours, bucky and y/n were packed up and checked out of the hotel, their equipment set up in the honeymoon suite, hooked up to tony's database. 

y/n was driving them back to the compound, stopping at starbuck's again to make up for the coffee bucky had bought the previous day. y/n got a hot chocolate, despite the fact that it was a hot day, and the windows were rolled down.

her hair blew around in the wind as she sang along to the radio, turned up loud so it could be heard over the rushing wind. bucky admired her from his seat in the passenger side, not able to suppress the smile that crept onto his face. he had never felt so carefree and at ease as he did in that moment.

"is that a smile i see?" y/n spoke over the music and the wind as she drove down the highway.

bucky blushed, turning his face away.

"hey, no!" y/n protested. "come back, i like it." 

bucky blushed even more, but stopped facing away from y/n.

"are you blushing?" she asked, her tone playful as opposed to taunting.

"nah," bucky responded, shaking his head. his grin, however, grew wider.

y/n laughed, tossing her head to get her hair out of her face. "this mission was fun," she admitted. "i was worried you didn't like me very much, but i think i was wrong."

"well," bucky said. "i do like you very much."

"ooh, very much, huh?" she asked in the same playful tone as before. perhaps, bucky thought, it was even flirty.

mimicking her tone, bucky said, "are you flirting with me?"

y/n raised her eyebrows, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. "i might be," she said. "i might have been for the last few months. maybe." she added.

bucky was serious all of a sudden. "wait, really?" 

it was y/n's turn to laugh nervously. "clearly not very well."

bucky couldn't think of anything to say. he was completely bewildered. this meant he had been right all along. it meant y/n did like him.

"mind if we take a detour?" y/n asked.

"sure."

y/n pulled off the highway, driving through a series of roads overcast with trees. not long later, she parked the car in a patch of land, with a few other cars parked close by. 

y/n unclipped her seatbelt. "wanna go for a walk?"

"yeah," bucky replied, still baffled.

he got out of the car. in front of him was a vast, blue lake, sparkling in the sunlight. all around the lake were lush green trees, and the sound of a family having a picnic nearby. the pair started walking.

"i didn't even know this was here," he said.

y/n smiled. "i come here with nat and wanda sometimes."

bucky breathed in the clean air, savouring the feeling of the sun on his face. he walked beside y/n, admiring the view of her and the lake.

"i did pick up on the flirting, by the way," he admitted.

y/n looked up at him. "you did?"

"yeah," he nodded. "i'm just horrifically awkward and i didn't know what to say back. so i said nothing."

"you aren't that awkward."

"oh, i am. definitely. you intimidate me."

bucky thought back to all the times he'd become flustered by y/n's comments, or overwhelmed by her touch. all the times she'd hugged him and he hugged back, wondering if he had perhaps hugged too tightly, or maybe not tightly enough.

"why?" y/n asked. she stopped walking now, standing under the shade of a large tree a few feet away from the lakeshore. 

bucky shrugged. "the things you say, things you do. eye contact, the way you touch me... i don't know, it just intimidates me."

"how can i be less intimidating?" y/n asked.

"don't make eye contact," bucky said. "close your eyes."

y/n frowned, but her face softened when her eyes fluttered shut. "better?"

bucky looked at her, stood in front of him with her eyes closed. the gentle breeze blew her hair behind her shoulders, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. he looked at her lips, parted slightly and decided he would do it.

he leant forward, caressing her cheek as his lips connected with hers. she made a slight sound of surprise, but she kissed back. her lips were soft, and there was the faint taste of chocolate. she pushed up on her toes to deepen the kiss, tangling her hand in bucky's hair.

when the two pulled away, bucky could hardly believe he had dared to do it. y/n opened her eyes again to look into bucky's. she grinned at him before catching her lower lip between her teeth. bucky melted at the sight of it.

"let's go back," she said, grabbing bucky's hand and leading him back to the car.

she leant back against the car door, pulling bucky in for another kiss. as bucky placed his hands gently on her waist, she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

"so much for a walk," bucky chuckled as he pulled away. 

"changed my mind," y/n said, opening the door and climbing into the driver's seat.

bucky went around the front of the car and hopped in. 

-

back at the compound, y/n was in her room, unpacking her suitcase, thinking about bucky. 

upon arriving home, bucky and y/n had paid tony a visit for a debriefing before heading to their rooms. y/n had given bucky a smile and a wink as she entered her bedroom. bucky had blushed and smiled back.

out of her suitcase, she pulled out a t-shirt that didn't belong to her. the large dark t-shirt smelled of bucky. she held it close, deeply inhaling the scent. pulling her own shirt off, she slipped bucky's on. 

it fell to mid-thigh, the loose material was cool in the warm weather. she pulled off her jeans, opting for a small pair of lounging shorts, hidden by the length of the t-shirt. as she finished unpacking, there was a knock at her door.

she answered it to find bucky on the other side. he eyed up her new outfit, raising his brows slightly. "i was going to ask if you had seen my shirt, but i can see you found it." 

it was y/n's turn to blush. "i don't know what you're talking about," she said, stepping aside for bucky to enter. the door closed behind him.

"that shirt," bucky said, closing the space between him and y/n. "is mine." 

he's flirting, y/n realised. so she stepped even closer to him. "yours? i guess you better take it back."

she pushed up on her toes, pressing her lips to his. he kissed back hungrily, tongue flicking across y/n's lower lip. his hands played with the hem of his shirt that she wore. eventually, he pulled the shirt over y/n's head, breaking the kiss briefly. his own shirt followed suit.

y/n knew bucky was fit, but she had no idea that his body was such a work of art. strong muscles bulged in his arms, his abs sculpted the plane of his stomach. she noted the rough skin where his metal arm met the rest of his body, and she thought he couldn't be more perfect.

bucky pulled away to take in all of her, to fully admire her in a way he had been too shy to do earlier. y/n caught her lower lips between her teeth as bucky's eyes roamed her body, the fullness of her breasts, the shape of her hips. 

"you're so beautiful," he said. he kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up. y/n closed her legs around bucky, holding on as he carried her to the bed. "i've wanted this for so long."

gently, he laid her down, kicking off his shoes as he climbed on top of her, not once breaking the kiss. y/n fumbled with the button of his jeans, which he removed once she had undone them. 

bucky pulled away to look at y/n, flustered beneath his muscled body in just a bra and shorts, which he tugged at. she obliged, eagerly removing them.

he whispered praises as his hands roamed, exploring every part of her body. he unhooked her bra and watched as her breasts bounced free. he drank her in, eyes full of lust.

he began to kiss her again, moving from her lips to along her jaw, on her neck, down the valley of her breasts and stomach until he reached the waistband of her underwear. he kissed her through the thin fabric, the sensitivity making her moan.

bucky had wanted to take his time, but he wanted, needed her so bad. it had been a long time since he was last with someone so intimately. there would be plenty of opportunities to take his time.

he slid her panties down and put his mouth on her sensitive core. she gasped out a moan as bucky's tongue began licking in the most tantalizing way.

"bucky," y/n moaned his name.

the way she said it drove him crazy. the taste of her on his tongue... he couldn't take it much longer, he had to be inside her. he took his boxers off, fully exposed in a way that, if he hadn't needed her so bad, might have made him feel self-conscious.

y/n tangled her fingers in bucky's hair as he ate her out, head between her thighs, her moans causing an ache in his cock which he longed to bury inside her.

unable to bear it any longer, he slid his boxers off and lined himself up with her entrance. in one swift motion, he sheathed himself inside her. they both moaned loudly at the feeling, bucky enjoying the warmth and y/n enjoying the fullness.

"so wet, baby," bucky breathed out, bottoming out and slowly starting to move his hips. "you like that?"

"yes," y/n cried out. "fuck."

bucky could feel y/n clenching around him, the tightness making his cock twitch. he began to pick up the pace, snapping his hips in a way that made warmth spread through y/n's stomach as her orgasm started building up.

y/n raked her fingernails down bucky's back and he growled at the painful pleasure it brought him. each thrust drove y/n closer to climax. 

"that's right," bucky groaned. "cum for me, doll."

y/n cried out as her whole body vibrated as her orgasm rippled through her. her back arched, pressing her body tighter against bucky.

"you feel so good," bucky murmured, "coming all over my cock."

y/n couldn't form a coherent sentence in order to respond so she just moaned his name. bucky sped up his pace, each pull and push of his hips chasing his own release.

with a deep groan, bucky reached his climax, pumping into y/n a few more times before filling her up with his warm cum. he collapsed on top her, both of them panting to catch their breath. 

after a moment, he gently pulls out and lays down beside her, watching her bare chest rise and fall with each breath. 

"you have no idea how long i've wanted that," y/n said.

"trust me," bucky said. "i do.”

[wishuhadstayed]

Plus One

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word count: 3000ish

Summary: it’s baby time y’all!

Warnings: pregnancy complications, angst

Author’s Note: to those who have been waiting, I AM SO SORRY. I hope this will be worth it! Part 8? to Begin Again. Please feel free to yell at me in the comments if you feel so inclined.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Conversation flowed in the dining room and kitchen of the Hotchner residence as the BAU team and family impatiently anticipated the forthcoming announcement.

“It’s a boy, has to be,” Morgan mused.

“No way. Definitely a girl,” JJ contradicts.

“As much as it pains me to say, I think I have to go with Morgan on this one,” Emily admits.

“Garcia?” JJ inquires, “What do you think?”

“I have to agree with Chocolate Thunder on this one, love,”

“Are you all taking his side?” JJ asks with indignation. “I’ll bet you $50 that it’s a girl!”

“Oh you’re on, sweetheart,” Morgan complies with a winning smile.

“I don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy,” says Reid, “but I do know that I wouldn’t bet against JJ.”

“Thanks, Spence,” JJ replies, patting him on the shoulder. “Emily, Rossi? You wanna get in on the action?”

“Oh I am so staying out of this,” Prentiss responds. “Count me out.”

“I’m in with Morgan for $50,” Rossi states.

“Alright, but you’re all gonna be sorry,” JJ says with a smirk.

Overhearing the lively discussion, you enter the room.

“Children, what’s going on here?” You interject, “Don’t make me break up a fight.”

“Y/N! Just the lady I wanted to see!” Exclaims JJ. “May I?” She asks, gesturing towards your growing baby bump.

“Sure, go ahead,” you reply. “Do I even want to know?”

“We’re taking bets on the sex of the baby,” she replies placing a gentle hand on your belly. “And I am so totally going to win!”

“You can’t possibly know that, JJ,” Morgan interrupts.

“Call me crazy if you want,” says JJ, “but a mother knows.”

“I suppose you’ll all find out soon enough,” Aaron cuts in, placing a strong arm around your back and pressing his lips to yours for a quick, tender kiss. “Shall we?”

With that, everyone makes their way to the backyard, where a large golden balloon awaits.

Picking it up from the ground, Aaron asks, “Everybody ready?”

He didn’t really have to ask. The answer was unanimous.

“YES!”

“Jack, would you like to do the honors?” you inquire, holding out a safety pin for him.

“Can I?” he asks hopefully.

“Of course you can buddy. Just be careful, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Dad and I will count you in, okay? On three.”

Together, you and Aaron slowly count, “One, two, THREE!”

A loud pop from the balloon momentarily startles the crowd and then..... a cloud of pink confetti floats to the ground.

“YES!” JJ shouts in her excitement. “PAY UP, LOSERS! We got a baby shower to plan!”

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

Several weeks later found you strolling through the back door of Rossi’s home into the yard where you’d married the man of your dreams not so very long ago.

This time it’s decorated for a slightly different occasion. Pale pink lanterns and streamers adorn everything in sight. A picnic table covered with a pink flowered cloth looks like it might collapse at any moment beneath the weight of a mountain of gifts wrapped in pastel paper. Heart shaped balloons are tied to the corners of another table on top of which is a giant bowl of pink punch, more food than you thought possible, and a breathtaking cake, decorated with tiny pink roses.

A tap on your shoulder brings you back to reality and you turn to see three beautiful, smiling faces. Women that you consider to be not only friends, but family at this point.

“Penny, Emily, JJ,” you say as your eyes begin to well up with tears, “This is too much! You shouldn’t have gone to this much trouble.”

“Oh this is the least we could have done for you, doll face,” Garcia interjects. “Nothing but the finest for my very best friend.”

“Don’t worry about it, my clean sweep at the gender reveal paid for most of this,” JJ jokes.

“You look absolutely radiant,” Emily adds, pulling you in for a hug.

“Where’s the boss man?” Penelope asks. “He’s coming isn’t he?”

“Oh yes” you reply. “He was helping Jack out of the car. He told me to come on in. He’s probably inside hanging out with boys for a minute.”

At that moment, you feel a pair of familiar arms encircling you, one across your chest and one just underneath your baby bump. A soft kiss on the cheek and he turns you around to face him. The tender look in his usually stern eyes melts you as he smiles and says,

“There’s my girls.”

“I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you too, darling.”

“Alright love birds, it’s time to get this show on the road!” exclaims Morgan, coming through the door with both Henry and Jack in tow.

“Thanks for keeping the kids entertained, Derek,” you whisper. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Mama. I’ve got it all under control,” he reassures with a wink.

“Should we be worried?” Aaron jokes under his breath.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Garcia offers, trailing off behind them.

Rossi and Reid bring up the tail end of the group, along with Jessica, Jack’s aunt, who had been previously supervising the kids.

“How are the parents-to-be feeling?” Rossi inquires.

“Overwhelmed, and so grateful,” you reply. “I know JJ said she covered most of it with her winnings, but I think we all know you pitched in too. And you’re a fantastic sport for letting the girls decorate your whole house pink.”

“Anything for some of my favorite people,” he replies patting you both on the shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Reid chimes in. “This baby’s really lucky to have such loving parents.”

“Reid, stop. You’re gonna make me cry,” you squeak out, pulling a tissue from your purse.

Just then, Jessica wraps an arm around both of you.

“Jess, you know you didn’t have to come,” Aaron says.

“Nonsense!” comes her reply. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As you go to sit so you can open presents, Morgan pulls out the chair for you, then pulls one out for Garcia as they settle in to watch the kids.

Maybe you were mistaken, but you could have sworn you saw a flirty look pass between them. A mischievous grin crosses your face. Perhaps you should do a bit of your own matchmaking.

“Jack!” you call. “Don’t you wanna help Mama open some of her presents?”

“Yeah! Can Henry help too?”

“What do you think JJ?” you ask.

“As long as it’s okay with you,” she agrees.

The kids ran up to help with their very important present duty. Jack retrieving smaller presents and helping rip the paper. Henry mostly just playing with the shiny bows. Thus leaving Morgan and Garcia free of responsibility.

When the last present had been opened, and the last game played, Aaron made his speech.

“Y/N and I just wanted to thank you all so much for being here today. We love each and every one of you like family, and we are truly grateful for all your love and support. We are truly blessed to have such wonderful people in our lives. Thank you again.”

As everyone was leaving, Penelope pulled you to the side.

“Did you call the kids over for help specifically to leave Derek and I alone together?”

“Penny, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” came your reply. “I’m just getting too big to be bending over to grab the presents and I thought it would be fun for the kids.”

“If you say so,” she says with a skeptical look.

As she walks away, Aaron whispers in your ear, “You are so wrong for that, you know?” with a playful shove of your shoulder.

“Oh they’re perfect for each other and everyone knows it. Besides, she played matchmaker for us and look what happened,” you reply, rubbing your belly.

“Okay, okay!” he surrenders with a grin. “You’re right. You’re always right. You win.”

——————————————————————————

As the weeks crept by, your little family was not so patiently awaiting the arrival of its newest addition. Being pregnant and taking care of a 6 year old without your husband was extremely taxing, making the moments that you did have with him exceedingly special.

Moments like today. It was nothing exciting, just sitting on the couch, enjoying each other’s company, but sometimes that’s all you really need.

Seated across from each other, You can’t help but admire the sweet look on his face as he touches your belly.

“I still can’t believe we’re having a baby girl,” he mentions.

“Neither can I,” you agree. “She’s gonna be smart,” you state, resting your hand on top of Aaron’s. “A lawyer like her daddy.”

“She can be anything she wants,” he says, looking up with his smile revealing the stunning dimples that caught your eye on your very first date. “As long as she’s happy.”

“God I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you more, angel.”

But mom duty never stops.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “It’s almost time to pick up Jack from school and I haven’t even started dinner!”

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Aaron says. “I’ll take care of everything, you just relax.”

“But I,”

“Ssshhhhh,” he interrupts. “No buts. I will pick up Jack, I will get dinner. You deserve a break.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

“I do.”

He leans in and gently brushes his lips against yours.

“I’ll be back soon.”

What felt like an eternity later, you hear the front door open and two distinct sets of footsteps.

“Mama!” Jack yelled, scrambling up into your lap for a hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, buddy,” you reassure, pulling him close to your chest.

“What’s for dinner, honey?” you ask?

A playful smirk forms on Aaron’s face, raising your suspicions.

“You’ll see. In the meantime, Jack how would you like to watch a movie with me and mom?”

You all settle on the sofa, Jack in Aaron’s lap and your head on your husband’s left shoulder. Just as you were drifting off to sleep near the end of the movie, a knock at the door startles you awake.

“Dinner’s here!” Aaron announces. “Come on buddy,” he encourages Jack. “Help me out.”

As you reach the table where the food is being laid out, tears begin to spring to your eyes.

“I got you fries and chocolate shake. And a cheeseburger. No mayo, extra pickles.”

“Babe,” you squeak out, “you remembered.”

“Of course I remembered. It’s all you talked about while I was away on my last case.”

You laugh and pull him close.

“I knew I married you for a reason.”

——————————————————————————

Around your 36 week mark, Aaron called from his hotel room to check on you.

“How are you, love?”

“Still pregnant,” you gripe.

“I know you’re exhausted, mama. I’ll be home tomorrow. Just remember the go bag for the hospital is packed and sitting right by the front door, just in case.”

“Yes, Aaron. You remind me every day. Honestly I think it’s bit overboard, I’m fine.”

“I just worry about you being alone while I’m gone is all. It never hurts to be prepared. Anyway, I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Love you too honey. Good night and be safe tomorrow.”

——————————————————————————

When Aaron arrived home the next night, he was greeted by the sight of you dozing on the couch.

Easing himself down on the edge, he swipes a lock of hair from your face. He softly kisses your forehead and watches as your eyes flutter open.

“Aaron?” you murmur. “You’re home.”

“I’m home,” he whispers. “How are my girls?”

“Better now that you’re home. I’ve had some pretty intense back pain, but otherwise fine.”

“Well sleeping on the couch probably isn’t helping,” he states matter of factly.

“Oh thank you doctor,” you reply sarcastically, giving his arm a playful slap. “I would never have known.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a shit eating grin. “Let’s get some sleep.”And with that, he sweeps you off the couch, heading for the master bedroom.

——————————————————————————

You woke the next morning still in pain, but not wanting to disturb Aaron. You struggle to sit up, finally managing after a few tries. You pull back the sheets and immediately get a sense of panic and dread at the sight of blood on the hem of your nightgown and the sheets beneath you. As the tears begin to stream, you instinctively call out for him.

Waking up at the sound of his name he asks, “what’s wrong, baby?”

But he realizes the problem before you even get a chance to respond.

Amazingly he seems not to panic at all. The tears and hysterics don’t faze him at all. He simply grabs you out of the bed, carries your directly to the car, and buckles you in.

“Stay right here,” he instructs. “I’m getting Jack and we’re going to the hospital right now.”

What seems like an eternity later, but in reality was only a few minutes, Aaron emerges from the house with Jack and the go bag.

He peels out of the driveway and drives to the nearest hospital with no regard for the speed limit.

When you arrived to the emergency entrance, you look at him with a panic stricken face.

“I’m scared, Aaron.”

“Don’t worry darling,” he says soothingly. “I’m going to get you some help.”

