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whisperofaflame · 5 days ago

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♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 16: I don't know who I am, when I am with you

WandaNat x [innocent, femme] reader

Collision Course – Masterlist Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: The three of you sit down together, to discuss your wellbeing and needs. After the intensity of talking about your feelings, Wanda and Natasha make sure to take extra care of you.

Word count: 8.9k (y'all deserve a long one after waiting for over a month 🙈)

Featuring: slow burn, emerging D/S dynamics, mommy kink, praise kink, copious pet names, non-sexual intimacy (but also with hints of sexual feelings at times), suggestion of sub-drop, elements of aftercare, hints of age-regression maybe? (You decide.)

Heads Up: This chapter contains passing reference (literally blink and you'll miss it) to self injury and disordered eating thoughts.

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. The last month has been insane. I've been super busy in my personal life, so it was a challenge finding time to think about the story, let alone write. Plus, I was struck by ADHD burnout (a long time coming, I suppose) and the worst bout of writer's block I've had in a long, long time. Anyway, writing has been hard, but it's finally here. Thank you to everyone who has waited for this, and to those of you who have left lovely comments and asks about Collision Course. Even if I don't reply straight away, please know that every one warms my heart and gives me a little boost, pushing me a bit closer to the next chapter. I really hope you enjoy this one ♡

As you wait, you feel the cold begin to creep through your skin. It draws you into hiding on the patio beneath the balcony, where you curl up on a wide cushioned seat, draping a blanket awkwardly over your body and tucking your bare feet underneath.

Worries swell and crash like waves in your head, and you’re consumed by thoughts of being thrown out, driven back to your arid apartment and left to languish alone.

There is no distraction, no reprieve from this. There is only waiting. Only enduring.

———

You hear the door opening a little wider to your side, and you simultaneously turn and shrink into yourself, body balling up beneath the blanket as if this will somehow hide you from her.

Wanda.

There’s fear, but also something else. A swooping feeling at seeing her, which doesn’t entirely surprise you. You missed her today. And it’s silly; it’s only been hours and you’ve only known her for a few days — but this was the longest you’ve been apart since the accident, aside from sleep. You’ve missed her kindness, her warmth, her touch — but you’re also scared that they’ll be withheld from you now, after everything that has happened today. Although, paradoxically, a small part of you feels like you’d deserve that. That you deserve some kind of punishment for what you’ve done, for how you’ve been.

But now she is there, sending you a soothing smile as she slips past the door. It doesn’t quite break through the icy shell that has crystallised around you, but it’s warm against your edges. Maybe it will melt you, over time.

“Hi sweetheart,” she greets you quietly, stepping towards you with care. Your whole body begins to shake, and you’re not sure if it’s a shiver from the cold or a tremble of fear. Wanda sits down on your left side, her face full of concern as she draws her legs up to sit cross-legged, facing into you. She studies you for a moment, resting her elbow on the back cushion and tilting her head to lean into her elevated right hand. Then, very slowly, she reaches out with her other hand. You watch it approach, trying desperately to slow your breathing and still your limbs. She places it on the rise of your knee, easily located despite the blanket that covers you, and she presses down, gentle but firm. Wanda doesn’t seem hesitant or unsure. It’s like she knows you now, knows her touch will ground you though you’re nervous.

She’s right. The small but assured link between her body seems to pull you to safety, like she’s thrown a life-ring out to you and is plucking you out from the waves. They still crash somewhere deep inside you, but your head is above the water now, and you can breathe.

“Nat said you’ve had a difficult day,” Wanda tells you softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, myšička.”

The water level rises then, pooling in your eyes. A gentle stroke to your knee with her thumb coaxes out the tears, which begin to trickle silently down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it comes out in a choked whisper. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Shh…” Wanda soothes, and she reaches out with her right hand to carefully wipe the tears from your cheeks, and tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear.. “It’s okay, honey. I know. You’re not in trouble.”

“But I lied,” you stammer out. “I sort of knew I might do it… I planned it. And I almost left.”

“Almost,” Wanda repeats, emphasising the word as her fingers find your cheek again, cupping it and very slightly brushing her thumb over the tear tracks. “But you didn’t, did you sweetheart? Instead, you found Nat, just like I asked you to.”

The words seem to seep through your skin; they trickle through your veins, finding the guilt and settling in the same space. Not fighting to overrule. Just there, a silent alternative. Maybe the day wasn’t all bad. Maybe you aren’t all bad.

“Nat only let me use the bike because I pressured her so much,” you tell her, feeling obliged to explain fully, to shoulder the blame. “I just… I couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Myšička, no one is in trouble. Not Nat; not you. Nat explained to me, and I know you needed it.”

There’s a hollow, sick feeling in your stomach, and you can’t understand why. Wanda has told you twice now that you’re not in trouble, but you still feel like there are invisible strings pulling at all your limbs from within, the tension aching and shameful. Your head keeps revolving back to her words this morning, and the way they hooked some unknown chain inside you, like you were always meant to be attached like this. God, you just want to be good. And it’s silly, but you need her to know that. To know that you intended it, and that you still intend it to be true.

You turn your head away from her, forcing her hand to slide off your cheek and instead rest upon your shoulder. You can’t say this while looking at her.

“I wanted to be good for you,” you whisper, and you count the red bricks on the wall beneath the staircase, mentally tracing the lines like beads of a rosary. The action taps into that ancient habit; it scratches the scab and unearths the urge to repent.

“And you were,” Wanda assures you, finding your chin and gently redirecting your gaze back to her. It hurts a little, to look at her. You want her reassurance so badly, but it feels sinful, somehow, to accept it. It feels like you are bypassing the confession, skipping past the penance. “I asked you to find Natasha if you needed anything, and you did. You went to her, and you told her what you needed. That was all I asked you to do, hm?”

It’s hard to respond to that, because technically she is right — that is all she asked you to do this morning. But it misses everything else: every implicit expectation that compels you in their house, in their presence. And how can you express those in words? Those urges, those obligations that don’t even seem to originate from a clear source… Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’ve created this all in your head, a bizarre alternate reality in which your decorum would matter so much to them. Fuck, it’s so confusing. So you just blink dumbly at her, unable to answer at all. And Wanda simply smiles at your stupor, renewing the gentle stroking of your knee and making you feel a little fuzzy in the soft glow of her full attention.

“I’m proud of you for opening up to Nat, myšička,” Wanda murmurs, her hand brushing some stray hair behind your ear again, then moving behind your head to gently stroke the baby hairs at the bottom of your neck. A shiver runs through your body, triggered by the electric touch of her fingers and the cool sensation of her rings as they brush against your skin; the fluttering feeling finishes in your half-frozen feet, leaving little prickles in its wake.

Proud. It feels undeserved, but you bat away the doubt and cling to it like another blanket, desperate for the security it can offer you when the rest of you feels so evil, so unworthy. Wanda’s arm feels warm where it rest against your shoulder and her fingers brush against your neck. Would it be so bad to lean in?

You give in, and the slow descent feels so sweet. Like with every small yielding movement you are rejecting the bad feelings, and replacing them with Wanda’s gentle alternatives. It feels like the longer you stay here, the more you lose yourself. Every part of you is being rewritten. And you can’t always find it inside you to care. Her fingers respond to your movement, moving down to hold your right waist as you lean down to rest your head on her shoulder. Your body tips, bent knees rocking over to rest every so slightly against Wanda’s crossed legs. A part of you wishes you could curl up there, with both of your limbs tangling together. Wanda’s left hand has moved to cup the back of your right knee, and you imagine her using the hold to lift you into into her lap.

You close your eyes, breathing out and letting go of the last little bits of reserve. One more admission. Not from guilt, but from hope.

“I missed you,” you whisper, the statement barely audible as it slips from your lips and catches on the gentle breeze. But she hears it; you know she does, because she hums a little, the sound happy and soft, and she pairs it with a gentle squeeze of your waist.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” she whispers back. “I thought about you a lot while I was at work, wondering how you were doing.”

“Really?” you ask, the question slipping out desperately, your need for reassurance no longer contained by shame or reason.

“Really, myšička. I even texted Nat at lunchtime to check how you were doing. And when she said you were having a hard time, I wanted to come right back. But I had two more lectures to give, so I had to stay.”

You sigh a little in her hold.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, “I understand.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it. To reassure her? That seems strange. She shouldn’t need to come back to you. She shouldn’t need to explain herself.

“You’ll have me all day tomorrow,” Wanda tells you quietly, giving you an extra little squeeze, tightening the embrace just slightly, so she doesn’t hurt your shoulder. “And then we can figure out the rest of the week, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breathing slow as you gaze out to the garden and feel her thumb rubbing gently at the skin between the waistband of your shorts and the hem of your vest top, which rides up slightly because of your sideways lean.

“In a moment, we’ll head in and sit on the sofa, okay?” Wanda tells you, and you relax a little more when you hear her gentle direction said in such a soft tone. You love it when she tells you what to expect, what to do. It makes you feel safe. “Natty will join us, and we’ll have a little chat together. Just about how you’ve been feeling, and what you need from us. Nothing bad, little one, I promise.”

The prospect of talking — or that nickname, you’re not sure — pulls out a small sound from your throat. A tiny whine, luckily muffled by the way your face is pressed against Wanda’s shirt. You can tell that she hears it though, because her left hand strokes the back of your leg gently, reassuring you with her touch.

“After we talk, I think a bath would be good for you, darling. You can get into comfy clothes for dinner, and then we can just relax after eating. Maybe we could watch some more She-Ra, hm?”

You make a small sound of consideration, of approval, and Wanda gives you a little kiss on the forehead in response.

“Let’s get you inside, myšička. Your feet are frozen.”

You make no move at first, your fuzzy brain still catching up, still figuring out the fact that you have to move yourself, that Wanda can’t carry you. Then she gives you a soft pat on the back of your thigh. A reminder, a signal.

You sit up, wiping your eyes with your freed left hand, then using it to unravel the blanket from your body and place it on the side. Wanda keeps her hand around your waist for a moment, then she lets go and moves to stand. She doesn’t say any more, she just holds out her hand, and you take it without hesitation, letting her lead you back inside.

When Wanda reaches the sofa she lets go of your hand and gestures for you to sidle between the sofa and the coffee table to take a seat in the middle. Once you’re seated, she sits down next to you, on your right, and places her hand on your leg, just above your knee.

“I’m just going to message Nat,” she tells you, pulling her phone out her pocket with her right hand, “to let her know we’re down here.”

In reply, you give a small nod. You like that she explains, that she keeps you informed even when you don’t ask.

It doesn’t take long for Natasha to arrive. She moves around the left side of the sofa and then side-steps round to sit on the coffee table right in front of you, holding up some fluffy socks.

“Wanda said you might need these. What do you think?”

You look to Wanda, who smiles reassuringly at you. Then you look back at Natasha, her smile gentle, hopeful. Slowly, you nod.

“Yes please.”

Natasha’s smile deepens, and she places one sock on the table next to her, so she can use both hands to open the other up, bundling the fabric so it can be pulled on it one motion. Shyly, you raise one leg, and let her slide the fluffy fabric over one frozen foot. Then you both repeat the process for the other side. The gesture makes you feel a little warmer inside, more from her kindness than the extra clothing.

“Thank you.” It comes out small but Natasha looks pleased as she stands up, turns, and sits down on your left side, shuffling herself back until she’s situated in the corner of the L-shape and she can see you and Wanda without twisting. Then she lifts her legs up onto the sofa, tucking her feet in close and hugging her raised knees.

“I know you’re a bit worried about this, lapushka, but we just want to have a chat with you, now that you’re feeling a bit more like yourself,” Natasha says, but despite her reassuring words and Wanda’s gentle stroking of your thigh, you shrink back into the cushion behind you.

Do you? Feel more like yourself? You’re not so sure.

“Wanda and I like having you here, Y/N,” Natasha continues. “And we want you to stay with us for a while. At least until your arm is better, and you can manage things more independently. How do you feel about that?”

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “As long as it’s truly okay with you.”

“It is,” Wanda reiterates, moving her left hand to the back of your neck, fingertips playing with your baby hairs again. “We mean it, myšička.”

“Can I give you anything in return?” you ask. “I mean, I feel bad that you’re feeding me, and I’m using your spare room… I could give you some money for food, maybe?”

“No,” Natasha replies, her tone blunt and unequivocal. “This isn’t transactional, Y/N. We don’t need anything in return — not now, not ever, okay?”

You gnaw at your lip. You’ve paid for yourself for years; even when times have been tough and your parents have offered to send you money, you have refused, and found a way. It’s partly a point of pride, but mainly it’s an obligation you have placed upon yourself. Your childhood problems and ailments have cost the world, cost your family enough. In a way, your financial independence is a form of penance. It feels strange, foreign — wrong — to accept help for free.

“In case you haven’t noticed, darling — we have more than enough space and food to share,” Wanda tells you lightly, leaning forward a little so you can see her playful grin. “We don’t want you to worry about that, okay?”

“Y/N, all we need from you is honesty, alright?” Natasha says, and you turn to look at her again, feeling Wanda place her other hand above your knee, as she continues to stroke your hair in a slow rhythm. “Just let us know how you’re feeling, and tell us if you ever feel uncomfortable. Can you do that?”

Tears prickle in your eyes. Honesty. It sounds so simple when she puts it like that, but they don’t know what’s going on with you, not really. They don’t know how you’re fighting the feelings and fearing the fall.

You’ve spent so much time, so much energy over the years trying to paste up your cracks and build yourself into something stable, something independent and unbreakable. The scaffolding they have erected to support you is chipping through the cladding, and you fear it will expose the structural damage within, the ugly joins and uneven stitching where you’ve made hasty, inexpert attempts to pull yourself back together. You’re afraid to let them see. And you’re scared that you’ll learn to rely on their help, and then lose them.

“Sweetheart, what’s upsetting you?” Wanda asks, her voice no longer playful. She sounds concerned, sympathetic. Her hand squeezes the flesh above your knee, and the action encourages the tears to flow.

“I don’t wanna be a burden,” you choke out, squeezing your eyes tight shut in an attempt to both stem the tears and avoid their gaze. “And I… I like being here, I like you both so much, but also I… I…” Your words trail off as your thoughts spiral and fail to align in your head. What do you want to say? What do you need to say? It feels like you’re spinning, flung about in space, and you need to still yourself, you need to ground yourself. The fingers of your left hand, which already lays on your lap, tense into claws. When you can’t run, this is what you are reduced to. Small doses of acute pain, to locate your limbs, to reassert your position in space. Even this tiny pinch helps. It helps you centre yourself on the immediate moment, helps you prioritise calming your breathing first, reminds you to wait for the raging winds to pass, before attempting to speak.

They wait for you, their presence heavy at either side, but also equal. Stabilising.

You find yourself speaking, the words arranging themselves on your tongue.

“I feel like… like I don’t really know who I am, when I am with you.”

The statement surprises you, but you know it’s true. You hardly recognise yourself, at times. So many parts of your personality are gone, with some pieces were left behind in your homeland, and others ripped away in the accident. The only parts of you left are needy, clinging. Not new, just unfamiliar, forgotten. And though it feels nice to lean into it, at times — especially with them — this isn’t all of you. It can’t be.

You release your grip from your thigh, and wipe your eyes. Then you turn to Wanda. She looks worried: her head is tilted, and her hands are still, frozen against the back of your head and you right leg. When you look into her eyes, you notice that they look a little more shiny than usual. Have you made her upset?

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, voice panicked and trembling. “I don’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a burden,” Natasha’s voice assures you. “And it’s okay to share how you’re feeling with us. It’s important.”

Reluctantly — because you really want to see her, and make sure she’s okay — you turn away from Wanda, and look to Natasha. She looks serious, and her arms move to cross over her chest, then loosen, and fall to her lap again.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” She asks, then she pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. One of her eyebrows lifts quizzically as she adds another question. "Or anything you want us to stop doing?”

You look down to your lap again. You don’t want them to stop being that special kind of soft with you, even if it would probably resolve all the confusing feelings it brings. You just maybe need an outlet. A way to balance it out with other pieces of yourself. A way to remind you — and perhaps remind them — that you’re still yourself; still smart and strong and capable.

“You don’t need to stop anything,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks blush at your answer, and all it entails. The admission that you like them at their most gentle, that you like the hugs and the nicknames and even the slight hint of condescension which imbues their affection with an additional dizzying aura. At your words, Wanda resumes her gentle stroking of your hair, and she deepens the pressure above your knee. Like she was waiting for your confirmation. Like she wanted it.

“Okay,” Natasha acknowledges quietly. “We won’t stop anything. But we want to help, lapushka. Can you think of anything we can do? Or anything you want to do?”

You try to think, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts as you attempt to reorder your thoughts. But nothing comes. You frown at your lap, frustration building. You want to answer her, you want to supply an idea, and please her. But you can’t.

Natasha’s hand finds yours, interlocking your fingers together. You look up at her, and she smiles gently.

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “I can help with ideas. What about if we think about exercise first? Is that something you need?”

“Yes,” you whisper, grateful for the prompt.

“Tell us,” Natasha encourages, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You nod, and take a deep breath.

“I need to get outside,” you say quietly, your words slow at first, but gradually gaining rhythm and confidence as you continue. “At least once a day, for a bit. I need the fresh air, and the movement.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees, smiling and nodding in a way which bolsters you even more. “What else?”

“Sometimes I might need a bit more,” you admit, biting your lip briefly, but continuing when Natasha continues to nod. “I know I should be resting, but sometimes I just get so overwhelmed, and when I do, exercise is kind of the only thing that helps.” You turn to look at Wanda. She doesn’t seem upset, like you feared she would. In fact, she gives you a little smile. She seems proud. It makes your cheeks feel warm again.

“Would using the gym help?” she asks you, and you nod shyly, grateful for her understanding.

“Yes please. If that’s okay. I won’t use it without your permission, I promise.”

Wanda nods at that.

“As long as Natasha or I can supervise, then it’s okay with me, myšička. But if you feel like you’re getting to that point, can you talk to one of us, please? I don’t want you struggling on your own, and reaching that point of overwhelm. We need to have other strategies, too.”

You nod, both embarrassed and touched by her request.

“I… talking is hard, sometimes,” you admit quietly. “But I’ll try. I promise.”

“That’s all we ask for,” Natasha tells you, squeezing your hand again. “Even if you can’t find the words, just find one of us, and we can be with you. We can go for a walk, or do something together to distract, if that helps.”

Your eyes fill with tears again, but happy, relieved ones this time. You’ve never felt so seen, so understood. So held.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Natasha smiles at you, her gaze so soft, so far from the stern demeanour you first associated her with.

“You said being busy helps,” she reminds you. “Do you want to go into college? Do you feel ready?”

You squirm slightly in your seat, a little overwhelmed by the direct question, and the reminder of your meltdown earlier today.

“I think so,” you breathe, biting your lip and looking down at your lap, trying to focus on what you want, rather than what you think they want to hear. “I think it would help, to have something to do. But I maybe need to start with just a little bit, and see how it goes.”