The next thing you know several people are helping you out of the car and loading you onto a stretcher. As they wheel you inside he follows closely behind with Jack asleep in his arms.

“What going on?” you plead.

“I don’t know, love but they’re going to help,” he reassures.

Just then you overhear a member of the medical staff informing Aaron that he’s not allowed any farther.

“What do you mean he can’t come with me?” You wail.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but bleeding is very serious. Both you and the baby could be in danger. We need to get you treatment now and we can’t have any family in the room.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says in a very calm and sure tone. “They’re going to take good care of you. Everything will be fine.”

“FINE? Nothing about this is fine!” you shout. “I can’t do this without you, Aaron.”

“Yes you can,” he replies, holding your hand. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You have to. Do it for her.” He says, placing his hand on your belly.

“We have to go now,” one of the nurses insist.

“Be strong for me okay?” He pleads, gaining a short tearful nod from you in response.

“I love you,” he calls out as they wheel you swiftly down the hall. Just before the stretcher is out of sight he hears your response.

“I love you more.”

——————————————————————————

Collapsing into a chair in the waiting area, mind racing with worry, Aaron does the only thing he can think of at the moment.

The phone rings, and then,

“Aaron! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon after a case,” Rossi says. “We don’t have plans today, do we?”

“No, Dave. It’s Y/N. We’re at the hospital.”

“Wow, I didn’t think she was due for a few more weeks.”

“She’s not,” Aaron explains, his voice beginning to break. “When we woke up, she was bleeding. From what I understand, it’s pretty serious. You’re the first person I thought to call.”

“Oh my God,” Rossi breathes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Should I call the rest of the team?”

“Yeah, I think that would be best. I could really use some help with Jack. He’s still asleep for now, but,” Aaron pauses for a moment, choking back tears. “I don’t know what to tell him when he wakes up,” he finishes quietly.

“Just hold on, Aaron,” Rossi replies. “We’re coming.”

——————————————————————————

Within an hour, the whole BAU team was crowding the hospital waiting room. Hugs were exchanged and Aaron had handed a still sleeping Jack off to JJ.

Everyone waited in tense silence, not knowing quite what to say.

“I’m scared out my mind, Dave,” Aaron confines to him. “I can’t lose her. I’ve been through too much already. And Jack, God it would crush him if anything happened to her.”

“I think he’s waking up,” JJ whispers.

“Dad?” He asks in a daze as he wakes. “Miss JJ? Where are we?” He questions now aware of the unfamiliar surroundings.

Coming over to squat down in front of him, Aaron does his best to explain.

“Well buddy, this morning mom got sick, so we brought her to the hospital, and the doctors are taking good care of her.”

“Is she going to be okay?” he inquires. “And my baby sister?”

“I hope so, the doctors are working really hard to make mom better okay?”

“Daddy, we should say a prayer for Mama,” Jack responds. “And my baby sister too.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Jack,” Aaron responds, as he quickly turns away to wipe a tear.

The whole group gathered closely around Jack and Aaron. Everyone took turns saying prayer for the health and well being of Y/N and her unborn daughter.

Moments after the last amen was said; just when Aaron thought he would die if he waited a moment longer, a doctor came through the doors.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

Aaron stood, bracing himself for the news.

“Is it alright if I speak in front of the group?”

“Yes, they’re family. Please, just— do you have news about my wife?”

“Sir,” the doctor continues with a look of concern. “You all may want to sit down for this.”

——————————————————————————

Tag list: @ange-must-die @agenthotchner @moonstuffsteve @poetsacademia @hotchners-slut @arganfics @ladyreapermc @rousethemouse @less-intelligent-spencerreid @tgibstan @themanip @word-scribbless @quillvine @glizzieborden @miss-united-ace @samayoshito

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

One Last Time--Right?

Pairing: Obispo ‘Bishop’ Losa x Reader

Summary: A sleepless night and an unexpected visitor. 

Rating: E; NC-17; 18+ only 

Warning/notes: look what was just “sitting” in my drafts! Some of it was sitting, some of it still had to be written. I kind of phoned in the smut ngl; based off of this dialogue prompt; language; gun violence, sort of?; blood; unprotected sex (wrap it up); sex toys; biting; excessive use of pet names, idk. I’ll have more Bishop fics in the future so if you’re not on the taglist and you want to be for those let me know. 

Word count: 1425

“Oops,” you said after flicking on the living room light, grimacing at the sight of Bishop holding his injured arm.

“You just shot me and that’s all you have to say? ‘Oops’?” Bishop demanded. He winced as he slid out of his kutte and you snapped out of your stupor as you watched his bloodied fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. You set your gun down on the side table and rushed over to him, helping him with his shirt, easing the fabric down over his injured shoulder. 

“It’s just a scratch,” you said when you saw the wound, sighing in relief and annoyance. Bishop tossed his shirt on the couch beside his kutte and you hurried into the bathroom for the first aid kit.  

“Clearly I should have taken you to the range more,” Bishop said. He was standing in the bathroom doorway in his black tank top, a line of blood running down his left arm. 

“So, you’re giving me a hard time for not killing you?” you said, looking at him like he was crazy. 

“I’m giving you a hard time for your aim, querida.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you grumbled, cleaning the long stripe of blood from his arm and holding pressure against the wound with a clean towel. The air around you felt tight as you realized how close the two of you were. Your bed had been empty for weeks, and the weeks before that had seen a cold space grow between the two of you. The idea that you could end that physical separation with just a small step forward, with the right touch, the right look, made your heart skip a beat. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” you asked. 

"You left some stuff over at my place. I was bringing it back."

"At one in the morning?" Bishop rubbed his chin with his free hand and looked at the floor. 

"I didn't wanna bother you with it," he admitted. "Figured I’d be in and out and you’d sleep right through it.” The two of you were silent as you lingered on the fact that Bishop had tried to avoid you. That if you had been asleep, the only evidence to show he’d been there would have been a bag on the living room floor full of your things. You lifted the towel to check the bleeding.

"Why are you awake?” Bishop asked as he watched you, a curious expression on his face.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You put the towel down and started cleaning and bandaging the wound, trying to ignore the feeling of Bishop’s eyes on you. His gaze had softened and you knew what would happen if you met it. Sleep had never been a problem for you, even when you were stressed or upset. For whatever reason it managed to find you just the same and Bishop knew all of that. He’d commented often on wishing he had that ability. 

“Alright,” you said, finishing up, a white bandage placed neatly over the damage. “Just call next time, I promise I won’t bite your head off or whatever you thought was going to happen.” 

Bishop stopped you as you went to tuck the first aid kit away.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked. The question hung in the air between the two of you and you struggled with the answer because there was no good one. Before Bishop showed up you had been tossing and turning, the blanket too hot, the sheets too cold, every part of you wide awake, and a familiar need growing inside you. You had been reaching for your vibrator when you heard the noise and reached for your gun instead. The truth was that without Bishop beside you, sleep was getting harder and harder to find each night. But you weren’t about to admit that.

“I don’t know,” you lied. You went to move around Bishop again but he caught you by the arm and this time you met his eyes. You wished you hadn’t because you were certain he could see everything. 

“Bullshit,” Bishop said, bringing you close, your body tight against his. His tongue passed slowly between his lips as his eyes lingered on yours. “You need me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“No,” you said, but your voice was so weak and pathetic that you scoffed and rolled your eyes at yourself. You repeated the word, firmly that time, but it didn’t matter. A corner of Bishop’s mouth was turned up in a soft smirk, eyebrows raised, his face clearly asking who you were trying to kid. Bishop caressed your cheek and you melted into his touch, eyes closing at the feel of his calloused hand on your skin. You did need Bishop, maybe just for one night. One last night and then the two of you could move on. You felt the brush of his lips and the heat of his breath, the bristle of his mustache on your skin. 

“You need me to fuck you to sleep, baby?” Bishop whispered. The only response you could manage was a whimper, the sound cut off by his lips closing around yours. The kiss was hungry, desperate, the two of you needing each other more than you were willing to admit, and Bishop pushed you against the wall, his thigh between your legs, thin panties the only barrier between your clit and the friction you so desperately needed. 

“Obispo,” you gasped as you felt his teeth leaving marks on your neck, his hand slipping under your tank top. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, eyes lust-drunk and heavy, and you pushed away every shred of common sense. You rocked your hips back and forth, moaning in Bishop’s ear at the sensation. 

“Look at you,” he said with a chuckle, “that little toy of yours not getting the job done? Need me to show you how to use it?” Bishop pulled away from you, taking your hand in his and leading you back to the bedroom. Lips locked, Bishop made quick work of your clothes and urged you back onto the rumpled bed.

“You’re fucking soaked, baby,” he said as his fingers found your warmth and you whimpered when he took them away, reaching for the top drawer of your bedside table. Bishop leaned down, lips finding yours in a slow, wet kiss and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling of the vibrator pressing against your clit. You rolled your hips, grinding against the toy.

“I want you,” you said through tight gasps, clinging to Bishop. “I wanna feel you.” 

“You gotta come for me first, sweetheart,” he said. With his free hand he held you by the chin, and you lost yourself in his warm brown eyes as your chest rose and fell with your frantic breathing. “Come for me.” Your nails dug into his skin, your body tensing up before falling apart under the wave of pleasure, and you slumped limp and heavy into the bed. Bishop tossed the vibrator aside and brought you into a tender kiss, his teeth tugging gently at your bottom lip. You reached out, hands fumbling with his belt and he smiled through the kiss. 

“Can’t get away from this dick, can you baby?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said through a breathy chuckle. Bishop tugged the black tank top over his head, tossing it to a dark corner of the room, and you ran your hands over his chest, craving his closeness, his warmth. You wrapped your legs around him, both of you moaning as he entered you, and you dropped your head back on the pillow.

“God I fucking missed you,” Bishop said, burying his face in your neck and planting wet kisses along your skin. You curled your fingers in his hair, begging him not to stop. Bishop altered his pace, snapping into you faster, his thrusts punctuated by sharp grunts and he slipped his hand between your bodies, finding your sensitive clit. It wasn’t long before another orgasm was sweeping through you, your nails raking his back as his name fell broken from your lips. Bishop’s pace faltered with his last thrust, burying himself deep inside you as he came. He slumped against you, resting his head next to yours on the pillow. The two of you stayed like that, your hand stroking the back of his neck as a calm blanketed you. You turned your head, meeting Bishop’s drowsy gaze. 

“Stay,” you whispered. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Taglist:  @massivecolorspygiant​ @chibsytelford​ @redpoodlern​ @est1887​ @yosoynicolexo @withmyteeth​

[missmonsters2]

Close to You

Edit: gif by giuliacommissions

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader/OFC

Prompt: I’ll keep you warm. Hold me closer.

Note: As we all know, Wanda Maximoff is the love of my life. A break for softness bc Between the Lines will be angsty and sad for a while 👀

Warnings: this is fucking soft™

Genre: Fluff

Count: 3453

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The world is beautiful. 

The sunlight's warmth caresses your cheek, a light wind running its breeze through your hair. The only sound you can hear is the soft music playing and a light snore. The smell of pine wafts through the air as you drive at a steady pace. There's no rush; you are exactly where you want to be. 

You hear a slight mumble to your right, and you turn over to see Wanda shifting slightly in her seat but doesn't wake. Her eyes are closed as she curls as much as she can in the passenger seat. 

Your lip curves upward gently as you turn your attention back to the road.

You think of the girl beside you. 

The world is beautiful.

And it was worth saving. 

You constantly have to remind yourself of that fact. Otherwise, you don't think you could get up anymore. 

Defeating Thanos had taken everything. 

Natasha was gone. Tony was gone. Vision was gone. Steve was not gone, but his hip would probably break if he moved the wrong way, so fighting was out of the question for the old man. 

So many people were still gone, and the world never felt so lonely. 

You lean your head against your fist towards the window, feeling more of the wind against your face and hair. Taking a deep breath in, you let it out slowly through your nose. 

Another noise beside you draws your attention back, and you find Wanda waking slowly. She's a little disgruntled, and the side of her hair has lifted and looped from her sleep. 

You bite your tongue, holding in the words that want to come out. 

Wanda is absolutely charming.

Still, Wanda turns her head to you a little too quickly, unintentionally catching your thoughts. Her cheeks dust a light rose color as she runs her fingers through her hair to straighten herself out. 

"Hey," she rasps, still groggy. Grabbing the water bottle between the two of you, she takes a long gulp, finishing with a light sigh.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you smile. Wanda looks apologetic, but you just chuckle it off. 

Wanda looks out the window, breath hitching just ever so slightly at the view. She likes that it feels like the world could go on and on forever in the car with you. The trees look lusher, the air seems crisper, and even the sky seems a little happier--if that makes sense. 

"Where are we heading today?" Wanda asks patiently.

Every few days to a week is always new, and Wanda has been on the road with you for a while. She's learned that sometimes you have a place in mind and the other times? You're just driving until you decide you like where you are.

"To Lake Cushman," you tap the steering wheel with your index finger in a slow, steady rhythm. Wanda hums as she rolls down her window too to feel the breeze on her skin. 

The rest of the drive is serene. The two of you enjoy the ride, listening to the same song over and over again.

When you get to the lake, you park the car, and Wanda goes to the trunk to help you carry things out. Wanda spends her time at the edge of the lake blowing up the inflatable boat you packed along manually. 

You smile.

It wasn't always like this. In fact, Wanda wasn't even someone you were really close with. Of course, you were a team, and you wouldn't hesitate to have her back in a battle. But Wanda used to have her own world with Vision, and that world existed far from you. 

It wasn't until the funeral that the two of you really noticed each other. 

The funeral left you with a hollow feeling. You stood with Clint and Wanda for a minute more before you turned to leave, muttering about contacting you if something happened. 

You were a traveler, always have been. Being an Avenger never changed that. 

You hugged Morgan and Pepper before you went to your car to pack things up.

"Can I come with you?"

The sudden words made you turn around. 

Wanda stood there, the rim of her eyes red from crying and also trying to hold in the tears. Her legs stood together straight, but she held her hands together in front of her tightly, revealing she was worried about you rejecting her. 

You stared at her for a long moment.

"Of course."

The first few weeks to two months of traveling was strange. You're not sure what possessed Wanda to ask you if she could tag along. You're not sure what possessed you to say yes.  

Wanda didn't talk much, still grieving just like you. That left the road trips with tons of silence. You weren't really sure of what to think about the company or her specifically. The only time Wanda had ever seemed happy was with Vision, and now he was gone. 

But still, you think you could pinpoint a certain day that things seemed to change. 

"No powers."

Wanda frowned. "Why not?"

"It's my rules when traveling. If you want to tag along, no powers unless we really need it." You stood firm with your stance. 

The two of you were on a hike, particularly a long one with a lot of inclines. Wanda wanted to float her way up--generously offering to take you as well, but you said no.

"You think showing our powers would be dangerous?" Wanda scrunches her brows together with a slight frown on her lips. 

"No," you blinked. 

"Then, why?" Wanda asks exasperatedly. 

You sigh, looking at the girl before you. "Wanda, there are times when efficiency is good. Like when our lives are at stake, or we're in a battle or a mission. Powers are wonderful when we need to save others."

You turn your head to look around the scenery. "But look around here," you tell her, your peripheral vision catching Wanda doing as she's told. "Right now, it's just you and me on a hike. The world isn't falling apart, no fight that needs to be fought, and we have absolutely no rush to be anywhere."

You turn your head back to Wanda's, catching the other girl's vibrant but confused eyes. "For people like us, we generally don't have the luxury to waste time. But if we get the chance the smell the flowers along the way, shouldn't we?"

Wanda stares at you. Blinking once, then twice. 

And then a tentative, shy smile blooms. 

"I used to hate the sky."

The comment is said so quietly you almost miss it, but it breaks you out of thought. 

You move your head further to the side, catching Wanda, who is still staring at the sky. The two of you lie on your backs on opposite edges of the inflatable boat. 

"Yeah?" You say as you move your head back to look at the sky along with Wanda. A warm leg moves and presses against yours, and you think about how wonderful it is to be able to share the same sky with Wanda. "Why?"

Wanda is silent, seemingly shocked because no one has ever asked why. So, she presses her lips together, trying to formulate her answer.

"I guess...I hated that the sky always seemed to pass by," Wanda sighs as she closes her eyes. "It was like time was passing by, and I didn't get the chance to notice it. I'd wake up when it was still dark, and by the time I was done the day, it was dark again."

At this point, Wanda can't tell if the warmth against her leg is hers or yours. All she knows is that she wants more of it. 

"I guess you don't hate it anymore?" You chuckle a little, knowing you and Wanda spend most days relaxing in the sun. 

Wanda opens her eyes, staring at the clear blue sky. The thought of how she's always learning something from you crosses her mind.

For example, if they have the luxury to enjoy the flowers along the journey, they should. 

Or oranges can be very flammable. 

But Wanda has come to realize things on her own too.

Like how life is made up of moments, and if she decides to be just a little brave, she can get the moments she wants. 

"The sky is beautiful during the day," Wanda concedes, but she bites her lip as you hum. Taking a deep breath before swallowing. Her moment of bravery comes in the form of sliding her hand across the small boat, her fingers just meeting the start of yours. "But I no longer mind when it's dark when I wake up and dark when my day ends if I am with you."

You turn your hand over, palm facing up as you curl your fingers to just hook Wanda's fingers.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You're the first to wake up from your slumber. You don't even remember falling asleep. After having enough of lounging in the boat, you took Wanda on another hike. At the very top, you packed food along with a blanket. You and Wanda sat under the shade, watching the horizon just beyond the valley with soft talks about hopes and dreams. 

There's a sadness in Wanda that you don't think will ever go away, but you watch her with slow eyes as she talks about how it would be wonderful to exist in a tiny evergreen lush island. 

Wanda has a lovely complexion with rosy cheeks as she looks at her hands, talking about an island that may only exist in her dreams. Her long lashes draw you in, and you wonder if it's terrible of you to notice such things. 

You check your watch, noticing you only slept for half an hour, and look over to Wanda, who is curled against you. She sleeps peacefully as there's still plenty of daylight out. You look up, the sun passing through the leaves and branches above you.

Wanda sniffles slightly in her sleep. You turn over to find the girl shiver just once, shuffling closer to you to seek warmth.  

As you take your jacket off to drape it over her, you wonder how and when you got pulled under Wanda's spell.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The day comes to a quiet end after dinner and sitting by the campfire. The wonderful thing about your car is that you can push the back seat down and make a little bed to rest in. 

The back is filled with pillows and blankets, and as you have your pillow propped up with your back against it, you can look out the back window of your car and into the skyline outside. 

Perhaps it's because the two of you have slept most of the day, but sleep doesn't come as easily at night. You've got your Bluetooth speaker playing music in the background to relax you. 

"I can't sleep," Wanda mumbles and sits up. You chuckle as Wanda props her pillow up, too, with a sigh. 

She rests her head back, looking through the sunroof, and gazes at the stars. 

"Do you want me to turn off the music?" You ask, but Wanda shakes her head, hair falling from her ear as she does.

"No, I probably napped too much today." 

"Our sleep schedule is going to get fucked if we keep napping during the day," you snicker. "I guess we should find more things to do during the day than a hike. I was thinking maybe we could start going into town to do things."

"Like what?" Wanda asks.

You shrug. "Go to museums, actually eat at a restaurant, watch movies in a theatre. I don't know. Anything we want to, I guess."

Wanda gnaws on her lips because all those things sound like a date, and her fingers thrum against the floor in anticipation. She looks at you, blinking while you stare back, unsure.

"I'm cold," Wanda states, leaving you in confusion.

"Oh, uh..." You stutter, feeling your body tense. "Do you want more blankets? A sweater?"

Wanda stares at you with a tilt of her head. "No."

You press your lips together, opening the blanket just a little from where you are, and offer your arms to the other girl. Wanda may be using all the courage she has, and you realize now is not the time to be dense. 

And it's worth it when Wanda can't help but smile as she scoots closer into your arms as you hold her, pulling the blanket up to her shoulder. 

There's a certain tingle on your skin. A pit in your stomach, a warmth that spreads through your chest when Wanda's body presses against yours. The way she lies against across your chest while you cradle her in your arms. The smell of cinnamon and orange blossoms permeate the air you breathe, and even though you're in the middle of nowhere, you feel like you're home. 

Wanda sighs in contentment. She likes the way you don't say anything else, and the only words that float through your mind are lyrics from the song playing in the background.

The hours pass like it's nothing, and soon, the sun rises steadily. The sky becomes a palette of colors you've seen a million times. You've seen every color of the sky. But seeing everything again with Wanda is different.

You hold Wanda tighter in your arms, becoming more daring as your fingers trail across her arm covered by her shirt. The scent of her hair flirts with you as your fingers trail up her arm until you trace her bare collarbone. The way Wanda breathes is noticeable, filling her chest as it rises and holds. 

Your hand drops and Wanda tilts her head to look up at you.

The sky is no longer just pink and orange. It's cotton candy that trickles far and wide. It's the color that reflects off of Wanda's skin, hitting her eyes, and for a moment, you think you saw a glimpse into the future. 

"Why me?"

The question holds nothing but soft wondering. Within the words, Wanda suspects you mean why did she ask to come with you that day?

Why now?

Wanda licks her bottom lip.

"Why did you say yes?" She counters back. 

You don't say anything. You try to think of an answer, but nothing comes to your head. The truth is you don't know why. You just looked at her that day, and you couldn't have pictured yourself saying no. 

Wanda shifts, looking back at the sunrise. 

"Did Stephen ever tell you there's millions and millions of realities out there?"

You sigh with a grimace, "Yes, so many times."

Wanda chuckles raspily, and you feel the vibrations against your chest. 

"It's strange, isn't it? To think so many versions of you exist out there, that every reality would be different from the one we exist in today," Wanda lifts her hand from out the blanket, holding up and letting the sunlight filter through her fingers.

You don't say anything and only listen to Wanda because this may be the most she's spoken since coming on this trip.

"I loved Vision," Wanda says finally. "I don't think I will ever find a love I had with him again."

You blink, unsure what to make of that statement. You understand it, you really do. You'll always be understanding of her grief, and yet, your tight arms around her begin to feel awkward. 

Wanda chuckles again, dropping her hand back down on your arm to keep it in place. "And that's okay."

"I have lost so much," Wanda's breath shutters for a moment. "We both have."

You swallow slowly, trying to not like the pang of pain distract you. 

"But as much as I have lost, I've always gained something. I've lost my parents, and that led to gaining powers. I've lost my home country, but I gained a family with the Avengers. I've lost Pietro, and I gained Vision. I've lost Vis," Wanda swallows, "And I gained you."

"So, when you ask why you," Wanda licks her lips, "It's because I'm no stranger to loss. Even though grief has come to my door again, I know something good when I see it. And I saw you. I saw this moment."

"This moment?" You scrunch your brows together. It's such an odd moment to see, and yet so much of Wanda's behavior over the last six months made more sense. 

Wanda sits up, turning to face you as the blanket draped over her slides down her back. Hands pressed against the ground on either side of your legs, she leans in close. You catch specks of the sky in her eyes, but this one isn't just the cotton candy that's just outside. 

You catch specks of all the beautiful lush green trees you've seen. The sea and the sand the waves push up against. You see the white sun and shy hands that inch closer until they meet. 

A hand touches your jaw, shyly sliding further until Wanda holds your cheek. 

"Are you cold?" She murmurs, feeling the lack of warmth from sitting upright the entire night. 

"Yeah," You mumble as Wanda leans closer and closer until you can feel her breath on your lips. 

"I'll keep you warm," Wanda whispers, and you feel the brush of her lips. "Hold me closer."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You know, I wish there was a way– that I could let her know. That we won." Clint looks over at Wanda. "We did it."

"She knows--they both do." The rim of Wanda's eyes is red as she looks out onto the lake. Clint gives her a side hug that she returns for a long minute.

"You know where to reach me if you need me," you mutter, turning to leave the two alone.

Wanda looks at your retreating form. You didn't shed a single tear at the funeral, but she did not blame you. She had recognized that kind of grief on herself once upon a time, and she knows it's the kind that hurts more than any crying could. 

Clint eventually bids his farewell and takes off, leaving her alone to gaze out onto the lake. 

More tears well up, and Wanda isn't sure if she should let them fall or will them to magically go back into her eyes. It seems she decided too slow, and the tears well over down her cheeks as someone comes to stand next to her. 

He takes a deep breath, holding his hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he politely passes his condolences. 

"Me too," Wanda says without breaking her view. 

It's silent for another minute.

"You know," Stephen squints as if that will let him see further. "I went through 14 million realities to see which one where we would win and only came out with one."

"If this is supposed to make me better, it's not--"

"Hear me out," Stephen cuts Wanda off. "In every reality that we manage to bring everyone back, including the one where we win, there was only one thing consistent."

Wanda laughs humorlessly. "And what's that?"

"You are grieving, yes, but," Stephen turns to face Wanda, causing her to turn to him as well. "You gain something so, so very beautiful."

Wanda's brows furrows, confused at what Stephen is trying to hint at. It isn't until he turns his attention to something that she turns too, stunned. 

It's you, slowly packing your car. 

"Strange, isn't it?" Stephen muses like he's talking to himself. "14 million realities, and every single one you return in, you gain her."

Wanda stares at you, unsure what to make of what Stephen is telling her.

"Why her?" She mumbles.

Stephen grins.

"I think you're a smart girl, Wanda," he tells her without answering her question. "I think if you let yourself, you'll see something good. You'll see her, even if you are grieving."

Stephen places his hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging squeeze before he walks away.

Wanda stands there, still looking at you while she tilts her head just to the side slightly. 

And she's not sure what happens, but she sees something in her head.

A cotton candy sky, the light barely visible. She sees pillows and blankets in the back of a car. She hears the same song playing over and over in the background. 

Wanda sees you.

She sees you in a light she's never had before, in a way she didn't think was ever possible. 

"I'm cold," you whine, and Wanda sees herself smiling as she leans closer. 

"I'll keep you warm," she sees herself bold and wanting. "Hold me closer."

[bokutoslittlebird]

Dark Nights

King!Oikawa x assassin!prisoner!reader

Author’s Note : This is the request for a prisoner reader and king Oikawa Au which is literally spiraled into a series. I am not sorry ; Everything will come to a close once the 5th installment is completed ; the request had “torture” and I didn’t realize until halfway through that torture probably wasn’t what you meant, but you’re gonna have to be more specific of what you want because I saw it and went “oh, noncon and maybe some actual hitting.” So, sorry if that’s not what you wanted.

Warnings: death of a minor character [no name OC], blood, dagger, noncon, degradation, kicking, Oikawa gets violent, Iwaizumi turns a blind eye, chains and dungeons, fingering, creampie, no aftercare, choking

Over the river and past the glen stands Fukurōdani, Kingdom in the Mountains that is under the rule of King Bokuto. The ruthless king that stands amongst his army as the bravest and strongest warrior, with his queen Kaori at his side. Deep in the castle, past the kitchen and deep in the dungeons, there sits three people. Amongst those three is a woman clad in all black, a dagger in her hand and a rag in the other, swiping away dark droplets that drip to the concrete floor. Before them, a man without a tongue.

“So, King Oikawa is looking for his bride-to-be, which is why he dared to trespass into the Dark Forest?” A rough voice speaks, his large hand tapping at his chin. His eyes pop open as a thought appears in his head, golden eyes turning to bore into yours. His smile is cunning and terrifying, but you just stare at him. “Maybe someone should see if he got what he was looking for,”

“If you’re suggesting I sneak into his castle, then say it. I don’t like puzzles and riddles, my lord,” your voice is dead, but loud enough to hear over the sharpening of your blade. “It’ll take a long time to get there and get back. Unlike your own kingdom, he has a barrier that is under watch by his loyal dogs.”

“You’re an assassin. Sneaking in is what you do,” he coos, standing from his chair. His presence is behind you, large hands settling onto your shoulders. “I ask of you to sneak into the Kingdom of Aoba Johsai and kill King Oikawa,”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit much,” your voice warbles. Killing a king is harder, much harder, than sneaking under the radar. You would know. “Killing a king isn’t easy, you know,”

“Oh, I know. I know very well, my dear,” his voice is barely audible, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “But, I can offer something if you succeed,”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. You’ll be able to fly again, my little songbird,” his lips press to your cheek, whirling you around to face him. You have to move your head to look up at him, but he’s grinning with lidded eyes. “You’re more than welcome to decline. Personally, I’d prefer it, however, I know you’re the best assassin I have,”

“Best disposable assassin. Why not send Keiji?”

“Akaashi is supposed to protect me. He can’t do that if he’s in another kingdom,”

“Fine, but only if you keep your promise. I’ll hold you to it,” you finally say, huffing as you sheath the dagger. Never one to not rise to the challenge, you turn on your heel to leave the dungeons.

The trip from Fukurōdani to Aoba Johsai would be a day on foot, but you were able to get to the base of the mountains and enter the Kingdom of Nekoma, which allowed tourists from neighboring kingdoms. There, you were able to get your hands on some rations and new clothes, disguising yourself as a beggar woman who’s traveling the continent.

Pathways lead from each kingdom to their neighbor, but you choose to duck into the forest, under the shadows of the leaves and proud standing trees. Go in too deep and you’ll arrive at the center of the Dark Forest, where the ruin of the Karasuno Kingdom lies. It’s an unspoken forbidden place, only those wishing to never leave dare to go there. Crunching dead leaves and twigs under your feet, you manage to find a clearing to stay for the night. Aoba Johsai is farther than you expected, but the reward of freedom encourages you to keep your head up and move forward. It’s not safe to travel at night, the forest is home to all sorts of beasts.

It’s dark, the birds have stopped their chirping as you rest in the tree. Above the ground, away from monsters lurking in shadows, you close your eyes to get some shuteye. A ear-piercing scream rips sleep from your grasp, head whipping to look for the sound. Below you, about 2 yards from your sleeping position, is a family of travelers that seem to be struggling to scare away a bear. Although it is simply a bear, the family doesn’t seem to be prepared for such a disturbance. Against your logic, your morals win as you take out an arrow and put it into your crossbow. It’s small, but your aim is good enough to get the bear’s attention, roaring as it backs up. Lodged in the shoulder, the bear retreats as it quiets down the roars. The traveling family seems to be relieved at the turn of events, but they then become rigid as you drop from the tree.

“We cannot thank you enough, dear comrade,” the man, most likely the father, says. He goes to get on his knees, but he looks to you. “What— how shall we pay you back?”

This could work, you think. “Where does your family travel to?”

“Seijoh, the Kingdom on the Water. Tales have spread that opportunities are booming and the King is kind and just,” he speaks, but then his words stumble. “I do not-! Kuroo-sama is very gracious! I would give my life for his-!”

“You can stop. I don’t hail from Nekoma, if that’s what you think. I’m from neither kingdom, instead just traveling the continent in search of a new life. Perhaps Seijoh would be the way to go? I originally was going to Nekoma, actually,” you spin the tale you’ve made for yourself, which relieves the man. He straightens his back, his height no more than your own. “Would you let me travel with you? I’ll make sure your travel is safe,”

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the person who saved our lives join us,” he bows once more, then turns to the carriage with his family. “Let’s move on!”

“Yes, let’s,” you agree, joining the man on the bench. He cracks the reins and the horse begins moving once more, as you watch for anything else. Travels alone are scary, but with an entire family looking about and a kind stranger by your side, you won’t have to worry. Getting some sleep is your main focus, now, closing your eyes and letting the man know you’re going to rest.

The carriage stops moving, jolting you from your sleep. Before you lies other carriages and caravans, stretched into a line that leads to a large waterfall. The forest is bright and the birds are chirping as a man barks orders at the families and people attempting to enter. You make small conversation with the family, given a cloak to cover yourself from the chill of the morning dew. When it is time to be inspected, you have to give kudos to King Oikawa and his kingdom, noticing how bright and welcoming his entrance is.

“What is your business in Aoba Johsai?” The man almost growls out. A loyal dog of Oikawa’s, from your earlier words, stands before you. His hair is yellow in color, dark lines running from ear to ear. He catches your gaze, eyes narrowing even more, then looks back to the man.

“A traveling family with hopes to start a new life. I’ve heard great and kind things about Oikawa-sama, so I wish to visit the Kingdom on the Water got opportunity,” It’s a believable reason, and then men searching the items the family has give the okay. The guardian of the waterfall steps back, a shallow nod before he barks orders to move. The waterfall is large and can easily drown someone with how hard and fast the water crashes to the earth. A diamond shelf is embedded in the water, two more soldiers standing on opposite ends as they part the water. Barely enough room for the carriage and family, but once inside, the water crashes back behind you.

Aoba Johsai is breathtaking.

The morning sun glimmers across the water, waves gently rising only to be quelled back down. Birds sing along with the fish jumping out of the water, only to then crash back into calming waters. Pathways built of crystal minerals, harvested from the mines of Dateko, and hold countless travelers who have come on news of the opportunities. Soldiers are posted at every archway, checking to make sure nobody has snuck past the soldiers at the waterfall. Security is top notch at this kingdom, you note, as neither Nekoma nor Fukurōdani have such strong protections before entering the main kingdom. The pathway continues into the main kingdom, the town on the water, where fishermen and merchants attempt to sell a fortune for items only available at their stalls. Your awe must have shown, as the man beside you laughs joyfully.

“Never seen such a sight before, have you?” You shake your head. “It’s beautiful. I wish we could’ve been born here instead. Lots of blues, whites, and greens.”

“I noticed the vast greenery. The open area allows for lots of plants to grow, I suppose. Rivers allow for fish to come and reproduce, as well as allow for aquatic plants. A beautiful cycle of life, with a magical kingdom in the center,” you comment.

“Well, no magic. Magic hasn’t been used in over 100 years, you know. Not since Karasuno’s king fell. Um, I think—“

“King Ukai. I remember the story told to me before bed when I was a wee child. The story of the fallen king and his kingdom.”

“Yes! King Ukai, I hardly remember him,” before he continues, he stops. “Ah, we’ll need to get a room at the Rose Inn, and let the horses stay here at the stables. Would you mind settling our horses in? That way you can explore, if you want, before reaching the inn,”

“That sounds lovely! Thank you, kind sir,” you bow to him and grasp the reins of the horses. The inn is right next to the stables, the grunts working to put the luggage into a room for the night. You smile, turning the horses into the stables. A large man stands posted outside the stables, talking with an older man.

“No problems this week? Seems like you’ve had a stroke of luck, good sir,” the soldier says, laughing as the old man laughs with him.

“I hope it stays that way. Oh, ma’am? Need us to keep your horses?” The man notices you and your eye drifts to the soldier, straightening his back as a lazy smirk appears on his face. Not very threatening with the smile, but his large stature makes you wary.

“Yes, my family is staying at the Rose Inn next door. How long can you keep the horses for?”

“We charge by the night. How much gold do you have?” You hand him the bag of coins the man gave you. He counts them, tallying up the total. “They can stay for five nights.”

“Perfect! Thank you! I’ll tell my father, now!” You now graciously, skipping off and past the guard. His eyes trail after you, but you keep your pace to the inn. You’ll have to explore later. That guard sets you on edge.

The inn is graciously spacious. There’s enough room for each traveler and the cost of the rooms is cheaper than most inns you’ve come across in Nekoma and Fukurōdani. There’s sapphire and quartz lights, flames flickering behind them as the light illuminates and projects farther than most candles. It’s innovative technology, and allows for the rooms to be more lit than dirty and dim taverns. Dinner is also better than expected, the menu being more than a sheet of paper. You order at the bar, ordering a plate of their special dinner, then sit at the bar. The men beside you are drunk, but you hope they don’t cause a scene. Something tells you that the security would deal with a bar fight quite brutally.

By the time dusk has fallen, lights flickering on as lower soldiers and owners of shops alight their street lamps, you’ve explored the town. It’s full of trusting people, so you’ve learned quite a bit. King Oikawa has a personal guard and the captain of the guard almost always by his side, whether he makes an announcement or visits down below. One man, Hanamaki Takahiro, seems to willing to joke and hang out with the townspeople, but the captain is much more stern. Iwaizumi Hajime is the name you were told. He’s dangerous, you gathered, and he’s almost always by Oikawa’s side, protecting his king from harm. As night falls, the soldiers rotate so the ones on the streets are now in the castle, as nobody else enters the kingdom after dusk. Disposable soldiers to patrol, skilled protectors inside and around the king where the nightfall can hide trespassers entering the king’s chambers.

Shedding the clothes you were given so graciously, you’re stripping off the clothes of the soldier posted at the inn. The blood flowing from his chest has turned to a large puddle, so you have to trade your shoes for the soldier’s. Larger than your own feet, but you must bear with it. Leaving the alley, you keep your head low and you pretend to patrol. A glance left. A glance right.

You’re stuck.

Soldiers manage to be spread far enough apart, but not enough. They can see where you stand. You breathe heavily and straighten your back. Time to impersonate a soldier through the night and wait for switching times. A brief memory of the dead soldier in the alley flashes, but you push it back. The body is hidden in shadows, even the sunlight in the morn wouldn’t dare shine on the corpse.

Chickens chirp and a rooster crows, soon the other life awake and the sun rises. Shedding light on your position, you look to the gate that leads into the castle. The captain of the guard stands there, opening the gate as soldiers stand tall behind him. You blend in with the other guards, standing straight as you all prepare to trade positions. However, a woman with hair black as night stands before the group. She has an air about her, but she looks familiar. Iwaizumi lets her go, having one of his shoulders go with her. He’s tall and familiar, the soldier from the stables. They pass by, but the woman catches your eye. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief and mystery, but then she’s gone and her soldier follows with her.

“Alright, switch up! You know your positions!” Captain Iwaizumi shouts. Everyone shouts their agreement and dutifully switch places. Eyes face forward, unwilling to look at the captain that seems to have his gaze focused on you. Every soldier goes their separate ways and you don’t seem to bring attention to where you go, entering a room that you and another guard seem to be assigned to.

“Don’t fuck this up, Wakashu,” the soldier beside you grunts. You glance at him, wondering if he’s talking to you, but he thankfully looks to be hyping himself up. Pushing the doors open, you understand why.

It’s the throne room.

King Oikawa sits on his throne as he chats with two people beside him — Hanamaki Takahiro and one of the guardians from the waterfall. Your hair stands on edge, noticing the familiar yellow hair and dark lines, but you attempt to quell your nervousness. The king notices you both, nodding as you both go to positions on either side of the doors. Gatekeepers, essentially.

“It’s sad to see Kiyo-chan leave so soon. I’d hope she would’ve stayed another night to think about her decision,” the king huffs and sighs, brown locks swishing side to side as he shakes his head. “Guess it can’t be helped,”

“She probably thought you were too much of a brat,” Hanamaki snickers. Oikawa huffs again, turning to his guard. “I speak the truth! You expect her to like someone like you? With a shitty personality?”

“Excuse me! My personality is perfect and women should be lining up to be my queen! I thought only Iwa-chan would be mean to me,” he pouts, cheeks puffed out. It’s almost a cute scene. Almost.

Which is promptly ruined.

The doors fling open, you and the other soldier startled by the sudden opening. Iwaizumi and another soldier are huffing as they stop before the throne. Oikawa’s eyes go from friendly to seriousness, his posture changing as he looks down on the captain and an underling. “Speak.”

“A soldier was found dead in the alley,” you and the other soldier immediately go on edge, but for different reasons. “This one found the body,”

Oikawa turns his attention to the soldier, who immediately goes rigid and explains the scene. He also mentions the boots found at the crime scene, which he has in his hand. Coated with dried blood, they’re obviously yours. The guard from the waterfall recognizes them and you panic.