“That sounds sensible,” Wanda agrees, and her accepting tone reassures you enough to look up at her. “Darling, I don’t want to hold you hostage here, or force you to rest. I just don’t want you to overdo it, and hurt yourself.”

“I know,” you whisper, feeling small. Wanda watches you, breathing in deeply through her nose, then releasing it in a slow, silent exhale.

“How about you email your supervisor and see about rearranging that meeting?” she suggests, giving you a smile.

“Are you sure?” you check, and she nods. Her permission means the world to you, and you want her to know that. You wish you could hug her, touch her — but you have no free hand, and you can’t even lean against her in this position, as it would hurt your shoulder. So all you have to offer are your words, your smile, and your grateful tears. “Thank you, Wanda.”

She beams at you, and moves her hand from your neck to wipe your tears away with her thumb.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. When you have a time, let me know, and I can make sure to get you there.”

You nod, and your smile has to suffice as thanks this time, because you feel far too choked up with gratitude and relief to speak.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Natasha asks then, and you shake your head. “Okay. We can leave it there for now, then. Thank you for talking to us, lapushka. We appreciate it.”

You feel your body relax a little, making you realise how much tension you were still holding. This conversation has been built up in your head over the last few hours, as some terrifying, earth-shattering thing — but it’s over now, and you feel better, not worse for it.

“Do you want to take a bath now?” Wanda asks you, and you nod. Words have escaped you. You feel so tired, so spent from all the emotions.

“Okay,” she whispers, cupping your cheek and squeezing above your knee before standing up and holding her hand out to you. You’ll accept it in a moment, but for now you turn to Natasha. Checking her face, checking for something. She smiles, and gives your hand a squeeze.

“It’s okay, lapushka,” she reassures you softly. “You go with Wanda, and I’ll finish getting dinner ready. When you’re ready, we can eat at the table, and then come down here to watch some TV before bed. Does that sound okay?”

You nod silently, your lips quirking up into a small smile of relief. You didn’t know what you needed, when you looked to her. But whatever it was, she gave it to you.

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, and gives it a little kiss.

“Go on, kroshka moya. I’ll see you soon.”

She moves your hand to Wanda’s, facilitating an easy transfer. Wanda helps you stand, guiding you out the narrow channel between the sofa and the table, then out the living room and up the stairs.

Together, you all the way to your room, where she says something to you. But her words sound muffled, like you’re underwater. You blink at her, lost in a daze. Wanda just smiles adoringly at you, then guides you to sit on the end of your bed. And you watch her find clothes for you, taking them out the drawers. She builds a little bundle, then returns to you and guides you back out, back down the stairs, through her bedroom and into the bathroom.

It takes a while for your brain to catch up to the movement, to the changes. You watch the water flowing out the taps, mesmerised and missing Wanda’s words. She captures your attention with a hand cupped under your chin, gently turning your head to look at her.

“Myšička?”

You watch her lips move, unable to find meaning in the muffled sound. But you feel her. Taking your hand and squeezing it. Brushing her thumb over your cheek. Her touch, pulling you back to her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks you, her expression wavering between worry and something else, something almost… pleased.

“Wanda…?” you whisper, wanting her closer, but unsure how to say it. Your lips wobble with the effort, but you can’t produce the words.

“I’m here,” she tells you, looking deep into your eyes, like she’s searching to find out what it is that you want to say.

Everything feels so heavy, and you just want her to take the weight from you, to hold you in her arms and make everything feel better. Your head droops and leans into her, falling to rest on her shoulder, face turning into her neck. Wanda’s arms waste no time in moving to embrace you. Even without words, she knows what you need.

“It’s okay, little one,” she soothes you, as you whimper in her skin. “You’re safe here. Safe with Mo… with me.”

Her words blur in your head, the sounds melting together, coalescing into something new. You’re too dazed to register it properly, but it settles there, the idea embedding itself in your brain. Stored in your subconscious. Saved for later.

Wanda rocks you slightly in her arms, as she whispers sweet nothings into your ear. You melt into her, your left hand finding her shirt and taking tight hold near the hem. Clinging to this piece of her, scared she’ll let go and set you adrift.

“I’m so tired,” you tell her, and it comes out in a sad little whine.

“I know, honey. Just let me take care of you now, okay? Let me do the thinking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word feels like an exhale, like letting go.

It feels good to let her. It feels good to give in.

Wanda hugs you for a few moments longer, then unravels you from her arms, placing one hand under your chin, and the other on your vice-like grip of her shirt, stroking it and coaxing you to release her.

“Let’s get these clothes off,” she murmurs, smiling reassuringly at you, then moving both hands behind your neck, to release the sling. It’s no more sore than usual, but you feel so sensitive right now, and you wince and whimper as she removes it from your arm. “I know it hurts, baby; I’m sorry,” Wanda coos sympathetically, and it makes you feel a bit better, hearing her words. Just a little.

Wanda carefully takes your tank top off, sliding your good arm out, taking it up over your head and then sliding it bit by bit down your bad arm, which she holds carefully at the same right-angle. She has become your sling, your protector.

She sighs sadly, and you look up at her in worry, afraid that you’ve done something wrong.

“Oh sweetheart — I shouldn’t have let you choose this bra this morning. Your poor shoulder must be so sore from the tension…”

Your lip wobbles, and you open your mouth to apologise again, because you feel so awful, and it’s all your fault, not hers…

But Wanda’s free hand takes your chin quickly, and she presses her forefinger against your lips in a shushing gesture.

“You don’t need to apologise,” she tells you, her voice back to calm, rather than regretful. “I know for next time — I won’t let you wear it for the whole day. Just if you need to exercise, okay?” Her finger brushes down over your lips, and your breath catches a little as you stare up at her avid gaze, your eyes flickering down to her own lips, which press against each other in a very small rolling motion, then curl into a smile. You look away, afraid that she’s noticed your wandering gaze and the heat in your cheeks. “Hold your arm steady for me, please,” she directs you gently, and you obey, staring down and trying to avoid glancing at her chest as she comes a little closer to reach the bra clasp on your back. When she unlatches it, the relief is immediate. Your skin prickles in the place it has left, and you realise, too late, that you’ve been overstimulated all day, the tension of your sports bra a constant drain on your energy and resilience since Wanda helped you put it on this morning. All these things about yourself, that you never notice. The reminder of your uselessness pokes at you, the jabs of self-loathing so prominent in your mind that you barely register your half-naked state.

Wanda takes hold of your bad arm again, then reaches to turn the taps off. You glance over and see there is a thick layer of bubbles on the surface, enough to cover you completely once you’re in.

“Let’s give your shoulder a proper rest, tonight,” Wanda says, cupping your cheek with her right hand and tilting her head slightly as she speaks to you. “We'll leave the swimming costume, and the shower. Just a bath, and then I can get you straight into some pyjamas, hm?”

You blink at her, the words sinking in slowly, and meeting no resistance inside your mind. So you nod, and are rewarded with her smile.

“Good girl,” Wanda praises, making you smile back happily. “Can you take your shorts off for me, sweetheart? Then I can get you in.”

You blush when your brain catches up, but still you don’t feel scared or uncomfortable at the prospect. It makes sense, to save time and pain and pressure on your shoulder. Wanda’s already seen so much of you, and she’s never stared or acted weird around your body. So what does a little more skin matter, really? You trust her.

You move your left hand to the top of your shorts and tug them down, pushing the elasticated waistband down your thighs until it meets no more resistance and the shorts fall down to your ankles. You step out carefully, then push the fabric with your foot to meet the crumpled bundle of your vest top and bra on the floor, followed by the socks which you pry off with your toes. Your shorts have built-in briefs, so you’re entirely bare now, no fabric nor willpower left to hide any part of yourself from her.

“My beautiful, brave girl,” Wanda whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. She keeps her gaze on your face, never straying to your naked body. It calms you. It makes it feel natural to be like this, with her. “Let’s get you in now.”

You let her take hold of your left hand and guide you to step into the bath. The water is pleasantly warm, not too hot that you’re hesitant to sink in. You crouch down and then sit, feeling the water lap against you and the bubbles press and burst at your edges. It’s a relief to be engulfed like this. Although the exposure was brief and Wanda entirely discreet, you still have enough grip of your faculties to know you ought to be embarrassed, even if you don’t exactly feel it branded on your skin right now.

Wanda moves to the shelf and finds a hairbrush, then returns to your side, crouching down so she’s not looming over you.

“I’m going to brush your hair out first, myšička,” she explains, her voice soft and soothing. You nod pliantly, unconcerned. She could probably say anything right now, and you’d agree.

Wanda brushes your ponytail first, holding the bunch near the top to prevent pulling. She works out the tangles, then takes the hair bobble out and continues to tease out the remaining tangles, starting with small strokes at the bottom, then working up until she’s brushed it all the way through. You feel your eyes drooping, the repetitive strokes against your scalp lulling your deeper into the haze.

“I’m turning the shower on now, sweetheart,” Wanda tells you, and you just hum in recognition. You hear it turn on, feel the water splash behind you as she tests the temperature. “Okay. Lean back for me, honey.”

Wanda rinses your hair, then massages in the shampoo, making your eyes flutter shut in contentment.

“Keep your eyes shut for me, sweetheart, while I wash out the shampoo,” Wanda advises, before turning the shower on again and rinsing out the suds. You keep your eyes tight shut until you hear her turn the shower off, and feel her hand squeeze your left shoulder gently. “All done.”

You open your eyes and turn to see her. She smiles at you with such sweetness in her eyes. So kind, you could almost call it loving.

“Let me get your loofah, and I’ll help you with your arms and back,” she says quietly, standing up and walking away. You frown, your brain seeing her leave before you’re able to process her words, the panic overriding your comprehension. Don’t go, you think desperately. Don’t leave me. Wanda walks to the shower cubicle and slides open the door, reaching in. Her arms returns holding the pale-green loofah she bought you. Her other hand slide the door shut again, and then she turns back to walk towards you. Your body relaxes in relief, and she tilts her head as she approaches, her lips curling up as she considers you.

“Did you think I was leaving?” she asks you, her nose scrunching up with amusement as she crouches down at the side of the tub and gives your nose a gentle boop with her finger.

“Nuh-uh…” you protest, looking away and blushing at your stupidity. Wanda chuckles quietly, and you poke at the bubbles on the water with your left hand, embarrassment washing over you and spilling out in petulance. Wanda stops laughing then, and brushes her thumb against your cheek.

“I’m not leaving you, miláčik,” Wanda assures you, the mirth gone from her voice, leaving only her heartfelt words. “I promise.”

You breath out, the action halfway between a huff and a sigh of relief. Your hand settles on the surface of the water, your movements slowing and shifting from destructive to explorative on the foam.

“Will you let me wash your back and arms?” Wanda asks, the first real question in a while. She waits patiently for your response, clearly wanting an honest answer this time.

“Okay,” you whisper, after considering. You glance up at her, see her soft smile, then turn back to the bubbles. You’re caught between the realistic need for consent, and the desire for her to just take control — because it’s easier, then. You prefer it when you don’t have to think, don’t have to perform the charade of handing over your control every time. In truth, you’d let her control just about any part of your life without question. If she gave you a direction, you would follow it. Happily. When she asks your permission, it just draws attention to your yielding nature, and makes you doubt if she wants it.

Wanda moves to the end of the bath again, soaks the loofah in the water behind you, then starts to wash the back of your shoulders. It feels a little scratchy against your skin, but she’s gentle, and the warm water is doing a little to soften the rough texture. Still, the coarse sensation seems to awaken you, and unearths a niggling doubt inside you.

“W-Wanda?” you ask quietly, nibbling at your lower lip as you wait for her response. She stops what she is doing at once, moving back round to the side of the bathtub and crouching down so she can see your face.

“Yes, darling?”

“Is — is it weird for you?” you ask, voice wobbling. “Having to help me like this?” You try to look at her, but have to alternate between her eyes and the water, because her gaze is too intense, too attentive for you to meet.

“Not at all,” she tells you, and when you look back at her you see the worry has melted from her eyebrows, and her lips have curled into a smile. She reaches out with her free hand, cupping your cheek and stroking her thumb over your cheekbone. “Honestly, little one… I really like it. I like looking after you. I like when you let me.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

You consider her words, watching her for a while, like you might see a crack in the act. But she holds your gaze, maintains her smile. She means it. You can see that she’s telling the truth. But that doesn’t mean that you understand.

“But… why?” you ask, struggling to accept it, struggling to believe that she’d want to do all this for you.

“Because I care about you,” she says simply, never stopping the soothing motions of her thumb against your cheek, “and I like to look after the people I care about, myšička, and make them feel safe, and happy.” She studies you as you take this in. “Do you like it when I look after you?”

You blush, because the answer is obvious, and yet she wants you to say it.

“Yes,” you whisper shyly, holding her gaze even though you want to hide. Wanda smiles.

“Then that’s all that matters,” she says quietly. “Okay?”

You nod in her hold, and she leans forward and presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Good girl.”

And with that, she moves to the end of the tub again, and continues to wash your back. You slide your feet towards your body, raising your knees and pressing them together. Beneath the water, you ache.

Wanda washes your arms and carefully wipes your underarms, then hands the loofah to you and directs you to wash yourself while she readies the towel. You do, blushing and staring resolutely down at the water, feeling thankful for the staying power of the bubbles tonight. Once you’ve cleaned yourself all over — as much as you can, with one arm available for use and one pinned painfully beneath your chest — you squeeze out the loofah, and place it on the rim of the tub.

“Finished?” Wanda asks, and you nod shyly. She smiles, and raises the towel with both hands, ready to cover you. “Can you stand by yourself?”

You nod again, glad she’s allowing you to do so, and preparing to preserve your dignity as swiftly as possible when you rise. With your left hand pressing against the rim, you push yourself up to stand, and let Wanda wrap the towel around your body, placing it over your right shoulder and under your left armpit, to keep your bad arm safely compressed and your good arm free.

“Not too tight?” she checks, and you shake your head. “Alright, let’s get you out safely.” She keeps hold of the towel with one hand, and takes your free hand in her other, helping you step out onto the bathmat. The change in temperature makes you shiver, and Wanda, noticing, doesn’t waste any time in trying to get you dry. She’s careful of your arm and she makes sure not to linger too long or too close in certain areas, but overall she’s clinical and efficient. When she’s done, she rearranges the towel in the same way, so she can clasp it together at your front with one hand. She leans down to pick up the socks from the floor, then gives you a gentle tug with the towel, moving you two steps towards the shelf to add the bundle of clean clothes she picked out to the pair of socks in her hand. The she leads you towards the door, out into her bedroom, where she gently guides you to sit on the edge of her bed, and moves your left hand to replace her grip of the towel. You stare at her expectantly, brain completely blank and waiting for instructions. Your hair drips onto the towel, and your shoulder feels sore from the strain of holding it up without the sling, but you can’t find it within you to care or complain. All you can think of is Wanda, because she crouches in front of you, sliding your dangling feet through the holes of your underwear, and gently sliding the fabric up over your knees. Then she does the same with a pair of pyjama shorts, and finally she replaces the fluffy socks from before.

“Pull these up, baby,” she tells you, giving you a little pat on your knee. Every time she uses that nickname, it makes you feel so flustered and needy. But it’s a nice feeling, somehow. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You stand up slowly, and fumble awkwardly to shuffle the underwear and shorts up beneath the towel. When you finish, she smiles praisingly and takes over holding the towel again. She readies the sling behind you on the bed, then holds up one of your oversized t-shirts and gives you a moment to process, before unwrapping the towel from around you and placing it down on the floor. She’s quick to cover you, sliding your bad arm through the sleeve then letting you wriggle your other in before slipping it over your head. The feeling of the soft, loose t-shirt calms you. You’re covered, but not compressed. After a day of emotional upheaval and physical tension, this is what you need.

Wanda carefully pulls your hair out where it’s been tucked beneath the t-shirt, then she starts putting your sling back on. It’s a relief when it’s over, and you can relax your arm muscles again.

“Now, my darling — I’m going to get changed out of my work clothes and into something comfy too. Would you like to go downstairs and see if dinner is ready?”

You stare at her. She’s worded it as a question, and it confuses you. If she’d given it as an instruction, you would have obeyed, albeit reluctantly. But she’s asked you, and your honest answer would be no.

Is that even okay? For your answer to be no?

“C-can I stay?” you ask meekly. Then, realising that this sounds weird and intrusive, you amend your request with haste. “Or — can I wait outside for you? Please?”

Wanda smiles, that nose-scrunching smile that tells you she’s happy, amused. She takes your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“Of course you can stay, my love. Take a seat and I’ll be quick.” With her hold of your hand, she pushes you back a little until your thighs touch the edge of the bed. You sit, staring at her and mourning the loss of her touch as she lets go of your hand, picks the towel up from the floor and moves to her walk-in closet. When you look down at your lap, you feel that same ache inside. Along with a dampness between your legs, that you can’t entirely blame on the bathwater.

Wanda emerges a minute later in a plain blue t-shirt and light grey joggers, holding a small, thin towel in her hand.

“For your hair,” she tells you quietly, as she sits down on the bed beside you. “So you don’t get cold, during dinner.” She wraps your hair in it, then gently dries it off. At one point, you feel her chest press against your shoulder as she leans to reach the other side of your head. You bite the inside of your cheek, willing your body not to betray you, but feeling the warmth and the ache blooming anyway.

“Good enough, I think,” Wanda decides, standing up again and walking to the bathroom you watch her walk in and hang the bathmat over the side of the tub, before picking up your running clothes. She brings them and the towel back to her closet, where you assume she must have a laundry basket. “Okay,” she says then, offering her hand as she approaches, “let’s go down and see Natty. Dinner must be ready by now.”

———

When you reach the kitchen, the table is already set, and Natasha is already standing up from her stool at the counter, smiling in greeting.

“Ready when you are,” she says warmly.

Wanda guides you to sit in your usual seat, but then she sits down on the chair at the end, not her usual place opposite you. Natasha doesn’t seem to bat an eye at this, she just rearranges the place settings, moving the plate, glass and cutlery from where she normally sits, to the space in front of Wanda. Then she sits down in Wanda’s usual seat, and smiles reassuringly at you. She doesn’t seem bothered by Wanda’s closeness to you. In fact, she seems happy. It undoes the knot of worry before it can tug itself tight.

You don’t feel hungry at first, and you expect to struggle through even the small plate Natasha serves you, but find yourself pleasantly surprised by your appetite, once you start eating. The food is good, really good, and it’s perhaps also going down better tonight, because you actually did a bit of exercise today. Whenever you look up, Natasha seems to be pleased. And though Wanda doesn’t draw attention to your improved appetite with her words, she grants you an affectionate touch every so often, conveying her approval with a stroke of your hair, or a light squeeze above your knee.

When you finish your plate, you nibble your lip and look up. Natasha watches you for a moment, still chewing.

“Would you like some more?” she asks once she’s swallowed. Her voice is neutral; her smile is soft and unassuming. You do want more, but there’s that familiar tug in your brain, holding you back. Natasha tilts her head, but her expression doesn’t change. You know she’s figuring you out, though. She’s good at reading you. Maybe even better than Wanda, at times. “You know, I gave you a small portion to begin with,” she says casually. “Just to see if you liked it. It’s okay to have more, if you want.”