“I’ve seen them before! Someone came into the kingdom with those shoes yesterday morning,” he growls out, then he looks to you, who doesn’t move a muscle. Moving would make a scene, so you of course stay still, but he stares. “You. What’s with the cut on your shirt?”

Shit.

In the dark of night, you didn’t notice the slash in the shirt. The darkened coloring prevented the blood from showing, but the slash showed that something happened. It’s not a cut like dodging a weapon, but more of a stab. Fight or flight response kicks in, so you choose the latter. You got your information, you didn’t kill Oikawa, but it’s better than getting caught. You swing the door open and shut it, bolting down the corridors as you shed the armor. Lighten the load, faster you run. It’s not long until the soldier from before stops you, tall and imposing. You’d remember those stupid eyebrows from anywhere.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, but his grip is strong. You have a feeling he knew you’d be running soon. Footsteps approach behind you, then you’re pulled from the soldier’s grip and forced onto your knees. Chains are placed on your wrists and Iwaizumi grunts.

“Wonder who you’re working for,” he says. Oikawa is behind him, looking at you with the same look he gave to his soldier and Iwaizumi.

“Take her to the dungeons. I’ll see who she works for later.”

The tug of the restraints gets you off your knees, following Iwaizumi and his guard dog, the yellow haired one. Both of them prevent you from running and getting free of the restraints.

In the dungeons, you notice the materials. Similar to the pathway into the town, the dungeon bars are made of a shimmering mineral and you’re suddenly behind the bars. The restraints from before are removed, but your wrists are then placed into more chains along the ground. “Try and get out and see how well that works,” the yellow one grunts. Iwaizumi snaps his fingers and the soldier follows, leaving the dungeon.

“She’ll see soon enough, Kyotani,” the captain says, locking you in. “I’m sure the fight hasn’t completely left her,”

Then they leave. You’re all alone and you’ve failed your mission, but they’re right. You still have some fight left.

Hours pass by as you finally feel the fight leave you. There’s only one guard in the dungeons, but he’s nowhere near you. A thin man with ash brown hair stands posted at the base of the stairs, farthest from your cell. At first, you thought they lacked brains with security in the dungeons, seeing as you’re the only criminal behind bars, but the chains proved otherwise. Each movement you made, every breath you took, every grunt you voiced, the chains knew. They pulled tighter as if they had minds of their own, but they would loosen to their proper place if you were still for a certain amount of time.

Footsteps on marble stairs has you and the guard on alert. Looking towards the stairs, you see the king himself coming towards you. He smirks once he’s outside your cell. Iwaizumi stands next to him, not Hanamaki, and unlocks the door. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, could we help change that?”

“No.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Oikawa grins, crooked with a hint of anger. “I’ll get to the point. Who are you, who sent you, and what was your goal? I’m sure killing one of my disposable guards wasn’t the goal?” You don’t speak, so that angers him even more. It’s quick, the stinging in your jaw and the blood in your mouth the only indications his foot collided with your face. “Once more. Who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and neither is my home. My goal was to send that stupid head off your shoulders. Happy?” Your eyes stay narrowed, but he seems delighted at your answer.

“Treason, trespassing, and murder. I should kill you for this, but I wonder where you’re from,” he then has an unhinged desire in his eyes, grin splitting into something sinister. “I’ll keep you alive until you spill,”

“I’d rather eat your shoe again. What king wears white thigh-high boots, anyways? Your guards don’t respect you, they tolerate you. A worthless king with no pride, that’s all you are. I won’t bow to someone or kneel under their pressure when they have a weak resolve and no power. Admit it, you don’t run the kingdom, your soldiers do.”

A swift kick is administered, Oikawa’s breath heaving as he pants. His face is red with anger, frown evident on his face, but you’re grinning. Blood may be dripping from your mouth, but you know you’re right. He inhales sharply, then turns to Iwaizumi. “Understood,” he nods in response, leaving the keys on the wall as he goes to leave. Iwaizumi also takes the guard posted with him. You don’t understand why, but you don’t have much time to think about that.

“I may seem like a worthless king with little to no pride, but that’s all I have. My worthless pride. My guards and soldiers respect me because I am the power here,” he growls out, hand tugging on your hair that sends you collapsing against the ground. The chains pull in your arms, keeping you down as he straddles you. “You may not bow to me, but I’ll find out who you do bow to. I’ll rip every bit of fight out of you, beginning today,”

“Get off, you pervert!” Your screams echo against marble, reaching nobody’s ears. Oikawa goes to strip away the stolen clothes, eyes narrowing as he feels the dried blood against your chest. Ripping off the shirt, he exposes your breasts.

“Maybe I should take you as my royal lover, seeing as your body is supple and warm, perfect for someone to come to after a long day of work,” he grins, wicked and perverse as he looks at you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off!” You scream, legs kicking and body squirming. He sighs and shrugs.

“No use, apparently. Then, let’s see how the rest of you feels,” he licks his lips as he shuffled down your pants. He’ll have to get you some other clothes, ones with easier access than the ones of his soldiers. The pants are off and he mocking coos at you, fingers sliding around the waistband of your panties to have them snap against your skin. “Pretty. All white and innocent, aren’t you? That’s what the panties say, but I bet you’d look better in black, since you’re probably not innocent.” He doesn’t get a response, so he continues talking. “I’ll give you some blue ones later, they’ll suit your skin tone and match the bars of your holding cell. Aren’t I generous?”

He’s pulling the fabric down, your legs spread as he does. He expects your goods to be dry, absolutely unprepared, but to his surprise, glimmering strings connect your pussy to your removed panties, falling and breaking as he continues to bare yourself to him. A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your folds. “You’re getting off on being manhandled? Seems like you’re the pervert, sweetie,” he coos, licking a hot stripe of saliva against your cheek. It’s disgusting and revolting, but you can’t say anything against it. You’ve been in a similar position before, your body seems to not be able to tell the difference between men.

Oikawa’s fingers delve into your cunt, scissoring as he feels around. Rubbing against your walls, he’s pleased when your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, only for a hand to come and cover your mouth. It’s soon removed, the chains pulling your arm back down. Oikawa continues his violation of your most sensitive area, thumb rubbing against your clit as his fingers move and rub inside you. The building knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm coming on. You can feel it, it’s almost there, a moan escaping— then it’s gone. Oikawa’s hand has been removed, tongue flicking over the wet digits as he moans himself.

“Definitely not a virgin by the way you’re acting. A proper whore, you are,” he doesn’t expect an answer, standing on his knees as he goes to unbuckle his belt. Eyes widen as you realize he’s actually going all the way, but he just smirks down at you. Removing his cock from his pants, you stare at it. It’s almost beautiful, you think, staring at the slender cock and how it seems to just compliment his personality and how he holds himself. A hand wraps around the shaft of it, pumping as his darkened gaze lingers on your spread legs. Well, what’s between them. “Hope you’re ready,”

Although you most certainly are not, he doesn’t care. Pushing his tip into your cunt, he finds it hard to push too far. You’re not relaxed in his hold, tensed at his entrance into your velvety walls. His hand comes to your throat, pushing his thumb on your windpipe. “Any words?”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, eyes rolling as he plunges inside you. Pushing past your barriers and spreading you open wide, he’s not the biggest or longest you’ve ever had, but he’s by no means small. It takes effort to adjust to his length, but he doesn’t allow it. Once he’s in, he’s pulling out only to snap his hips back to yours. Your throat is free of his hold, his hand moving to hook your leg over his arm as his other hand is placed beside you. It’s a horrible thing, finding yourself enjoying his thrusts and how each roll of his hips seem to add to your pleasure. His own moans, much louder than yours, seem to prove he’s finding his own pleasure inside you.

Oikawa’s soon picking up his pace, his lips next to your ear as you mewl from pleasure. “Acting like a proper whore. You’d make a fine lover, chained to my side permanently,” he murmurs, lips pressing to your hot skin. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has a feeling your answer is no. Yet, he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure that he’s soon slamming his hips into you even faster. When he feels his orgasm coming, he leans back and applies pressure to your clit. Your squeal of pleasure has your walls creaming around him and sucking him in. He’s not far behind, rutting his hips against you as he spills his cum inside, your walls milking him of every drop.

When the high passes, he’s removing his limp cock from your hole as his cum oozes out. It drips and plops onto the floor beneath you, but he finds it mesmerizing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll have to come back.

The shutting and locking of the doors tells you he’s gone, leaving the dungeons and you all alone. With his seed still gushing from your cunt, you have a feeling he’ll be visiting you tomorrow, too.

He wants to break you. You refuse to bend. Each night, you’ll find yourself looking forward to his company.

[writing-in-april]

Made to Match

Frankie Morales x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader can’t stop stealing Frankie’s hat.

A/N: Hey everyone- this is my sixteenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April!!!! This is just a very fluffy sweet little fic I wrote for Frankie 😌 Side note- I wanted to thank everyone for being so kind after my last post ranting about my emotional breakdown today, thank you- so much it means a lot. Feel free to leave me an anon about anything here- I love hearing from people about anything (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: Frankie gets a little frisky by gettinbf close to grabbing Reader’s ass & one or two swear words

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.5k

“You can’t keep stealing my hat!” Frankie shouted at you as you ran away from him with his hat perched on your head. All you did was giggle and scurry away faster.

You ran into your shared bedroom, looking around frantically for a quick place to hide. Realistically you knew Frankie would find you in a heartbeat, he had been trained to track stealthier people throughout his career. You were definitely no challenge considering you couldn’t even keep your mouth shut and stop laughing.

It was funny to see him pretend to get mad each time you’d pluck it off of his head, even though the look in his eyes showed how much he liked it.

The quickest place to hide was in the closet you both shared, choosing to hide in between both of your racks of hanging clothes. You posited that he might not check here, both of you preferred wearing the more casual clothes folded neatly in the dresser. The only thing Frankie regularly wore that was in here was a few of his nice flannels that he didn’t want getting creases in. He was never in here, so he wouldn’t think to check here

It was quiet, definitely too quiet. You bit your lip while holding your breath, afraid that he might somehow hear you. The silence was tense, your mind over analyzing every small noise you heard.

A small creak from the floorboards made you tense up even more, you were sure Frankie was close. That was soon after confirmed to you by a loud shout to scare you out of your hiding place, “Boo!”

Even though you had known he was close you still couldn’t help but let out a short scream, adrenaline now coursing through your veins as a result of being startled. Your shout dissolved back into laughter that infected the room once your mind fully processed that it was only Frankie. He pulled you out from the rack with a gentle grip on your wrist, starting to tickle your sides as soon as you emerged. The sounds of each other's laughter were addicting to both you and Frankie. You did have to eventually beg when tears came to your eyes, “I yield! You can have your hat back!”

He popped it off your head, plopping it back down where it belonged on his head. You draw your lips into the biggest pout you could manage, though you weren’t actually upset of course. It was fun to pull Frankie’s leg even if he knew you were pretending right off the bat.

“But- I look the best in it.” Frankie’s look on his face told you that your fake pout and dramatic words weren't swaying him at all.

“I don’t disagree with you. But, it’s still mine,” He teased, “Besides, mine is too big on you, you need one that fits better.”

—-

Frankie’s passing comment about getting you a baseball cap for yourself hadn’t stuck with you for very long, certainly not 2 months after. You had stolen his hat many times since then, it was too fun not too.

It was the furthest thing from your mind as you filled out some meaningless paperwork at your kitchen table. You were getting bored to tears, filling in blanks that basically just repeated the same information over and over again until you reached the end. You audibly sighed in relief when Frankie came in through the front door, back from work for the evening.

He set down his truck keys on the kitchen table, carefully avoiding revealing something he obviously was holding behind his back. He hadn’t said anything to you yet besides a simple greeting and telling you he missed you. Instead, deciding to stand, patiently waiting for you to finish what you were doing.

“What are you doing?” You questioned not bothering to finish the paperwork for now, standing up as he rocked back on his heels .

“I- Umm have something for you…” He pushed a package in your hand that he had been hiding behind his back after his admission. When he handed you his pocket knife to open the package you tore into it, carefully of course, in case it was something fragile. In the box held a hat, one that looked suspiciously similar to the one sat on his head. You pulled it out of the box, inspecting it in your hands, realizing it was an exact match for his.

“You got this for me?” You squeaked and he nodded in return, while you flipped it over in your hands, looking at every inch. It had a similar patch on the front that had the same ‘Standard Heating & Oil’ on the front. At first looking at it you thought he might have gotten it custom made for you, until you realized it was well loved just as his was. Well, maybe not as much considering Frankie’s hat had fallen apart at the seams until you had fixed it with some new stitching. It must have taken a while to track down a real one with the exact same logo as his. Your curiosity was peaked so you asked, “Where did you get this?”

He shifted his eyes back and forth, getting a little nervous that you might not like it. He did eventually find the words to tell you, “I was looking on um- EBay for one and then I happened to find one at a thrift store while looking for new flannels.”

“I- I love it, thank you so much baby.” You gasped in excitement and leaned forward to press a kiss to his burning cheeks. Something about it being made at a similar time as his made it all the more special, glad that Frankie was blessed with serendipity.

Frankie then shyly asked, “Can I put it on you?”

Almost immediately you answered, “Yes!” Frankie still looked rather bashful at your response, tugging his own cap down before grabbing your new one. Something about you being excited for his little gifts always seemed to make him extremely bashful, like he felt he didn’t deserve your praise. You made it your mission to change that each time he added to the list of little things that made you love him even more.

“This one will fit better on you than mine.” Your eyes went soft, the gesture so sweet that you suddenly wanted to cry for some reason. Frankie was always a very sweet man, each time he did something like this your heart melted into a puddle on the floor no matter how many times he’s done it.

He takes the bill of your new hat and places it on your head, swatting your hands away when you move to push it down so he could do it himself. The hat fits perfectly on your head, almost so perfect that you wouldn’t be surprised if Frankie had measured your head while you were sleeping and adjusted it accordingly. He tapped the top of the bill once while looking down at you with his own hat snug on his head making you giggle.

Moving his hands again to now smooth over the tops of your shoulders he inspected the fit of it with a smile. “It looks perfect- you look perfect.”

Bringing your lips to Frankie’s you then gave him a soft kiss while cupping his scratchy cheeks. It was slightly awkward to maneuver the bills of your caps to be able to have your lips meet properly, the corners of Frankie’s eyes crinkling in amusement as you huffed trying to adjust your mouth on his. You did eventually find the perfect angle to tilt both of your heads without bonking the curved bills together.

Sighing into the kiss, Frankie reciprocated, deepening it a little bit more. His hands were always wandering, trailing down from your shoulders to the small of your back, low enough that he was almost grabbing your ass. You couldn’t seem to stop giggling, something that Frankie loved, even while kissing.

“What are you doing?” You repeated your question from earlier, much more teasingly this time while his hand travelled down further.

“Nothing…” The way the pitch in his voice rose you could tell that was a lie. You quirked your eyebrow up at him in question, silently calling him a liar. He withered underneath your gaze and admitted, “Alright- maybe it’s something but, you just look so good in your hat.”

Teasing him was almost too easy sometimes, you could get him to be flustered with just a few simple words or even none at all, “Mmmm alright I’ll let it go, I do like this hat on me too. Thanks again for getting it for me baby.”

You both kept standing in your embrace like time had stopped ticking by, just enjoying the presence of the other. The hat was an amazing present from Frankie, matching perfectly with him. But, you weren’t going to lie, you'd miss stealing his hat so he would chase you around the house. You brought your head out from where it was tucked in his shoulder to ask, “Can I still steal yours sometimes?”

“Of course, but only if you let me steal yours.” You nodded your head, with a smile of course because there was almost never a time when you didn’t smile when you were around Frankie. Now you and Frankie would always match, like two peas in a pod.

Ask Me Anything

——

Tag lists (fill out this form to join): Strike through means tumblr won’t let me tag you (check your tumblr settings to see if you are unsearchable)

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @boxofsparklingmuses @multixfandomwriter @takeyourleap-of-faith

All Pedro Pascal Characters: (no ones on this one yet 😊 & I’ll create a tag list only for Frankie if anybody wants it)

[buckysgoldenheart]

Just Something: Henry x Reader

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: You’re very cautious about relationships and don’t typically have them. Henry made you want to try, but you still struggle to keep your past from affecting your future with him. P.S. Henry is super supportive and caring.

Warnings/notes: Bits of smut. Fluff (ends fluffy). Emotional distress. Mention of past negative relationships. Anxiety. Cursing.

I tried to proofread this, but, like, i suck at it, sooooo....like I said, I tried :)

Words: 1675

As always, comments are appreciated 😊

You hadn’t moved since he started making you dinner. A mix of your favorite foods, because he was so damn happy, and he would do anything to make you as happy as you made him. It had been the same every night for the past few weeks. He’d been as sweet as toffee, and you were starting to get a stomach ache despite your best efforts to stave it off. You didn’t want to be sick; you weren’t supposed to be sick. But you’d never been overwhelmed with another’s affection before.

“So, I was thinking,” Henry called from the kitchen as you sat on the couch, staring at the wall. He popped his head around the corner. “Instead of renting, we should just buy a small place, you know, so we have somewhere to call home every time we’re back in London.”

You didn’t respond, not on purpose. It was like his words had smashed up against an invisible barrier surrounding your body and shattered to the ground before they could reach you. You instead tried to recall the name of the shade of white you had chosen for your walls all those years ago. Eggshell, you had decided. Must’ve been Eggshell. Though it could’ve been something stupid, like Dove-Feather White. You were in a different state of mind when you first rented your apartment; Frilly things and cutesy names brought unexpected smiles to your face. Comparing shades of a color that were really exactly the same no matter what lighting you viewed them under was something you needed before Henry was in your life.

Now you didn’t care, not really. He inched his way into making himself more important than wall paint or any decorative things alike. Back then, you couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that he brought this change. When men mistreated you, you threw yourself into anything you could, and when you moved four years ago, you decided to focus on making a new space your own; whatever that meant. Spending a week choosing the stupid shade of white was therapeutic after you had just escaped another man. Then you met Henry.

Henry is different. Henry is different. Henry is different, you used to say over and over in your head, all the while wondering when he was going to do or say some random, unforeseen thing that neither of you could know might send you reeling. You figured it would happen eventually, you just didn’t know when. But then it didn’t.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at his voice. In your daze, you failed to notice him sneak his way beside you. When you looked at up him, he was already watching you, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Baby, did you hear me?” He asked as he ran his hand down your hair.

“What?”

He crouched down in front of you and placed his palms on your knees. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Um,” You blinked hard to bring yourself back from the underside of reality. “Sorry, what did you say a minute ago?”

“Just that I want to buy a place in London for us.”

“Us?” Us. Not a word you were used to. Before him, it was always me’s vs you’s.

Henry chuckled. “That was the idea, yes.”

“Why?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, but you knew the answer.

“Wha…What do you mean ‘why’?” He cocked his head. “I love you. We leave for there in a few days. It’d be nice to have a home to return to after a long day of filming, and I want that home to have you in it.”

You nodded, and kept nodding, more to yourself than in response to what he said. This thing between you and him was meant to last the totality of a single night and yet, somehow, he had made it a little too easy for you to want him longer. But at the time, longer didn’t mean forever, not to you. To Henry, though, allowing him to break down some of your walls gave him the freedom to imagine a future you weren’t sure you could promise. You wished you could promise him the world, but he didn’t want the world. He just wanted you. And maybe that was worse. Maybe that was harder to give.

“You, me, and Kal.” He smiled.

You stared at how his lips parted, how just enough teeth showed. Did he know what that smile did to you? Did he know it was one of the things that tricked you into craving him? Your heart fluttered inside you, but when your expression didn’t change, his face fell.

“You’re panicking,” He said.

“Henry—”

“I can see it all over you, baby. Is it too quick? I know we finally made things exclusive between the two of us, and that was a big step, but if this is too soon then we don’t have to get a house now. I want us to live together, but you have to want it too.”