You look down at your plate, thinking. Fighting.

“Yes please,” you say quietly, looking back up at her and feeling the tension ease in your chest as you breathe out. She nods, her face unchanged apart from the smallest little twitch at the left corner of her lips. A tiny, hidden smile. A smile she’s containing, so she doesn’t put pressure on you. Knowing that makes it seep in through your skin, warm like a hug.

After dinner, the three of you move downstairs to the sofa, and Wanda presses play on the next episode of She-Ra without pre-amble or discussion. You tuck your feet up beneath you for a bit, your left hand lifting to your mouth and the fingernail of your forefinger pressing against your lips until you notice the habit and move your hand back to your lap. You feel so tired but also there’s still that familiar, constant buzzing in your body that won’t still. The longer you spend around them, and the more comfortable you feel in their presence, the harder it is to hide. You cross your legs and shuffle back against the cushions. But that stance only lasts for a minute, before you have to try another, sliding forward to dangle your legs over the edge again.

“Y/N, would you like me to braid your hair again?” Natasha asks. You turn to face her, sitting cross legged in the corner and waiting patiently for your response. You nod.

“Yes please.”

“Alright,” Natasha says, with a smile. She reaches forward, and pulls a hairbrush out from the shelf beneath the coffee table. Then she opens her legs into a V, placing her feet flat on the cushions at either side so her knees can lift up and form a clear space for you to sit. She pats the empty spot expectantly, and you stand up, left arm curling around your stomach as you approach. You sit down, and she gives you a gentle squeeze on your good shoulder.

“Same braid?” she asks you, and you nod. “Alright. Just focus on the screen to keep your head straight. If it hurts, let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

There’s a pause, in which you curl your fingers a little deeper into your waist, trying to contain the buzz, and the urge to move. Natasha seems to be considering something, considering you.

“Can you hold this for me?” she asks, holding something out in her left hand, and forcing you to unravel your anxious hold of your torso to accept the hair tie she holds out to you.

Natasha starts brushing your hair then, and you look back to the screen. You roll the hair tie between your fingertips, twisting and stretching it subconsciously as you tune back in to the episode. The combination of watching the show, fidgeting with the hair tie, and feeling Natasha’s fingers pull your hair into a tight braid — it settles you, muffling the buzz like a weighted blanket, until finally it fades away completely.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this, and I wish you well ♡

Taglist: (comment below if you'd like to be added to this) @nessheartnat ; @valerie-lexi ; @bishovapls ; @redheadsinmybed ; @electric-guillotines ; @naominanuq ; @alpalpym ; @dreaming-potato ; @snowazul ; @deathbylesbianwitches ; @queen-of-chaotic-surprises ; @loverluzer ; @methealt ; @theslutoflasignora ; @godhatesgoodgirls ; @absolutelyregal

#wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #f/f fanfic #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #collision course #marvel fanfiction

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taurasiluvr · 1 year ago

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how you can help palestine

★ i've been thinking about this clip since i've seen it, and i fear it's taken over my brain. suggestive content under the cut, minors dni!

⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; established relationship, no smut but very much suggestive / alluding to sex.

the wet hair, her exposed and muscular arms – it made you go absolutely insane. and caitlin was doing it on purpose, to to test your self-control. she glanced at you with a mischievous glint in her eye, knowing exactly the effect she had on you.

she sauntered over, her wet dripping onto the shirt she'd been wearing. "enjoying the view?" she teased, leaning against the doorframe, her biceps flexing slightly as she crossed her arms.

you swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "you know what you're doing, don't you?"

caitlin's laugh was low and throaty. "maybe," she admitted, her gaze now dark, locking onto yours. "is it working?"

you smirked, stepping closer until you were just inches apart. "it's definitely working," you murmured, your voice tinged with desire.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. "good, i like keeping you on your toes."

you couldn't help but laugh softly. "well, mission accomplished."

your hands found her waist, drawing her even closer. the feel of her wet shirt against your skin sent shivers down your spine, the way she gazed down at you like you were the most delicate thing in the world, and you were – at least, in her world.

caitlin's hands moved to rest on your shoulders, her touch firm yet gentle. "you know," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "i have practice in the morning. coach is going to kill me if i'm late, again."

caitlin tried to be a punctual person, she really did – but it's really hard when you have a sexy girlfriend who demands attention all day, especially with her busy schedule. she doesn't know what's been in the air, but the two of you had been at it like rabbits – again, maybe it was her busy schedule but she couldn't keep her hands off of you.

you smiled innocently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her neck. "you're making it seem like it's my fault," you mumbled.

caitlin pouted dramatically as she pulled back just enough to look at you. "oh, it's definitely your fault," she teased, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on your shoulders.

"you're irresistible, and you know it."

you laughed softly, the sound muffled against her skin as you nuzzled closer. "well... if i'm soooo irresistible, then maybe you should do something about it."

her eyes darkened with a playful intensity. "is that a challenge?"

you met her gaze, your smile turning into a smirk. "maybe it is."

without another word, caitlin scooped you up into her arms, effortlessly carrying you over to the bed. she laid you down gently, her body hovering over yours as she leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss. you responded eagerly, your hands exploring the familiar terrain of her muscular back, feeling the strength and power in her every movement.

caitlin pulled back slightly, her breath hot against your lips. "you're gonna be the death of me," she murmured, her eyes filled with a mix of adoration and need.

you chuckled, your fingers tangling in her wet hair. "but what a way to go," you whispered back.

she laughed softly, the sound vibrating through you as she kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the moment. her hands roamed over your body, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

#caitlin clark #wcbb #wcbb x reader #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark headcannons #caitlin clark smut #caitlin clark jersey #wnba basketball #iowa wbb #wnba draft #wnba #wnba x reader #indiana fever #taurasiluvr writing

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balladeerssong · 7 months ago

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love me, love me !!

| SYNOPSIS | genshin men as cliche love tropes.

| INCLUDING | Albedo, Diluc, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli

| WARNINGS | modern/university au!, Kaeya's and Zhongli's are suggestive, age gap in Zhongli's, mentions of blood and obsession in Albedo's, mentions of death in Diluc's.

𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐨 - ᵛᵃᵐᵖⁱʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵘᵐᵃⁿ ˡᵒᵛᵉ.

ꕤ Albedo is quiet, reserved, typically someone you'd call a 'loner' in uni. he's super distant with everyone and seems to be repulsed by any form of interaction. mood, honestly.

ꕤ it was all until you came along of course. your blood smells divine, your thoughts are unreadable, everything about you seems so.. different. but not the kind of different he is.

ꕤ Albedo loathes the monster he truly is, which is why he's scared to approach you at first. he yearns for, craves an answer to why you stand out from everyone else; but for that, he has to push his thirst for your blood down his throat - which is way more difficult than it seemed at first.

ꕤ however, first and foremost, he doesn't want to scare his dinner you away! how could he seek answers if you were terrified of him? so, he starts showing up at places you usually go to. it doesn't feel like someone is watching you all the time at all...

ꕤ oh, this parasocial relationship he was in with you looked way creepier from 3rd person view. his behaviour is straight up concerning to others, and if someone didn't think he was weird before, now they do.

ꕤ when he finally manages to speak to you in chemistry class, his world turns upside down. your voice, your scent, the light in your eyes, the warmth of your body - each and every part of you just draws him in, chaining him to you in a way he never could have imagined in the past.

ꕤ the more time you spend with him, the less tense he gets around you, which leads to a big change in his behaviour. he eventually reveals his big secret with a lump in his throat, and - to his surprise - you take it well and accept him for who he is.

ꕤ naturally, he's very protective. not just out of jealousy, but because he understands how fragile humans are compared to him. expect him to be right behind you wherever you go (even if you complain about him scaring your friends away).

��𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜 - ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʰᵒᵒᵈ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ.

᯽ your families were always extremely close, which is why you basically spent your entire childhoods together. your parents always joked about how you'll eventually end up marrying each other when you grow up.

᯽ even after Crepus' unfortunate passing, you two stay inseparable. Diluc changed a lot after that, but you understand and accept him the way he is; which is something he's eternally grateful for.

᯽ from day 1 of university, it's obvious for everyone that seeing either of you without the other is near impossible. and before you think there would be a bunch of rumours about you two dating, you're wrong. to others it's common knowledge that you're a couple.

᯽ it's not like you act like you are! but you look nothing alike, so that closes out the possibility of you being siblings and... what else could you be, really?

᯽ Diluc hears about this before you do. it makes him reflect on his feelings - maybe he does feel more than just friendship. you've been a part of his life since birth, after all. at first he tries to brush it off, convincing himself that it's simply familial love he feels for you. yet he can't help but look at you in a slightly different way after that, he becomes a lot more attentive to everything you say and do (he already was, but now even more so!).

᯽ after exploring his emotions in depth, his confession would be brief and confident in the comfort of his apartment. it catches you by surprise, but it also makes you extremely happy - for the past years you thought you were the loser for falling for your best friend!

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 - ᵖᵒᵖᵘˡᵃʳ ˣ ˡᵒⁿᵉʳ.

✦ 'name someone on campus who doesn't have a crush on Childe' challenge, go! while it does seem impossible, there's one person that could not care less about the redhead - it's you of course.

✦ and when they say the seating plans can't be that horrible, he ends up getting seated next to the only person who doesn't bother to even look at him. how humiliating! well, it's even worse for you - since you're somewhat an enigma to him, he'll bother you all the damn time.

✦ the worst part is that he thinks he's doing you a favour by talking to you, since you don't have friends and all. he even offers to sit with you at lunch as a joke, which you immediately refuse. how can he even enjoy his meal with all these people trying to get his attention all the time?

✦ you don't humour him at all and it infuriates him. it lights something up inside of him that he can't quite place - he has the attention of the entire campus, yet he'd much rather try to get yours instead. you're hard to get and he loves it.

✦ luck shines upon him when you're assigned to work on a project with your seatmate. the deadline is in a month, so you know what that means! he has 30 days to win you over.

✦ he does everything, and i mean everything. he invites you over to 'work on the project' often, and since you do want to get this over with quickly, you can't possibly refuse. you notice him getting closer and closer in your personal space on each occasion, pushing his knee against yours, letting your hands touch, resting his head on your shoulder. all of this leading up to the faithful moment where he has his nose against yours, pulling you into the kiss he's been waiting for all this time.

✦ you have to admit that his charms did work on you after all. and he has to admit he prefers being with just you, far from the crowd he used to be in the center of.

𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚 - ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ'ˢ ᵉˣ.

✶ his biggest mistake ever was choosing your friend over you when fate offered him two hotties at the senior party. he was drunk, okay? she seemed slightly more interested and willing to do nasty things with him, so... he went with the easier road.

✶ well, he missed out BIG time. i'm not saying that your bestie is a bad person, no! but whenever you met up with him because your best friend wanted to spend time with the both of you at the same time, it became more and more obvious that he's much more compatible with you. he'd never show that of course.

✶ your friend was devastated on the night of their breakup, calling you at ungodly hours just to cry on the phone to you. how sad. Kaeya didn't seem like a bad guy, you could only wonder what happened between them. funny thing is, your best friend did too. he didn't give her an actual reason for the breakup. he could never tell her that he was head over heels for her best friend.

✶ he waits for a while. pouncing on you right after breaking up with your friend would be way too unethical and definitely suspicious. he still has your number though, and he knows that one place you usually get lunch from. he'll make a detailed, steadfast plan to get closer with you again - after all, you two haven't spoken since the day of the breakup.

✶ he gradually starts with small gestures here and there. liking your posts (which he didn't do while he was in a relationship), saying hello when you walk past him in the hallway, sitting next to you in class when your bestie is absent. soon, he starts sending you tiktoks he thinks you might enjoy, starting small talk when he catches you alone, paying for your lunch when he gets the chance. he's more obvious than he intended to be, but he's impatient. and you catch on.

✶ you didn't expect to be at his place one night, letting him see what he missed on his first opportunity, feeling so good but so guilty at the same time, knowing that your friend's heart would break for the second time if she found out.

✶ so, you start dating in secret. he's awfully good at keeping a facade up. you only meet up at each other's place, anywhere in the city or on campus would be too risky. the walls have ears and eyes in university after all.

𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢 - ᵖʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᵒʳ'ˢ ˢᵉᶜʳᵉᵗ ᶠᵃᵛᵒᵘʳⁱᵗᵉ.

𑁍 Mr. Zhongli has to be one of your favourite professors - you could very easily tell how much passion he has for the subjects he teaches, it was so motivating! i lied. he's just mad hot.

𑁍 his hair tied back, his dark brown suit that looks like it was made just for him, the way his long, slender fingers held his pen... absolutely divine.

𑁍 of course, the best way to get a teacher's attention is to either excel or underperform in their class and, well, the latter is way easier. he notices your lack of efforts when it comes to his subjects. intentional or not, it still needs to be talked about, so the day after your test, he asks you to stay behind for a minute (mission success).

𑁍 he talks about how poorly your essay is written, how you should pay attention to both the structure and the factuality of your work. you obviously couldn't care less about that, being lost in the gold irises behind his glasses. he notices this and simply sighs.

𑁍 never in his many years of teaching has a student try to get his attention this way, and he'd be ashamed to admit that it was working perfectly. your skirt being a bit too short during your one-on-one tutoring lessons, the buttons on your shirt that always seem to get loose, that look in your eyes when he's asking you to focus. he catches on. and he loves it.

𑁍 Zhongli knows you're doing this on purpose, yet he doesn't cancel your tutorings. he also wants this, no matter how unacceptable it is from either of you. which is why you're sat on his lap, learning about the correct way to build an essay up, slightly shifting your position every now and then. he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses before grabbing your chin and turning your head back to the paper in front of you.

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ratatoilett · 2 months ago

Note

hello! So far you have made really good post, and it made me think, what if you made one about bakugou x y/n, they JUST started making out and started this thing where after class and even the cafeteria hours they would go to the roof top and make out, and then come back to class and act like nothing ever happened. Also somtimes he would throw a paper and secretly desk her under the desk where they would meet up. 😍

nylu's note : OK HOLD ON I LOVE THESE SNEAKY LITTLE RENDEVOUS SHIT

it wasn’t supposed to turn into a thing. but now it definitely is a thing.

it started after a sparring match — a draw, technically, but Bakugou called it "a pity win" and you called him "a sore loser with anger management issues." somehow, that turned into grabbing him by the collar and kissing the attitude off his face behind the gym.

now, you’re here. you, bakugou, and an unspoken agreement to sneak up to the rooftop whenever you could get away with it and make out like idiots.

totally healthy coping mechanism. very mature.

today, it’s the middle of lunch. you’re picking at a tray of mystery meat when something bounces off your shoe under the table.

you glance down: a crumpled piece of notebook paper.

subtle.

you unfold it under the table.

"12:35. roof. move your ass."

professional as always.

you bite back a grin and scribble back:

"busy. big meeting with my lawyer (aka literally anyone else I'd rather kiss)."

you flick it back with a perfect wrist snap — years of flicking erasers at the back of bakugou’s head finally paying off. It lands in his lap. he unfolds it, reads, and shoots you a glare that could fry a lesser human.

you wink across the room like the picture of innocence.

at exactly 12:35, you slip out of the cafeteria with the world’s most half-assed excuse. bakugou’s already at the stairwell, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he owns the whole building.

"you’re late," he says.

you glance at your watch. "it’s 12:36."

"that’s late."

"okay, captain time management," you say, brushing past him to climb the stairs first. "next time i’ll bring a stopwatch."

"yeah, and maybe a personality too," he mutters, following.

you shoot him a look over your shoulder. "aw, it’s cute how you try to neg me like that. It's almost like you think it's working."

he just smirks — that cocky, lazy smirk he knows drives you insane — and holds the door open at the top of the stairs.

"you’re the one sprinting up here like a lovesick puppy," he says.

"i’m here for the fresh air," you lie easily. "and the view. sometimes I pity you enough to let you be part of it."

"you're so full of shit," he says, grabbing your jacket and yanking you in.

the door clicks shut, and suddenly it’s just the two of you, all that sharpness dissolving the second he kisses you.

bakugou kisses like he fights — intense, focused, a little desperate. like he’s trying to win at it somehow.

you break away just long enough to catch your breath.

"little aggressive today, huh?" you tease, hands sliding into the collar of his uniform.

"you’re mouthy today," he says, crowding you back against the door.

"i’m mouthy every day," you point out.

he huffs a laugh against your jaw, and it sends a little thrill down your spine.

"you like it," you add, grinning.

"debatable."

you kiss him again just to prove a point, and he kisses you back like it’s a challenge.

typical.

when you finally pull apart — barely — you’re both breathing a little harder than you want to admit. you fix your shirt, pat your hair down, and try to look like you weren’t just two seconds away from climbing him like a tree.

"you've got," bakugou gestures vaguely to your mouth, "lipstick. right there."

you wipe at the wrong side of your face.

"other side," he says, smirking like he’s enjoying this way too much.

"you’re useless," you grumble, trying again.

"you're the one who can't figure out left and right," he says, flicking your forehead lightly.

you swat at him, but he’s already turning toward the stairs like he didn’t just kiss the hell out of you ten seconds ago.

"you realize one day we’re gonna get caught," you say, jogging to catch up.

"not if you shut up and walk normal," he says.

you scoff. "i always walk normal. you’re the one stomping around like you’re about to arrest someone."

"if anyone��s getting arrested, it’s you. for harassment."

you laugh under your breath. "please. you’re practically begging for it."

he glances at you, a flash of something almost fond under the usual gruffness.

"maybe," he mutters.

you bump his shoulder lightly as you hit the bottom of the stairs.

and when you walk into the cafeteria separately — faces calm, clothes rumpled just enough to get away with it — you think for half a second you’ve pulled it off.

until kirishima squints at you.

then at bakugou.

then back at you.

you freeze.

kirishima leans across the table, voice low and conspiratorial.

"you two been working on, like, a secret handshake or something?"

bakugou snorts and sits down like nothing's wrong.

you just smile sweetly and say, "yep. very secret. top level hero stuff."

kirishima nods seriously. "cool. respect."

you catch bakugou smirking at you over his tray.

later, when you're back in class, another crumpled piece of paper lands in your lap.

"tomorrow. 12:35. same deal. try not to look so desperate this time."

you grin as you write back:

"i’ll try. no promises. you're kind of irresistible."

you flick it back.

it lands perfectly in his lap.

bakugou catches it without missing a beat, and you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

yeah. this thing between you?

definitely not stopping anytime soon.

#—nylu answered!#nyluhaswritten!#bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction

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lovetaroandtaemin · 4 months ago

Text

Watchful Eye

Lee Seokmin x Reader

Word Count: 7,555 Genre: Angst, Smut, some fluff, mafia AU Rating: Explicit. MINORS DNI!

Summary: You and Seokmin were high school sweethearts, but when your distrust of Seokmin's new friends led to an argument about trust and control, the relationship ended. Years later, you and Seokmin have your own lives, but you have no idea that his centers around crime. What will happen when Seokmin happens to see you out on a date with a man that isn't him?

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. DK is nuts and Reader is an idiot, toxic relationships, violence (off page murder), major character death (not DK or the reader), descriptions of grief, mentioned crime but no details, stalking, police incompetence, copious alcohol consumption, smut (unprotected sex, dirty talk, a little bit of biting, creampie). If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!

A/N: This fic is one of two of my submissions for the "War of Love" collab! Participating in this event has been such a fun challenge for me, since this is my first time writing a mafia fic! If y'all like this one, make sure to check out the collab masterlist, linked here. Keep an eye out for my other submission for this collab, too!

Taglist: @xomakara, @notyourjaem, @heechwe, @shadowkoo, @be-my-sunrise

Fic is under the cut.

From the moment that Seokmin met you in high school, he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. His family and friends always told him that he was crazy for falling for you as quickly as he did, usually when he told them that he wanted to marry you once the two of you graduated, but he didn’t care about what other people thought. All he cared about was you. You made him feel special like no one else, and time spent with you made him happier than time spent with any other person.

It took significantly longer for you to fall for Seokmin, but eventually, you were just as in love with him as he was with you. His eyes sparkled like stars when he was excited, and you loved being the reason for that excitement. Sure, your friends tried to tell you that falling for someone as intensely as you did for Seokmin never ended well, but you didn’t listen.

Seokmin never let a day go by without telling you just how loved you were when the two of you were in high school, and he made damn sure to show it too. Every weekend, the two of you went to your favorite local pizzeria and stayed as late as you could without getting in trouble, and he always had some sort of small gift for you. Usually, it was some kind of stuffed animal or a book you’d been wanting, and you appreciated every single one.

When the two of you got to college, however, your lives started to take a very different turn. It started during your third year, when Seokmin introduced you to some new friends that he’d met in one of his classes. Jungkook and Jimin initially seemed like nice guys, with smiles that could put anyone at ease and personalities that seemed to just draw people in. After a party that went wrong, however, you started to wonder if your boyfriend’s new friends were as kind and gentle as they seemed.

You and Seokmin were both invited to a party hosted by his best friend Yeonjun, and your boyfriend asked if Jungkook and Jimin could also attend. Yeonjun seemed hesitant, but in the end, he agreed. You considered asking him why he hesitated, but you didn’t get the chance.

The night of the party, you and Seokmin, along with his new friends, drove to Yeonjun’s apartment. The party was to celebrate the fact that Yeonjun had finally moved out of his parents’ house, and you couldn’t have been prouder of your friend. He’d worked hard to save money, and when he was ready, he and his roommate Soobin spent countless sleepless nights struggling to find something within their budget. You thought, just like your friends did, that a night of fun was well-deserved.

The first red flag of the night was when you noticed the way that Jimin talked to the other girls at the party. Every time you saw him, he was talking to someone new, and each time, he had an almost predatory look in his eyes. In most other cases, you wouldn’t have judged him, but the way he carried himself, moving from person to person like they were nothing but toys to him, was unnerving. You considered saying something to Seokmin so that he could either call out his friend or reassure you that he wasn’t doing what you thought he was. In the end, though, you decided to ignore it, reasoning that he was just getting to know new people.

As the evening went on, you found yourself feeling more and more uncomfortable around Jungkook and Jimin, but you still couldn’t quite place why. So, you decided to ask Seokmin about them after the party, hoping that it would calm the feeling of dread that built up in your gut. Your boyfriend immediately reassured you that everything was fine, that they’re good people that are just awkward around people they don’t know well. You didn’t want to start a fight, so you decided to accept his explanation instead of ignoring your intuition.

Your gut feeling was proven right when you caught Jungkook stealing. Or rather, attempting to steal. At some point during the party, you noticed him leaving the kitchen to go into the pantry when he thought no one else was looking. Not knowing why the hell he would need to be in the pantry of all places, you decided to follow him. When you got into the pantry, you saw him trying to break into Yeonjun and Soobin’s liquor cabinet. Not wanting to escalate the situation beyond what was necessary, you wordlessly left the room and found Yeonjun. When you finally got his attention, you leaned closer to him and whispered, “Just saw Jungkook trying to get into your liquor cabinet.”

“Fuck, thanks for letting me know.”

Yeonjun ran to the pantry, and the next thing you heard was a screaming match. After what felt like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, you saw Yeonjun dragging Jungkook back to the kitchen. With rage in his voice and fire in his eyes, Yeonjun let go of Jungkook and yelled, “Get out!”

Since you and Seokmin were Jungkook’s ride, you left the party along with Jimin to take him home. You started by dropping Jungkook off at his apartment, then Jimin. You dropped your boyfriend off last, however, not wanting to be alone with either of his new friends when it could be avoided, especially after the way they behaved at Yeonjun’s party.

As you pulled up in front of Seokmin’s apartment building, you asked, “Can we talk?”

“Of course, baby. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t trust Jungkook and Jimin.”

“But why? They’re so nice.”

“Did you not see how they acted at the party? Jungkook got caught trying to steal alcohol, for fuck’s sake.”

“He didn’t mean to do that.”

“Seokmin, I saw him breaking into the liquor cabinet.” Your boyfriend was quiet after that, and you thought that meant that you’d started to get through to him.

When the awkward silence in the car got to be too much, Seokmin said, “I have to go in now. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Once Seokmin was back in his apartment, you pulled out of the driveway and went home. You were hoping to relax, but your phone started to ring as soon as you got into your apartment. When you checked your phone, it was Seokmin, so you answered.

“Hi, baby,” you said. “What’s up?”

“I talked to Jungkook, and he said it was just a misunderstanding!” His tone was chipper as he spoke, and you almost felt bad about what you were going to say next. Almost.

“Honey. I love you, but I don’t think that trusting Jungkook in this scenario is a good idea. Honestly, I don’t know if even talking to him is a good idea anymore.”

Seokmin’s mood shifted seemingly in an instant, and he asked, “Are you saying I shouldn’t talk to my friends anymore?”

“No. I’m telling you that I don’t think they’re good people! I just don’t want to see you get hurt or end up in a bad situation because you trusted the wrong people.”

“Since when do you decide who the wrong people are?”

“Since your friends tried to steal from Yeonjun!”

“My friends?”

“Yes, Seokmin. Your friends. I have tried to be nice, but after their behavior tonight, I do not consider them friends. Honestly, I’m surprised that you still do.”

“Baby, it was just-”

“I swear to god, if you tell me again that it was a misunderstanding, I’m hanging up right now.”

“But it was! I already told you that I talked to Jungkook about it. He just wanted to-”

You didn’t let Seokmin finish his sentence before you hung up and went to bed.

The next morning, you woke up to dozens of texts from Seokmin, each one trying to defend Jungkook’s actions the night before. Not wanting to read them all, you decided to try calling him again.

“Hi, honey,” he answered. “Did you get my texts?”

“I saw that you sent them, but I haven’t read them. Can you come over so that we can talk?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With that, you hung up the phone and mentally prepared yourself for the conversation that you knew needed to happen. You hoped that it wouldn’t lead to the end of your relationship, but considering the lengths that Seokmin was willing to go to defend Jungkook, even at Yeonjun’s expense, you couldn’t say that it would be a surprise if you did break up. Still, you wanted to at least try to be optimistic.

The universe decided to reward your optimism by laughing in your face. Shortly after Seokmin arrived at your apartment, you said, “I don’t think that you should hang out with Jungkook and Jimin anymore.”

“Baby, we’ve been over this. They’re not as bad as they seem. I swear they have good intentions.”

“How do you know that they have good intentions?”

Seokmin hesitated for a minute before he said, “I just do, ok?”

“Why did you hesitate?”

With a sigh, he said, “Listen. I didn’t want to tell you this, but they’ve helped me out of a lot of bad spots lately.”

“What kind of bad spots?” you asked, though you were pretty sure you didn’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t say. All I can say is that I trust them.”

“I don’t.”

“I understand that, but I need you to trust me here.”

With a sigh, you said, “I don’t know if I do.”

“Why?”

“The fact that you’re so willing to vouch for people that stole from someone that you used to call your best friend is concerning, Seokmin.”

“You just don’t know them the way that I do.”

With a sigh, you said, “This conversation is just going around in circles. I’m done, Seokmin. I’m not gonna stay in a relationship with someone I can’t trust.”

Seokmin’s expression shifted in an instant, and he started to cry as he said, “Please, baby. We can work this out. What do I have to do to get you to trust me?”

“You can start by telling me what kind of ‘bad spots’ they got you out of, and why you couldn’t come to me to get you out of them.”

Seokmin let out a defeated sigh before he said, “I can’t.”

The room was silent for what felt like an eternity before you said, “I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore, Seokmin.”

You expected Seokmin to cry and beg you to stay with him, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed and agreed without a fight. Seeing the way that he seemed to just deflate after you broke up with him hurt you, but deep down, you knew that your relationship had run its course. Between the sudden shifts in mood that constantly had you walking on eggshells, the secrets that you now knew he’d been keeping, and his fixation on making Jungkook and Jimin seem more trustworthy than they were, you’d had enough.

Hearing you say that you didn’t think that he was right for you anymore broke Seokmin. He desperately wanted to fix things with you, but he didn’t even know where to start. There was no way that he could tell you all of the ways that Jungkook and Jimin had helped him, so there was no way for him to rebuild the trust that he’d broken. He wanted to talk to you about why his emotions had been so all over the place, but he couldn’t, because it would mean explaining how he actually knew his new friends.

After you broke up with him, Seokmin spent basically all of his free time with Jungkook and Jimin. When they weren’t at Seokmin’s apartment playing video games and eating far too much takeout, they were at work, smuggling drugs and weapons in and out of the country for the Bangtan Syndicate. It was a difficult, dangerous job, but Seokmin loved it. He enjoyed the feeling of belonging that being part of a group gave him, and he loved how powerful he felt when he saw the fear in the eyes of someone that crossed the organization.

As the years went by, Seokmin became a respected member of the organization, even surpassing Jungkook and Jimin in terms of authority eventually. And, just like many others had before him, he definitely took advantage of the power that his position within the Bangtan Syndicate granted him. Whether he was charming his rivals’ wives into sharing important information or giving orders that he never had to doubt would be followed, he felt like he was on top of the world. The only thing missing from his life, really, was you.

To say that you were devastated by the end of your relationship with Seokmin was an understatement. He’d been your rock since the two of you were in high school, and letting go of that was no easy task. In the end, though, you knew that you had to. After all, there was no relationship without trust, and that was destroyed the moment he refused to tell you just why Jungkook and Jimin were so important to him.

It took a long time for you to heal after breaking up with Seokmin, but after a while, you did manage to put yourself back out there. You struggled to find someone that you really connected with at first, but the connection you were looking for showed up when you least expected it in the form of Yeonjun.

It all started when you were out at the club with a few of your friends, and you bumped into your former friend, literally. You were about to leave the dance floor, and when you turned around, you smacked right into him. You almost didn’t recognize him at first, but then he looked right at you and asked, “Wait, are you (Y/N)?”

You were concerned at first as to how a stranger at the club knew your name, but after looking at him again, you said, “Oh, shit! Yeonjun?”

“That’s me. It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

“Better than I was a few months ago. Just enjoying the single life now.”

“Wait, you’re not with Seokmin anymore?”

“No, we broke up a few days after your housewarming party.”

“Oh shit. Is it because of what happened with that ‘friend’ that he brought?”

“Yes and no. It’s a long story; I really don’t want to think about it.”

“Hey, I get it. Do you wanna dance?”

You thought for a minute before you answered, “That sounds great.”

You promptly turned back around to go back to the dance floor, with Yeonjun following you. It took some time for the two of you to find a groove, so to speak, but when you finally got comfortable with each other, the chemistry between you was undeniable.

Admittedly, you’d always thought that Yeonjun was attractive, even when you were dating Seokmin. Now that you were on the dance floor with him, talking and laughing like absolutely no time had passed, those thoughts came back with full force. This time, however, there was actually a chance that there could be something

At some point while you were dancing, Yeonjun leaned closer to you and whispered, “Do you wanna get out of here?” You shook your head, enjoying the moment, and he accepted your answer.

When you and Yeonjun were done dancing, the two of you exchanged numbers, and you left the club with your friends. As you drove home, however, all you wanted to do was text him. So, once you were back at your apartment, that was exactly what you did.

Y/N: Hi! I had a lot of fun tonight. I hope we can hang out again soon.

Yeonjun: Me too! It was nice to see you again.

The two of you texted for a while after that, catching up on what had happened since the last time you saw each other. After a while, though, you found yourself struggling to stay awake, so you texted him good night and drifted off to sleep.

After that night at the club, you and Yeonjun were practically inseparable. You went out on dates at least once a week, and when you weren’t out at the club or getting dinner, you were either at your apartment or his. As your relationship with him progressed, you found yourself feeling safe and loved for the first time in far too long.

Eventually, your one-year anniversary with Yeonjun arrived, and the two of you decided to celebrate by going out to your favorite restaurant for some dinner and drinks. When you got to the restaurant, you and Yeonjun each ordered your favorite foods, and while you waited, you talked about your relationship. As the two of you shared your favorite memories and made plans for the future, you couldn’t help but think that you wanted to spend every day of your life with him, and you found yourself hoping that he was as in love with you as you were with him.

It was a random Saturday night after the day’s tasks were done when Jungkook and Jimin asked Seokmin to go out to get some food with them to celebrate the end of a busy week. Initially, Seokmin wanted to say no, since he hated going out, but when Jimin agreed to pay, he figured that going out couldn’t be that bad.

When Seokmin arrived at the restaurant, the last person that he expected to see was you, especially when he saw Yeonjun sitting across from you. Truthfully, the fact that you seemed to be on a date with his former friend was painful, but Seokmin tried desperately to put on a happy face so that his friends couldn’t tell that something was wrong.

The moment you noticed Seokmin of all people sitting at a nearby table, watching you and Yeonjun, you turned back to your boyfriend and practically begged him to take you home. Yeonjun immediately paid for your meal and walked with you to the exit, concerned by your sudden shift in mood. When Yeonjun noticed your ex walking toward the two of you, however, he understood why you wanted to leave so quickly.

Just before you got to the restaurant’s exit, Seokmin, along with Jungkook and Jimin, moved so that they were standing in front of you. With a creepy smile on his face, Seokmin said, “Hi, (Y/N). Long time, no see. How have you been?”

You really didn’t want to talk to Seokmin, but you couldn’t exactly avoid him either. So, you decided to just get the conversation over with so that you could leave sooner. You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Yeonjun moved in front of you and said, “Please let us through.”

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Jungkook said.

“I don’t care,” Yeonjun retorted, getting angrier by the second. “We were just leaving. Let us through.”

Jimin started to move out of the way, but before he could, Seokmin grabbed his arm and said, “Not until I talk to (Y/N).”

With a sigh, you tried to move in front of Yeonjun to talk to Seokmin, but he wasn’t having it. When your ex and his friends realized that Yeonjun wasn’t going to back down, they gave up on trying to talk to you shockingly quickly. Grateful for the lack of further trouble, you and Yeonjun quickly left the restaurant, with your lover breaking several traffic laws to get to your apartment.

When you were finally home, you dragged Yeonjun inside and pulled him into a bone crushing hug, grateful that he’d gotten Seokmin to leave you alone. Sure, you didn’t think that your ex-boyfriend would ever hurt you, but that didn’t mean that the fact that he’d tried to keep you from leaving wasn’t terrifying.

Yeonjun held you like you would disappear if he let go, still worried about you and angry that Seokmin had the audacity to try to stop you from leaving the club. As you relaxed in his hold, however, he found himself relaxing as well, and all he could think about was how happy he was that he got to be there for you on a rough night.

Once you were both calmed down, you let go of Yeonjun and asked, “Will you stay here tonight?”

“Of course, baby. If you hadn’t asked, I would have offered,” he answered with a soft laugh.

You smiled and took Yeonjun’s hand, leading him to your bedroom. Once you were there, the two of you got ready for bed before lying down together, with Yeonjun holding you so tight you could hardly breathe. You definitely weren’t complaining, though. Being able to relax in your boyfriend’s arms at the end of the day was exactly what you needed at the end of a chaotic week.

Seokmin left the restaurant with his friends shortly after you and Yeonjun did, fuming that you were out on a date with someone that wasn’t him. Jungkook and Jimin tried to calm their friend and boss, but Seokmin wasn’t having it. “Find out what you can about where Yeonjun is living now,” he barked, his voice dripping with venom as he spoke. “I think we need to talk to him.”

“Talk to him about what?” Jimin asked.

“You’ll see.”

The next morning, you woke up to Yeonjun staring at you. Once he realized you were awake, he gave you a dopey grin and said, “Good morning, gorgeous. How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I would have without you. Thank you for sticking up for me last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me, love. That’s what good boyfriends do.”

“I still appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate you, so we’re even.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

After a few minutes of silence as you held each other close, the two of you got out of bed and got ready to go about your days. Once you were both ready to go, Yeonjun kissed your forehead, and the two of you walked out of your apartment together.

After you got home from work, you texted Yeonjun to ask him about his day, but he didn’t answer. You knew that he’d had a difficult day after work, but he’d never ignored you like this before. You would have been lying to yourself if you’d said that you weren’t hurt by the fact that he wasn’t talking to you. As the next day came and went, though, and you realized that still hadn’t heard from him, your disappointment that he was ignoring you turned to worry as you wondered if something had happened to him.

For a week after the last time Yeonjun left your apartment, you didn’t hear from him at all. You texted and called him constantly, but you didn’t get an answer. That was when you really started to worry. Was he upset with you about something? Had something bad happened to him? You had no idea, so you decided to go to his apartment. Just before you were ready to leave, however, your phone rang.

When you answered it, Yeonjun’s mother asked, “(Y/N), honey, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here, Mrs. Choi. Is Yeonjun ok?”

There was a short silence before she whispered, “He’s gone. The police think he was murdered.”

And just like that, you couldn’t stand up anymore. Without even realizing it, you fell to the floor, sobbing as you struggled to process the fact that you would never see the man you loved again.

What happened next was a blur of conversations that you didn’t remember with investigators, Yeonjun’s family, and your friends as everyone around you struggled to process what had happened. You felt like you were in a daze as you answered the same questions over and over again, reciting your answers almost robotically as you tried not to break down in front of everyone. Anyone that didn’t know you and saw how you reacted to your boyfriend’s death would have thought that you didn’t care. But truthfully, you were devastated, struggling to process the greatest loss you’d ever experienced.

After Yeonjun’s death, you became a shell of the woman you used to be. You hardly talked to your friends, your family only saw you if they showed up at your apartment, and you didn’t do anything unless you absolutely had to in order to continue being a functional human. There were days that you no longer wanted to be a functional human, greatly preferring to rot in your bed for eternity, but you knew that Yeonjun would want you to keep going. So, that’s exactly what you did.

Eventually, you decided that you were ready to start spending time with your friends again. You started small by visiting them at their apartments or having them come to yours, but after a while, you decided to try small outings, like to the diner by your apartment or the cozy café that Yuna loved to drag you to.