He was perfect and, in a way, you hated it. You hated that he was so understanding and gentle to the point where your insecure mind questioned his sincerity. You hated that he made your stomach and heart and bones melt to goo when you’d spent so many years working to build yourself sturdy. But, fuck, you loved him. Sometimes, you hated that too. Everything is easier when you don’t love someone.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He continued. “I’m being selfish. You agreed to be mine a month ago and I’m already trying to—”

“It’s not that,” You said. But maybe it was. You weren’t sure.

You were so scared to break him. You were scared to break yourself again. The deeper your relationship went, the more it felt like a pane of glass rising to the sky. With each day you loved him, each step you took towards him, that pane rose. But the higher it got, you realized if this thing between you fell apart, the more shards there would be when that glass hit the ground; too many shards for the sheet to ever be put back together again.

The most horrible part of everything was that you wanted it. You wanted him and his love and Kal and the house, and you still couldn’t stop yourself from worrying and—

His warm mouth was on yours and you had no idea when that happened. He’d tilted your face up and his lips gently caressed your own, bringing you back. He always brought you back to the surface when you couldn’t do it yourself.

“Come on, baby,” He whispered against your lips, his hands dragging from your shoulders to intertwine your fingers. He pulled you up from the couch with kisses and nibbles on your neck that had you moaning. “I love the feel your pulse against my lips,” He groaned. “I love that I make it go faster.”

“Henry,” You softly cried.

He licked a small stripe along your collar bone then sucked at the skin. “Bedtime,” He hummed, and it made your entire body shiver.

“Dinner?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He leaned back to look in your eyes and waited for you to nod. When you did, he smiled and touched your cheek, then walked you to your bedroom.

Slowly, he pushed you back on the bed until your head hit the plush pillow he’d bought when he learned you were having sleeping problems, then he undid the button of your jeans and slipped them off with your underwear. You yanked your shirt off and he undressed, and as you tossed your bra to the floor, he crawled on top of you.

“You love me?” He asked, pecking your lips.

You wound your fingers in his hair, and his breath hitched. “You ask every day,” You said.

“Every day I need to know. I want to make sure I’m not forcing something.”

You sighed as he placed a kiss on your chin, then jaw, then forehead. “I should tell you myself without you needing to ask.”

He shook his head and said, “It’s hard for you. So, I will ask and pray you say ‘yes’ until you feel like you can say it on your own.”

For the first time in the night, you kissed him before he could kiss you. “I do love you.”

“And I love you,” He told you, as he had a thousand times before. He slid his hard cock inside of you before the emotional wave of his words drowned you fully. His gasp mixed pleasantly with your own. “God, I really love you.”

Whimpers escaped your throat as he pulled out and shoved himself back into you again and again until he was the only thing you could feel. His cock as he stretched your walls, the skin on his back trapped under your fingernails, his hot breath on your neck. All of it consumed you.

There were days, when your brain would convince you of the worst and you found yourself unintentionally keeping Henry outside of your bubble, your personal and safe space where no one could completely reach you. But, God, when you let Henry inside that space…when that bubble became both of your bubble, it was the best damn thing the world had ever or could ever give you. It was the best damn thing you could give yourself.

You wrapped your legs tight around his hips as he came, and the feeling of him spilling inside you sent you over the edge with a sob that he smothered when he kissed you. Your chests rose and fell in sync, then he flipped your bodies over until you were splayed on top of him. You lazily kissed patches of his skin from his pecks, to his shoulders and neck.

“I want the house.” You whispered.

His hands were on either side of your face in the same breath and his eyes searched yours. He smiled when you gave no hint of uncertainty. “Yea?”

“Yea.”

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

Tags: @dugan365​ @moonlightimagination​ @pietrotheavenger​ @marvel-fanfiction​ @hawkeyeharrington​ @dani-si​ @wintersoldier98​ @then-there-was-me-emily​ @prxttybirdz​ @xceafh​ @jazzwoman897​ @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999​ @ufffg​ @debra77​ @rebelliouscat​ @anise-d-castle6​ @projectxhappiness​ @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​ @lowkeysebby​ @notmyfault404​ @jjamesbbarness​ @guera31​ @sophiatomlinson23​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @hiddles-rose​ @mywinterwolf​ @picapicapicassobaby​ @genius2050​ @lokilvrr​ @sunshine-seven @missjayi @agniavateira​ @tumblnewby @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ 

[asterroidd]

levi’s delivery service

↬  College AU

↬  Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

↬  Word count: 1.3k

↬  Synopsis: As one sleep deprived college student amidst finals week, you never anticipated that your crush would be outside of your apartment at 2 am with cheese pizza.

   Awake but at what cost?

   Your tired eyes scanned your notes once again, hands gripping your hair in frustration as you found yourself having difficulty in understanding the lesson. It had been a couple of minutes already ever since you are stuck on that one page of your textbook, thoughts scrambled and information hardly processed. Oh, how much you wanted to just throw the damn book across the room and jump onto the sweet embrace of your bed. Alas, you can’t since you need to have a passing grade for the course.

   It was that time of the semester that every college student that exists fears.

   Finals week.

   It was the last push of caffeinated-driven system to freedom. The last battle that would decide if one would retake the course once again, or beg the professor for extra credits. And here you are between the fine line of death and life. It’s not that your grades are bad (it was the opposite rather), you have above average ones if you do say so yourself.

   However, there is a slope of adversity that you had experienced that may ultimately cost you getting a passing grade. You just had to fail the surprise test that your asshole of a professor had suddenly given amidst a fit (one of your coursemates was too loud). What’s worse is that he made it to be a huge percentage of the final grade. Now, you have to rely on the finals exam—which is about forty percent worth—to at least get a passing grade.

   So for the umpteenth time of the week, you are pulling an all-nighter just to review for the exams. You can’t afford to fail a course this semester or you’ll be drowning in student debt in no time. It didn’t even helped that your chosen degree is quite challenging. Bah, who are you even kidding? 

    It was the definition of hell.

   “I fucking hate my life,” you groaned, closing the textbook all together and slumping against the chair. That one concept. That one lesson that despite how many times you have read (and searched online for other interpretations), you still can’t seem to understand or grasp it.

   Your body was giving up, literally, with constant throbbing headaches, back pain that for sure hurts far worse that an old person’s, eyes bloodshot red after staring at the laptop screen for far too long with no rest. Not to mention the pit of anxiety settling on the bottom of your stomach, threatening bile to come up your throat.

   Ah yes, the average night of a college student.

   You still have exactly four days before the examination, maybe you could rest for a couple of hours. That said, when was the last time you ate?

   As if on cue, your stomach grumbled. You blinked, recalling the events of your day in attempts to remember the last time you had a meal. You started the day off by opening the textbooks and notes, suppose you had a cup of ramen at that time and a toast. Then, you headed out for a quick trip to the library to pick up a few books that would help you. After that, you practically had your nose deep in the pages of your textbook in the comforts of your apartment. Oh, that explains why you were famished.

   “Fuck it. I’m hungry,” you grabbed your phone, scrolling down your contacts list to call the local pizza place. You sure damn well deserve a whole twelve inch cheese pizza all to yourself after all of that hard work, and maybe a breadstick or two on the side as well as a bottle of soda. It may in be the wee hours of the morning, but a hungry stomach should not be ignored.

   “Yes, that’s all. Thank you,” you then hung up, not even bothering to hear the other side of the line. Too sleep-deprived that you probably can’t muster up all of your energy to be cheerful. Your grasp with reality practically left you already. You swore, after the week is over, you would cage yourself in your apartment to watch the hell out of Netflix.

   A little bit more. Just a few days more before freedom.

   Now that your mind had officially drifted off the academic texts and onto the savory smell of food that would arrive at your doorstep at any moment, you doubt that you could focus again anytime soon. So with a final huff, you shut your laptop close as well as notebooks, never bothering to reorganize them into neat stacks since you knew you would be scrambling through them later on.

   Your body screamed in joy once it hit the soft cushions of your bed, back sore after hours of being in a horrible sitting position. You pursed your lips, it would take an estimation of thirty minutes before your order would arrive, so maybe a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. Without a second thought, you let your eyes close shut, letting it rest after hours upon hours of strain after looking at your laptop screen. Soon enough, you welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep.

   Though, it only felt like you were asleep for a few seconds.

   Your eyes shot open, startled by the banging on the door of your apartment. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself off of the bed and trudged towards the door, fumbling through your wallet to get the exact amount of money as well as a few for a tip.

   The knocking on the wooden door did not cease. In fact, it got even worse. The delivery personnel practically hammering their fists against it.

   “I’m here. Geez, can’t you wait a litt-” you spat, ready to give them a piece of your mind but halted as you soon realized who it was. There stood before you in his workplace uniform, Levi Ackerman, your long-time friend and perhaps crush. Both of you knew each other since high school, being practically neighbors after his family moved in to your neighborhood. After that, you and he would be walking to and from school side by side, quite convenient at that matter.

   “Levi? What are you doing here?” you exclaimed.

   “I fucking hate you,” he grumbled. “I waited outside in the freezing cold for twenty minutes already.” He then shoved the pizza box to you quite harshly. You stared at him with mouth hanging open, too shocked to argue with him for his rude response. What the hell is he doing?

   Levi sighed after seeing your reaction, “Don’t ask. Just a part time job. I needed cash.”

   “Shouldn’t you be studying?” you rose a brow at him.

   “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

   “Touché.”

    His steel gray eyes watched you as you placed the pizza box on the table close by. Levi took note of the dark bags forming under your eyes, the disheveled look that you have, and the stench of cheap cup ramen noodles that radiated from you that made his nose scrunch. He knew that a plethora of students have a hard time during finals week, but he never anticipated you would also be affected by it. You had above-average grades during high school years, after all. Levi, in a million years, would never expect that you would be ordering pizza at two am in the morning.

   Looks like college can change a student in some ways or another.

   “Here you go, buster.” you uttered, tired eyes following Levi’s hands as he took the money from you.

   “You look like shit,” he commented, stuffing the cash deep inside his pockets.

   “Thanks. Haven’t sleep for three days straight,” you fought back a yawn. “Wanna head on inside for some pizza?”

   Levi shook his head, “No thanks. Still on shift for the next hour or so.”

   Then to your surprise, Levi rested his palm on top of your head, patting it lightly then ruffling your hair.

   “Good luck on the exams. I’ll treat you to anything you want after,” he spoke, the tips of his lips curving lightly. Then he disappear into the night, leaving you in a shocked state after what he did. You let a smile appear on your face, cheeks hot after his own subtle way of asking you out.

   Levi’s delivery service isn’t bad after all.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Long Way Home

Chapter Eight: The Plane Ride from Hell

AN: This week flew by so fast that I almost forgot to post this chapter today.

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @iloveeverything-09​, @eiferundruhe​, @greatscott--wrongdecade​

Chapter Nine: Nighttime & Morning Chats

As day turned to night, darkness had swept throughout the sky and no one really felt like sleeping. But I'd be damned if I didn't try.

I had moved to a table at the front of the plane in the aisle opposite of Charles who was sitting on his own. Logan remained in the back and was reading and drinking of course. I sat silently in the window seat with my head leaned against the wall, my eyes were closed as my mind was full and busy. My arms were folded against my chest to preserve the little warmth I had.

Suddenly, I felt a soft material gently cover my body, it was a blanket and it instantly made me feel better. Familiar hands grazed my arms as they tucked the blanket around me, an unintentional smile reached my lips from Charles' gesture. A breathless laugh left his lips at my reaction, his finger softly stroking my cheek up and down.

"There's the Charles I fell in love with," I thought.

Abruptly, I felt him snatch his finger away from my face and a tinge of sadness hit me from Charles, he must've of remembered the state of our broken relationship. I felt his gaze linger on me before I heard him shuffle back over to his seat, opening my eyes I watched Charles through the reflection of the window. Erik walked over to him and placed down a chessboard with the brown and black figures already set in their respective positions.

"Fancy a game? It's been awhile," Erik said to him.

My lips quirked up slightly at what he was doing, it was a peace offering from what happened earlier.

"Kudos to you Erik," I thought.

"I'm not in the mood for games, thank you," Charles sipped from his glass of whiskey, turning his head away from his friend to stare outside the window.

Erik reached over and picked up his own glass and poured himself some of the dark amber liquid.

"I haven't had a real sip in ten years," Erik noted, perching himself on my table as he took a swig of the alcohol. His eyes closed as he savored the expensive drink. He placed it down looking at Charles. "I didn't kill the president," Erik stated, it took everything in me not let out a gasp.

"The bullet curved, Erik," Charles argued.

"Because I was trying to save him," Erik countered, defending himself. "They took me out before I could," he explained. "I would say ask our resident human lie detector if I'm lying, but she's sound asleep," Erik commented, looking over his shoulder at me as I simultaneously closed my eyes.

"Why would you try and save him?"

"Because he was one of us," Erik answered, turning back to face Charles and I reopened my eyes.

Charles' face softened, letting out a scoff as he stared at him in shock, "You must think me so foolish," he murmured. "We've always said they would come after us," Charles remembered, shaking his head.

"I never imagined they'd use Raven's DNA to do it," Erik admitted, looking down to the floor, ashamed.

The two of them were angry at each other, I could feel it. But they were talking so softly you would have never guessed it.

"When did you last see her?" Charles asked curiously.

Erik clicked his tongue and rose from the table to sit in the seat across from Charles, "The day I left Dallas," he answered.

"And how was she?"

"Strong. Driven. Loyal..." Erik started, listing adjectives.

"How...How was she?" Charles repeated closing his eyes.

"She was...We were-" Erik couldn't find the words to say the right thing. "I could see why she meant so much to you. You should be proud of her, Charles," he commented with a smile. "She's out there fighting for our cause,"

"Your cause," Charles corrected. "The girl I raised, she was not capable of killing," he reminded.

"You didn't raise her, you grew up with her. She couldn't stay a little girl forever, that's why she left,"

"She left because you got inside her head," Charles said slowly, leaning forward over the table.

Erik smiled slightly, then shook his head, "That's not my power." Erik quipped, defending his position while looking at Charles. "She made a choice," he added.

Charles nodded and stared back at him, he knew Erik said the truth and for once he was right and there was no disagreeing with that.

"But now we know where that choice leads, don't we? She's going to murder Trask, they're going to capture her, and then they're going to wipe us out," Charles said, almost in a whisper.

"Not if we get to her first. Not if we change history tomorrow," Erik paused, looking into his old friend's eyes. "I'm sorry, Charles," he finally admitted, his voice taking a much more gentle tone. "For what happened. I truly am,"

I knew Erik wasn't talking about Cuba, I could feel it very clearly that he had no remorse for what had happened with Shaw or turning the missiles on the humans. The only exception to his remorselessness was curving the bullet into Charles' spine. Charles closed his eyes and sat back in his seat, pursing his lips together and shaking his head. He clearly didn't receive the apology as well as I thought he would before downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass.

"It's been awhile since I've played," Charles started, clearing his throat.

"I'll go easy on you," Erik teased before he picked up his own drink. "Might finally be a fair fight," he took a drink and Charles almost smiled, but it was gone just as fast as it came.

"You have the first move,"

Erik looked down and moved the first piece with his magnetism and looked up at his old friend for his move. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence and I started to feel my eyes finally become heavy.

"It's amazing isn't it? A decade has passed, and she still looks the same." Erik stated, causing my eyes to snap open. "Seeing Claudia yesterday, I almost thought I went back in time," he laughed lightly.

"Well Claudia may look the same, but she's different now," Charles pointed out. "She is harsher, more closed off," he commented, as I felt two pairs of eyes on my back.

"Sounds like the Claudia we met in 1962," Erik chuckled, shaking his head. "She's always had a sharp tongue," he recalled, before making his move.

"Yes, but...I don't remember it being so venomous," Charles responded, bringing his eyes back to the game in front of him.

What happened between you and Claudia?" Erik questioned softly, Charles looked at him and shrugged.

"I drove her way, I was quite the miserable person to be around," Charles explained honestly. "I said terrible things to Claudia, I honestly don't know how she stayed as long as she did," he added, running a hand through his hair.

Erik looked at him, "I envied you for a long time because of Claudia," he confessed. "I was angry that she didn't come with me after all the moments we shared together at the mansion," Erik continued, making Charles flinch slightly, I could tell he didn't really feel comfortable talking about this with Erik. "But she made the right choice in the end, God knows what might've happened to her if she followed me." Erik finished, and took a sip off his drink.

Charles shook his head, "I just don't understand how Claudia forgave you so easily," he said, knitting his brows together.