As time went on, the small bar in your hometown became one of your favorite places to go. The atmosphere was surprisingly comforting, considering the typical clientele, and you never left in a bad mood. Well, almost never.

One night, you were out at the bar, and you swore that you saw Jungkook and Jimin out of the corner of your eye. When it happened, you didn’t think anything of it, but after you left, you couldn’t help but worry about whether they’d seen you. After all, you really didn’t want Seokmin around you again. In the end, though, you convinced yourself that it was a sick joke that your mind decided to play on you, though that was based more on protecting your sanity than it was on any certainty.

A few days after your last outing at the bar, your phone buzzed. When you looked at your phone, you assumed it was a family member or friend. Instead, it was a number that you didn’t recognize. When you finally saw the message, your heart started to race, and you felt like you were gonna be sick.

???: Hello, (Y/N). How are you today? Y/N: Who is this? ???: You’ll find that out soon, my dear. Y/N: Don’t fucking call me that. ???: Oh, but why not? Y/N: Because I don’t fucking know you! ???: Yes, you do.

You really wanted to know who the fuck was texting you, but you also really didn’t want to talk to whoever was on the other end of your conversation anymore. So, you decided to just block them and hope that whoever it was would leave you alone eventually.

They did not, in fact, leave you alone. Every day, it seemed like whoever was on the other side of the messages texted you from a different number, asking you how your day was. The texts went beyond what would be considered normal questions, though. Every message included details about your life that no one could have possibly known, like the color of the underwear that you’d put on when you got dressed after a shower or the amount of time that you spent deciding what restaurant to get dinner from on a night that you were too tired to cook. Every single text scared you more than the last, but the only thing you could think to do was continue blocking the numbers and hope that whoever was on the other end got bored eventually.

Seokmin couldn’t believe that he’d stooped as low as he did, texting you from burner phones while you acted like you didn’t want to talk to him, but there he was. Apparently, Jungkook and Jimin were better at collecting information about you than he thought. It was kind of strange, though. He was certain that his attention to detail would make you realize just how much he cared, but the fear evident in every message you sent back told a different story.

Anyone that saw the way that your relationship ended would have called him crazy for still trying. After everything the two of you had been through together, though he just couldn’t let you go. He loved you too much for that.

It didn’t take long at all after the strange texts began for you to go right back to the fearful, depressed person that you were right after Yeonjun died. You hardly left your house, you pretty much stopped talking to your friends, and you even shut your family out. No one saw you or heard from you for days or even weeks at a time, and you really only talked to them so that they knew that you hadn’t met the same fate as Yeonjun.

When Seokmin saw the way you reacted to his texts, from a distance, of course, he decided to let up a little bit. After all, he just wanted to show you that he cared about you, not scare you into never leaving your house. So, he figured that he should leave you alone, at least for the time being.

After a few weeks, the texts seemed to stop, and you slowly started to come out of your shell again. It took far longer than you would have liked, but after a while, you felt safe going out with your friends and family, and you even found yourself having fun when you did.

Every so often, you would swear that you saw Jungkook or Jimin while you were out, but in the end, you figured that it was probably your mind playing tricks on you. After all, you hadn’t seen them since before Yeonjun died, and you moved to a completely different city after his passing. How would they even know where you lived?

Your newfound peace was short lived. Before you knew it, the texts started again, each time with new details about your day that you knew you hadn’t shared with anyone, like the things that whoever was on the other end of the messages said after you got home from Yuna’s apartment.

???: Did you have a good time with Yuna today? Y/N: If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t fucking funny. ???: It’s not a joke at all, (Y/N). I just want to know how your day went. Is that so wrong? Y/N: It is when I didn’t tell anyone that I was hanging out with Yuna today. Who the fuck are you?

There were no more messages for the rest of the night, but you still found yourself unable to truly rest. So, you decided that enough was enough, and you were going to go to the police in the morning.

The next morning, you went to the police station immediately after you woke up, but the visit didn’t go the way you’d hoped. The officer that listened to your story told you that there was nothing they could do, considering there were no threats or leaks of personal information. You tried to argue, but in the end, they wrote it off as a “domestic dispute” and sent you on your way.

Feeling utterly defeated, you decided to go home and drink until you weren’t afraid anymore. You didn’t know how long that would take, but you desperately needed some peace in your life.

It took three beers, five glasses of wine, and more shots than you could count for you to reach your goal of not being afraid anymore. Of course, you only met that goal because you were dead asleep almost immediately, but hey, a win was still a win.

The next day, Yuna called you to ask you how you were. With a sigh, you answered, “Really fucking shitty.”

“What’s going on?”

“Do you remember those weird texts I used to get?”

“Yeah, why?”

“They started again.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Have you gone to the cops?”

“I tried that yesterday. They told me it was a domestic dispute. There’s nothing that can be done.”

Yuna sighed and asked, “Why don’t you stay with me for a while?”

You thought about her question for a while before you asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother at all. You should know that by now, (Y/N).”

With a sigh, you asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“You know I don’t.”

You knew that you couldn’t win when Yuna made up her mind, so you said, “Ok. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem. That’s what friends do.”

With one more expression of gratitude, you hung up the phone and started to pack. It took longer than you anticipated, but a few hours later, all of your things were packed. So, you called Yuna again to coordinate a day and time to move your things out of your apartment. Once a day and time was set, you turned your phone off for the night, hoping to find at least a little bit of peace until you could move.

When the agreed upon day and time came, Yuna showed up at your apartment with her entire family to help you move. Shortly after Yuna and her family arrived, your parents and siblings did, too. As you thought about the number of people you had around you that were willing to protect you and take care of you warmed your heart, you felt ever so slightly better about the reason that you were moving in the first place. You were still scared out of your mind, but you also had a little bit of hope that you would be ok.

Once you were settled into Yuna’s apartment, you changed your number, and the strange texts finally stopped. It took much longer than it did the first time, but after a while, you finally started to feel safe again. Of course, your best friend was mostly to thank for that. She stayed up to talk to you every time you couldn’t sleep, drove you to work when you were too scared to leave your house, and generally always made sure that you were safe and happy. Every day, you thanked whatever god could hear you that you’d found a friend like her, and you only hoped that one day you could repay her kindness.

After you started to feel a little bit safer in your new home, you found yourself going out much more. It started slowly, with occasional visits to your favorite places in your city, but after a while, you were rarely home. You still mostly went out with friends or family, though, since you never had much fun when you went out by yourself.

It was a Friday night when you went out with Yuna and your other friends, Sojeong and Yerin, to celebrate Yuna’s birthday. Originally, the four of you were planning to go to your friend group’s favorite bar, but after a bit more discussion, you all decided to visit a newly opened club in your city after getting dinner at Yuna’s favorite restaurant. You were a little bit nervous about the new club, but your excitement over trying something new far outweighed any anxiety.

Your time at the restaurant was uneventful, honestly. All four of you got the same food that you always did, shared stories of your favorite memories of Yuna while you ate, and enjoyed each other’s company. It was just like every other time that you went out with your friends, but you loved that.

When you got to the club, things got much more interesting. Yuna chose to relax on her birthday, sitting by the bar instead of dancing like she usually did. Sojeong and Yerin immediately headed for the bathroom to do what they always did when your friend group went out together. After a brief moment to consider what you wanted to do with your time, you made your way to the dance floor.

The last person that you expected to run into was Seokmin, but the universe had a funny way of bringing the people that you hated back into your life. When you saw him, you immediately wanted to find your friends and leave, but before you could, he approached you and asked, “Hi, how have you been?” He seemed oddly nervous as he spoke, with shaky hands and an inability to look you in the eye.

“I’m good,” you answered, hesitant but curious. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess. Just trying to have some fun, you know?”

“Where are your friends?” you asked, just as nervous as he looked.

“They’re not my friends anymore.”

“What?”

“You were right. They’re bad news.” Seokmin looked almost sad as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit bad for him.

Of course, Seokmin was still friends with Jungkook and Jimin, but he would say whatever you wanted to hear if it meant that he got to talk to you, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity before you asked, “Do you wanna dance?”

Seokmin seemed to perk up immediately as he said, “That sounds nice.”

It took some time for you and Seokmin to find a groove, but once you did, you felt happier than you had in months. Sure, you knew that he’d gotten involved with some shady shit, but you blamed that on his former friends, not him. You really wanted to say, “I told you so,” when Seokmin told you that Jimin and Jungkook were bad news, but you didn’t want to ruin your night. So, you just enjoyed the time that you spent dancing with your ex. At least, you did until a concerning thought entered your mind.

What if it had been Jimin and Jungkook behind the creepy texts that you’d gotten? It would certainly explain the times that you thought you saw one of them when you went out.

You quickly shook the thought out of your head and focused on the man in front of you, losing yourself in the music that blared through the club as you enjoyed your night and tried not to think about the worst period of your life.

Many songs and many more drinks later, you found yourself thinking about Seokmin differently. Sure, you knew that it was probably a bad idea to hook up with your ex, especially considering the reasons that you broke up, but in the moment, you didn’t really care. All you wanted was to get fucked properly, something you hadn’t experienced in far too long.

In between songs, you looked up at Seokmin and asked, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“That depends on where you wanna go, sweetheart.”

“Your place?”

Seokmin could hardly believe it. You actually wanted him. Hoping he didn’t look or sound too excited, he answered, “Sure. I’ll call us an Uber.”

The wait for the Uber to arrive and take you back to Seokmin’s apartment was torture, especially considering the way his hand gripped your thigh for the entire ride. Once you actually got there, though, the wait was worth it. The moment you were through his front door, you were pinned to a wall, and his lips were attached to your neck. Every kiss and bite turned you on more than the last, and you could hardly contain yourself, especially when you felt his hand make its way right where you wanted him the most and start teasing you through your panties.

You knew that it was a bad idea to go home with somebody you only talked to for an hour or so, especially when that person was your ex that you hadn’t seen in ages, but you didn’t care in the slightest. The way Seokmin touched you felt too good for you to think about anything else. He’d always had that effect on you, if you were completely honest with yourself. You knew that you’d probably hate yourself when he was done with you, but that was a problem to deal with later. For now, a soft moan slipped out of your mouth, and you said, “More, please.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, moving away from your neck.

“Anything, please,” you begged, desperate for more of his touch.

“If anything is ok, why don’t you be a good girl and take what I give you?”

You whined again but didn’t say anything more.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

Seokmin continued to touch you through your clothes, and you started to buck your hips up in an attempt to get a bit more stimulation. He considered holding you in place so that you couldn’t move, but in the end he decided against it. You were just so cute when you were that desperate, especially when it was all for him.

Seokmin was distracted from his thoughts when you whined and said, “Please just fuck me already.”

“Hm, are you sure, baby?”

“I’m sure. Just, please,” you whined.

He pretended to think for a minute before he said, “Ok. Take that pretty dress off for me.”

“Shouldn’t we go to your room first?”

“Do you want to do this or not?” he asked. You promptly stopped talking, and he added, “That’s what I thought.”

After that, Seokmin let go of you so that you could undress yourself, and you watched as he did the same. Once you were both bare, he pinned you to the wall again and aligned his tip with your entrance. He was careful when he pushed into you, but that gentleness didn’t last. As soon as he was sure that you were ok, he pounded into you relentlessly, too lost in the way you felt to worry about how rough he was with you.

“Feels so good, baby. Love the way you feel wrapped around me like this,” he groaned.

You were already too far gone to respond with words, instead whining and kissing Seokmin with every bit of passion you could muster. Every movement of his hips brought you closer to your release, and you loved the way he felt inside you.

It was only a matter of time before you felt your high building, and based on the lack of a steady pace as Seokmin fucked into you, you had a strong feeling that he was getting close too. So, with a loud moan, you whined, “’m close, Minnie.”

“Fuck, me too. Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed to hear to come undone around Seokmin’s cock, screaming his name as he continued to fuck you through your release. After a few more thrusts, he stilled inside of you, groaning your name as he filled you. You probably should have been concerned that he came inside of you, but you were still too lost in your post-orgasm haze to care.

While you caught your breath, Seokmin held you upright and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, and you finally let yourself relax as he held you close. At least, you did until his phone rang from the pocket of his discarded pants. He carefully let go of you long enough to silence his phone, and you asked, “Who was that?”

“No one,” he replied, though the abruptness of his answer was suspicious.

“Seokmin, who was it?”

“Just a friend.” You glared at him, and with a sigh, he added, “It was Jungkook.”

“I thought you said that you weren’t friends with him and Jimin anymore.” Seokmin was silent in response to your statement, and you realized that it was all a lie.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“No. I don’t want an apology. I want the truth this time, Seokmin. The whole truth.”

That was when Seokmin finally confessed to everything. From sending you the texts from burner phones to hiring someone to kill Yeonjun after seeing the two of you out together, he told you that all of it was because he loved you and wanted you to be his again.

“You don’t do that shit out of love, Seokmin!” you yelled, hot tears streaming down your face as you desperately tried to find your clothes so that you could get out of his apartment.

“But I did! All of it was because I love you!”

“Well, I don’t love you!” you screamed, running as fast as your legs could carry you out of Seokmin’s apartment and as far away from it as possible. When you couldn’t keep going anymore, you found yourself alone in an unfamiliar part of your city. You decided to call an Uber to try and get home, but before you could, you opened your phone to a new message. You didn’t recognize the number, but you knew now who the message was from.

???: You may have gotten away this time, but next time, you won’t be so lucky. I’m watching you.

Thank you for reading! Make sure to check out the collab masterlist for more fics! If you liked this, please like and reblog. If you wanna be tagged in future works, fill out the taglist form here. If you want to check out my other works, check out my main masterlist. If you want to see what else is in the works, you can check my upcoming works list! If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you want to see, feel free to send a request via my asks or dms!

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letmedixonyou · 5 months ago

Text

i’m not yours - part 8

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of abuse, injuries

A/N: Good day, everyone! I've been literally working on this for a couple of days, editing and adding shit all the time. My partner has helped me with it, he's such a gem <3 I hope you enjoy it!

I would also like to thank everyone who has followed me and liked my shit, it is much appreciated! With your help, I somehow got to 68 followers and over 600 likes which is incredible! Thank you, muffins! <3

A few days later

Ribs hurting, body throbbing. Every single muscle screams for help with each move you make. Getting up from bed was a challenge enough, but taking a shower was even worse. You could barely move your limbs around, not to mention bending down or even sitting. The mirror image you see in the morning is somewhat depressing. Standing in front of it, in your black underwear, you assessed the damage with a pained gaze. The cuts and bruises were almost too much to look at. Their shades of purples, pinks, and reds were sticking out like a sore thumb in the morning light sifting through the window. They weren't only covering your body, but also stretching from ear to cheek on one side, with a big fat lip as a cherry on top. You feel a sharp pain in your side when you breathe in —a telltale sign of a few broken ribs.

That evening walk last night wasn't a good idea after all, you thought to yourself.

Moving at a snail's pace, you put on trousers and a grey hoodie, wincing in pain every now and then. Drawing a hood up, you cover most of your face. You weren’t trying to get any attention drawn to you, oh no. Leaving the house, you head towards the mess hall to eat your breakfast. Your hands were in your pockets. All the way down the street, you looked at your slow feet moving on the ground. You could hear people whispering about you. It was clear that somehow they already knew about your injuries. Maybe someone caught a glimpse when you were coming home last night, stumbling through the street. Or maybe you just weren't as good at hiding it as you thought you were.

Out of the blue, you feel a strong hand on your shoulder. You turn around with your fists up, almost hitting the person in the face before you realise that it was Gabriel - the community priest. You swallow hard, and you quickly put your fists down, packing them back into your pockets.

"Y/N, what happened?" He asks, a worried look on his face as he steps a bit closer to look at your face. As a respectful person that he is, he doesn’t touch you or move too close. He just points at your face, his eyes darting to the bruising and cut lip.

"Nothing," you mumble.

"That nothing sure looks like something," he retorted, examining you.

"I am fine, father," you say, stepping away from him and clearing your throat. "But may I suggest praying for all the wicked tonight."

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful, and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness," Gabriel quotes a Bible to you and smiles a little.

"It's not my sins we have to worry about, father."

You say, turning around and leaving him standing there, visibly confused. You walk all the way down the street, turning onto a gravel path that winds a little to the left, and you get to the mess hall. By mess hall, you meant the biggest building in Alexandria where some tables and chairs were put down, alongside a modest buffet so people could get their food before work. There usually wasn't a lot to choose from, but no one complained - food was a blessing these days, no matter how bad or good it tasted.

Getting a clean, but worn-out white plate, you put some scrambled eggs on it, a rare sight in the zombie world. You guess someone found some powdered eggs somewhere during the supply run. You don't complain and take some onto your plate, heading to sit at one of the empty tables.

Your jaw hurts as you slowly eat your modest, bland breakfast. The only thing you could eat, really. Soft enough so there's not much chewing involved. You dart your eyes up carefully to look around, and you spot Daryl’s crossbow, poking above the bustling crowd. He barely glances at you across the dining hall, and you know he probably is here to grab his food pack quickly before heading out on a supply run. It was busy anyway, so you weren't surprised he would not see you. You were just another face in the crowd. You didn’t expect him to pay much attention to you. Especially after your past arguments. And his own relationship explosion a few days ago. You resort to going back to your own plate.

All the hope of people not noticing you or your injuries dwindles when you overhear some hushed voices from the table next to the open buffet counter.

"You see her face?"

"Yeah, looks awful."

"Wonder who fucked that up."

"I’d hate to see the other guy."

You try not to react to the whispers and cover up more with your hoodie. You keep on eating, blocking out the noise as much as you can. You usually didn't care about people talking about you. You learned that it didn't matter. But somehow, having been beaten up and having clearly visible injuries made you uncomfortable and anxious when people stared and talked about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you get brought back to reality with a can of soda clash and hiss against the floor from next to the buffet counter. Startled by the noise, your eyes shoot up to look in the direction.

Your eyes meet Daryl's in the crowd. He is looking at you; his eyebrows fly up before he scowls. Horror and concern quickly flash across his face. You look back down to the plate, hoping he doesn’t react, pulling your hood instinctively to hide more. You can hear Daryl's loud grumble even from the place you were sitting, and as you peep around your hood, he's already moving quickly, slipping past everyone. You start to dissociate, and that built-up anxiety starts to blister and pop inside you.

Please don’t...

Please, don’t make a scene...

Maybe he isn’t coming over.

You are broken out of your mind by his hand slamming on the table next to your tray. Daryl’s eyes flashed across your face. Anger, no… rage, completely enveloped his eyes.

“Who did this to you?!” His growl resounded through the mess hall, and you almost flinched at how aggressive that sounded.

„Daryl, please…”

„Do not ‚Daryl, please’ me!” You were sure that if eyes could kill, his would leave you on the floor with two X's instead of eyes.

„I don’t know. It was dark. I didn’t see,” you try to explain. „Please, stop making a scene. I really don’t need any more eyes on me.”

Daryl looks around cautiously. A lot of people were paying attention to you both now, and it made you uncomfortable. He saw that. He knew that. He pursed his lips a little and then gave out a loud exasperated sigh. Before you know it, you’re dragged by your arm towards the doors. His grip was strong and relentless—it almost made you wince in pain. Your head swung down to cover your embarrassment and redness in your cheeks.

Once you are outside and out of the view of all the people, Daryl pulls on your hood, taking it off fully. He stands there, looking at your bruise and your cut lip, as if he were assessing the damage, taking in the sight before him. He steps closer, taking your chin into his fingers, and tilts your head to the side.

„Who the fuck did you piss off lately?” He asks, his gaze falling onto your eyes. When he doesn’t get a response, he scoffs and lets go of your chin. „I need to know who did this.”

„I told you already. I don’t-,” you say, rolling your eyes.

„How bad is it?”

The question falls from his mouth before you even get to finish the sentence. You think about it for a minute, trying to figure out if you should tell him about your broken bones or if you should just leave it alone. Why would you tell him? What’s that going to do? It will just piss him off even more.

„It’s just my face,” you say, and you hear an immediate dry laugh rolling out of his lips.

„Liar,” he says.

You stare at each other for a minute or two. Your throat goes dry, and you bite your lip, making yourself curse and wince in pain. His icy blue eyes were way too much to handle for you. It felt like he could just blow up at any second if you kept being silent, so you muster up some courage. Taking a short breath, you get ready to speak, but Daryl stops you by putting his hand up in front of you.

„Your face just told me everything I needed to know,” he grumbles.

„What?” your voice sounds squeaky, and your eyes widen in surprise.

„You can’t breathe deeply. Your face grimaced when you tried to. You have broken ribs,” he says confidently, and you're stunned at how he reads you like a book without even trying hard. „You shouldn’t even be on your feet if this happened just last night.”

„How did you—?” you ask, but you already know the answer. Of course he’d know. He probably suffered it himself at the hand of his father. Maybe even worse than this.

„It looks fresh; the cut on your lip is not healed yet and still red, which means that it can’t be more than a day or two old.”

„You a doctor or summin’?” You mumble, and you pull your hood up again. You look at him, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie. His expression is almost unreadable, but you can see concern and worry on his face.

He rubs his temple before sighing.

„Let’s get you home.”

He takes your arm in his hand, more gently than when he pulled you up from the table but still hard enough that it made you silently wince at his touch. Though painful, his touch soothed you. Somehow, his concern made you feel like there was still a bit of compassion left in his heart for you. As he guided you towards your house, you didn’t protest. Truth be told, you are tired; you want to lie down or at least find a comfortable position to be in.

All the way down the street, Daryl stayed quiet. Didn’t ask questions, just walked beside you, his hand on your arm loosened a bit, so it didn’t hurt you. Once your house comes into view, your eyes dart around to see if any people are watching. They were. From everywhere. Of course… This wouldn’t go unnoticed—you and Daryl suddenly beside each other after months with no real contact. Plus, the hood on your head probably didn’t help.

Daryl walks into your house, drags you inside, and slams the doors behind him. You jump a little at the sound, but you keep your eyes glued to the ground.

„Look at me,” he says, his commanding tone making you bring your eyes up almost immediately.

He steps closer to you and once again pulls your hood off of your head with one swift motion. Daryl’s eyes glance all over your face, as if trying to read through the wounds about the people who did this to you. He takes a deep breath and huffs quietly before stepping away and motioning to the living room and the couch. You take a few steps and then lower yourself on the couch carefully, trying not to get any pain.

„Here,” Daryl says and puts one hand on your shoulder and the other wraps around your waist carefully to help you move down the couch into a half-seated, almost laid-down position on one of your sides. Your legs get put on the coffee table. „The best position to make sure you’re not hurting.”

„Thanks,” you mumble quietly.

„What do you need?” he asks. „Water? Pillows? Books?”

„All of the above.”

He huffs a half laugh and stands up, disappearing from view. You wondered why he’s helping you. He’s been absent from your life for months, and now he’s back, and at first glance, you’d say nothing had happened between you two. But you knew it wasn’t the truth. You argued. Badly. You couldn’t just go back to normal that easily, could you? Your mind also itched to ask about the fight he had with Leah. You wanted to ask if it was about you or if you just dreamt the entire thing, but you bit your tongue.

Daryl shows up with pillows from your bed, a book from the bedside table, and then goes to the kitchen to get some water. He brings you a glass and puts it on the armrest of the sofa.

„You should sleep in an upright position; it will be more comfortable,” he says, propping you with pillows on each side.

„You mean I sleep here?”

„Yeah,” he nods. „When my pops used to beat me up, breaking some ribs, I spent a lot of time in a position in which you are right now. It helped to ease the pain a bit.”

„Right,” you say and nod affirmatively. "How long?"

"As long as it takes for your ribs to feel better."

He stands there for a bit in complete silence, scanning your body like he had x-rays in his vision and could see the broken bones through your clothes. When he looks into your eyes, you could've sworn you saw some emotions that reminded you of the old times.

Care.

He quickly averts his gaze after less than a second and he nods once again, heading towards the front doors. He reaches for the door handle, but before he leaves, he speaks again.

„I am going to find out who did this. I promise they will get what they deserve.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction

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doomspoon888 · 1 month ago

Note

OKAY I FEEL LIKE SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE SAID THIS, but you are a GOD when you write. I mean the humor you're able to weave into all your fics and the way in which you portray this very off the rails relationship draws me in E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E!!!!

But god when you write angst,,,, it hits me like a menopausal woman going 135 mph in her Subaru Forrester. How do you manage it? I mean it's so clear you have a great understanding of the characters, its like they almost speak to you. As an author/fan/all-seeing-being I hope you can answer my rabid questions lol.

When writing megastar angst in particular, how have you decided what Megatron is most afraid of in losing should something happen to Starscream? There are these subtle threads of fear, guilt, and longing woven through so many of your stories that make him feel so heartbreakingly real. Do you have a specific interpretation of what Starscream represents to him, and how that affects Megatron’s behavior when things go wrong? How much do you think Megatron truly understands Starscream?

And with Starscream, I think he's such a nuanced character, that writing angst for him is usually such a hit or miss, but god your fics absolutely destroy me. (ESPECIALLY THE MISSION AU "Of Two Evils", Side, side note: Will we ever get a conclusion to that? No pressure, just curious!) I think the angst that follows Starscream in your other fics is masterfully done as well. How do you manage the challenges that come with writing such emotionally difficult content while keeping Starscream’s character grounded and authentic? Is there any way you particularly envision him?

I can ask like a million more questions, but I don't want to wear you out,, and I'm very terrible at ending off messages, so um thank you for your time!

I tend to enjoy writing Megatron/Starscream most when I'm writing them like they've known and hated each other for millions of years. It's that 'old married couple' vibe, I guess, but they're assholes to each other because that's how they've always acted and they're not going to break millions of years of habit just because they're like, together now.

I don't think Megatron understands Starscream at all, but he THINKS he does. It's a contrast to how I think Starscream likes to pretend Megatron doesn't make sense to him, when actually, he knows him better than he'd ever admit.

And in terms of what they mean to each other? For me, it's just the familiarity. They see each other every single day. And God they hate it but it must be so weird for them when they're apart because there's no one there to argue with, or take cheap shots at, or rant about to anyone who'd listen. Like, What do you mean Starscream's in the med bay for repairs?! All day?! But then who will scream slurs across the briefing room at me?! -thinks Megatron, who's day is now worse because it'll be boring.

There must be something comforting in knowing that this other person has seen you at your absolute worst, knows all the most evil, ruthless things you've ever done, and is still going to be there at the end of the day. Because they maybe a different flavour of evil to you, but they're just as bad.

(In Starscream's case, worse I think)

#starscream #megatron #megastar

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 1 year ago

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enemies to lovers: Dual Of Wits

pairing: anthony bridgerton x female reader

hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

The grand ballroom of Bridgerton House was ablaze with light, the chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the assembled guests. Laughter and music filled the air, creating an atmosphere of gaiety and splendor. However, one corner of the room was noticeably colder, the air crackling with an almost tangible tension.

Anthony Bridgerton stood tall and brooding, his eyes narrowed as he watched Y/N glide effortlessly across the dance floor. Her laughter was like music, light and captivating, drawing the attention of every gentleman in the room. Except Anthony. To him, she was a thorn in his side, a constant challenge to his authority and composure.

Y/N, the daughter of a Viscount, was every bit as headstrong and stubborn as Anthony. Their clashes were legendary in the ton, each encounter more fiery than the last. Tonight was no different. As the waltz came to an end, Y/N’s gaze met Anthony’s across the room. She gave him a defiant smile before turning to her dance partner, a handsome duke, completely ignoring Anthony’s presence.

“Enjoying yourself, I see,” Anthony’s deep voice cut through the music as he approached her. The duke, sensing the storm brewing, excused himself politely.

“Immensely,” Y/N replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is there something you needed, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I needed to remind you, Miss Y/N, that your behavior tonight is bordering on scandalous,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Is it?” she replied, feigning innocence. “I hadn’t noticed. Perhaps you should concern yourself with your own affairs instead of mine.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Your father would be most displeased with your conduct.”

“My father is quite proud of me,” Y/N shot back. “He respects a woman who can stand her ground. Unlike some men.”

Anthony’s eyes darkened. “You overstep, Miss Y/N.”

“Do I?” she challenged, stepping closer. “Or is it that you can’t stand the fact that I won’t bow to your every whim?”

Their faces were inches apart now, the heat of their argument overshadowing the coolness of the night air.

“Careful, Y/N,” Anthony warned. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And what if I like danger?” she whispered, her voice daring him to respond.

Before he could answer, the music started again, and Y/N turned on her heel, leaving Anthony standing alone, fuming and intrigued. Days turned into weeks, and the tension between Anthony and Y/N only grew. They clashed at every event, their arguments becoming the talk of the ton. Yet, there was an undeniable attraction simmering beneath their barbs and jibes, one that neither of them could ignore.

One evening, at a particularly grand soiree, Y/N found herself cornered in the library by none other than Anthony Bridgerton.

“Do you make it a habit of hiding in libraries during balls?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Do you make it a habit of stalking young ladies?” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Anthony took a step closer, his gaze intense. “You’re a puzzle, Y/N. One I’m determined to solve.”

“Perhaps some puzzles are meant to remain unsolved,” she replied, her heart racing at his proximity.

He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Or perhaps they just need the right person to solve them.”

Y/N’s breath hitched at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. “What do you want from me, Anthony?”

“I want you to admit that there’s something between us,” he said, his voice husky. “Something more than just animosity.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “And if I did?”

“Then I would do this,” he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a heated kiss.

For a moment, Y/N was too stunned to react. But then she melted into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. The kiss was a battle of wills, both of them pouring all their frustration and longing into it.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other.

“Anthony,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky.

“Say it,” he urged. “Admit it.”

“There’s something between us,” she confessed, her heart pounding.

A triumphant smile spread across Anthony’s face. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

And in that moment, enemies became lovers, their passion burning brighter than any feud. Anthony Bridgerton lay in bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling of his room. The clock on the mantle ticked loudly in the silence, each passing second a reminder of how long he had been lying awake. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all centering on one person: Y/N.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, the defiant sparkle in her eyes, the way her lips curved into a challenging smile. Their kiss in the library had been seared into his memory, a brand that burned hotter each time he recalled it. He could still taste her, feel the warmth of her body pressed against his.

rustrated, Anthony threw back the covers and got out of bed. He paced the length of his room, trying to shake off the restless energy that gripped him. But it was no use. Y/N was under his skin, and there was no getting her out.

With a sigh, he walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit gardens below. The night was cool and clear, the perfect contrast to the turmoil raging within him. He needed to see her, to talk to her, to try and make sense of the emotions that had been stirred up.

Before he knew it, he was dressed and heading downstairs. He slipped out of the house quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. The streets were deserted, the city asleep, but Anthony's thoughts were anything but calm.

He found himself at the edge of the garden where he and Y/N had first argued, a place filled with memories of their heated exchanges. Tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt like the beginning of something new.

As if drawn by some invisible force, Anthony continued to walk until he reached the Viscount's residence. The house was dark, save for a single light in an upstairs window. He knew it was Y/N’s room. She often read late into the night, another thing about her that fascinated him.

Without thinking, Anthony picked up a small pebble and tossed it at the window. The light flickered, and a moment later, the window opened.

"Anthony?" Y/N's voice was a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted, his voice low. "I needed to see you."

She leaned out of the window, her expression softening slightly. "And what do you think you're doing, throwing stones at my window in the middle of the night? Have you lost your mind?"

"Perhaps I have," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Or perhaps I found something worth losing it over."

Y/N was silent for a moment, her eyes searching his. Then, with a sigh, she said, "Wait there. I’ll be down in a moment."

Anthony waited, his heart pounding in his chest. When she finally emerged from the house, wrapped in a shawl, she walked over to him with a determined stride.

"What is it, Anthony?" she asked, her voice soft in the night air. "Why are you really here?"

He took a step closer, reaching out to take her hand. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

"Us?" she echoed, her eyes widening.

"Yes, us," he said, his grip tightening on her hand. "I know we've been enemies, but I can't deny what I feel anymore. There's something between us, Y/N. Something real and undeniable."

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her breath hitching. "I don't know, Anthony. We’re too different. We fight all the time."

"Perhaps," he said, his voice gentle. "But maybe that’s what makes us perfect for each other. We challenge each other, push each other to be better."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "And what if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll fight," he said with a shrug. "And we’ll make up. Because I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. Not now, not ever."

Y/N's lips trembled as she smiled. "You’re a stubborn man, Anthony Bridgerton."

"Only when it comes to the things that matter," he replied, pulling her into his arms. "And you, Y/N, you matter more than anything."

As the first light of dawn began to break, Anthony and Y/N stood together in the garden, their hearts finally beating in unison. And in that moment, they knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x wife reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine

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nxzz-skz · 7 months ago

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trapped in these walls

ᯓ★ non-idol!Jay falling for his roommates best friend (fem!reader)

ᯓ★warnings: fluff, angst, kissing, slight mention of drinking

ᯓ★note: i'm starting a tag list so leave a comment or ask to be added!

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Jay was always a big fan of order. He liked his life structured, his routines meticulous, and his relationships always carefully managed. That's why moving in with Jake had seemed perfect. Jake was easygoing, friendly, and-most importantly-absent enough to leave Jay to his music and studies.

He didn't plan on Jake's best friend throwing his world into disorder.

It started on a rainy Thursday evening. Jay had come home soaked from the downpour, guitar in hand and his hair and jacket dripping onto the floor.He kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room, fully expecting to find it empty. Instead, there she was.

She was curled up on the couch next to Jake, her legs tucked under her, a steaming mug in her hand as she laughed at something Jake said. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that looked suspiciously like it belonged to Jake, her laugh deep and unrestrained, the kind that filled the space around her and made everything else feel insignificant.

“Oh, you’re back,” Jake said casually, glancing at Jay.

She turned, her eyes meeting his, and Jay froze. She was beautiful in the most distracting way—bright eyes, a wicked grin, and an air of confidence that left him momentarily speechless.

“You must be Jay,” she said, standing up with an easy grace that made him feel unreasonably self-conscious. Her smile was warm but mischievous, like she was sizing him up and daring him to keep up with her energy. She offered him a hand.

“Uh, yeah,” Jay mumbled. He glanced at Jake, silently asking who this whirlwind of a person was.

“Y/N,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Jake’s best friend. I’m kind of a package deal around here.”

Jake smirked. “She’s here so much, I should probably start charging her rent.”

Y/N laughed in response but Jay stayed silent. He was too focused on the way her hand felt in his, warm and firm, and the way her eyes seemed to study him like she already knew all his secrets.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Y/N quickly became a constant presence in Jay’s life. She showed up at the apartment nearly every day, either with Jake or on her own, and somehow managed to make herself at home in every corner of their space.

She was everywhere—lounging on the couch with Jake, raiding the fridge for snacks, sprawled out on the floor working on some project for school. Jay tried to keep his distance, but it was impossible.

She had this way of drawing him out without even trying. When Jake wasn’t around, she’d strike up conversations with him, asking questions about his music or teasing him about how serious he always looked.

“You know, you’re allowed to smile,” she said one evening, leaning over the back of the couch as Jay sat on the floor, fiddling with his guitar.

“I smile,” he replied defensively.

“Not that I’ve seen.” She grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “What’s it going to take to get one out of you?”

Jay glanced up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “I’m not that easy to crack.”

“Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, she became an undeniable part of his life.

One night, she found him on the balcony, staring out at the city lights with his guitar resting on his knee.

“You always look so serious,” she said, stepping outside and leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I am,” he replied, not looking up.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “What’s so heavy on your mind?”

Jay hesitated. He wasn’t used to sharing his thoughts with anyone, let alone someone like her. But something about her felt safe, like she could see through all the walls he’d built.

“Music,” he said finally. “I’ve been stuck.”

She smiled. “Want to talk about it?”

That night, they talked for hours, long after Jake had gone to bed. Y/N had a way of making him feel lighter, like the world wasn’t quite so heavy when she was around.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

As the weeks passed, Jay found himself looking forward to her visits more than he cared to admit. She was funny, smart, and unapologetically herself, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

The problem was Jake.

Jake was fiercely protective of Y/N, and while he never explicitly said he had feelings for her, it was clear he thought of her as more than just a friend. The way he lit up when she walked into the room, the way he always found excuses to touch her arm or brush her hair out of her face—it was obvious to anyone who was paying attention.

Jay told himself that his growing feelings for Y/N were inappropriate, that he needed to keep his distance. But the more time he spent with her, the harder that became.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The first real crack in their dynamic came one evening when Jake was out of town for a soccer tournament. Y/N showed up at the apartment with a bottle of wine and her usual bright energy.

“Jake’s not here,” Jay said when he opened the door.

“I know,” she replied, holding up the wine with a playful smirk. “But you are. Come on, I’m not drinking this alone.”

They ended up on the balcony, the cool night air wrapping around them as they shared the wine and a couple snacks, and talked about everything from childhood memories to their biggest fears.

At some point, Y/N moved closer, a little tipsy, her shoulder brushing against his. Jay’s heart raced, and he tried to ignore the way her laughter sent shivers down his spine.

“You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met,” she said softly, looking at him with an intensity that was almost suffocating.

Jay swallowed hard. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I?”

Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, but when he didn’t pull away, it deepened, her hands tangling in his hair as his slid around her waist. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them and the electricity sparking between them.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his. “Tell me this isn’t just in my head.”

Jay shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

For weeks, they tried to keep their relationship a secret, stealing moments whenever Jake wasn’t around. But secrets have a way of unraveling, and theirs came to light in the worst possible way.

Jake walked in on them one afternoon, Y/N straddling Jay’s lap on the couch, her hands buried in his hair as they kissed like the world was ending.

“What the hell?” Jake’s voice was sharp, filled with shock and anger.

Y/N scrambled off Jay, her face pale.

“Jake, I—”

“How long has this been going on?” he demanded, his gaze fixed on Jay.