Erik laughed breathlessly, "The stinging smack she gave me earlier would say otherwise," he stated, placing his glass down. "Can't say that I didn't deserve it though," Erik shrugged. "I don't think Claudia has forgiven me," he disagreed, now shaking his head as well. "But Charles, I'm also not the man who broke her heart," he pointed out.

~~~x~~~

My eyes fluttered opened from a surprisingly good night's rest, looking out the airplane window I noticed it was still dark. It must of been early the morning. I shifted myself in my seat, stretching my arms to the side as I did so before rising my feet. Carefully, I grabbed my suitcase from the overhead compartment and placed it on the table, grabbing everything that I needed before sliding it back into the cupboard. I walked to the small bathroom with a fresh set of clothes on my arm and quietly closed the door behind me.

I slipped on my tan wide flare pants and red sleeveless top before focusing on my hair. Turning on the sink faucet, I wet my hair and combed it back to a low bun. I leave from the bathroom and make my way back to my seat and began setting up my makeshift vanity area. With everything neatly laid out in front of me, I reached my hand out and plucked my eye shadow palette and brush from the table and began my work.

The low of the plane engine was the only thing that could be heard throughout the cabin as I gently moved the brush over my eyelids. Once I was done I picked up a cotton ball and dabbed a bit of makeup remover on the cotton before carefully applying it to my face to remove the excess eye shadow. As I concentrated on my task I suddenly felt a presence near me, but unless they were going to say something I was going to keep working on my makeup.

"I know you weren't asleep last night," Erik stated, as I unscrewed the cap to my mascara.

Momentarily, I didn't speak as I curled my eyelashes carefully, creating the perfect shape I was looking for.

"I don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about," I replied, not looking up at him, my gaze intent on the small portable mirror in front of me.

My brown eyes were highlighted by the charcoal grey eye shadow I just put on, bringing out the warmth in my irises.

"Don't play dumb Claudia, it doesn't suit you," Erik commented.

Realizing that Erik wasn't budging from his spot next to me, I looked away from my reflection, my eyes glancing up at him to see that he was looming over me like a tower.

"You're right," I agreed, shrugging my shoulders. "I was awake last night," I admitted. "You've caught me," I said sarcastically, raising my hands in mock surrender.

I turned my head back to my mirror and grabbed my eyeliner, lifting it to begin tracing the edges of my eye.

Erik shook his head, "Is that all you're going to say?" he questioned, taking a seat across from me.

I paused in my movement, "What did you want me to say?" I asked back, in utter confusion. "Did you want me to play cat and mouse?" I guessed, letting out a chuckle as I drew the eyeliner pencil across my eyelid, carefully forming a sharp point at the corner of my eye.

"That's what you usually do isn't it? Erik questioned, with a wry grin.

Ignoring him, I picked up my lipstick to the right of me and pulled the cap off before twisting the bottom of it to push the stick up higher. I looked back into the mirror and started carefully applying the nude lipstick

"Erik, what do you want?" I asked bluntly, before rubbing my lips together.

"I want to apologize," Erik answered, and I paused in my movements. "For yesterday," he added. "You're right, I don't know what you went through," Erik conceded, his eyes shining with sincerity.

I looked to the man in front of me, "Erik Lehnsherr apologizing?" I questioned, lifting my eyebrow. "Why a lightning bolt might strike us down right now," I joked, packing away my makeup kit and brushes. A pulse of slight irritation struck me, causing me to stop what I was doing. "Apology accepted Erik," I stated, looking at him and continuing what I was doing. "Now was that all you wanted to talk about?" I inquired, inspecting one of my brushes.

"Can I not just speak to an old friend?" Erik asked, slightly tilting his head.

A light laugh erupted from me, "It's been a decade since we last seen or spoken to each other and you still call me a friend? " I stated, propping my elbows up on the table and resting my head on top of my hands.

"We can hardly call ourselves strangers. You and I, we know to much about each other," Erik quipped, a smile tugging on his lips.

I breathed out a chuckle, "Alright, so speak," I instructed, jutting my chin out.

"Seeing you yesterday...it made me think about our time together at the mansion," Erik began, a faint smile on his lips. "And it reminded me what bothered me the most about you," he stated.

"That I was a smartass?" I guessed, raising a brow.

"You still are," Erik pointed out, and I grinned. "It was that you were scared of what you are capable of,” he recalled, shaking his head. "And here we are a decade later and you are in complete control of your abilities, and unafraid to use them to their fullest extent," Erik observed.

My smile slightly vanished and I looked over my shoulder to see Charles' sleeping form, thinking back to what he said yesterday.

I returned my gaze toward Erik, "Much to Charles' displeasure," I commented, slightly chuckling.

"After you left Charles, where did you go? What did you do?" Erik asked. "If you don't mind me asking?" he added quickly.

"To be honest, I was slightly lost after I left him," I admitted, lifting my head off my hands so I could rub my arms. "Charles, he was supposed to be different than the men I had known," I sighed, closing my eyes briefly. "I poured my heart into that relationship, just for it to end like all my past ones," I stated, a humorless chuckle escaping my lips.

Erik stared at me with something akin to pity, "Claudia I'm-" he started.

Lazily, I waved my hand, "Please, don't pity me, Erik," I stated, shaking my head. "When I left Charles...I don't know something...something just snapped within me and I stopped caring," I explained, my eyes moving downward to the table. "I remember how Charles would always stress on how I should use my abilities responsibly, but to hell with him," I continued, glancing up at Erik again. "The world has never been kind to me, I didn't owe them anything," I said, slightly shrugging my shoulders.

"So, what did you do?"

"I traveled the world like I always wanted to do," I answered, a smile forming as I thought back to those days. "Each country I visited I had a new identity, a new look. I had all sorts of fun with my abilities in Europe now that I was uninhibited, it was even better when I met fellow mutants who liked causing mischief," I laughed softly, remembering when I was in Barcelona with a group of mutants and I convinced some rich man to take us on a night out in the city to the most expensive places, of course it was on his dime.

"I'm assuming you enjoyed yourself?" Erik questioned, with a knowing look.

I reached both of my hands out for Erik to take. He glanced down at them before looking up back at me and I gave him a nod. Softly, he placed his hands in mine and I looked at him.

"Erik," I began, an airy laugh escaping me. "I'd never felt freer in my life," I confessed, smiling brightly. "It was everything you wanted for me, to not limit myself. I have learned so much more about my abilities," I stated, still smiling.

"You finally decided to listen to my advice?" Erik asked, grinning himself.

"I'll admit, there were some wisdom to your words," I chuckled, nodding my head. "It just took some time for me to see it,” I stated, slightly shrugging.

"I truly just wanted the best for you Claudia," Erik said softly, squeezing my hands gently.

"I know, I see that now," I replied, nodding my head understandingly. "But you have to realize that I was going to be wary, I've heard the same sentiment before," I reminded.

"I know," Erik repeated gently.

A long silence fell over us and once again the only sound that could be heard was the rumbling of the engine. I slipped my hands from Erik's, my lips quirking up into a quick smile.

"Well enough about me, what about you Erik?" I asked, placing my hands in my lap.

Erik arched his brow, "I've been locked up,” he answered flatly.

"Okay, before that then." I clarified, rolling my eyes.

"Where do I begin?" Erik asked, rubbing his neck.

I lifted my arm up and reached over the table, to softly stroke Erik's dark brown hair. "How about this cut?" I joked, leaning back in my seat. "I liked it longer." I commented, and Erik let out a snort, dropping his head in laughter.

"Oh, how I missed this old friend,"

Chapter Ten: Pandemonium in Paris

[joheunsaram]

To Make A Power Couple - 5.5 (knj)

Chapter 5.5: “No. We had our first makeup.”

THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I LOST ACCESS TO MY OLD ACCOUNT. PLEASE FOLLOW THIS BLOG FOR UPDATES ON THIS SERIES.

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Summary- Namjoon and Y/N talk about their relationship.

word count- 2.5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, slow burn, fluff, smut, strangers2lovers, angst (😱)

warnings- none! just extreme fluff

a.n- This didn’t fit well in the next chapter but I wanted to end the angst in the last chapter on a better note. Let me know what you think.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii , @jinjccns​ , @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond

Namjoon awoke earlier than the sun the next day, his head heavy and his eyes sore, evidence of last night’s vulnerability etched into his features. Unlike most times you weren’t tangled up in his arms, instead he saw you on the other side of the bed, curled up in a fetal position, one hand between your knees while the other rested under your cheek, making your mouth pout. He frowned at how your eyebrows seemed to be furrowed in your sleep, making you look distressed.

Sighing, he rose up, walking to the other side of the bed to his luggage and digging around for painkillers for his headache. Before he walked to the fridge to grab water, he pulled the comforter higher over you, lightly caressing your cheek, his eyes trailing the necklace around your neck, the pendant resting on the sheets next to your hand.

He sat on the couch, pulling your laptop on the coffee table towards him and turning it on to be greeted by the proposal you were supposed to be working on yesterday. The document seemed to be littered with little comments, and he felt anger flare within his chest as he read them. He knew he was snooping, and he should just minimize the window and go on Netflix as he was initially planning, but he couldn’t help it.

Y/N, are you an idiot?! This is not possible! That is not how this company works

Please fix this. We know you are better than this rubbish.

Let’s discuss this when you get back from showing off in Detroit… this is nonsense.

The comments were too casual and berating to be from your staff and he could only assume they were from your board members. You never talked much about your relationship with the board other than the occasional complaint about wanting to buy them out to have full control, but Namjoon never expected this amount of disrespect from them. As he looked at your sleeping form across the room, he felt a bubble of guilt rise within him. Now that the haze of jealousy and self-hate he was in last night had disappeared, he couldn’t help but realize how mean he had been in his comments to you. If you were dealing with all of this from your board, you didn’t need to be dealing with it from him too. He wondered why you never shared this with him, as he rubbed his face and leaned his head back over the couch. He had seen you become frighteningly more stressed and tired over the last month but he always stopped himself from asking questions, thinking he was projecting his own troubles on to you. In hindsight, he should have known better. Over the past month, Harry had texted him twice to ask if you were doing alright, and even at drinks on Friday, Siwon had pulled him aside to remind him to make sure you relax this weekend. He should’ve known better.

He felt a pang in his heart as he thought about your relationship. It had started with a promise of honesty, of never hiding yourselves from each other, but somehow the distance and the stress had made you both recede into yourselves. Unlike Namjoon, you were the kind of person who never seemed to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and he wondered if you felt similarly to how he had been feeling these past months with your work too. Were you also caging yourself in, afraid to share your stress with him?

“Joonie…?” You groggily traced your hand on his side of the bed to find it cold and suddenly last night came back to you and you feared for the worst. You had thought you had resolved your fight. Sure you hadn’t talked about it fully yet but feeling the emptiness made your heart stop. Was he gone? Shooting up, all traces of sleep were gone as you searched the room for him, eyes still puffy from sleep calling his name again, louder this time.

“What’s wrong? I’m right here, babe.” He walked over and you relaxed watching him climb into bed, his back against the headboard as he kissed your forehead, while you moved to sit cross legged between his long legs in front of him.

“Sorry.” He felt you shake slightly as he smoothed your hair to comfort you. You looked up at him, your palm coming to rest against his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Thank you for last night.” He gazed at you, hoping to convey his true gratitude, his hand wrapping arounds yours in your lap. People had always left him alone when he was in that headspace, and he was amazed that you had not only confronted him but managed to pull him out of it. “I’m sorry you had to see me that way.”

“Don’t apologize.” You looked at him sternly before a blush crept on your cheeks and you averted your gaze to your joined hands. Now that he was in a better place, you felt your guilt from last night coming back. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I made it hard for you to believe that I love you.”

“It’s not that… I think I just had a fucked up idea of how girlfriends show love.” He smiled awkwardly, squeezing your hand comfortingly. “I just got insecure about you not being jealous or territorial… I don’t know. It’s pretty dumb” He chuckled humorlessly.

“Oh… I was jealous.” You looked at him with wide eyes as he looked at you with shock. He was sure you were trying to placate him but he wanted to hear your reasoning. “I… I rationalize my feelings. I don’t go off the first thing, you know?” You shrugged sheepishly as you continued. “I feel a thing and then I go ‘hmm wrong reaction, let’s fix that’ so yeah of course I was jealous, are you kidding me? But then I thought it wasn’t an adult response to feel like that so I pretended till I was okay with it.”

Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at that. He spent two days feeling like he was defected for being jealous of random men, even Yoongi. Of course you had more restraint over your emotions than him. He was in awe of you and he felt like a complete idiot. He leaned forward to pull you closer, arms around your waist to pull him to his chest and kissed you once, before you pushed him off.

“Hey! Stop laughing at me! I’m being vulnerable here!” You pouted, moving your arms around his neck. You knew he wasn’t laughing at you and you were glad he took your confession so well. To be completely honest, you had always felt your trait of rationalizing your feelings was your worst - it created a rift between you and other people who often deemed you as cold and heartless. It pained you that this same trait had made Namjoon so insecure.

Namjoon to his credit, stopped laughing immediately, instead looking at you with a fond smile. “I’m sorry baby. I’m laughing at myself - at how much of an idiot I am.” He once again kissed you, his lips moulding to yours, moving languidly. “I can’t believe that was my barometer for your love. Shit, I’m a fucking idiot.” He giggled, his lips a few centimeters away from yours.

“You’re not an idiot, Joonie.” You frowned a little, cupping his face as you looked into his deep brown eyes. He poked lightly at the corner of your mouth, hoping to remove the frown, looking at you seriously before speaking.

“I hope you know, you don’t have to filter yourself for me, Y/N. You can tell me if you feel jealous or stressed or sad or angry or whatever. I won’t ever judge you.” You felt lighter hearing his words, even though you knew that by now your feelings filter was pretty much an automatic response, it felt nice to hear that you didn’t need to be as careful around him.

Seeing your smile, Namjoon kissed you again, moving your backwards till you laid down under him. His kisses were relaxed, slow, as if he had all the time in the world, and it made your heart blossom. However, you knew that you still needed to talk about his feelings from last night. It wasn’t like you to let things stew, and so before things could get more heated you suggested going to the roof to watch the sunrise. Namjoon finally agreed after a few more lingering kisses, both of you changing into your hoodies and sweats before walking up to the rooftop.

You both laughed when you reached the top of the stairs at the obscenely large no entry sign that was much more evident now that you weren’t in a wild haze of emotions. Choosing to pointedly ignore it once again, you open the door to walk to the edge of the railing. It seemed that the rain last night had cleared the air, the cool morning breeze feeling fresher as you looked over downtown Detroit, the first rays of sunlight breaking over the shiny skyscrapers.

After a few minutes of enjoying the view, you turned to your boyfriend, intertwining your fingers. He had a small smile on his face as he looked over the city, his other hand under his chin, elbow resting on the railing. The first few rays of sunlight reflected off his face, making him look almost ethereal. “Joon, can I ask you something?” Still looking at the view, he hummed in approval. “Why didn’t you tell me you collapsed last week?”

“Probably the same reason you didn’t tell me how hard your board was hounding you for this proposal.” He looked at you pointedly, squeezing your hand, as you let out a sigh.

The cat was out of the bag for the both of you. It felt odd to talk about your stresses after so long, and therein lies the problem. The two of you started this long distance with promises of keeping each other updated but started rethinking that as soon as the stress piled on. Neither of you wanted to burden each other with your stress, but the more you both talked about it you realized the two of you had just been disrespecting each other, assuming the other couldn’t handle your reality and taking away their autonomy to make that decision. You both talked in hushed whispers as if discussing a shameful secret. Well, you guess it was pretty shameful the way you had been hiding in the bathroom at work to avoid talking to people, or that your one glass of whiskey after work had turned to four.

Namjoon assured you he wanted to share your burden and he wanted to share his with you too. He told you about his own shame - of trolling the internet for self-esteem destroying messages - chuckling at your proclamation that you would report every single message till they didn’t exist. It felt nice to finally tell someone, tell you, about his tortuous midnight habit. He also shared his stress about interviews, the anxiety that comes with having to translate for everyone and making sure he does the good job at representing not only his band but his country internationally.

“Okay this cannot happen again. We can’t fuck our communication up this bad every time we do long distance!” you exclaimed after almost two hours of you catching each other up on your less than ideal month. Namjoon was now sitting on the floor, back against the railing as you sat between his legs, your back on his chest and his chin resting on your shoulder. You squeezed his hand in yours. “We need to strategize how to be better!” You turned sideways as Namjoon burst out laughing.

“Damn you really are a CEO. You want to strategize our relationship?” Namjoon had calmed down enough to look at you incredulously.

“Joonie! I’m just trying to make sure we don’t fight again. I didn’t like it.” Namjoon sees your face fall at that as you look to the ground, a little sigh escaping, before he lifts your chin to look at you. You looked at him sadly. “We really had our first fight, huh?”

“No. We had our first makeup” He looks at you with conviction, eye contact not wavering in the least before he kisses you softly on the lips, watching a small smile evaporating your frown. “Okay let’s do it. What’s your strategy, boss?”

And so the two of you came up with three rules to foolproof the rest of your long distance. One, you switched your calls from goodnight to good morning calls, when both of you had enough mental semblance to stitch a proper sentence together (and so you could scold each other if you ended up pulling unnecessary all-nighters). Two, you would never assume the other person was not mentally ready to hear about your stress but would instead ask if they were okay with listening to you. You were to never assume you were a burden on the other person, because you both wanted to support each other. And lastly, your safewords were no longer for the bedroom, instead you both decided to use the colour system on your fights or heavier conversations, giving each other the opportunity to call yellow or red on a topic you weren’t ready to discuss. You didn’t know if this strategy was the best, but you would never know unless you tried it out.

With the sun getting higher and your stomachs growling for sustenance you decided to stand up, looking at the view one last time before venturing downstairs. The city was alive, cars moving around, people rushing to their Sunday plans. It was beautiful. You leaned back, closing your eyes as you took in the sun. “Ah! Healing rooftops!”

“You know, I don’t get the ‘healing power of rooftops’ thing you have.” Namjoon looked at your blissed out face as he put his arm around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at the view, thinking of last night. “All I see are empty offices. Doesn’t it feel lonely?”

“Nah, Joonie. You’re looking at it wrong. For every empty office that means that that person is home safe with their loved ones. Isn’t that the opposite of lonely?” He was taken aback by your positive spin on the situation. He smiled at you warmly as his arms tightened around you. He loved that even though you always said you were cold and people called you Ice Queen, all he ever saw was a soft-hearted optimist. He kissed your cheek as you giggled.

“I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too, Joonie.”

————

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[maybedefinitely404]

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa! 

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck. 

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…” 

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree. 

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers. 

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it. 

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?  

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.” 

“Being?” 

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second. 

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them. 

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate. 

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded. 

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder. 

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart. 

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further. 

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did. 

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist. 

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while. 

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline. 

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.  

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

[orionwhispers]

Tear In My Heart // Alfie Solomons

(A/N - hehe im back. im working on a bucky oneshot and a tommy series but both of them are super long and i wanted to take a little breather. this was supposed to be a drabble but you know me... ive got a few more ideas for shorter imagines like this with tommy and alf, requests are open! hope you enjoy. pls reblog and comment. love u see u soon xoxxo - also this is like the smuttiest thing ive written even though its not explicit but wow who am i)

warnings: violence, mention of fights and blood, protective alfie, heavily implied smut, lots of terrible language.

You knew something was wrong when Ollie practically crashed through the door. He took off part of the frame and made the hinges tear from the wood, nails and screws clattering onto the ground. The afternoon had been wonderful, perhaps too wonderful, and as always, real life found a way to shatter your rose tinted glasses.

It was starting to fall into autumn, the air chilly but comfortable, the streets slick with rain and the leaves turning into a sweet, buttery caramel all around you. The house was silent save for the birds singing in the trees and the rattling whip of the wind against your windows. The quiet was a perk of having house out in the country, far away from anything and anyone. Just the way he liked it.

Because to him, all he needed was his girl.

Well, and his dog.

The sun had barely risen when you got up - much to your husbands protests. You felt him stirring from beside you, a solid wall of warmth as he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed sleepy, half drunk kisses onto your spine. You laughed tiredly as his hands curled over everything they could reach, long calloused fingers roaming against your bare skin. He grumbled as you swung your legs from under the duvet and onto the floor, throwing on his white cotton shirt and letting it fall to your knees, trying to ignore the threats he was mumbling about what he was going to do to your boss for making you come in so early.

He made one last feeble attempt to grab you, exhaustion clouding his brain so he could do no more than swipe at the top of your thigh, making you laugh at his wandering hands.

“Stay.” He said, voice raspy and muffled by his pillow.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Alf.” You sighed playfully, grabbing your strawberry slip dress and beaded heels and fur coat, darting into the bathroom to wash up and change. Through the noise of the running water you could hear the bed springs creak as he shifted, the entire frame groaning almost as much as him. Cyril watched you with his big chestnut eyes from the doorway as you fluffed up your hair and patted on coffee coloured lipstick, pinching the apples of your cheeks for a little flush.

You rummaged through your handbag as you made your way to the bedroom door, lost in your thoughts until you heard him speak, all low and gravelly and sending shivers up your spine.

“Oi. C’mere you.”

You rolled your eyes but walked into his outstretched arms, his body completely slumped and covered in thick duvets and pillows, just his tattooed skin and coarse, tousled hair poking out from underneath. He pulled you close into him, smelling like green apples and rum and sex and sea salt, like home. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out, the sun starting to shine through the cracks in the curtains and as you started to get up he tugged you in tighter, placing messy, sloppy kisses down your throat and onto your collarbones.

You smacked his shoulder, grabbing his jaw and holding it still, placing a kiss on his lips, feeling him smile against your mouth.

“Bye, my love.”

“Hmph.”

You made it halfway down the hall before you heard: “Fred is driving you. Don’t even bloody think about walking alone at this time.” Followed by grunts and groans and finally deep, throaty snores.

———————————————————-

You accompanied your boss to a few meetings, taking notes and helping him check stock. After a few hours filled with cinnamon lattes and finger cramps and ink stains, he took you aside at the office and gave you the rest of the day off. You were a little suspicious, and had a feeling his good deed might have had something to do with your slightly intimidating husband, but you accepted it nonetheless and headed to Camden after lunch.

The air was brisk and you pulled your scarf tighter around your throat, dodging puddles and fat droplets of rain as they dropped from the trees. You stopped off at a little cafe on your side of town, buying turkey sandwiches, a garden salad and a platter of seasonal fruit, ignoring the fried sugar donuts and sausage rolls and thick, crispy cuts of bacon. A routine check up to the doctor had lead to Alfie being told that perhaps a healthier lifestyle would benefit some of his ailments, so despite his grumbling and childish ways you were doing your best to make sure he was eating his five a day - no matter how much he protested.

But at the last second you grabbed a cherry jam donut. His favourite.

The rain had become torrential by the time you left, the clouds morphing into a block of ashen, sooty grey, teetering on black. Once upon a time the impending storm would have made you feel nervous, the rattling trees and flashes of lightning had been the reason for many sleepless nights when you were a child, but now you looked forward to it.

Because now it meant something different. You, Alfie and Cyril curled up in bed, the fire roaring and flickering a brilliant orange gold. Your husbands arms tight around you, squeezing softly every time there was a clap of thunder, his kisses warm and protective across your throat, knowing that he’d never let anything hurt you. Drinking tea spiked with rum and playing cards, listening to the rain against the windows, feeling the white burst of lighting every time it struck the sky. Falling asleep next to each other, Alfie always waiting for you to doze off first, unable to sleep unless he knew you were alright.

You had once hated storms, and now you wished for them.

Your umbrella was totally battered by the time you got to the bakery. The bottom of your dress was damp from puddles and your shoes were on their last legs, the satin ruined and black with mud, but you didn’t care, walking through the side entrance with a smile bigger than the moon. A few of the old boys saw you instantly, straightening up and grinning at you, welcoming you with whisky soaked aprons and calloused hands. Back when you and Alfie started dating he had all but forbidden his staff from looking, talking, or even thinking about you, but over the years you had formed a close relationship with his workers - something about your warmth and light easing up the darkness. At first Alfie huffed and puffed about it a little, but he couldn’t exactly blame his men for loving you - he was a perfect example of how you brought a strong man to his knees after all.

“Is he upstairs?” You asked George, one of the distillers. As soon as he nodded you left, your heels clicking against the cool basement flooring. You didn’t bother knocking as you approached the big, intimidating door to his office, instead just grabbing the brass lion head knob and twisting it, hearing the hinges whine in protest.

“What the fuck?” His voice was as deep and rumbling as a low tide, his tone so dark and sharp that it might have scared you, if you didn’t know him as the man who fed the ducks fresh bread at the park and cuddled Cyril when the vets had to give him an injection. “How many fucking times do I have to ask you lot to fucking knock. I mean it’s a - ”

He stopped short when he saw you, eyes going wide and lips twitching upwards just a little. He slipped into business mode whenever he sat at the leather chair behind his desk, but you always managed to chip away at his foundation.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” You laughed, walking around his desk to see him, his legs naturally opening to let you stand in between them, his eyes following every curve and line of your face, settling on the natural rosebud flush of your lips.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He mused, ring clad fingers darting around your waist and pulling you in. He toyed with the buttons on your dress and the jewellery around your neck, his fingers rough and large and as hot as a fire. His day had been shitty so far, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes and the loose curl of your hair had made everything much, much better.

“Hmm.” You said, leaning into his touch, batting away his hand as it slipped somewhere a little too low. “Marcus gave me the afternoon of so I thought I would come and surprise you.”

He blinked up at you, all wistful and love drunk and making your knees turn into blackcurrant jelly. “Did you now?”

“Yep.” You smiled, brushing your nose against his before pulling back and teasingly shaking the paper bag of baked goods in your hand. “And I bought gifts.”

“Yeah. Yeah. In a minute.” He barely registered them, instead dragging you into him, pressing kisses to your lips and letting you wash away any thoughts from his brain, not stopping until he was totally, completely drowning in you.

——————————————————-

That was how you ended up cross legged on the sofa, devouring your new novel and sipping on the rose and oolong tea Alfie kept in the cupboard for when you visited the factory. You could hear the rain pattering down the windows around you, mixed with the scratch of Alfie’s fountain pen and the sound of him rifling through his papers. It was fun to watch him as well as listen to him, the way his eyebrows raised when he read something he didn’t like, the twitch of his nose and the way that he ran his fingers through the coarse hair of his beard, moulding it to a peak at the bottom of his chin.

He watched you as well. When you got so into your book that your brows furrowed and your nose wrinkled. The way your hair was loose and wild, your stockings a soft pink under the stormy sky, your eyes wide and frantic, desperate to read as much as you could. He smiled at the way your leg bounced, how you tried to pick the stems from your strawberries with one hand but then accidentally squished them, the juice running down your wrist. He especially liked the way you were using his winter coat as a blanket, drowning in the fabric like a child, the collar snug around your chin.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard Ollie before you saw him, the crash of his laced black boots thundering up the stairs, the way that he collided with the door rather than opening it first. You and Alfie stood up at the same time, his eyes immediately darting to you, gesturing for you to get behind him.

“Eric’s here.” Was all the boy said, and you watched the colour drain from Alfie’s face.

“Eric?” You said, “Eric Martin?”

Your question lingered in the air as the two men walked around one another, gesturing wildly and talking under their breath; Alfie completely frantic and flustered. You had only heard of Alfie’s new business partner in passing, the two of them had spent the better part of a year talking through agreements and shipments and trying to manoeuvre a deal where the two of them could co exist happily - Alfie’s rum and Eric’s stolen goods sharing a boat so that the city checks would be easier. Alfie had never been particularly quite when it came to business. He liked to include you and get your opinion on things, he trusted you most of all anyway, but he had been secretive when it came to Eric.

You had heard through Ollie and rumours at the club and whispers in the factory that this “Eric” was a man not to be trifled with. Apparently he was unpredictable and violent, and he belonged to one of the major crime gangs in Cambridge. None of this scared you though, many people thought the exact same of the man you shared your bed with, and you knew a side of him that nobody else saw. The gossip was barbed and cruel though. They said he was conniving and underhanded, and that his last two wives had been admitted to hospital with broken and fractured bones.

So Alfie tried cutting him out as much as he could, never wanting to say his name or talk about him in the safety of his home, not with you around. Your home was his solace, and he wouldn’t taint his life with you in blood red - you were too important. You never thought much of it, but watching his reaction, his sudden overprotectiveness and stern frown and rattled demeanour, made you just a little bit frightened.

“What the fuck does he want?” Alfie snapped, pulling your coat over your shoulders frantically and starting to button it up, then helping you tug on your boots and lace them.

“He’s pissed about the Brighton shipment, he says his liquor didn’t get there on time.”

“Stupid fucking...” Alfie’s voice trailed off like smoke, something downstairs on the factory floor clattering loudly followed by distinct, angry shouts. “We told him it was too risky with the police there, he should have fucking listened. We were due a meeting next week, tell him to fuck off and come back then.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Make him.”

“I...” He started, but Alfie cut him off again, standing next to you and taking your face in his large, calloused hands.

“Right, pet. Stay here for a little bit, and when it clears up, Ollie will take you out the back, alright?”

“Alfie...” You started to protest, before exhaling and sighing as he turned to his protégée.

“You got that, Ol? Nothing is to happen to her.”

You were getting a little hot with being ordered around, but the visible anxiety swimming across their faces like the midnight sea was enough for you to close your mouth. Instead of agreeing with his boss, Ollie shook his head, sucking on his lower lip as he tried to think of a way to convey the sincerity of the situation.

“He’s really angry, Alfie. You need to go down, now. Before he decides to come up.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Your fingers clenched, and you darted out to tug on the edge of his sleeve before he left.“Alfie. Please be careful.”

There was a smog of anxiety in your stomach and warning signs ringing like alarms in your mind as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips brushing your hairline. You chewed on the edge of your lip as he left, and you wondered how your blissful afternoon had turned into this: your body shaking with nerves as your husband descended down the stairs and into the belly of the beast.

Ollie reached out and touched your shoulder, trying to help you feel calm but his face was the colour of tepid dishwater, paling by the second.

“He’ll be fine.”

You crossed all of your fingers and toes.

———————————————————————

About twenty minutes passed, and the shouting had gone from ear piercingly loud to a low hum, which you found oddly comforting despite everything. You watched as Ollie fiddled with his pocket watch, the two of you waiting until it was safe to head downstairs.After a moment you heard the sound of the giant metal door opening, the one right at the front where the workers came in and the bakery goods were delivered, a clear indication from Alfie that Eric was leaving.

Ollie leapt up and smiled faintly at you, edging you towards the door as you swung your handbag across your chest. You scoffed a little as you walked, turning to face him.

“If Eric is gone, why can’t I stay?”

Ollie merely rolled his eyes, his hand migrating to your lower back as he all but pushed you forward. You might have been able to get away with ignoring Alfie’s orders, but he certainly wouldn’t. “You know Alfie won’t want you here after that. There’s no use fighting him about it, he’ll want you back at home.”

You sighed but conceded, allowing yourself to be guided down the staircase. At least at home you could distract yourself and have Cyril with you, his big treacle eyes were the perfect remedy to a bad day.

You were right beside the back door and ready to leave when you heard a voice cracking like thunder from behind you, something as sharp as a knife and as loud as a church bell. You both froze instantly, every nerve in your body feathering, your heart aching to know that Alfie was alright.

“You little fucking liar.” Cut around the room like barbed wire. “How long were you planning on hiding this shipment from me?” There was another crash, and you could hear liquid trickling and dribbling into a puddle, followed by the sweet, sour smell of alcohol.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re on about mate.” It was Alfie speaking now, his voice lowered to a dangerous octave, and you could picture the lightning like anger on his face. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? You’ve been sending things off without my knowledge!”

“I said. Fucking calm down.” The sound of a hand slamming down on wood, as fierce as a slap on the face. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

There was another scuffle: rapid footsteps on the floor, the crack of knuckles and the smell of ash. A couple of the boys darted in from the other room, their shirts untucked and hands turning red. You watched them curiously, stepping forward on unsteady heels to try and pinpoint the commotion. You felt Ollie's hand reach for you but you leapt out of his grasp, at the same time a body flew from the next room and landed in a heap next to barrels of aged rum and whisky, the wood heaving from the strain.

You glanced at the man on the floor, his body oddly contorted, his bald head glistening with sweat and his body reeking of putrid alcohol and cigarettes. This was obviously Eric. Your eyes widened in disgust at the drunk, violent man taking swings at whoever he could, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. You saw Alfie emerge from the shadows, his gaze flitting straight to you, his hands swollen and his face flushed with visible anger at the man sprawled on the ground.

Before you could retreat, Eric’s wide, black eyes landed on you, practically bulging out of his head with adrenaline and anger and excitement. “ You know, Alfie.” He asked through bubbles of saliva, scrambling to his feet as best he could, lunging for you. You saw Alfie and a few of his best men move forward, hands ready like cocked guns to strike if they needed to. Eric ignored them, wanting to pack as many fatal blows in whilst he had the chance. “Everybody at the club talks about your little whore of a wife, Solomon’s.”

The room fell deadly silent. His words didn’t affect you at all, but you felt a pool of dread settle in your gut and you stepped backwards, warning him with your eyes. He was at the back of the room, but you could still feel the anger vibrating from your husband, and you heard him smack his lips as he tried to calm himself down.

Eric ignored your alarmed glare, spitting onto the concrete and looking you up and down with pure disgust and shameless lust. “You know that people only do business with you to get to her?”

“Don’t. You. Fuck - ” Alfie’s boots thundered like a stampede, his voice as dark and raspy as midnight, his words sharpened like butchers knives.

“Maybe I’ll have a go at her. Maybe it’ll teach you a little respect. If I have a go at that smug little whore and slap her around a little and....”

He didn’t finish his sentence, Alfie’s cane smashing against the side of Eric’s head with enough momentum to send his teeth flying, small milky white canines lying a few feet in front of you in a pool of sticky blood. He made some kind of noise from on the floor, his hands coming up to protect what was left of his face, his polished shoes desperately trying to grip onto something to help him up. There was a second hit. And then a third. Each accompanied by ear splitting cries, and the sound of flesh against stone.

“Don’t you ever, ever, speak about my wife like that again.” You could just about make out Alfie from the darkness, his silhouette mighty and terrifying, leaning over the shattered body on the floor, filled with a hatred that seemed to overpower him.

“I - ” Eric tried to speak but only blood pooled from his mouth, his body weakened and damaged from the attack. He tried to cover himself with his hands but failed, another ear piercing crack echoing around the room.

You lunged forward, wanting to stop your husband before he went too far. “Alfie! Stop! You’re going to kill him!”

He blinked up at you, his pupils swallowed by black. His gaze lowered from you onto the wailing man on the ground, his words playing on a loop in his brain, digging their nails in every time the record restarted.

He had said those evil things about you.

He glanced at Ollie, finally opening his mouth to speak. “Take her home.”

You struggled in Ollie’s grip, desperate to see your husband and knock some sense into him. Your heart hung heavy in your chest, equal parts terrified that he would either end up hurt or in a more dangerous situation than the one he was already in. You fought hard but Ollie’s hold was tighter, his fingers squeezing you tightly. He tried to be kind but forceful as he pulled you out into the alley, your heard turned back to face your husband, watching as him and the shadow on the floor faded to a dull, awful, obsidian.

—————————————-

You were certain you were going to make holes in the wood. You had been pacing back and forth the living room floor for almost an hour, and Cyril had abandoned his mission of trying to cheer you up, and instead watched you protectively and cautiously from his wicker basket beside the sofa.

You had chewed your sunshine yellow nails down to the wick, and your heart hadn’t stop thumping since you had left the warehouse. Ollie had left you to your thoughts, keeping watch outside to make sure nothing harmed you, and also that you didn’t harm somebody else.

Dealing with hysterical women wasn’t really his forte.

There had been no word from Alfie since you had left, and so you watched the teal wall phone endlessly, hoping that it would ring and you would know he was alright. You were greeted with nothing but ice cold silence, and so you resumed your pacing, biting down on the skin of your thumb until you could taste blood.

Right before you were about to lose all control and demand Ollie take you to see him, you heard the crunch of the gravel outside, and saw lemon headlights flash against the wall. Cyril’s head lifted quickly, and his tail began to thump, but your feet turned to concerted and you were unable to do anything other than wait.

You were as still as a spectre as you stood facing the door, your body prickling with anxiety and adrenaline. A car - you assumed Ollie’s - coughed and spluttered over the rocks and into the road, leaving you alone with Alfie. You heard the key in the lock, practically felt the metal ridges running over your spine as he pulled and twisted and finally came inside, the sky a gloomy, smoky grey, rain falling so harshly it was almost hail.

He was shaped so strongly, his figure so barbed and brawny and beautiful. You felt totally mortal beside a man like him, and he looked even more so like a God when you saw him under the icy white lamp light in the hall.

He was covered in blood. Soaked in it, really. It was matted in his hair and in ugly brown splotches across his once pristine shirt and under his fingernails and smeared across his boots in a shade of red you had never seen before. It was obvious he had tried to clean himself up judging from the uneven patches and water marks, but he had given up, deciding to risk everything and drive through the streets like an abattoir worker, just so he could see you as quickly as he could.

You let out some kind of noise and stepped forward, he caught you effortlessly, the way that he always would.

“Alfie.” You said, wide eyed and innocent and good, and he felt like a sinner holding something so angelic in his arms.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.”

There was blood in his beard, and a plum sided bruise turning nightshade on his upper arm. “Oh God, Alf.”

He shook his head, pulling you in and smelling the orange and cinnamon of your shampoo and the vanilla perfume on your neck and felt the softness of your hair and the curves of your body. The day had been bad. It had started so wonderfully and ended up shattered and splintered into something so awful and malevolent, and now there was nothing he wanted except you, his home.

“We need to - ” You started, but he frowned, his arms engulfing you and tugging you in. He pressed his lips to whatever flesh he could find, open mouthed and desperate, sucking and biting and aching for you.

“No. No.” He whispered into your neck, his voice so small and desperate that your heart throbbed. “I need you, my love.”

You knew what he wanted. How we got when he was like this. Touch starved. Greedy. Insatiable. How he wanted nothing else but the feel of you under him, the weight of your ribs and the feel of your body and love consuming him until nothing was left. Fuck his back and his cane, he needed to claim you and mark you and show you just how badly he needed you. He needed to find religion at the alter of your pliant, yearning body. Show you how much he loved you on the cold kitchen tiles with the rain casting grey shadows and his lips biting your own as the thunder clapped above.

————————-

The tap was still leaking.

Alfie had promised to fix it weeks ago and yet it still dribbled lukewarm water continuously, you didn’t mind for once though, the soft noise it made as it bounced into the water was somewhat calming.

His legs around you were as thick as tree trunks and covered in curly, coarse hair. His arms were tight around you, and you played with the jewels on his fingers as you both relaxed, letting the hot steam cover you both. You were cradled in front of him despite your instance that his back would hurt and it would cause more harm than good. He simply got in the water and dragged you on top of him, letting the pink bath salts do their job.

You hadn’t really spoken since you’d made love like teenagers on the kitchen floor. Afterwards, he tugged you on top of him and held you close, the two of you skin to skin, letting your pulses synch and breathing calm all whilst he stayed warm and throbbing inside of you. Needing to be joined with you for as long as he could.

Then you ran a bath and filled it with all of the expensive lotions and potions you had stockpiled. Cherry and rose and sweet mint and chocolate and lime, things that might have clashed but would easily cover the smell of sweat and sex and thick, coppery blood. The two of you sat in the water, not speaking but filled with love, despite all of the unspoken tension in the air.

You felt him shift behind you. His huge body sent water and bubbles lapping wildly over the tub edge, coating the floor in marshmallow pink. You giggled softly, and the sweet, angelic noise gave Alfie the final push to tell you everything.

“I know what you want to ask me.”

“Hmm?” You murmured, letting round, iridescent bubbles fall through the cracks in your fingers, knowing exactly what he was about to say but feigning innocence anyway.

“You want to know if I killed him.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to, he continued anyway.

“I did.”

The bathroom fell silent again and Alfie could feel you stiffen under him. You knew from the moment he swung his cane across Eric’s head that he would be buried six feet by the end of the day, but it still hit you like a punch to the windpipe to hear the words aloud.

“Does that bother you?” He asked after a moment, the words thick and raspy, as though they had been stuck in his throat like congealed honey.

“I’m not sure.” You said finally.

It was the truth. You weren’t sure.

You knew he had killed people before. You knew what the war had made him do, what it had turned him into. You weren’t stupid, either. You knew that he often came home with dirt under his nails and blood splattered on his boots and that glazed look in his eyes that made your stomach tie itself in knots. You knew because you had been there through it all, cleaning him up and disinfecting his wounds, talking him down when the memories of gunshots and trenches got too loud, listening to him tell you all of the secrets that lingered in his mind like flies around a carcass.

But if you were being honest, you didn’t care that he had killed. You never judged Alfie or his choices, you understood the way his brain worked and how he made his decisions. Most of the men had been awful. Abusers and violent thieves and con men with dirty intentions. This was the business you had signed up for when you fell for the six foot man with questionable morals but a heart of solid gold. There was no way you were turning your back on him now.

It wasn’t murder that scared you, it was the possible repercussions that led you to sleepless nights and bloody, bitten lips. You were terrified that one day everything would catch up to him, and it would be your husband that ended up in a coffin. He was so powerful and dangerous and magnificent, but he wasn’t invincible.