Jay opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Jake’s jaw tightened. “Unbelievable.” He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Y/N burst into tears, and Jay pulled her into his arms, his heart breaking at the pain on her face.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

In the days that followed, Jake avoided them both, and the tension in the apartment became unbearable. Jay considered ending things with Y/N, convinced that their relationship wasn’t worth losing Jake’s friendship over.

But when he told her this, she looked at him with tears in her eyes. “So you’re just going to throw this away? After everything?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt.

She shook her head, stepping back. “If you can’t fight for this, maybe it’s better if we end it.”

She walked out, and for the first time in years, Jay felt truly alone.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Weeks passed, and Jay poured all his pain and longing into his music. One night, he recorded a song—a raw, emotional confession of love and regret.

Jake was the first to hear it.

“You wrote this for her,” he said, his voice unreadable.

Jay nodded. “I’m sorry, Jake. For everything.”

Jake sighed. “I was mad, yeah. But you love her, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jay admitted.

“Then don’t screw it up.”

⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Jay found Y/N at her favorite café, sitting by the window with a book in her hands.

“Hey,” he said softly, his heart pounding.

She looked up, her expression guarded. “What are you doing here?”

“I love you,” he blurted out. “And I was an idiot for letting you go. I’ll fight for this, for us, if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she smiled—a real, breathtaking smile—and stood, pulling him into a kiss that made everything else disappear.

ᯓ★ Send an ask or leave a comment if there's any fics or tropes you could recommend for me to write!

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

ᯓ★ taglist:

#enha x reader #enhypen #jongseong #enhypen jay

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grxmreaperx · 2 years ago

Text

Professor Hoffman

Pairing: (professor!) Mark Hoffman x (f!) reader

Word count: 3.1k (oops)

Warnings: 18+!! this is absolute filth. Daddy kink, choking, oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), dirty talk, p in v penetration, creampie, age gap (everyone is over 18!!), praise/degradation. Mark being a bastard. I’m so sorry

Summary: You weren’t expecting much from your criminology class. But when you see your professor for the first time, you realize the class may be much more interesting than you were expecting.

I went so overboard with this. I do not know where this came from. I apologize for my actions. Also, all of my knowledge comes from Jim Can’t Swim and Explore With Us interrogation analysis videos, so don’t come for me if some of the criminology stuff is wrong!!

You walked into the lecture hall, bag digging into your shoulder after a long day, trying to find a seat. You sighed. Almost every seat was full, people congregating in the back. You set yourself down in the second row from the front, one of the few empty seats.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag, trying to keep yourself awake. This was your last class of the day and all you could think about was getting back to your apartment and having a nice dinner.

You stifled a yawn, eyes unfocused on your screen.

“Welcome, everyone.”

The deep voice jolted you from your haze, drawing your eyes up from your computer, and onto him.

You felt a jolt run through your body as you took him in. Dark hair neatly pushed back, full lips, chest straining at his suit.

“I’m Professor Hoffman. I’ll be your criminology instructor this semester.”

Shit, maybe you weren’t so ready to go home anymore.

That was the one class you didn’t find yourself dreading. Your other psychology and criminal justice classes were a bore, lecturers talking monotonously for an hour and twenty minutes as you tried desperately to stay awake. Professor Hoffman’s class was actually interesting, it challenged you, made you think. He didn’t force you all to listen to him talk the entire time, even if you wouldn’t have minded hearing that voice for hours on end. He had been a detective before switching to teaching a few years back, so he played interrogation tapes, having you all watch the body language, the word choice, the facial expressions of the suspect.

And it was nice to have something pretty to look at while he taught.

You were a bit embarrassed by how many times he had caught you staring at him. You had never looked at a professor as anything more than a teacher, a mentor, before now. But during his lecture, you found your mind drifting. What his voice would sound like in your ear, how his hands would feel roaming over you, the noises he would make.

You had had your fair share of adventures in college, going out with your friends and ending up in someone’s bed every once in a while. But none of them had been anything to brag about; frat boys only in it for themselves, guys who had no idea what they were doing, or didn’t know how to make it last.

You needed something more, something satisfying.

“So, tell me, do you think this suspect was guilty or not guilty? And tell me why.”

His voice shook you out of your daydream, bringing you back to your reality. Your eyes scanned over the screen, trying to remember bits and pieces of the interrogation you were supposed to have been watching.

You raised your hand; as much as you hated it, you wanted to impress the man. You wanted to show him that you were smart, that you knew what you were talking about. And that you were paying attention, not just staring at him the entire time.

He nodded towards you, telling you to go ahead. “Not guilty. He got angry when you accused him, which is a very typical response from someone who is being falsely accused. And he didn’t use any hedge words when he was talking, which would be unusual for a guilty person. And there’s no obvious motive.”

Your professor smirked, nodding along as you answered. “Very good. That’s exactly right. Another clue to tell you this was…”

You zoned out, trying to contain yourself at his praise.

He scolded himself, his gaze continuously falling onto you throughout every class.

He had left the police department a couple years ago, looking for a job with shorter hours, more time to relax, less frustration.

But now he had a different kind of frustration.

Every class, there you were. Sitting right in front of him, eyes watching him intently as he spoke. He saw the way your face changed every time he walked in the room, your tired face lighting up a bit. He saw the way your gaze lingered on him when you were supposed to be working on an assignment, or watching one of the interviews you were meant to be dissecting.

He noticed your attempts to impress him, always eager to answer his questions. You were always there early, even when others began to slowly fade out, showing up late or not showing up at all.

And, he had to admit, it was working. You were smart, and he could see how interested you were in this topic, even if you seemed to be a bit more interested in him than the class. He knew you’d make a great detective one day; your understanding of others’ minds would be a great asset to the force.

He almost wished he hadn’t left the department. He would give anything to still be in his position when you were first starting out in the field, eager to learn, to impress, to please. He would love for you to train under him, your frustration growing as he teased you, giving you smaller and smaller tasks, making you prove yourself.

He pulled himself away from his thoughts, shuffling his notes together before the start of class.

“Alright everyone, I’ve posted your grades for your last assignment. Some of you did very well, others seem to be a bit distracted in this course.” He purposefully shifted his gaze, meeting your eyes as he spoke this last part.

He suppressed a smirk as he saw your face flush.

“Now, the rational choice theory…”

“I really don’t know what I’m doing wrong in that class,” you sighed.

Your friend nodded. “I mean, he is a pretty tough grader. I don’t think I’ve gotten above a C on anything.”

“Yeah, but I feel like my work is good! Some of it he seems to really like, and then others he’s super harsh. But I thought this last paper was really good!”

“Maybe you should go talk to him about it. Maybe he could help you out, tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess. I probably should. I really like this class; I want to do well in it.”

Your friend smirked. “Do you like the class, or do you like the hot professor?”

You lightly slapped their arm. “Shut up, I don’t think he’s hot.”

They laughed. “Of course you do! I see you staring at him all the time! It’s ok: he is pretty hot.”

You felt your face heating up. “Ok, maybe I think he’s kinda hot, but I like the class too!”

“I hear you.”

As class ended the next day, you took a breath. You shouldn’t be this nervous to talk to him, he was your professor, of course he would be willing to help you. You lingered in your seat for a few moments, taking longer than usual to stuff your laptop back in your bag. As people filed out of the room, you carefully approached his desk.

“Professor Hoffman?”

He looked up, smiling slightly as he met your eyes. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping that maybe you had time to talk to me about my last paper? I was wondering if you could tell me what I did wrong, or what I could improve next time?”

He regarded you for a moment and you couldn’t help but shift a bit under his gaze.

“Of course. I have another class in a few minutes, but I have time to meet tomorrow, if you’d like.”

You nodded, thanking him as he gave you a time and his office number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He smirked. “See you then. Don’t be late.”

“What are you all dressed up for?” your friend asked.

“What? I’m not dressed up. Do I look dressed up?”

“I mean, maybe not dressed up, but you look nice. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They smiled. “Oh! Now I remember. You have your meeting with the hot professor today! That’s why you dressed so cute.”

“I did not!”

“I don’t believe you. You better hurry up, don’t you have to be there in a few minutes?”

You looked at your phone, cursing under your breath. They were right, you only had a couple minutes before your meeting. You sped up your pace, telling your friend you’d see them later as they walked to their class building.

“You better tell me all about it! Don’t do anything inappropriate, young lady!”

You hurried into the brick building that held Professor Hoffman’s office, trying to find the room number he had given you. Your eyes scanned the plaques next to each door, looking for the one engraved with his name. When you finally found it, the door was shut. You knocked softly, waiting patiently until you heard a voice tell you to come in.

You pushed the door open, examining his office as you entered. One wall was lined with bookshelves, filled with books on psychology, criminal justice, and what looked like case files. His desk sat in front of the window, his back to the light streaming in through the glass. He sat, leaned back in his desk chair, shirt slightly unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. You quickly complied, smoothing your skirt as you sat down.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. He should have punished you right then for testing him like that: all dressed up for him, pretty skirt cutting off just above your knees, shirt lower cut than he had ever seen you wearing in class.

“So,” he started, trying to regain his composure. “You wanted to talk to me about your paper?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” Fuck. “I was wondering if you could tell me what I could have done better with this assignment. I thought I did really well on it, until I got my grade back.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it was very well-written. And you have the concepts down. But your job was to analyze the video, not just repeat what I had said in class. Even if you put it a bit more eloquently than I did.” He smiled. “I almost get the feeling that you’re a bit…distracted in my class.

He watched as you became flustered, a smile still on his lips. “Well, professor, I just – I just have a lot on my mind. Sometimes it wanders, you know?” Your eyes darted around, staring at your hands, your bag on the floor, the surface of his desk.

He nodded. “Wanders to what?”

He couldn’t help the smug look on his face as you struggled to answer. He knew what your mind wandered to, he could see it on your face when you were supposed to be paying attention to his lectures. He saw the blush on your face, the way your pupils were blown. And he knew exactly where your mind was wandering to.

“Well, you know, to other things I have to do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like me?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me. I see the way you stare at me, the look on your face when I catch you. You think I have no idea what you think about when you’re in my class? You think I can’t read you like a book, sweetheart?”

He tilted his head, watching as you took in his words. You looked like a deer in headlights, knowing he had figured out your secret. He saw the way your body stiffened at the pet name, your legs pressing together.

“I’ll tell you what,” he started, against his better judgement. “You really want to improve your grade?”

You nodded. He told himself to stop, to kick you out of his office before he put his career in jeopardy. But, God, the look on your face, so eager to hear what he had to say, pretty face flushed with embarrassment, legs squeezed together so tight he thought you might explode.

“Cmere,” he said in a low voice.

You slowly stood, making your way around his desk to stand in front of him. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he growled. “Where does your mind wander to during my class? I want to hear you tell me.”

“To you,” you said softly.

“Cmon, baby, you can do better than that.” He knew he was being a dick, he saw how flustered you were, how you were trying to work up the courage to answer his question. And he loved it.

“To you – to you…”

“To me fucking you?” he helped.

“Yes.” Your eyes were fixed on your hands.

“Look at me and say it.”

Your eyes met his. “My mind wanders to – to you fucking me.”

“Much better. Now, you really want to improve your grade, sweetheart?”

You nodded and he saw the eagerness in your eyes, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He smiled, chuckling as you quickly dropped to your knees in front of his chair, hands getting to work on his belt. He watched your eyes widen as you released him from his dress pants and couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in his chest.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asked, cocky smile spreading across his face. You shook your head. “Then go on.”

He let out a deep groan as you took him into your mouth, placing a hand on the back of your head. He wrapped his hand in your hair, guiding you as his dick hit the back of your throat. “Such a good girl.” He leaned his head back against the chair, savoring the feeling of your head bobbing on his cock.

His looked back down at you, eyes darkening as he saw how eagerly you sucked him off, spit coating your lips, tears welling in your eyes every time you took him down your throat. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little distracted during classes too, picturing you just like this.

He pulled your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. “Get up here, sweetheart,” he said, motioning to his lap.

You shakily got to your feet before straddling his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He reached under your skirt, hands gripping your ass. He watched as you began to grind your clothed core on his dick, admiring the desperate look on your face.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked, hand slowly wrapping around your throat. “So desperate for me. No one been taking care of this pussy?”

You frantically shook your head, grinding down harder.

“Poor little slut. Take them off. I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

You shifted on his lap, pulling your underwear down your legs and tossing them to the side. He slowly ran a finger through your folds, letting out a low hum. “God, baby, this all for me?” Your answer was cut off by him pushing two fingers inside of you, your words turning to a moan. He slowly pumped his fingers, curling them inside you while your ground down on his hand.

“Poor baby, those college boys don’t know how to make you feel good? You’re so fuckin’ desperate.” You quickly shook your head, too lost in the feeling of him working you to form words. You whined when he pulled his fingers out.

He lined himself up at your entrance, the other hand wrapping around your waist, holding you steady. “Go on, baby. Show me how needy you are.”

You slowly slid yourself down onto his cock, mouth falling open as he stretched you out. His head fell back onto his chair, eyes screwing shut, before quickly opening them again, taking in the sight of you full of his dick. He placed his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as you began to bounce. You quickly picked up the pace, grinding yourself down on him, eyes clouded from pleasure.

Your moans filled his ears, eyes roaming your body as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“God, baby, you look so fuckin’ pretty. Such a good little whore for me, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, just for you, Daddy!” you moaned, before quickly catching yourself. He saw your eyes widen, realizing what you had just said.

He wrapped his strong arm around your waist, standing from his chair, still buried deep inside you, before setting you on his desk. He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing slightly and pushing your back down onto the surface. “Say it again.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you said softly.

“That’s fuckin’ right baby.” He set a fast pace, roughly fucking into you, one hand still around your throat, the other gripping your hip so hard he knew it would probably leave marks.

He let out a groan at the sight of you underneath him, skirt bunched around your waist, mouth hanging open, hands gripping his arms. He watched your back arch off the table, squeezing your eyes shut.

He froze, abruptly stopping his thrusts. “Look at me when you cum on my dick, baby. Fuckin’ look at me or I’ll stop again. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you cried, eyes locked on his.

“Much better.” His fingers found their way to your clit as he continued burying himself in you. “Cum for me baby, show me how much you love my cock.”

Your nails dug into his arm as your legs shook around him, moaning loudly as you reached your high. He felt his own end coming on. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Tell me sweetheart, where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside…” was all you could manage, still overcome with pleasure.

He smiled. “You want me to fill you up, baby?” You nodded, begging him to fill you.

His pace faltered as he came, gripping your hips tightly. He let go of you, placing his hands on his desk, catching his breath. He slowly pulled out of you, pulling his pants back up and tossing you your underwear. You carefully sat up, legs still shaking slightly.

He settled himself back in his chair, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. He smirked at you, sitting on his desk, completely undone.

“I suppose I can raise your grade on that paper,” he started. “But I do think we should have weekly tutoring sessions. You obviously need some more help with this.” He smirked at you. “Does that sound good to you?”

You never agreed to something faster in your life.

I really liked writing this, if y’all like it I may give you a part 2👀

#mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #saw #saw franchise

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hannahssimblr · 7 months ago

Text

Jen, though different in her appearance, is the same as I remember. Our last meeting, at Christmastime, we took a walk in the dark misery of St. Stephen’s day. Lights twinkled in the eaves of the seafront houses, reflecting on the slick tarmac after days of rain, and as usual, with Jen I felt normal, like nothing had really changed all that much since I moved away.

“There you are,” she says, like she saw me yesterday.

“Your hair’s pink.” I say.

“It is, yeah.”

Now she is burying her face in the front of my coat, and her arms are stiff from the layers of clothing she’s wrapped around herself. From my chest, her voice is muffled. “Have you gotten taller?”

“I think you’ve shrunk, Jenny.”

“Probably my horrible diet. Can you imagine, I’ve not eaten a vegetable since Christmas?”

“I actually can imagine that.”

“Why? Do I look deathly?”

“No, you look nice.” She tilts her face to me, her round cheeks and upturned nose pink from the cold. “I’m still getting used to not seeing you every day.”

“It’s been a good while since you moved. Time you get used to it.”

I smile. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Come on, then. We haven’t far to go.”

“This is actually pretty good,” Jen says, eating around the braised fennel on her plate, and picking out only the pieces of chicken. “Is there lemon in it, or something?”

“Lemon and some other stuff, yeah.”

“It’s tasty.”

“Jude is an excellent cook,” Astrid says. “I’m very lucky to have a boyfriend who cooks almost like a chef.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jen replies.

The apartment is warm and clean, candles lit around the little living area, and one on the table, casting a warm glow over the food. It looks like a place an adult would live, one with intentional design choices, the right lampshades sourced from second-hand shops, artfully stacked books on the coffee table and all the little things one can accumulate just from living having found their place in organised drawers, or little ceramic bowls placed around the place. In the bathroom, there is incense lighting, and a little bouquet of dried flowers in an amber glass vase by the sink. It matches the other amber glassware, containing soap and lotion and shampoos, all carefully chosen from heaps of rubbish at flea markets. Only Astrid’s artistic eye could spot the potential in junk, take it home, clean it up, and make it worthy.

When I was at Jen’s little kip in Ranelagh a couple of months ago, I got drunk and drew a crude, biro drawing of a little bald man with a huge bare arse. I gave him a speech bubble saying ‘TIOLET’, and we stuck it to her bathroom door so that nobody would get lost trying to find it. We fell about laughing at it until I thought I’d get sick. Now, weeks later, I have served her roasted chicken marinated in ouzo on a table with linen placemats. I ignore the blatant divergence in how I have presented myself, and pray she doesn’t bring it up.

“Jen, won’t you eat the fennel?” Jonas says. He’s finished his dinner, and she offers him the remains of hers. He piles her vegetables onto his plate. “It is so delicious, you know. It makes me wish Jude would cook for me at home.”

“He doesn’t?”

He laughs. “Not once. He’s always eating out or making toast for dinner.”

“That’s crazy. Jude! You’ve always been good at cooking. Why haven’t you treated your poor, suffering housemate?” Jen gapes at me in mock outrage while clinging to the sleeve of his shirt. He chuckles. He likes her. She likes him. I knew it would be like this, because everyone likes Jen, and everyone likes Jonas, and these people, the kinds that are easy to like, easy to get along with, fall into a simple rhythm with one another every time they encounter one another. This is one of the many benefits of having a personality that others do not find challenging.

“I should,” I admit. “I’m just busy, you know?”

“Busy being a bad housemate! I can’t believe this.”

“Me neither,” Jonas nods, making valiant inroads into his second helping. “All this time, I thought you were some typical kind of student who cannot make even a bowl of pasta.”

“Well, I’ve proved you wrong.”

“You have. I misjudged you.”

“I’m surprised to hear you talk about Jude like this,” Astrid says. “I don’t see him that way.”

“Like what? Unable to cook pasta?” says Jen.

“That he’s so irresponsible. For me, this has been a very grounding relationship. I feel he’s a steady person.”

How did I get this woman? I think, for at least the fourth time this evening. How have I been so fortunate?

Jen’s raucous laugh shatters the moment. “Him?” She says. “You find him to be reliable?”

“Well, yes, actually.”

“Easy know that you didn’t know him at school.”

“Oh, really?” Intrigue twinkles in Jonas’ eye.

“Yes, he was a complete wild card. You should start just asking him to tally up the amount of days he was in detention over the six years. The things I witnessed…”

“He tells me almost nothing about his life in Ireland!” Jonas tosses his napkin onto the plate, and I roll my eyes. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve said already that Ireland was crap. There was never anything to do.”

“That’s true,” Jen says, “fair enough. But we made our own fun. We weren’t ever bored for long.”

“This makes more sense to me,” says Jonas, “I had a feeling there was more to you than what you have told me.”

“Jude, I can’t believe you haven’t been sharing your hilarious stories. I swear to God, he’s gotten up to the funniest things. There was never a dull moment when we were growing up.”

“Yeah, we had a lot of fun, alright. We were really stupid kids.”

“We’re still stupid kids, what are you on about?” Jen grabs Jonas’ arm again while she giggles into her sleeve. “Did you know Jude got suspended from school twice?”

“Twice?” He echoes. “For what?”

“Right, okay,” I protest. “One was for fighting. That was bad. I’m not proud of it.”

“And the other was for starting a fire in the boys’ toilets.”

I glance at Astrid, who has something related to a smile on her lips, but it’s clear she’s confused, a small line forming between her brows. “Why would someone do that?” She wonders. “Was it on purpose?”

“No, no! It was a total accident,” Jen lets out a squawk of laughter before launching into the story. “So, set the scene, boys’ toilets, 2004…”

With dirty plates cleared and the dishwasher humming, we take our conversation to the little nook of Astrid’s studio apartment that closest resembles a living room. Our bodies are strewn around on big, soft, thrift shop furniture, where we talk and laugh until our bellies hurt. Jen wipes tears of laugher with the front of her t-shirt, legs thrown across Jonas as he tells us stories from his teen years, of ghost chilli peppers, and dirty mop water and stolen costumes from the theatre, painting an image of himself more mischievous and silly than the sensible man I’ve met, who reads the political column in the newspaper over his morning coffee.

We have lost track of time, and the candle wax is making castles at the bases of Astrid’s brass candelabras. She is sitting politely while we throw ourselves about, howling with laughter, no longer at the stories, but at how silly we are being. Finding hilarity in our own hysteria. Giddy from it. At some relevant point, Jen shows Jonas a picture on her phone of the drawing I made for her bathroom door, and the laughter starts again. He shoves his knuckles into his eyes to stop the tears. “You misspelt it,” he wheezes. “The word toilet. It was on purpose?”

“Of course, like, what, we can’t speak English?”

Astrid sighs, and examines her bare foot, rested against the coffee table. I present my hand to her, and she drops hers into it so I can massage it with my thumb. She gives me a humourless smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “Are you tired?” I murmur.

“Yes, a bit.”

“Astrid,” Jen says, “I was actually wondering if you have any stories from school, sorry! I should have asked you earlier. As in, what’s the funniest thing that ever happened to you?”

She hesitates.

“Or anyone, really. It doesn’t have to be you specifically, just, like, something you heard.”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Surely there’s something,” I insist, though it’s hard for me to imagine Astrid at school. I attempt to conjure her at a desk, being told what to do by a teacher, sitting in a cafeteria eating a packed lunch, but I can’t. I can see a girl doing it, some faceless blonde girl, but not Astrid. She’s too sophisticated to have ever been in a school, with sticky linoleum flooring and bathroom stalls studded with chewing gum. This woman wasn’t born, but materialised one day, and has been swanning around Europe being mesmerising ever since.

“What kind of school did you go to?” Jen says. “Mixed? Like, boys and girls?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like there’s always a story about that. Like, in our school, someone got fingered in the science lab.”

“Well, that’s just disgusting.”

“I agree with you. Foul.”

We’re all smiling at her, nodding in encouragement, but she looks mildly irritated. At last, she sighs. “Someone once threw an eraser into the teacher’s coffee mug.”

A pause.

“And then?” Jonas says.

“And then it splashed, and the teacher got coffee on her shirt.”

“Oh! That’s funny!” Jen leaps in. “God, I used to get tea down my uniform all the time. And then you’re there walking around all day with a stained shirt. So embarrassing.”

Astrid frowns. “Okay, well, I just don’t think my school was like your schools. Nobody was doing anything disruptive. We just had our classes, talked to friends and we went home. I don’t know why someone would want to cause such a fuss. It annoys everybody when some students are being so problematic.”

“Yeah, we were fairly annoying alright,” I say. “I suppose it really shows up the differences between places like Ireland and Denmark, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was very nice to go to school there.” Jen gives her very best, warm smile, which Astrid does not return. I make a note to tell Jen it’s not personal later, that Astrid’s smiles are an extremely rare event.

Astrid doesn't reply.

The smell of an extinguished candle drifts beneath my nose. I suddenly feel a bit awkward.

“It’s kind of late.” I point out. ‘Maybe we should go.”

“Oh, yes, I’m tired,” she says. “I’d really like to go to bed.”

We get up and put on our coats, and as I bend to kiss her goodbye, she murmurs, “It was good of you to cook.”

“Anytime, love.”

“Good. You should do it more.”

“You think so?”

“Mm.”

“Then I will. Just tell me what you want and I'll make it.”

“I will.”

I kiss her cheek. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Jude. Love you.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2011 #sims 4 story #sims story #ts4 story #simblr #simblr story #show us your sims #show us your story

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weenwrites · 1 year ago

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Hello! Can you please write some platonic/familial headcannons for tfp soundwave and a human reader who lives on the Nemesis with them?

The reader is an artist who is very quiet and tends to only show their emotions around soundwave, most of the time you can find them sitting on soundwaves shoulder and drawing but if not then they are usually listening in on whatever gossip is going round the ship.

Thank you! don't forget to drink some water and have a yummy snack!

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Sitting in silence together as you both work is Soundwave's ideal way to slowly bond with someone. However it's only ideal given his oath of silence and the type of work he does around the Nemesis. If you keep an eye out or pay close attention to whoever passes behind you and Soundwave, you'll notice that anyone that passes by the two of you automatically knows to keep quiet. You'll hear vehicons chatting and laughing over something far off in the halls, but once they get close enough there will be nothing but dead silence from them. Why they do it is something you'll never truly find out, as the answer you get varies depending on who you ask, but at least you have Soundwave to thank for the silence.

However, you don't always have to keep quiet around him while he works. He doesn't mind if you talk about things like how your day went, or something new that you're interested in, or the gossip you've heard around the ship while he works (as long as he doesn't need to completely focus on his work at the moment). They're more of a listener than a talker, but every now and then, they'll play back clips of your voice in order to ask more about something you mentioned or maybe something unrelated.

Whenever you've had your fill of work, or you want to get up and stretch your legs before you come back, all you have to do is slowly get up and Soundwave will automatically catch on that you want down. They'll lift their arm level to their shoulder and slowly set you to the ground before they continue their work.

Whenever you wander around the Nemesis, the gossip you hear varies from vehicons back talking some of the higher-ups, to vehicons from different barracks or squadrons back talking vehicons from other barracks or squadrons, to gossip about you. They say all sorts of things, ranging from disdain at how Soundwave adopted a pet squishy, to amazement at how talented humans can be, to questions about what they think being a human is like. It's a mixed bag, really, and unless you can learn to tell the vehicons apart from one another, you can't tell what you'll hear when you listen in on some vehicons working on changing the lights in the hall.

Soundwave's become familiar with places you frequently visit around the Nemesis, so it doesn't take too long to find you. Additionally they have access to every surveillance camera aboard the ship as well as a very keen eye, so it really isn't much of a challenge for them. However, if they're too busy then they'll send Lazerbeak to go fetch you for whatever reason they need you.

Your room is located within his habsuite of course, but you're allowed your own privacy, as well as a lot of space to store all of your belongings. And of course since you have different needs than a cybertronian, he'll take time every week in order to accompany you down to some town or city within Earth, or task Lazerbeak to watch after you as you get the necessary things you need like food, water, clothing, etc..

But where would you get the cash for such things? He simply takes it from the rich. The security systems and anti-virus software available on earth technology is considered very rudimentary by Soundwave's standards, so it's not much of an issue for them to develop a malware that slowly trickles money out of some rich person's bank account.

However, if for some reason something were to happen while you were down on earth, you have his personal comm link line. The moment you call that line, he'll either go find you himself or disbatch Lazerbeak to retrieve you if he's unavailable.

#tfp imagines #tfp headcanons #tfp x reader #tfp soundwave #soundwave x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites

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monstersdownthepath · 9 months ago

Text

Homebrew Horror: Caligine, the Sweltering Saint

(Art by @fishfacedterror!)

The twisted, self-described "Saint of Spices and Suffering" known as Caligine has numerous other titles with varying levels of detail and alliteration, is one of the youngest and most obscure of the shadowy demigods known as the Velstrac Demagogues. As such, his cult is quite small, but it grows every day as it draws in eccentric spice aficionados, brave gourmands, and all manner of uncommon men with tastes and habits bordering (or surpassing) the inhumane. Whether they wish to experience entirely new forms of suffering or simply test their tolerance, the "Trials of St. Caligine" call to all kinds.

Because Caligine prefers to experiment on the willing rather than the unwilling (if only because the willing are more likely to appreciate the molecular gastronomy at play), he is among the most peaceful of all the Demagogues in relation to his interactions with mortal life, going so far as to place his personal workshop just a three days' walk from Shadow Absalom and encourage patronage and trade with its citizens for exotic ingredients he would otherwise not have access to... but do not confuse 'peaceful' with 'harmless,' and do not believe 'prefers' means 'will only.' Anyone who disrupts his experiments is very likely to become a part of them, and the internal excruciations he delights in causing are a far different torture the common flesh-flaying and bone-breaking of most velstrac, a fact on its own which draws fiends from all over to experience them, fiends which have FAR fewer qualms disappearing Caligine's clientele for their own hideous projects.

While most of the fatalities he causes are the results of his gastric atrocities, Caligine relishes the occasional combat, both to make use of the runoff of his many experiments (it's still good for something) and to relieve the tedium that comes with waiting for endless vats of ingredients to boil down into something worthwhile. Despite his primary occupation as both a chef and a chemist, he is a terrifying and resilient combatant regardless of the range one fights him at, either hacking his foes apart with his enchanted cleaver and breaking their bones with his wretched tongue up close, or hurling truly impressive amounts of caustic explosives at more distant foes.

Despite his ferocity in battle, the Saint is willing to live up to his title in his own bizarre ways. An offering of especially rare or exotic ingredients or powerful, unique potions and poisons may see him pausing his assault long enough for one to reason with him. He may even bargain with those he was just trying to kill to get his hands on something he's never seen before (a challenge in and of itself!), and honors all promises he makes to the best of his abilities with very little litigious twisting, something which may change as he ages. He has been known to even provide healing to victims he's butchered or slain, though his prices for doing so always include submitting to his gastronomic experiments, something which has made many a victim wish they had stayed dead.

Saint Caligine CR 27

Lawful Evil Large Outsider (Evil, Extraplanar, Kyton, Lawful)

Init: +14; Senses: Darkvision 60ft, Keen Scent, See in Darkness; Perception +29

------ Defense ------

AC 44, touch 24, flat-footed 29 (+14 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural, -1 size)

HP 740 (34d10+544) Regeneration 30 (Deific and Mythic)

Fort +35 Ref +24 Will +24

Defensive abilities Mithridatism; DR 20/Epic, good, and silver; Immune Charm and compulsion effects, cold, fear effects, petrification, sleep; Resist Acid 30, Electricity 20, Fire 30; SR 38

------ Offense ------

Speed 40ft, climb 40ft

Melee Cleaver of Caligine +45/+40/+35/+30 (1d8+12 plus 1d6 Acid and 1d6 Fire/19-20/x3), claw +38 (1d8+5), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab), OR two claws +41 (1d8+9), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab)

Ranged Bomb +48/+43/+38/+33 (10d6+8 Acid or Fire)

Space 10ft; Reach 10ft (15ft with tongue)

Special Attacks Coated Tongue, constrict (2d6+14 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire), Ring of Telekinesis (DC 22/CMB +41), Unnerving Gaze (60ft, DC 34)

Infusions Prepared (CL 20; Concentration +28)

1st- Abjuring Step x2, Anticipate Peril x2, Expeditious Retreat, Long Arm, Shield 2nd- Barkskin, Blur x2, Touch Injection, Twisted Innards, Vomit Swarm x2 3rd- Fly, Haste, Heroism, Nauseating Trail x2 (DC 21), Toxic Blood (DC 21), Thorn Body 4th- Arcane Eye, Detonate x2 (DC 21), Fire Shield, Greater Invisibility x2, Spell Immunity 5th- Delayed Consumption x3, Grand Destiny, Overland Flight, Resurgent Transformation 6th-Caging Bomb Admixture, Heal x2, Mislead x2 (DC 24), Walk Through Space

Spell-like Abilities (CL 34; Concentration +41)

Constant--Discern Lies, Freedom of Movement, True Seeing At-will--Dispel Magic, Plane Shift (self and willing targets only), Teleport (self and willing targets only) 7/day--Acidic Spray (DC 22), Beguiling Gift (DC 18), Contagious Flame (DC 24), Tongues 5/day--Caustic Eruption (DC 24), Overwhelming Poison, Wall of Fire (DC 21) 3/day--Quickened Fireball (DC 24), Incendiary Cloud (DC 25) Transmute Blood to Acid (DC 26)

------ Statistics ------

Str 28 Dex 38 Con 42 Int 27 Wis 20 Cha 25 Base Atk: +34; CMB +44; CMD 68

Feats Brew Potion, Cleave, Close-Quarters Thrower (Bombs), Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Craft Wondrous Item, Dodge, Improved Critical (Handaxe), Great Cleave, Multiattack, Point-Black Shot, Precise Shot, Power Attack, Rapid Shot, Splash Weapon Mastery, Throw Anything, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (Bombs)

Skills Acrobatics +24, Appraise +38, Bluff +15, Climb +22, Craft (Alchemy) +55, Diplomacy +22, Disable Device +24, Escape Artist +24, Knowledge (Arcana) +38, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +38, Knowledge (Engineering) +28, Knowledge (Geography) +25, Knowledge (Local) +23, Knowledge (Nature) +45, Knowledge (the Planes) +31, Perception +29, Profession (Chef) +54, Sense Motive +28, Sleight of Hand +24, Spellcraft +45, Survival +25, Use Magic Device +37 Racial Modifiers: +12 to Craft (Alchemy) and Profession (Chef) checks.

Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Ignan, Infernal, Shadowtongue; telepathy 100 ft.

SQ Alchemist Abilities, Crucible

------ Ecology ------ Environment any (Plane of Shadow) Organization Solitary (unique) Treasure Triple (Cleaver of Caligine (a +3 Flaming Burst and Corrosive Burst Handaxe), Ring of Telekinesis, Saint's Spice Bag (a Handy Haversack with three times the normal storage capacity), 1d8+4 random potions levels 1 to 3, 1d3 potions levels 4 to 6)

------

Combat: On any given day, Caligine always has 1d4+3 generically useful spells ready via Delayed Consumption, such as Death Ward, Haste, Cure Critical Wounds, Protection From Energy, and always at least one instance of Greater Invisibility, invoking them the instant they're needed. Caligine begins most fights with Greater Invisibility, then using the granted breathing room to tailor himself to his enemy's apparent might with whatever combination of extracts he feels will give him an advantage. His first order of business in any fight is restraining the hardiest-looking opponent with his tongue to suppress any resistances they may have before striking them with his more debilitating spell-likes such as Transmute Blood to Acid. As a pain fanatic, he doesn't care if he catches himself in the area of his own spells or if he grapples a creature that harms him to touch. He will use any poisons he has access to as early and often as possible, on both his enemies and himself. If his opponents prove particularly vulnerable to poison, he will often teleport away just long enough to craft some especially debilitating ones, bless them with Overwhelming Poison, and teleport back to continue. He utilizes his bombs primarily against foes who keep out of his reach, but will gladly use them against much closer enemies if they group together.

Morale: The Sweltering Saint rarely fights to the death. If brought to below 50 health, he will often concede to his foes' might and congratulate them on an excellent battle, especially if his enemies used Acid or Fire damage or poisons on him. He will attempt to placate/reward them with an offering of powerful potions and, perhaps, more alchemical items at his disposal. If his enemies reject his surrender, he will teleport or shift away, or simply flee with Expeditious Retreat. If he cannot, only then does he fight to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Alchemist Abilities (Ex): Caligine has several abilities similar to those from the Alchemist class:

He can can prepare and use extracts as if he were a 20th level Alchemist with the Infusion Discovery. He knows all Alchemist formulae; the above list is his most common selection if he anticipates hostility.

He has the Bomb ability of a 20th level Alchemist with the Fast Bombs Discovery, capable of swiftly hurling caustic chemicals which deal either Fire or Acid damage (Reflex DC 28 dodges the splash damage). He adds his Intelligence modifier to his bomb damage, as well as damage done with other alchemical splash weapons. His bombs have a range increment of 40ft, and he can create 42 bombs each day.

He can create items with incredible swiftness, crafting any alchemical item or poison in a single full-round action and most potions (see Crucible, below) in just 1 hour, provided he succeeds the Craft (Alchemy) check and has access to the materials to do so (he is always assumed to have the materials on-hand so long as he has his gear).

He can apply a poison or oil to a weapon as an immediate action. This includes his own natural weapons, which exposes him to any poison he uses, but see Mithridatism below.

Coated Tongue (Ex): Caligine's tongue is frighteningly dexterous, uncannily strong, and is coated with countless chemicals with deleterious effects on anything touching it. It is always a primary natural attack, and he can grapple and constrict a creature with his tongue without gaining the grappled condition himself. A creature grappled by his tongue has any Fire or Acid Resistance and/or Immunity they possess suppressed while they're grappled, and for 1d4+1 rounds after the grapple ends.

Crucible (Su): Caligine's mastery of chemistry allows him to perform feats that many consider impossible: He can have multiple Delayed Consumption effects in place at the same time. In addition, he can craft potions of spells up to 6th level instead of 3rd. However, a 4th level potion takes one day to create, a 5th level spell takes two days, and a 6th level spell takes three.

Mithridatism (Ex): Caligine is not immune to poisons, but most poisons have an effect on his physiology that is far outside the norm. Whenever he would take ability score damage or drain from a poison, instead he gains a +2 alchemical bonus to his attack and damage rolls, as well as ability checks and skill checks for 1 round. He gains this bonus for each different poison affecting him, and the bonuses stack. In addition, Caligine recovers from ability score damage at a rate of 1 per minute, and ability score drain at a rate of 1 per hour.

Unnerving Gaze (Ex): Any creature that succumbs to Caligine's unnerving gaze becomes suicidally convinced that they can survive his trials, taking a -10 penalty to the next saving throw they make against one of his spell-like abilities or a -10 penalty to their AC against the next alchemical bomb attack he makes against them.

#pathfinder #Homebrew Horror #original concepts

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