You were about to say as much but he continued, the water sloshing around the two of you. “Don’t let it bother you. I’d do it again. Kill a fucking million men if I had to. If anyone talks about you like that - if they even think it. They’re gone. Bloody scum. The lot of ‘em.”

You sighed, shifting up and grabbing his hand under the water. You rubbed circles across his palm, conveying your love through actions. “I don’t want to be the reason you have blood on your hands.”

“I’m a big lad right, I can make my own decisions.”

“I know you are Alf, but you know how I worry.”

“Listen to me, right.” He muttered, the candles flickering clementine, his fingertips pressing gently onto the bare flesh of your hip. He cleared his throat, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his belly. “After the war I had nothing - and then I met you and fuck me you changed everything.”

He paused, reminiscing internally about how you met and your early dates, thinking of toffee kisses and giddy, pure love and fucking in back alleys and winter walks and finally feeling something after the war had shot everything right out of him. “And you are my wife. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You tugged on his big toe, making him wince and playfully hit you, the air lightened just a little bit, but enough so that the two of you could breathe. “I don’t care that you killed them, Alf. I never have. But God, if something were to happen to you! What if the police start looking? What if...”

A million fucked up scenarios of your beloved in silver cuffs and a bullet in his head made you feel completely nauseous, but he held you tight, grounding you back to reality.

“I’m not going anywhere. And for the cops - they should be thanking me. Got rid of a lot of nasty criminals without them getting their hands dirty.” He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, the tip of your spine, the crook of your ear. “I promise you, my love, everything will be alright.”

The future was uncertain, but you knew that when you married him. Some days were just bad.

Clouded in darkness and tinged with blood and rust. Your relationship had always been a little unconventional, a little rough around the edges and at times, like a small wooden boat on a rough sea. But despite everything your love had been unwavering, as solid as a steel, the kind of dreamy infatuation that people longed for. For every bad day and every fight and every knot that wound itself in your belly - there was also so much good. Sleepy kisses and pillow talk and sharing the parts of yourself that no one else saw. A language without words, the safety of his arms, the home in your hips, domestic mornings and a love that could last through anything.And in that moment, with the storm starting to ease and the sky starting to lighten and his arms around you and Cyril starting to whine for his dinner downstairs...

It was enough.

Because you weren’t just the girl he would kill for. You were the girl he would live for.

[princess-of-riviaa]

4 Months

Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Requested prompt: Hi. Could you do a ransom drysdale x reader fic. I had a prompt in mind but you can do whatever you want. Prompt- Ransom hooks up with a girl and she ends up pregnant. She knows about his tendencies to sleep around and she knows he won't commit so she doesn't tell him and then Ransom finds out.

This ones for you @suppu97​

Author’s note: Just because I can’t contain myself I’m going to include some Ransom feels and fluff, because we all know that trust fund playboy has a soft side to him. Smut isn’t until later in the story. Also, Ransom isn’t doing anything the reader doesn’t want him to do to her. This isn’t dub con or rape. If she asked him to stop he would have.

Warning(s): Ransom being an asshole disguised as a decent human being, rough sex, choking, thigh riding, dub con (but not really), dom! Ransom, oral (f/m receiving), angst, poison, miscarriage

It happened at the dinner party. Your family had been longtime family friends with the Thrombeys--that was how you’d met Ransom all those years ago and become distant friends with him--and you frequently were invited to their house for a get together.

You’d found out the news three months ago, but luckily only had a small bump, so you were able to fit into your favorite red cocktail dress. Only once you stood in the foyer of the Thrombey’s house and felt a familiar pair of eyes on you from the living room did you remember: this was the dress you had worn two months ago, the night of your one night stand with Ransom.

The maid took yours and your parents’ coats and you thanked her with a warm smile before walking into the living room. The Thrombey’s were already at each other’s throats, arguing over something political. You didn’t really process what they were saying though. All you could think of was those cold blue eyes on you, no doubt giving you a good eye fuck right now. You didn’t dare look in his direction over by the fireplace. You’d managed to think about Ransom as little as possible in the last three months and you weren’t going to let him get under your skin tonight.

After an exchange of superficial “how are you?”s and “it’s so good to see you again”s, Everyone began their trek to the dining room. You put a hand on your stomach as you followed everyone to the next room. It had become a nervous habit within the last month. Every time you felt even slightly nervous, you put a hand on your stomach and remembered that you weren’t alone.

You were suddenly very aware of a warm, masculine body pressed up against your back. “I see you wore my dress,” he breathed into your ear.

You’d be lying if you said that his voice didn’t have an affect on you. Wetness pooled between your legs as he growled softly in your ear and you had to clamp your mouth shut to keep from sighing in pleasure.

“I didn’t wear it for you,” you tell him without even glancing at him. “I wore it for me.”

You didn’t have to look back to know Ransom was rolling his eyes. He hated that you stood your ground against him; hated it almost as much as he loved it. According to him, he loved a good challenge, and you’d been very challenging ever since you met him. You’d made him work to get you in bed that night--

That night that you wouldn’t let yourself think about.

You shook your head and took a seat at the table. Ransom, of course, took a seat directly across from you, making sure you couldn’t evade him for the night. Wine and champagne were offered, though you politely declined both. You didn’t speak throughout the entire meal. Three bites into your steak, you felt your stomach rising.

You excused yourself before running out of the room and to the downstairs bathroom. You’d barely made it to the toilet before the contents of everything you’d eaten that day came rushing back up. Once you had wiped your mouth off, you noticed Ransom standing in the doorway. You glanced at him briefly. He looked like he wanted to punch the wall, or throw up, too. Maybe both.

“You turned down the drinks,” was all he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Ransom...” You flushed the toilet and closed the lid.

“You’re practically an alcoholic,” he said, walking further into the bathroom. “I’ve known you since we were kids and I’ve never seen you turn down a drink. And then you can’t keep your food down?”

You took a seat on top of the toilet and breathed deeply, trying to stop the pounding in your head. The first trimester had been hell. You’d been sick nearly every day and you’d been alone through it all. Your parents would disown you if they found out you were having a child out of wedlock. And the idea of Ransom offering any help was laughable.

“You’re pregnant.” He said it like it was a death sentence, like you’d somehow betrayed him.

You forced yourself to look up at him and meet his cold, hard gaze. “Yes. I’m pregnant.”

“Whose is it?” He questioned.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. He knew the answer before he’d even asked the question. He’d been your first--and last--romantic partner.

“Are you keeping it?” His tone was cold, like he was discussing an annoying bug crawling over his shoe, and you wanted to hit him for it.

“No.” You couldn’t bring yourself to explain further.

“Well you should hurry up on that because we fucked--what? Three months ago? I don’t know the time range on abortions but the sooner the better.”

You rose to your feet and your head became heavy. You leaned against the wall to keep from passing out. “I’m not aborting, Ransom.”

“But you said--”

“I’m putting the baby up for adoption.”

He watched you like he was waiting for you to say this was all a joke. “I’m assuming your parents don’t know.”

You were quiet.

“They’ll kick you out as soon as you start getting fat,” he pointed out.

“I know.” It took all the strength inside of you to keep from breaking down. You were dreading that day more than anything. The mere thought of it put knots in your stomach. But you weren’t about to lose it in front of Ransom. That would just be one more thing for him to at you for.

“Do you have a place to go?” he asked.

You scoffed at him. “Don’t act like you actually care, Ransom. You’re not fooling either of us.”

“Keeping it will just cause a million problems for you,” he said. “Getting rid of it now--”

“I’m not aborting!” You shouted at him, then gasped when you realized the bathroom door was wide open. You prayed no one had heard you. “I’m not killing this child, Ransom. I’ve already made up my mind about it.”

He opened his mouth to make another asshole remark, but you beat him to it.

“Don’t worry. I’m not expecting you to have anything to do with the baby, or me for that matter.”

“If you’re worried about the money, I can give you something for the clinic.”

You wanted to slap him. “I have stayed by your side through everything. All the shit you’ve pulled since you were a kid--I was there, and I was by your side. But I swear, Ransom Drysdale, if you make one more comment about aborting this child I will leave you.”

He laughed. “Leave me? We’re not together.”

“I’m your best friend. Hell, I’m your only friend. And for how much you pretend to not care, I know you’re just as terrified as the rest of us about ending up alone. And without you me you have no one. So shut up about the goddamn abortion.”

He didn’t say anything, which was both good and bad you supposed. You both stood there in silence for a long time. And then he walked towards you. Before you realized what he was doing his hand was on your stomach, feeling the warm life inside of you. You watched as his expression slowly morphed from disgust to... was that pride?

“That’s my kid,” he whispered. He looked up at you, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of tears in his eyes.

You simply said, “It’s our kid.”

...

Ransom began making daily trips to your house after that. He claimed he was just there to steal your dad’s cufflinks, or because your family had a better selection of liquor than his did, or that he just couldn’t be near his family for one more second and your house had the second nicest TVs in the city. But he’d always "forget” some food or clothes after he left, and you knew they were for you. It became obvious once he started bringing over pregnancy books.

It warmed your heart, you had to admit. This was Ransom trying. This was Ransom when he cared: sweet, but never willing to openly admit it. It was more than you’d expected from him.

At the end of your fourth month, you started to show noticeably. On a random day in the first week of that month, Ransom showed up and charged into your room. He packed a suitcase of your clothes without even bothering to explain what was going on.

“Ransom...?” It was late, past ten in the evening. Was he drunk? Was he high?

“Are your parents home?” was all he said in response.

“Y-yes.” You were thoroughly freaked out. Was he trying to kidnap you?

“Do they know yet?” He asked as he zipped up your suitcase.

You shook your head. They were still oblivious, though you imagined any day now they would pop the question.

Ransom took your bag with half of your belongings inside and ran down the stairs. You followed him. Your parents came out of the living room and frowned, looking between you and Ransom. You were just as confused as them.

“It’s good to see you, Rans--” Your dad began, but Ransom interrupted him.

“We don’t have time to waste and act like we all care about each other,” he spat. “I’m taking your daughter with me.”

You frowned and gaped at him. Where exactly was he taking you?

“You can’t do that!” Your mother cried.

“She’s nineteen, so she can do whatever the hell she wants, including getting away from her freakish family.” Ransom grabbed your hand and pulled you out the front door with him.

He threw your suitcase in the back of his Mustang before you both hopped in. Ransom sped off, leaving a gust of dirt where your parents stood on the porch, watching you run off.

“What the hell are you doing? And why did you talk to my parents like that?”

“Don’t act like you’ve never wanted to say that to them,” he laughed.

“Ransom!” Your tone revealed your anger and nonexistent patience for him to explain himself.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

You waited, but he said nothing else. You hated Ransom Drysdale sometimes.

...

It turned out that he was taking you to his parents’ beach house. It was the middle of December, so they wouldn’t be visiting anytime soon. It would be just you, Ransom, and the maid he’d brought from his house in the city. Ransom didn’t have to spell it out for you: this was where you could stay until you had the baby.

You loved Ransom Drysdale sometimes.

He found you in the foyer, resisting the urge to cry. “It’s just a house,” he said. “Not even an impressive one at that.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You pulled him in for a tight hug. Tears slipped down your face and onto his sweater. “I’m sorry. It’s the baby hormones. They’ve turned me into a crazy person.”

“You were already crazy before,” he replied as he gave you a one-armed hug.

You pulled back. You’d forgotten that Ransom despised hugs. “Sorry.”

You let yourself take him in--really take him in--for the first time in four months. He wore an old, light blue sweater that made the color of his eyes pop. His cheeks were red from the cold wind outside, almost as red as his mouth.

You remembered that mouth on your nipples, sucking on them until he made you cum.

You swallowed, then forced an awkward chuckle. “These baby hormones are really getting to me.” You tried to walk past him but he stopped you.

Suddenly you were between him and the wall. He stared down at you like he wanted to eat you up. The look alone made your mouth go dry and your toes curl.

“Ransom--” You began, but didn’t have the strength to finish.

“You’re having my child,” he breathed before bending down to tug on your earlobe. “You have no idea what that does to me, knowing my seed is growing inside of you. The thought of it gets me so hard, baby.”

Thoughts from that night came flooding back to you:

Ransom, daring to think he could beat you at a drinking game.

Ransom, kissing you five shots in, and both of you realizing that this exactly what you’ve wanted for years now.

You, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to his room, your mouths never parting from each other.

You, sucking him off until he came in your mouth and you swallowed every last drop. (You can still remember the taste of him.)

Ransom, eating you out until you came around his fingers, in his mouth, until your entire body was shaking with overstimulation. (You can still remember how sinful he felt.)

Ransom, fucking into you as you screamed for him to pound into you harder, faster, and him choking you until you both came. (You can still remember the sound of his groans.)

Now, four months later, you weren’t exactly surprised to find you wanted him just as desperately as you had that night.

“Ransom,” you whimpered without even meaning to.

His hand came up to wrap around your throat, giving it just a hint of a squeeze, and you closed your eyes in pleasure. “Tell me you want it, baby. Beg me to fuck you like I did that night. I know you still want it. I bet you even dream about it, about my hands all over your body, making you feel better than any man ever has or ever will. I bet you dream about my cock deep inside of you, fucking the life out of you until you come all over me.”

You fisted your hand in his sweater and pulled his mouth down to yours. He kissed you sloppily, hungrily, and you moaned into his mouth.

“I wanna hear you beg to have me inside of you,” he breathed into your mouth.

You wanted to give in right then and there, but your pride had already been damaged enough by this man. So you pushed him away and said, “I don’t beg.”

He smirked. “I can change that.”

And suddenly his knee was prying open your legs. He pressed his leg against your core and applied just enough pressure to make you moan. He watched in delight as your eyes rolled back and your mouth parted. Your hips automatically began rubbing against him. He flexed his thigh, adding even more pressure to your dripping pussy.

A second later you felt his hand on your shirt, slowly making its way up to your breasts. He cupped them tightly over your shirt and bra. He knew your pain always turned into pleasure, and right now you were basking in it.

“Still don’t want to beg me?” he asked.

It was a struggle for you to even concentrate on speaking, but finally you said, “N-no. I’m not begging, Ransom.” You sighed blissfully when you said his name and you felt his cock twitch against his thigh.

He growled, growing frustrated, and led you to the living room. He pushed you onto the couch before climbing over you and unbuttoning your jeans. You rested your hand on your stomach, waiting for him to touch you again. He had your jeans and underwear off in a matter of seconds. You watched him bunch up your underwear and smell it, and the dark look on his face made you press your legs together, needing pressure.

“Only I get to make you feel good, baby,” he said before pushing your legs apart and kissing up the inside of your thighs.

You whimpered as he made his way to your pussy, only to caress it with a warm breath. Your walls clenched around nothing. The mere pressure of his breath was enough to make you buck your hips up. He laughed at the sight of you writhing under him before moving onto your next leg and kissing his way up your thigh, starting just above the knee. His mouth stopped just above your pussy again and you whimpered.

“You should see how you look right now,” he said, his voice deep and dark. “All wound up and I haven’t even touched you properly let.”

“Shut up, Ran--”

And then his mouth was on your pussy, his tongue lapping up the juices between your folds. Your hands instantly went down to his hair. You bucked your hips up every time he pulled his tongue away from your pussy. Eventually it annoyed him enough to make him hold you down by your hips. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

“Ransom...” you whined.

You hated begging, but god did this man know how to use his tongue. He opened his eyes as his tongue circled your clit and you fought against the hands holding you down. You needed more. You needed him.

“Fuck!” You cried out as he buried his tongue inside of you, licking you like a lollipop.

“I’m gonna...” you struggled to get out. “Ransom, I’m gonna cum!”

He pulled out of you and rose to his feet, hovering over you. His lips were swollen and pink. Your juices dripped from his mouth. That and the sight of his messed up hair was enough to make you cave.

“Please, Ransom,” you whined. “I need you to fuck me.”

He smirked. “I know you do, baby. Go up to my room. You better be naked and on my bed when I get up there.”

You didn’t argue, barely remembering to grab you pants before moving up the stairs and going to his room. You hadn’t been to his family’s beach house since the summer you were 15. So many things had changed since then, but not how you felt for Ransom. You wanted him as much as you couldn’t stand him.

You took your shirt and bra off and put them on a chair in the corner. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the dresser mirror. You were tall and thin, except for your round belly. It was still crazy to you to think that you had a life growing inside of you--that it was Ransom’s child growing inside of you.

The sound of footsteps made your heart race and you climbed onto the king-sized bed before wrapping the white sheets around you. Ransom gave a disappointed frown when he walked in and noticed you.

“Did I say you could cover up?” he asked in a dominant tone that made your toes curl.

You glanced down at the sheets around you.

He stopped at the foot of the bed right in front of you. “Baby, I don’t want you covering up for me.” He yanked the sheets away from you before taking you in in all your glory.

“What were you doing downstairs?” you wondered as he began unbuckling his pants. It was a little embarrassing that your mouth actually watered at the thought of you tasting Ransom’s cock.

“Telling the maid not to come in here,” he answered, “no matter how loud I make you scream.”

A breath caught in your throat as he stepped out of his pants and underwear. His cock was already hard, the tip hard and wet with his precum. You took in the thick vein that ran along the side of it and the way it curved just the slightest bit.

“You better suck me dry, baby,” was all he needed to say before you had him in your mouth.

You kissed your way around his tip before licking a stripe up the side of his cock. He groaned as you teased his tip with gentle kitten licks. That only lasted a few seconds before he fisted a handful of your hair and pushed his cock all the way into your back. He hit the back of your throat and you almost choked before adjusting to his size. Your hands played with his balls as you sucked him off. He began fucking your face and you let him, doing your best not to choke every time he reached the back of your throat. You felt him grow impossibly bigger in your more and you knew he was seconds away from coming. A part of you was perfectly fine with him coming in your mouth--you wanted to taste his seed again so bad--but he pulled out at the last second.

You looked up at him.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk,” he promised. Then he pushed you back and climbed over you.

You spread your legs for him, both of you watching as he slid the tip of his cock inside of you. You both groaned at how tight you were. He slid the rest of his length into you slowly, careful not to hurt you. You wrapped your legs around him once he bottomed out.

His mouth found your breasts and he sucked hard on your left nipple while his hand pinched the other one. You threw your head back, letting yourself bask in the ecstasy of everything Ransom was giving you. His cock moved inside of you at a pace you couldn’t keep up with and you could feel the knot in your stomach forming, signaling that you were close. His mouth on your nipples brought just the right amount of pain that you craved. He had you screaming in pleasure in no time.

“You’re so tight around me baby, taking my cock like such a good little slut,” he said as he rose to his knees. His cock adjusted inside of you and began hitting you from a different angle. He hit your g-spot with each thrust. “Scream for me, baby. I want the maid to know who you belong to.”

You gripped the sheets in a knuckle-white grip as your mouth parted in a silent scream. You were so close to coming. “Ransom!” You screamed. That was all you could get out before you came, your walls clenching his cock even tighter.

He continued thrusting into you fast and hard, but it was only a few more thrusts before he was coming too. His seed was warm inside of you as it mixed with your own.

Ransom pulled out of you and lied beside of you. You fell asleep like that, both of you naked and side by side, though never daring to move close enough to hold each other.

...

The sun was shining through the windows when you woke up the next morning. You stumbled into the bathroom and began to rub the sleep from your eyes once you returned to the bedroom. Ransom was still asleep. You paused, letting yourself take in the sight of him. He was peaceful when he slept. His signature scowl wasn’t there, and his face was beautiful enough to look like an angel.

You laughed to yourself. Ransom Drysdale was about as far from an angel as anyone could get. You were still smiling when you walked over to your side of the bed and pulled back the covers--

And screamed.

Blood. So much blood. It stained most of the sheets and no doubt had seeped into the mattress too. A horrifying thought struck you, and you brushed a fingers between your legs to find something wet and sticky. Your finger was coated in blood when you looked back at it.

“Ransom...” You whispered, your voice barely audible even to your own ears.

He didn’t stir.

“Ransom!” You cried. this time your voice echoed throughout the room.

He only moved to bury his face into his pillow. “Leave me alone, it’s like seven in the morning.”

“The hospital,” you said, feeling yourself go into shock. “I need--the hospital.”

Finally Ransom opened his eyes. He jumped when he saw the blood-stained bed. He got to his feet before noticing your bloody hand, which you still couldn’t stop staring at in horror. He dressed himself and threw something on you, but all you could see or think about was the blood.

So much blood.

Too much blood.

...

Five hours later, you were in a hospital bed. The doctors had left you alone long ago, taking your dead fetus with them. They said the formal term for it was intrauterine fetal demise. The baby had been growing normally and then just... stopped. They said the baby had been dead for some time, at least a day.

Ransom was out in the hall. You’d asked him to leave when you felt yourself begin to cry. There was nothing he could have done to comfort you.

You heard him now, pacing outside your door and talking to someone on the phone. “...it worked,” he was saying. “That biocide was fucking expensive but it worked.”

Biocide.

Poison.

“Yeah, Dad,” Ransom continued into the phone. “I’ve been giving it to her for a month now. It’s been in all the food.”

It’s been in all the food.

You stopped breathing.

He’d been so set on you killing the baby. And then he’d just... given in. He’d accepted what you wanted and gone with it, even though he hadn’t wanted it, too. Ransom never gives in. Ransom always gets what he wants.

Ransom had poisoned you.

Ransom had killed your baby.

You began to scream, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop.