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gghostwriter · 3 months

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Death of a Love Affair

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times you understood and the final time you couldn’t.

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: this felt oddly personal to me this is my first time writing in the Y/N perspective and in a one shot format so please be kind. I kinda left a possibly for p2, not sure about that yet, but let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Main masterlist || Part 2A (happy end) || Part 2B (sad end)

The first time it happened, you completely understood.

You had an inkling as to what you were getting into when you started dating a 187 genius who graduated at a young age and who was scouted straight from college by the FBI. It wasn’t hard to comprehend these external circumstances mixed with his internal need to prove himself worthy of belonging with the big boys would result in missed personal events. It was a given, you expected it.

You just didn’t count on him missing your graduation. After all, he gave his word that he’ll be there to see you walk the stage and receive your diploma. He promised you and yet, as you scanned the crowd of loved ones hugging the attendees, there was no sign of his tie wearing, button up lithe form weaving through the crowd, no sign of his slicked hair, meticulously tucked behind his ears and no sign his doe eyed hazel eyes shining with pride as you joined the ranks of adulthood and unemployment.

You reach for your phone, now finally free from the nerves and adrenaline of going up the stage, with a single unread message from the one you wished to be here with you.

I’m sorry, angel. There’s a case and Gideon needs me.

You sighed with a mild smile sprouting on your glossed lips as you sent back a reply.

No worries! We can celebrate when you get back. Be safe, I love you.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” Your mom exclaimed, reaching for a hug. “You graduated and with so many achievements—I mean look at all these cords hanging around your neck!”

You laughed as you stepped out from her warm embrace and watched joyful tears gather under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom! Hopefully all these cords help me get a job soon, huh, or else I’ll be moving back home with you.”

“Oh honey, stop joking! As if I wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms,” she quipped back.

A hand holding a bouquet of flowers shot up to your face. It was a bundle of your favorite, carnations, in ranges of different colors.

“Congratulations, lil sis,” your older brother, Trevor, breathed out. “Do I get a hug too or is that just for Mom?”

You giggled as you stepped into his arms, happy to be sharing this moment with your ever loving protector of a brother, no matter how busy he might be as a head chef for his own highly rated restaurant.

“Hey big brother, thanks for being here,” you mumbled in his tight grasp. “Did you pass along my invite to Dad?”

You felt him subtly shake his head causing your smile to slightly falter. You knew better than to expect the man who gifted you half of his genes to show up—a workaholic, absentee of a father whose love language was to deposit checks to your bank account from his fattened pockets as a lawyer for the rich. It was the cause of your parents’ separation when you were five years old. The matriarch tired from taking up the mantle as both the paternal and maternal figure for both you and your brother. Your mother exhausted from repeatedly believing broken promises uttered to herself and to her babies.

Having seen first hand how each lie wrapped as an oath chipped a piece of the loving and bright woman who gave birth to you and your brother, you vowed to never let that happen to you. It was a cautionary tale engrained in your mind. A fable—a curse really and in hindsight, you should have seen the markings of history repeating itself.

“Now, where is your nerdy pipe cleaner of a boyfriend?” He asked as he scanned around the vicinity for a sight of Spencer.

You shrugged, genuinely alright with your FBI agent of a boyfriend missing this milestone in your life. “Duty called. But that’s okay, we’ll celebrate when he gets back.”

A pair of eyes, similar to yours, inquisitively studied you as if making sure there was no hidden hurt behind those words uttered. “If you say so,” he stated, turning to your mother who was smiling at the both of you—her greatest treasures. “Mom, let’s get out of here. I had John prep the kitchen for a feast.”

You and your mom chattered excitedly at the passenger back seat as Trevor backed the four-door navy sedan out of the parking and drove off to his restaurant for the promised lunch graduation.

———

It was well into the night as you were settling in bed when the tell-tale signs of the main door being unlocked echoed through the dark green walls of his apartment.

“Spence?” You called out, letting him know that you were there instead of in your own apartment, 30 minutes away.

More shuffling was heard before the object of your love and affection rounded the bedroom door with a set of his own flowers on hand. He breathed out your name in reverence as he went for a kiss, pleased that he had still caught you awake.

“Congratulations, my love,” he smiled as he pulled away from your soft lips. “These are for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

You smiled back, gladly accepting his apologies and flowers. “It’s all good, Spence. I know how demanding your job is. I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I told Gideon and Hotch that’ll I’ll be unavailable this weekend. It’s just you and me,” he said as he went in for another kiss, unable to resist any longer. Not long after, his outside clothes and your sleepwear were strewn all around the bedroom floor as both your bodies merged into one and reached a mutual crescendo with your gasps and his groans as the choir.

***

The second time, you moderately understood.

You noted that the BAU was back in full swing with Gideon being brought back to the saddle after what happened in Boston. As his birthday treat, you both agreed to fly in for the weekend to Vegas to visit his mother at the facility. He never would have gone alone should it not have been for your enthusiasm to come with. You loved talking to Diana about Spencer’s childhood during her good days and you also loved being in her presence still even when she was lost in her teaching past—acting out as a student as you got to hear her lectures about literature.

The bustling at the airport had you tip toeing up to catch a sight of Spencer, your flight departing in about an hour. It was a late Friday afternoon, travelers were piling in for a weekend trip, and he promised to head straight from the Bureau to the airport to meet you by the entrance. Your head swiveled from left to right, biting your lip as the minutes ticked by with no sign of your boyfriend running towards you.

The phone in your jean pocket rang and your heart slightly dropped at the sight of the caller ID.

“Hey pretty boy,” you greeted, naively wishing that this phone call wasn’t a bearer of bad news. “Are you almost at the airport?”

There were muffled voices heard in the background. “Uhm—actually—”

You sighed, understanding what he wanted to say. “There’s a case,” you stated as a matter of fact. “It’s alright, Spence. I’ll tell your mom something popped up. No worries.”

“You—you don’t have to go alone. We can always reschedule,” he suggested, the timber of his voice going up an octave as if he was in a panic at the idea of disappointing you.

“You and I both know Diana’s excited about this trip,” you chuckled as you recalled how her doctor had described his mother’s face lighting up every time she was reminded of the visit. “I’ll go and spend some time with her. Maybe even get her to tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about her perfect boy.”

He lightly laughed at your joke to ease the tension and remorse he was feeling. “I could have told you all of it if you just asked.”

“Well, does it include pictures of you too?” You teased as you were checking in at the counter.

There was a stern voice calling for his name in the background, it was Hotch, you silently guessed.

“Listen, I have to go. The team is about to give the profile,” he rushed out to inform you. “I’ll see you when we both get back. I love you.”

The call ended without so much of a chance for you to say it back.

As the plane got ready to take off, your mood continued to further dampen. He promised to go—to you and to his own mother via the phone. An ivy seed of doubt was planted in your mind. Did he try to excuse himself from the case to his boss as some sort of birthday gift? It really didn’t work that way, you knew, with how of a high demand his job is but still, you wondered if his team was informed about the plans for this weekend or were they purposely kept out of the loop. That notion wouldn’t surprise you at the slightest, thinking back. The profilers weren’t even aware of his mother’s state and condition. Hell, they didn’t even know that you existed, a girlfriend of two years, until well into his first year at the BAU.

Deep down you grasped why he keeps Diana a secret. You were aware of the shame and embarrassment he felt for himself, having had to have her institutionalized by the time he reached the age of eighteen. You got that, didn’t mean you understood it but nonetheless, you respected his decision and was even proud of him for reaching out for professional help no matter how much he viewed that action of his cowardly. But what you weren’t really privy to was really why your relationship was kept in the dark. It could have saved him from Morgan’s incessant ribbing of his inability to pick up women.

During one night where your insecurities got the best of you, you asked in a small voice if he was ashamed of the relationship. He vehemently denied it, repeatedly saying that he just wanted to have a secret solace—a happy home to return to that was untouched by the worst human terrors that he encounters on the daily. That was what you were, he explained, a sunlit luscious reprieve filled with flowers and laughter where he could rest his weary bones from the ravaging, dark waves. His own piece of heaven here on earth. He then kissed your fears away that night, hugged you tight into his chest—the vibrations from his humming lulling you to slumber.

———

“I always knew it would take a special girl to understand my special boy,” Diana mused out loud as you plated a slice of cake for her.

You blushed, sitting down beside her with your own. “He’s perfect. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.”

She affectionately combed through your hair, similar to how her son would. “Thank you. For visiting and being understanding of his erratic schedule.”

“It’s no problem at all, Diana. I love him, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.” You stated as the ivy seed of doubt sprouted in your mind—did you really? Did you really understand what you were getting into?

***

The third time, you still tried to understand.

There you were surrounded by the purest celebration of love and matrimony, sans your long-haired, sweater vest wearing plus one. Your brother was getting married to the love of his life, vowing himself to be with her for better, for worse and your other half was in another state catching criminals. Fiddling with the diamond engagement ring adorning your finger, you recalled how you ended up alone, dateless, in this joyous occasion.

You RSVP’ed with a date when the invitation arrived four months ago. Your brother even calling in to make sure that he, your well-celebrated FBI fiancée, will be able to attend a month before the wedding. You internally scoffed at his repeated checking but in retrospect, maybe he saw the end well before you did. You promised to him, as Spencer did to you, that he’ll be available to watch the union and to save all the slow dances with him. But the day before the wedding, the phone rang for a case in Dallas and you knew what it meant. Without so much of a fight, you kissed him goodbye by the door of his now shared apartment and let the dreary silence enveloped you as you think of how to inform your brother of the new change without hearing the pity and patronization in his voice.

Nursing a glass of red wine, you watched your brother dance with his newly wedded wife and in your peripheral, you spotted your mother approaching you at the table.

“Now why are you being such a sourpuss during this festive event?” She chimed out as she pulled a chair beside you. “You should be out there, dancing and getting to know our new extended family.”

You shrugged, unsure on what to say. She was right, of course. All the guests were enjoying themselves and basking in the warm, infectious glow of the happy couple but you didn’t have the courage in you to mask the despondent emotions inside of you.

Your mother sighed and took your left hand in hers. “You know, when your dad and I were going through the proceedings of the divorce, I had moments when I wanted to back out from it. I loved your father, still holds a piece of my heart till this day, and I thought the small moments of happiness when he was around would be enough to tied me through the days when he wasn’t. I thought those times and our love for you kids were sufficient to keep our love from wilting. If I poured out affection and devotion to the home we once built, it wouldn’t crumble surely. But you know what I forgot—”

You turned to face her somber eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something that seemed to no longer be there.

“—I forgot to take care of myself. I gave a pieces of me away so willing and so many times that when I reached the end of the marriage, I no longer knew who I was. Where the piece of me started and where it ended. You’re withering, my flower. The vibrant life that I once longed to protect in your eyes is slowly dying. I don’t want you to reach the finish line and not know how you got up there. How you ended up giving all yourself away with not a flower bud left to blossom just for you.”

You felt your hackles rise to defend the relationship. In hindsight, this was you denying the truth that was staring you right in the face. “It’s not like that with Spencer, Mom. It’s just—the job is hectic and it’s been his forever dream. He had finally started to gain his footing when Gideon and Elle left and then the kidnapping happened and that pushed his progress back a bit. But he’s getting there now. We’re stabilizing and we had a discussion—there’s less broken promises. It’s just that this recent case in Dallas was urgent and they needed the team to solve crime. I don’t want to take him away from the country and the people who needs his help and from his dream of solving crimes. I love him, Mom, in all of his entirety and he deserves all the respect and understanding from me as his partner.”

She squeezed the hand in hers—the left hand adorning the ring, the material manifestation of his vow to you that you had happily accepted. “I‘ve grown fond of Spencer. I see him as another son of mine but darling, sometimes the love you feel for each other is not enough. A relationship takes continuous work—a task that both individuals must pull in the effort and prioritize. Just think about it,” she stated as she stood up. “Now, no more of this depressing talk and this serious energy from you. Go around, dance with your brother, and enjoy.”

You mustered up a smile as you proceeded to do just what you were told until your feet were sore from all the dancing. But no matter the joyous occasion, it didn’t stop the realization in the form of ivy from taking roots and slowly covering all corners of your mind.

***

And the final time, you could no longer understand.

The grandfather clock stationed at the corner of the dimly lit apartment struck at two. Your figure was still dressed in your purple fitted dress as you waited for your soon-to-be other half to walk through the door. It was another night of getting your hopes up and broken promises and you were no longer sure how much you could take before the love you held in your heart festers and turns into resentment.

You promised yourself you’d never be in a situation that you had seen your mother once be in. You became the careful daughter of a careless man who gave little to no effort to cherish the love a woman had freely given to him. You thought with all your cautiousness and logical thinking, the mistakes of the mother would never be repeated. That was naive thinking—you realized now. By actively being aware of the past, you’d forgotten to look ahead and fell deep into the pitfalls of doing the same as your mother did.

Spencer once mentioned that there was a high divorce rate in his line of duty. How he worried and vowed that you both will never join that rate. And that was a promise he’ll be able to keep, you scoffed to yourself, as you spun the ring on the table.

Another shared piece of information floated to the forefront of your mind. How Haley had recently served Hotch, his unit chief divorce papers. You’ve grown close with her over the years, being the only two constant partners to someone working in the BAU. You’ve seen first hand all the missed milestones in Haley’s and Jack’s life as her husband flew around the country with the cavalry, saving the innocent one case at a time. Never taking the time to realize that the once solid foundation of their marriage was crumbling down with every flight he took. Similar to what was happening in the doctor’s own home.

A set of keys unlatched the mahogany door and a fresh batch of florals were the first that entered through, followed by Spencer looking sheepish as he noted your presence by the sofa. “Angel, I’m so sorry I missed your promotion dinner.”

Silence greeted him as he stumbled to get to where you were. “Carnations for you.”

Tears started to form under your eyes. You didn’t want to break but the reality of your decision was setting in. You wanted to falter, to change your mind, to give him another chance but you knew you couldn’t. You’ve given too much of your understanding away and you doubted you have any more to give to this beautiful man who once promised to make you his top priority.

“I can’t accept them, Spencer.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his body tensing as if sensing the finality behind your words. “Why not? They’re your favorite.”

“They are but—” you took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “—I think we should stop.”

“W-what? No. No, please,” he stammered out as his own set of tears started flooding his eyes, blurring you from his vision. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner. I’ll make it up to you—I promise just—”

The dam of your emotions broke causing you to freely sob out all the sadness and anger that had collected in your heart. “I’m tired, Spencer. You can’t promise anything to me anymore. You’ve broken so many promises that you’ll only end up breaking them again.”

He took your hands into his, letting the bouquet fall crushed on the hardwood floor, recognizing the ring missing in your finger. “This time, this time it’ll be different. Please, don’t leave me.”

“The country needs you, the BAU needs you. But I need you too, Spencer. I love you, I really do but I can’t be your third priority anymore. I don’t deserve that—don’t I deserve to come first before the country and the job?”

He tightened his hold on your hands as if afraid that you were slipping through his fingers, denying the reality that you already had. “I love you so much. I don’t want to live without you by my side. Tell me how to fix this. Do you want me to leave the BAU? I’ll—I’ll do it, just stay with me, please.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to leave the FBI. Your ambition and integrity is one of the facets that I loved about you and you might end up resenting me down the line if you leave now. It’s not yet your time to leave the BAU, you and I both know that,” you pulled your hands away and slid the ring in front of him. “This belongs to you, I’m giving it back.”

His shoulder caved in on itself, the weight of it all too much for him to carry. “I don’t want this to be our end. I just don’t.”

“I don’t want this too, but I need to,” you whispered as your hand reached out to push shoulder length hair out of the way. “Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe in the future we’d meet again and continue the pages of our love story but for now, I have to do this Spencer. I can’t keep giving a piece of me every time your top priority needs you, I’ll end up hating you if I stay.”

You leaned in for one final kiss. A salty, tear filled kiss of death to a future you had once envisioned with the beautiful boy before you. A white picket fence with children laughing at the backyard—the American dream fading into nothing as you start to pull away.

“Goodbye for now, Spencer.”

He stared at all the curves and dips in your face one last time as if etching every detail into his already perfect memory.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid oneshot

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maruflix · 14 days

Text

— ★ FIVE STAGES OF LOVE

☆ — “IT SEEMS THE HOSHINA CLAN WILL WELCOME THEIR NEW MADAM VERY SOON.”

featuring: Yandere!Hoshina Soshiro x f!reader

synopsis: You weren’t supposed to find out... but you did, and Hoshina Soshiro had no choice. Surely you’ll understand, right?

contents: female reader, reader is an officer in the third division, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, suggestive at the end, hoshina soshiro is a scary yandere, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like kaiju number twelve

word count: 1,8k

“Vice Captain, can you stop being so kind to me?”

Stunned, Soshiro looks up to find you standing nervously. He eyes the training field— everyone is either chatting amongst themselves or walking back to get dinner. His gaze shifts back to your trembling figure.

You probably said those words as a joke. But what if you really took notice of his affection towards you? Soshiro tries to keep his expression calm although his stomach is slowly starting to turn, He tried so hard not to let them show.

“I mean no disrespect, it’s just that... I fear I’m going to get the wrong idea.”

Your shy expression makes his head spin. “Yer’ not wrong,” Soshiro probes your reaction, standing up to gently scoop your hands when you blush. “I like ya’ a lot.”

He’s unsure how you will react. For a split second, the only thing he can hear is the own thundering of his heart. Then, you gasp and look up at him with eyes wide open, also catching him off guard.

“R-really?! Me too! I like you... too...” After bursting out those words, your cheeks turn red and your head drops to the ground.

No longer trusting his mouth to say the right words, Soshiro lets his body to do the talking, moving forward to pull you into an embrace. You giggle, and at that moment he knows—

There’s no way in hell he’s ever letting you go, so help him God.

STAGE I: INFATUATION

Soshiro is a hardworking man.

Born into a distinguished clan that left him with a legacy many claim as outdated and archaic, Soshiro has never stopped running. Everyone thought he couldn’t do it, so he proved them wrong. He surpassed Japan’s so-called ‘strongest anti-kaiju combatant’ and everyone has no choice but to acknowledge his abilities, granting him honor, wealth, and the position of Vice Captain of the Third Division.

In his division alone, Soshiro has seen many talented officers, but not many people can rival him in endurance. So when you enter his line of vision, he grows curious. You’ve always been working harder than the others, training for a bit longer, so eager to do your job well.

Soshiro admires your dedication, drunk on the way you hang on his every command while you study his movements with those beautiful eyes. Soon, he can’t help but to search for your face in every crowd, half hoping you’d notice him staring.

He knows he’s falling. It’s not a bad thing, he thinks, to fall for someone who shines as bright as the sun.

Unfortunately, he’s not the only one struck by your charm. He’s aware of the stares you get from male officers, their pathetic excuses to start conversation with you, how your name always pops up in their gossip. He took care of the impudent ones.

Slowly, carefully, he handpicks the people in your platoon, making sure to surround you with polite, respectful officers, mostly other ladies— because why would you ever need other men when you have him?

STAGE II: INTENSIFICATION

Soshiro is a wonderful boyfriend. It’s no secret that he’s a reliable vice captain, beloved by his division, but somehow he’s even more attentive with you.

When Kafka accidentally injured you during training, Soshiro immediately drops everything to rush towards you, making sure you’re okay—and you are, just a few bruises and a gash—before lifting you up and carrying you to the infirmary, dressing your wound himself.

Kafka returns late that night, telling you that he received punishment for the small incident with you earlier. You’re a bit worried for him but he waves it off, laughing as he limps to his quarters.

You sigh, Soshiro can be such a worrywart.

Then a new recruit enters. Quickly, he’s enamored by you. Pretty senior, he’d always call you. Everyone mocks him and tells him there’s no way he can compete with your lover who just so happens to be their division’s vice captain, but he just laughs and tells them it’s a platonic kind of love.

He’s a good friend; it’s flattering to have a younger brother who always sticks so close to you, showering you with praises. Of course, you kept your distance. You don’t want to give the sweet man false hopes and you’re too in love with Soshiro to ever look at someone else.

You never noticed the weight of Soshiro’s gaze as it falls on the two of you.

STAGE III: OBSESSION

Your world crashed down when Reno breaks the news to you— a death in the third division. You knew what you were signing up for when you entered the force, but nothing could prepare you for the loss of a good friend.

Your platoon surrounds you, patting you on the back as you mutely stare at him on the hospital bed— the pale lips that would call you pretty senior no more.

After you return to the base, Soshiro quickly finds you. He takes you into his arms as you cry in his embrace.

“How did this happen?” You gasp in between sobs, “How..?”

The new recruits weren’t supposed to be in the area he was found in. It was supposed to be closed off, only for the more-skilled officers to enter because it was swarming with kaiju. Not a single person in the platoon knows how the heck he got himself there, with no one to accompany him.

Soshiro rubs your back comfortingly, humming. “’s an unfortunate accident. A miscommunication, perhaps? He heard the area code wrong and-”

“But that’s impossible!” You sob harder, resting your head against Soshiro’s chest in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Someone suspects he got a private comm from someone to go to that area, it’s just so weird...”

“Well,” Soshiro sighs, “it is a battlefield after all. Accidents are bound to happen. You hafta’ know that as unfortunate as it is, things can quickly get out of control.”

Your blood runs cold at his distant tone. Hiccups paused, you slowly look up at him.

Soshiro tilts his head, then he smiles. Dazzlingly.

You pretend your knees do not tremble— because no matter how hard Soshiro tries to act dumb, you know he’s always the one in control.

STAGE IV: DESTRUCTION

Soshiro knows he doesn’t love in halves— it isn’t in his nature.

He does things earnestly, polishing all of his talents until they gleam and sparkle. He knows what he likes and what he dislikes— there’s no grey area when it comes to his feelings.

Soshiro loves you in extremes, but there’s a catch to that. His love is great, but his jealousy is even greater— it writhes like a great serpent, eager to be lashed out. He tries to hide his ugly sides from you, but everything always spirals out of control and he ends up with more blood on his hands.

It’s your fault— why did you have to be so perfect?

Soshiro wants to hide you away from the rest of the world, but he has his darned duties and responsibilities. Only in the darkness of your room can he fully show you how much he loves you, ravishing you until his name is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. It becomes a routine. But it’s not nearly enough.

Even now, as you caress his hair, sweat still glistening on your forehead, Soshiro still misses you. He wishes he can press himself closer to you, to feel you more, to become one with you.

“Soshiro, can I ask you something?”

You retract your hands from his hair and Soshiro fights the urge to sigh in disappointment. He gazes at you but you don’t meet his eyes, so he settles on kissing your forehead.

“Anythin.”

“Did you have something to do with Izumo’s recent transfer?”

His eyes narrowed. Well, duh. Of course he did.

The transfer was him being kind. If he had it his way, he would raze the Izumo Family to the ground along with their darned greenhead scion who dares to look at his girlfriend with lovesick eyes.

“I approved the request, yes.”

He dances along the edges of the truth, but you are having none of it.

“No, Soshiro. Tell me the truth.”

The defiance in your eyes awoke a fire in him.

“What do you want me to say, darlin’?” Soshiro challenges you, his voice soft but spiked with venom.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair. “I want the truth, Soshiro.”

Your lover merely smiles at you. Innocent, taunting, daring you to find fault within him. Soshiro knows he’s a very careful man, he hides his true nature well— but you were no fool.

“Forget it. Let’s take a break.” You give in, rolling on your back to distance yourself from the violet-haired man. It breaks your heart to say it, but you were starting to feel suffocated with all his secrets.

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Soshiro—your gentle, loving Soshiro—grips your arm hard and gazes at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

STAGE V: R̵̪̾Ȅ̷̥̟̠͚̀͑͊̋͛̈́̓S̸͎̺̺̍̃̌̇̌̈́͘O̴̧̮͍͉̻͛͌̔ͅL̵̪̖̬̖̘̬͇̄̾́́̄Ù̶̻͙̏͆̋̉̉͝T̴̹̹̤̣͇̙̬͕̉̀͑̿͛̇͘I̵̻̥̫̜͖̲̓̍̐̑͗͊O̷̢̩̮͍͉̍͒͛̇̑̓̾̚Ṅ̸̡̢̻͉͂̋͑̔̓

“A break?” Soshiro’s voice trembles with anger. In one swift motion, he’s on top of you, pinning your hands above your head. “Yer kiddin’, right? And if I say I had somethin’ to do with it? What then?”

You look in horror as Soshiro’s expression changes several times in the span of a few minutes. He’s losing it, you can tell, and it’s all because you pushed him.

“I just hate it when a buncha’ nobodies stare at what’s mine. I tried to be patient, I really did,” he shakes his head mournfully, “but they never learn.”

“And what? You transferred them? Fired them? K-” the word kill lodges itself on your throat as your eyes burn with tears.

Soshiro stares at you blankly. “’m just lookin’ after what’s mine. Yer’ gonna leave me for that? Hardly seems fair.” his one-hand grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen even after a few tears escape your eyes.

Suddenly he pauses, like he’s recalling an important information. There’s something in his gaze when he looks down at you— something feral.

“Y’know,” Soshiro muses, “the seat of the next clan head is promised to whoever gets married first between my brother and I.” He runs his free hand down your body, stopping to gently rub circles on your lower stomach.

“I never really cared much about that crap, but I can’t have ya’ running away from me,” the hand that is previously rubbing your stomach now moves down to spread your thighs apart. “if I get you pregnant with my child, there’s no way yer’ gonna leave me, right?”

He words it like a threat, yet it makes you shiver in anticipation. You want to push him away, but every fibre of your body is screaming for him to continue— perhaps you’ve also fallen into the depravity of his love.

He slips a hand inside your underwear and you relinquish control, letting the pleasure cloud your brain. Your mewls only fuels Soshiro’s fire, his own breaths getting heavy as he trails soft kisses down your neck.

“No objections? Good,” Soshiro leans back and chuckles at the sight of you, so pliant under his touch, “then it seems the Hoshina clan will welcome their new madam very soon.”

art by suou2280 on twitter

taglist: @bgyuus, @plsmarrymehioriyo, @o-sachi, @iamjellyfish, @vashyuu, @moon-cakiie, @17020, @eeiternity, @ryescapades, @vash-yuu

end notes: if narumi is a lovesick fool who embodies the original meaning of ‘yandere’ to the tee, then hoshina is the stereotypical, scary, controlling yandere that makes you shat your pants. hoshina girlies i hope i did him justice!! i’m gonna go to sleep now goodbye snork mimimimimiimimi

#kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fluff #kn8 fluff #kn8 hoshina #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshina hoshiro x reader #soshina x reader #hoshiro x reader #⟢ : maru’s writing !! ࿔*:･

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deer-diary-from-hell · 2 months

Text

Redesigned all of the Dandy world (+my take on the game)

”But Liam/deer didn’t you alr posted these-“

you didn’t see anything.

HEADCANONING TIME WWOOOOO

I like to think that ALMOST all of the toons just think they’re just playing a game of tag while collecting ichor like it’s a “capture the flag” thing. It’s in their blood (or ichor) to just be a bunch of childish and playful creatures, they are MADE for kids so it’s not really out of character of them to NOT think that twisteds are dangerous let alone kill them which cause them to see things differently (literally)

(still talking about this👆) If you start the game at first it’s all bright and colorful like something you would see out of a kid’s show, there’s happy music playing in the background all fun and games! Until you get hit by a twisted and lose a heart. Thats when the reality kicks in. Music stops as the colors slowly go back to the sad reality of an abandoned studio/daycare. These twisteds weren’t playing.. they were trying to kill you. This effect is irreversible even if you go back to full health. The shine in their eyes are gone. They aren’t laughing anymore, this isn’t funny. They’re scared.

(Note to self, each toon will have a traumatized look on their face after getting injured and will stay traumatized even after being healed+also applies to a toon when they witness a death of another toon)

I like to think that the twisted are like a “Failed” version of a toon, a toon that wasn’t the exact replica of itself so, it was locked away in the underground as it contorts into it’s biggest flaw(s) might design the twisteds if I feel like it.

If a toon witnessed another toon getting hit they’ll still be oblivious but concerned for their fellow friend

The twisteds prob growls and snarls due to their throats being filled with nothing but ichor, constantly leaking from their mouths as they try to kill you out of jealousy that YOU don’t get to be thrown away like a broken toy and instead cherished by children while they were called a mistake and now you’re going to experience the same pain they went through.

on a lighter note, the toons stole the clothes they’re wearing from the lost and found shortly after being abandoned and threw away their old clothes.

dandy needs those tapes so he doesn’t turn into a twisted. He wants to protect his friends from himself.

Ichor while being dangerous can be used to bring back a dead toon, only dandy knows this. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the toon doesn’t remember how they died after being revived

All toons are asexual. (Gets booed off the stage)

Do you think toons are desperate for interactions after being abandoned for god knows how long.

Astro, Vee and Shelly are the ones who don’t have the “fake reality” sight going on and knows that they’re actually in danger although for Shelly she’s sorta in denial (and ig Teagan and Rodger too? But the both of them just thinks that the twisteds aren’t really that dangerous and thought they wont kill their fellow toons)

might add more hcs soon but prob in later posts

Guys please ask for hcs for any toons you like please I’m begging on my knees I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING.

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alavestineneas · 10 months

Text

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion.

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way.

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her.

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better.

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle.

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago.

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life.

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less.

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns.

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet.

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation.

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine.

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us."

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin.

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep.

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?"

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on."

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?"

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?"

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners.

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist.

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position."

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

"Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student."

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration.

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own."

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else.

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception.

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man.

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out?

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table.

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake.

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving.

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense."

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her.

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success?

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful.

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish.

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.''

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air."

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit.

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her.

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time.

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring.

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath.

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

2K notes · View notes

courtingchaos · 10 months

Note

I’ve been thinking about eddie who’s in the early pre relationship stages with you. but in his mind he’s married to you he’s been pining after you for so long. he doesn’t want to scare you though so he’s pumping the breaks and trying to take things slow.

you’re spending the night at his and he’s managed to keep enough distance from you that he deems respectful in his courtship of you. but when he wakes it’s to your hand high on his thigh, and you’re out for the count. and he’s hard as a rock and needs to move you before you wake up and see what state he’s in.

not wanting to wake you and alert you to his issue he thinks on his feet and decides he has to become soft asap, then he can move you. then if you wake up it’s not going to be to him feeling like a complete pervert.

so he’s reciting his favourite passages from all of the books he’s read.

only it’s not doing much. the pretty girl in his bed is winning this round.

he starts reciting them backwards to increase the difficulty and hopefully distract the ache away. but in his ingenuity to up the anti he’s inadvertently made it so tough that he’s now whisper shouting the words out loud. waking you. eddie still hard as a rock reciting poetry in a wicked order that makes no sense to man nor beast, is stopped abruptly in his tracks, gasping at the feel of your palm squeezing the meat of his inner thigh. Mortified and yet. Still painfully erect with no hope of going down anytime soon

sorry to vomit this at you but it seemed like fate that you’d asked for a request (this is far too long and detailed I’m sorry) and I was thinking about this at the same time

1. Don’t apologize, you’ve struck gold. You have not dug too greedily nor too deep.

2. You’ve written this really well so I could just post this with a bunch of reactions under it but, if you’ll allow me to expand upon this.

Picture this with me okay? He’s reciting Jabberwocky to himself. It’s a nonsense poem. He had an English teacher once give out a project for them to learn and recite a poem and of course he chose this. It has fun words in it like vorpal and borogoves. It’s become one of his bits actually when he’s trying to command a room.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:”

Everyone will sigh. Jeff and Gareth and Frank will drop their heads onto their desks or over the backs of their chairs in long groans. Dustin still thinks it’s fun, he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet, and Mike likes it he just won’t admit it. Eddie loves it though, likes the way slithy toves slides off his tongue when he puts on that creaking voice he uses for warlocks durning games.

Now though he mumbles it to himself in the dark, his ludicrous attempt at bringing down his mood. Something had woken him at the witching hour, 3:07 shining a bright green from across his room. He wasn’t cold, his window shut against the chill earlier when you’d come over. He wasn’t overheated, quite content with you softly cuddled up next to him. No itch or ill folded sheet causing him discomfort. He had seven solid minutes of waking, a few he spared to revel in the heat of you lying next to him. To feel your shoulder lying on his as you pressed your face into his pillow. Your knee bent up and almost over his own and your hand planted firmly on his thigh.

Oh. That.

Those fingers he liked to twirl around his own and lick salt off of when you were done with your fries? Those fingers were under the hem of his boxers and a very much pressing into the meat of his thigh. You don’t move except to breathe but all he can focus on is that hand literal inches from his dick. The dick he’d kept in check for weeks now in the hopes he wouldn’t chase you away with the absolute need he felt. Kind of like right now where it lays heavy and hot against his thigh just like your hand.

So Jabberwocky it is.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

But in the dark with a hard on, slithy toves makes him chuckle. Almost full on giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Slithy toves sounds like a euphemism for pussy and he can’t help the huffs of laughter pushed through his nose. He looks down in the hopes that this has distracted his dick but apparently laughter makes him harder and he files that away to look into at a later date. Borogoves floats through his brain and he immediately thinks about giving your boobs a new nickname and he has to put a foot down for himself.

Next verse.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Bandersnatch has to be a euphemism, there’s no goddamn way, it has the word snatch in it. He rolls his eyes and before he can sigh you shift beside him in your sleep, closer with your nose in his curls on his pillow and that soft hand he’s thought about when his own is too boring in the shower scoots another inch closer to the problem.

Maybe if he whispers it out loud?

“He took his vorpal sword in hand;-”

Absolutely not. Nope. New plan when he feels your sleeping breath across the front of his throat. It ghosts over his adams apple and all he can think about is your lips on his neck last week and how he’d pulled at his hair after you’d left just because it drove him insane.

Maybe if he recited it backwards it would confuse him enough all the blood would need to race back up into his brain.

“Outgrabe…raths…the-no…mome the and…” He’s squinting hard in the dark, reading invisible words on the ceiling in this new attempt to circumvent disaster.

“Borogoves…ha. Damn it. Borogoves…the were…mimsy all.” A headache is all this is giving him but for a moment he’s forgotten your hand and where it was. He’s searching the next line in his head and trying to jumble it so it isn’t so halting in the early morning quiet.

“Wabe the in gimble and gyer did!” He almost claps his hands when he makes it through without pause but he stops himself for fear of waking you up. Instead he spends 20 minutes working his way backwards through his poem, whispering to the night about the Jabberwock.

O frabjous day indeed when he realizes his dick is half soft now, not such a nuisance and a terror after he’s distracted himself. He thinks about waking you gently, a hand brushing your hair away from your face or running lightly over your leg but then you move. You move of your own accord and hook your leg over his. Kneecap bumping your hand higher and if he breathed wrong right this second you’d be brushing fingertips over his balls.

“And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,”

He mutters without whisper. It’s not full volume speaking but he really doesn’t want you to wake up and find him hard and awake with your hand shoved up his shorts. As much as he would really love to feel your hands on him like that he’s been trying his best to be gentlemanly. Only necking on your timetable when you steal him away to a quiet corner. A little over the pants stuff, heavy petting but you’ve never pushed it and it won’t make you uncomfortable, no matter what his dick wants him to do.

“Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!”

Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” You hum at him. A high note in the back of your throat that has him whipping his head to see you stirring. Adjusting to your side and dra-a-agging that hand. He doesn’t know what to do as you come around and blink up at him in the dark. He can see the edges of your expression from the light filtering in from outside, smooth brow and faint smile until it isn’t.

“Di’ yousay sumthin’?” Slurred against his shoulder where your mouth is pressed.

“Uh, kind of.”

“You okay?” You press up against him, your pelvis into his hip and he’s about to be caught. There’s no way you aren’t going to notice the outline in his boxers or the way he’s gotta be sweating gallons just in nerves.

“I…yeah?”

“What’s the ma-” You shift to prop yourself up so you can sleepily inspect him and he wants to subsequently die and sigh happily when your hand meets trouble. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh? Oh yeah, no big deal, it’s just his dick showing up to ruin the party like the world’s worst frat guy. “Look, I was trying to make it go away and I-“

“Why?” Having just woken up your voice is soft in a deep way. Scratchy from dry air but it fits the mussed hair and the rucked up t-shirt you have on. His gaze falls on the sliver of stomach that you’re showing off between the covers and he’s having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” You laugh and slide your palm over his stomach that tenses. “Yeah, why.” Your pinky catches the hem of his thin shirt and pulls it up to reveal his own section of underbelly. “We’re alone right?”

“Y-yeah.” It comes out like a hiss though because your nails scratch across that newly revealed skin and right over the trail of hairs below his belly button. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t uh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Your fingers move back and forth over his stomach before you let them dip back down to the waistband of his boxers, fingertip seeking under the elastic ever so slightly. “You’ve been very patient Eddie.” The rings on your hand are body warm but hold a child to them when they glide over skin. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding at first though.” Fingers comb through wiry hairs on their search for their prize. “I’ve been trying to do this since you asked me out, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Oh my god, no. I mean yes, because I thought that’s what you wanted but I read into things too much sometimes bec-ause fuck.” He was running his mouth but then you’d grabbed him. Wrapped that dreamy hand around his cock and sighed into his cheek like you were the one experiencing earth shattering euphoria.

“Eddie I’ve wanted to do this for months.” A slow tug to the tip and you do something with your fingers that makes his mouth hang open in a silent plea. Another twist before you run your thumb over his slit and he grabs your wrist.

“This is gonna be over so quick if you keep that up.”

“Well that’s not so bad, I was still a little tired.” Highlights pick up the line of your lips and that sleepy smile that’s all for him. Heavy lashes flutter when he lets you go and shoves his shorts down to give you room to work. “You can get me back when we wake up.”

He throbs in your grasp at the promised idea of getting you back and all that entails. He can’t help himself but think of wet and warm places while your hand moves in languid strokes. Hot puffs of air across his chest where you lay your head to watch and then he’s watching you watching yourself and falling into a vortex of horniness. He wants to weave his fingers into your hair for some reason. Wants to feel the softness between his fingers while you rub velvet skin through your own.

“Eddie?” You pant into his shirt, lips catching and dragging on the cotton.

“Yeah?”

“What were you reciting?”

It almost pulls him out of his pleasure it’s jars him so. Briefly he thinks about lying and saying Shakespeare but you’re already giving him a 3 am handjob so he thinks he might not have to fib. “Jabberwocky.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Your hand leaves his cock suddenly but he doesn’t get to whine about it before he’s whining about you licking your palm and getting back to work. He nods above you like you could see him but it earns him a chuckle from you and a stray few fingers that tug at his balls.

“God damnit yes.” He does push his hand into your hair then, the other fisting into the sheets beside him. You make a passing remark about reciting it then but he honestly might not even know his own name. The way his legs move restlessly against the bed and his fingers grip into your scalp. The damp slide of your palm over the head of his cock, the twisting motion you keep doing, it’s all rocketing him towards his finish. The burn of it in his belly clouding his senses and making him buck his hips up into your touch. The air of your breath keeps breezing over his overheated skin and your panting laughs are shoving him closer and closer until he’s squeezing his eyes shut and going stiff.

Warm lines splash up his stomach and he knows in a minute or two he’ll feel shame unmatched by man heretofore known but right now he couldn’t care. Soft hands drag him through the aftershocks while you make praiseworthy noises into his chest. You coo at him for a job well done and he can feel the heat rise on his cheeks. Sitting up again to look back at him your drag a finger through the mess he made and when you take three seconds to inspect it he doesn’t expect you to bring it to your lips.

“I-“ He what? What can he say while he watches you suck on your index finger like he does? When a slick grin hooks the corner of your mouth up into something devilish and he has an awakening at almost 4 am.

“How was that, huh? Glad we got that over with?” You drop your cheek to your shoulder to give him a smolder but Eddie needs to taste your lips after you’ve tasted him. It’s a need not a want so he rushes you, pushes you back into the bed and gets his mess everywhere but it doesn’t matter. He kisses you deep until you both have to come up for air and then he’s peppering your neck in them until your giggling is too much.

He uses his shirt to wipe himself off, promising a shower in the morning, and pulls both of you under the covers to conspire in the afterglow.

“Do you think reading that poem is gonna Pavlov you now?”

“How so?”

“I mean,” your laugh cuts into your explanation, “slithy toves kind of sounds like a name for-“

“Pussy! I know!” He laughs with you. “And Bandersnatch!”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson x Reader #My Fic

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 10 months

Text

I Know it Won’t Work || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

Summary: You and Tom break up after three years of dating and you perform a song about the truth of the breakup for the first time live.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 23 and Tom is 30

Wc: 658

A/n: these r addicting to make lol. Also, changed up some lyrics for the sake of the storyline making sense. 2/4? Fics I’m posting today!

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You let out a shaky breath, "I left you here, heard you keep the extra closet empty," You sing the first words of your unreleased song to the crowd. "In case this year, I come back and stay throughout my twenties, what if I won't? How am I supposed to put that gently?" You had just freshly turned 23 and broken up with Tom.

You honestly don't know how you ended up here, in-front of a crowd of hundreds in London. Performing in front of people was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment but you had to keep a strong front for your supporters, this show was highly anticipated.

"I've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'" Your biggest coping mechanism was writing songs. You never knew how to really express your emotions in sentences to someone, so instead, you write them into songs. Your real feelings and emotions laced into words that in the end, formed a song.

"But it's a lot, all the shine of three happy years fadin'" The crowd watched in silence, partly because it was a new song and they did not know the lyrics to sing along, but also because they were mesmerised. Your voice held so much emotion.

Your fans weren't aware that the two of you have broken up, but a few had already pieced it up. "The whole facade, seemed to fall apart, it's complicated." Everyone viewed you and Tom as the power couple, deeply in love with one another with no flaw or doubt in the relationship

While half of it was true, the other half wasn't. The seven year age gap different had been brought up so many times throughout your relationship. You remember the first time the two of you got together, you were 20 and he was 27.

You both received heavy backlash from the internet but the two of you ignored them all. They weren't the ones in the relationship, they weren't the ones to make the call about whether or not you should be together.

"And part of me wants to walk away 'till you really listen, I hate to look at your face and know that we're feelin' different," As the three years went by, uou hoped you weren't the only one in the relationship that doubted a few things. You didn’t want to admit that other people's comments were getting to you. As the three years progressed with Tom, you felt as if you were just both in such different phases of life.

You were still so young in your early twenties and fresh in your career while it seemed that Tom was ready to settle down, marry, and start a family. He would always mention starting a family and you would listen, not really knowing what to say to him.

But recently, you came into terms with the truth that both you and Tom don't share the same feelings or goals at the moment. "Cause part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" You loved Tom, parts of you still do. He never did anything wrong, he was everything you could have ever wished for. You like to think of him as the right person, wrong time.

But nothing was going to change the fact that you two were just in different stages of life. Nothing will change the seven year age gap between the two of you. "I know we cut all the ties, but you're never really leavin'"

Tom hasn't left your mind. It would've been easier if he did. But he just couldn't. "And part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" Your voice slightly cracks, a single tear drop runs down your face. Eyes closed, you let it. The dewy stream your tear left—accentuated with the bright lights focused on you—did not go unnoticed.

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ssturniolo · 8 months

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Hi! First I would like to start by saying that I LOVE your writing and my request is one for Matt where basically they are all on tour and the reader gets like dizzy and passes out on stage and the they all like carry the reader off of the stage and then on like the socials people are like praising Matt for how calm he was being and like a fluffy ending pls and if you don't have time or just don't wanna do this that's fine also love your work again!

Dizzy

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 - Matt x fem!reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 - request <3

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - nothing

You smile as the bright stage lights shine down, the crowd still going wild for the triplets. This being the last show, Matt asked you to be his partner which you happily accepted.

You’ve never been on tour before but it’s exceeded your expectations, although very stressful.

Matt tosses the basketball to you, snapping you out of your little trance. Standing up from your chair, you wobble a bit, your vision going fuzzy.

“You alright there love?”

“Mhm” you blink a few times before walking up to shoot. After missing the shot miserably once again, you return to your previous seat, feeling like absolute shit.

Suddenly, the lights felts extremely bright, the voices seemed painfully loud, and you didn’t think you had enough energy to shoot again.

You push yourself off of the chair with shaky hands, ready to make your way over to Matt. It’s not like this is the first time this has happened, you’ve felt like this on and off all day today and yesterday.

“I’m gonna go get water quick” you whisper to Matt after he finishes shooting.

“Do you want some of mine?” He offers, pointing at his nearly full water bottle sitting on the ground.

You just shake your head, making your way across the stage. Your vision has gone fuzzy again and your legs feel like jello as you grab for something, anything to hold you up. So close to making it off the stage; out of the sight of so many people but you couldn’t. And everything goes black.

A gasp echos around the room as the crowd watches you collapse, each of them angling their phones in your direction.

Matt is quick to sprint over to you, swiftly scooping you into his arms before carrying you bridal style off of the stage.

He lays you down on the couch in the triplets “break” room, his face twisted with concern. Luckily, it didn’t take long for your eyes to flutter open, immediately mortified of what just happened.

“I’m so so sorry Matt I tried to make it off stage, I really did” you apologize, covering your reddened face with your hands.

Matt takes a hold of your wrists, pulling them down.

“You don’t need to apologize honey, are you ok?”

Sighing, you squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to pull yourself together. “I think I just need to eat something” you eventually say.

“But I really really don’t want to go back out there” you add, afraid to disappoint him but too weak and embarrassed to go back onto stage.

“That’s ok my love, I’ll pull a fan from the crowd to be my partner” Matt smiles gently, placing sweet kisses on your knuckles.

“Matt” you say as he gets up to go back on stage.

“Hm?”

“I’m lowkey kinda excited for the edits. You’re my hero”

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

Kinda different than what you asked but I hope you like it ! :)

XOXO - Zoe

Taglist ⬇️

@dwntwn-strnlo @mbbsgf @gabbylovesreading @0-r-a-y-0 @sturn3g1rl @lvrsparadise @taylorssfilmsss @emssturniolo @ilovemattsturn @mattestrella @itsaaliyah2 @thetriplets3 @urfavstromboli

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aakaneeee · 26 days

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I've had my drabble, now it's time for actual theories and parallels since I haven't done that in a while and it's long overdue

first of all, I love to see Alien Stage art slowly but surely falling into the obvious eerie side.

I have a lot to say about all of these, but I specifically want to focus on Luka for this.

When I first saw the branding, I wondered why it was there. I was confused, because I expected it to be on the heart (which was also proven to be false in the 2nd anniversary pop up store).

then, I looked closer: left hip.

there are actually a lot of stuff to associate with his branding (except it looking slutty IM SORRY YALL I CANT HELP MYSELF)

The left hip is also the place where horses are branded. Specifically, pedigree horses. Again, not only does it show possession, but also him being superior to others.

For men, that specific area is one of the most painful. (insert tattoo pain chart)

it might seem like it's on yellow since it's just a little lower than the belly button, but 1. The belly button on this chart is really high and 2. It could just be perspective, and it'd make a lot of sense for him to be branded in the most painful way possible. doesn't that sound heperu to you?

3. he isn't under anesthesia. even mizi, who had a "least pain" area, seemed to be under anesthesia. but no, he wasn't. this leads me to my next point:

4. We know Heperu thinks the only way to make a good pet is fear. So, what if he specifically chose that area, so Luka could actively see, and even have to hold his shirt up himself? He wants him to fear, and he wants him to know who he belongs to. It seems he really doesn't have limits in showing that.

Okay, those are the stuff I've noticed about this, but now I have a parallel.

This might be a little bit of a reach so take it with a grain of salt!!

Ivan's branding is on his wrist: a secure, hidden place, where others wouldn't be able to see it, as if he actually had more freedom than other humans, being seen more as a business partner than like a pet.

Youd think Luka is the same, afterall, his branding is on his hip, and we didn't see anyone wearing crop tops and low rise pants yet.

No, but all of his outfits have an open back and a cut in the front.

Considering the pacing of his songs, and the turns he made in Round 5, we could possibly imagine that the material would move away, and it would show his branding, atleast a little bit. Like a silent reminder, both for Luka and for the audience, that he is not his own person, but someone who is owned. It feels like Heperu is so prideful that he wants to take merit for Luka's voice, as if taking advantage of an actual condition he has was what brought him up in the charts, and that Luka's work is equal to nothing, because he did everything. That's what Heperu thinks, and that's what he wants the audience to think, as well.

Another perfect example of this is the photo next to the branding.

Taking Sua's photo, we can see the signatures or scribbles are darker, and even though crazier, they still make her the center of it, while still maintaining some color.

For Luka, the backround is blank. Just grey. He doesn't have the teal that Sua had, or even a light yellow to show light. More importantly, the signatures are all over him. Showing that he is a prized possession, a trophy, that doesn't actually have anything of his own, that is completely under his owner and his fans, despite him supposedly having more 'freedom' than other pets because he already won a season. (This freedom being an obvious lie.)

Sua is looking left. Luka is directly facing the camera, but you can barely even tell, his eyes are covered by his hair.

Again, another small reach, but we know he doesn't really enjoy bright lights. (sweet dream as proof)

I was wondering if this could be even more proof of him having even more conditions than what they've let on.

Specifically, Leukocoria.

Leukocoria represents your pupil shining white or grayish-yellow instead of red, and it signals grave damage inside the eye.

(Photo from Google, don't sue me)

It looks very close to Luka's pupils, right?

there are also these two official arts in which he's wearing glasses.

they seem to be quite thin, so whatever the reason for him wearing them is not that bad.

so i was wondering: could it be a case of cataract?

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

his eyes are a very pale color, and pale irises can be a sign of cataract.

people with cases of cataract that aren't too bad, even though surgery is recommended, can see better if they wear glasses.

and leukocoria can be caused by cataract.

maybe that's the reason he's hiding his eyes from the light here with his hair? his eyes are sensible to light?

i know this is really long but i hope you all don't mind too much, luka is my favourite (if you couldn't tell) and this new information awakened my medical knowledge :)

sorry if some stuff don't make sense, as always, english is not my first language, I hope it's atleast a bit coherent!

(tagging some people because I think you'd like to see this.... @shakingparadigm @sotogalmo @paradisedisconcert @m1zisua @junebluues @bluemoonscape @4listr @nottoonedin @pwippy SORRY IF ANY OF YALL DIDNT WANT TO BE TAGGED)

#alien stage #alnst #vivinos #alnst luka #luka alien stage #alien stage luka #alien stage friday #alien stage 2nd anniversary #theory

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simpforboys · 10 months

Text

my voice will haunt you

drew starkey x fem!musician!reader

summary: during an award ceremony, you honor your grandmother, stevie nicks. but freshly after a breakup, emotions cant help but rise. works for biological or adopted!

warnings: angst, fluff ending, swearing, teasing (the camera men are kinda fucked up), drew and reader are heartbroken but it’s fine, not proof read

listen to silver springs (live) by fleetwood mac!

the pounding in your heart never left until your newly manicured hands clutched the microphone in front of you.

despite your shining smile, your chest ached with fear as the hundreds of celebrities and their families stared at you, front and center of the big stage.

bright lights illuminated your frame, the extra bits of the fabric designed to look like fairy wings hung against your skin.

“hello to the grammys!”

the crowd erupted into cheers as you pulled your face from the mic, sucking in a nervous breath.

“i’m y/n l/n, and with the celebration of my newest album, dread, the grammys have invited me to play tonight.”

you spoke confidently to the crowd, used to performing as your career took off with the help of your grandmother.

any other time you would kill to play for the grammys, but now you all you could feel was dread, because you knew he was here.

“some of you may be familiar with my wonderful grandma, Stevie Nicks…”

as the crowd began to clap and cheer in honor of the legendary woman, your eyes subconsciously began searching the room in hopes you’ll find the deep blue color you became so familiar with.

but he was watching, a pained look hidden deep within his eyes. but he shifted in his seat, feeling a pat on the back from his co-star, Johnathan.

he barely blinked, the aching feeling in his heart deepening. but he was scared that if he closed his eyes for even a second, you would disappear. but then you spoke again.

“so i invite you all to sing with me if you know this iconic song.” you grinned at the crowd, the cameras panning onto the celebrities and artists in their respective seats.

taking in another breath, you heard the okay in your ear piece. as the band began to strum the introduction, you opened your mouth to begin.

“you could be my silver spring, blue-green colors flashing, i would be your only dream,”

Drew felt chills run down his spine as your voice lingered in the crowd. he missed your voice, your personality, your everything.

“your shining autumn ocean crashing, and did you say she was pretty? and did you say that she loves you?”

a tang shot through his body from the lyrics, remembering the reason you two broke up. you had overheard Drew telling his sister that he was conflicted, and while he loved you, Odessa was someone who enticed him.

he felt his eyelids become heavy as he closed his eyes, letting his head hang low a bit. he could feel Madelyn’s eyes drift over to him, knowing that the lyrics meant everything to you both.

“baby, i don’t wanna know. i’ll begin not to love you, turn around, see me running. i say i loved you years ago, tell myself you never loved me, no.”

you picked the microphone up from the stand, beginning to walk around the stage as your vocal cords became deeper, stronger.

Rihanna blew you a kiss as you walked past her, in which you smiled at the gorgeous woman.

unfortunately, it was no shocker that you and Drew recently ended off your three year relationship. being there from the beginning of Outer Banks season one, the fans adored the two of you, more after learning your grandmother.

so, when the news that the “it” couple of the Outer Banks cast got out, a lot of people took it seriously.

“and did you say she was pretty? and did you say that she loves you? baby, i don’t wanna know…oh, no…”

you looked elegant on the stage, your dress flowing as you walked. the band and background singers complimented your voice perfectly, making the performance extra special.

“and can you tell me, was it worth it? really, i don’t wanna know.”

Drew’s eyes returned to you, and it felt like you were specifically asking him the question, even though you were singing to a crowd of people.

and no, it wasn’t worth it. Drew never did anything with Odessa, but you didn’t want to be with someone who doubted their relationship with you.

and so you broke it off, deciding it would be best to have some space from each other.

and it was Drew’s biggest regret.

“time casts its spell on you, but you won’t forget me. i know i could have loved you but you would not let me.”

as you repeated the lyrics, you centered yourself in the middle of the stage once more. unbeknownst to you and Drew, the sneaky camera man zoomed in on Drew’s broken expression.

his eyes were ride, as if in a trance, never wanting to leave you. his usual cheerfulness gone, the sadness radiating off of him as the other celebrities and artists look turns glancing at the man.

“i’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you. you’ll never get away from the sound of the woman who loves you.”

you moved to the right side of the stage, approaching the table with Billie Eilish, Timothée Chalamet, Lady Gaga, Anne Hathaway, and Emma Stone.

Billie was singing along to the music, a proud smile on her face as she swayed.

but you felt your heart drop into your stomach with you realized that he was sitting right behind that table.

and as the music picked up, you locked eyes with the man, your skin erupting with goosebumps.

“i’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you. was i just a fool? you’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. was i just a fool?”

the crowd grew silent as it was just you and him in the moment, the guilt radiating off of both your bodies into the air. the sting in your eyes became more evident as your vision became blurry and you hadn’t noticed that all the cameras were locked in on the two of you, sharing your moment for the world to see.

“i’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you. give me just a chance. you’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.”

Drew stared at you with an expression no one has ever seen before; regret, love, and fear. and he just let himself feel, mourning the loss of your presence in his life.

as the background vocalists began to take off, you felt your feet moving back to the center of the stage, trying to compose yourself and not to break down in front of millions of people.

“you could be my silver spring, my blue-green colors flashing.”

as the music ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, everyone in the room standing and clapping.

you hadn’t even realized a tear had left your eye until the drip dangled off your chin, making you wipe it away as you grinned happily.

“thank you so very much for having me. i love you.”

and as the announcers retook the focus, you walked swiftly off the stage.

“you need to talk to her, dude.”

Chase whispered to Drew, everyone at the table staring at him. the man nodded, finally seeming to come back to reality, that you weren’t his girl anymore.

Drew excused himself from the table, knowing where the most likely place you would be at.

he knows that whenever you get overwhelmed you went outside and just listened. listened to the cars, the people, the earth.

so, when he saw you leaning against a wall underneath a large oak tree, he wasn’t surprised.

not knowing what to say, he just decided to lean next to you.

“hi.”

you said after a minute of silence, not bearing to look up at him.

“hi.”

he repeated, his chest heavy. he had so many thoughts and words he needed to say, but it seemed as if something was forcing him to stay quiet.

things had never been awkward between you two. even when you argued, you two always went to bed happy. he never wanted to upset you.

“you were amazing out there, y/n.”

he says, turning to face you. you gazed up at his face, twitching your nose as you fought back tears.

“thank you.”

your words were quiet, and he hated the way your lip trembled as you spoke. all he wanted to do was scoop you into his arms, kiss you all over, and tell you everything was alright. but he couldn’t.

“y/n, i’m sorry,” Drew said, taking you by surprise by his abruptness.

“i should have never doubted our relationship. i was a fucking idiot to ever believe we couldn’t make it. the truth is… i was scared. i was scared you would get tired of being with me, but in the end i lost you. i lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

as he ranted his apologies, all you did was stare up at him, retracing every single part of his gorgeous face.

“and i hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me for giving up on us, when in reality the only thing i need in my life is you.”

“i love you, Drew. and these past few weeks have been hell for me. i want to marry you, to have kids with you, to grow old with you. but i need to know you’re hundred percent committed because i cannot go through another heartbreak like this with you again. i emotionally can’t handle it.”

“i swear to you, y/n. you’re the only girl for me, the only girl i’ll ever need in my life. there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, and i promise that. i promise myself to you. i love you so fucking much.”

you felt his large hands place themselves on your hips until your chests were pressed up against each other. your arms wrapped around his broad, muscular shoulders. he was wearing your favorite cologne, the one that always made your knees weak.

he leant his head down to capture your lips in his, missing your taste. and as the two of you kissed against the wall, the rest of the world drowned out, Drew knew that he would always keep his promise to you.

#simpforboys #he proposed a month later #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #celebrities #grammys #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey angst #drew starkey smut

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loganlermanstanaccount · 9 months

Text

Daze

(AO3 Mirror) (Main Masterlist) (Event Masterlist) (Event Info)

-> part of my 6k followers event!

Tape 1 // Side A Track 02: Daze - Steve Lacy Miguel O'Hara x First Love

summary: You pick out an outfit for New Year's. Miguel helps where he can.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, love confessions, PIV, nipple sucking (m-receiving). 18+, Minors DNI

a/n: this is so cheesy and lovey-dovey and self-indulgent. happy new year's everyone <3

wc: 2.3k

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

Hey (you put me in a)

Daze (each and every)

Day (so in love with everything you do, I'm really feelin' you)

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

Miguel doesn’t think he’s built for love.

Really, well and truly; it fits across his frame wrong. He tucks it into a stiff waistband like the collared shirts his mamá made him wear to church. Maybe if he pressed it out - lain on your sheets like those pretty dresses you’ll drape on your shoulders - it would sit right. Settle across him like skin - something real. Human. And like Pinocchio on a stage; he rattles around your bedroom, searching for the strings.

If you see him in the corner of your eye, you don’t react. Miguel tries to make himself look busy, flattening silky fabric with his hands. He’s distracted, thinking about puppets and widowers and love stuck between sharp teeth like blood and sinew. The more he ponders, the more resolute he becomes: Miguel doesn’t think he’s built for love.

Oh, but… you. Love looks like a dream on you, he thinks. You’re in front of a mirror, humming and hawing; tilting your head this way and that. It takes his breath away; lip tucked under teeth, delicate hands spread flat on the fabric, the way your lashes flutter in the light. It pools out from under you like dappled hues on a summer day: love, warm and ochre-tinted around your form. You… you were built for it; made to be loved. Like the first time he met you - and it always feels like the first time, for some reason - he’s drawn in, chasing your smile like a flash of light across the sky. Fireworks couldn’t compare, he thinks: flashbangs and roman candles, sparklers and their gentle fizz and crackle - they pale in comparison to the way your eyes shine when you see him.

“What do you think?” You turn, chewing at your cheek. It makes his heart skip a beat, the way you look at him.

He blinks, thinking back to the last time you wore it. One of your first proper dates, and he had opened the door to a vision. You’d look beautiful in it, you always do. “You look–”

“It’s not too plain? I like the fabric but I’m too sure about the waist.”

“Mi vida, it’s–”

“I could go with the green one…” You pick up a bundle of fabric by your feet. “But I think it’s too revealing. Dramatic. Too many ruffles, like a prom dress.”

He hums, thinking back to when he had bought you that dress. How you had looked at it in a shop window; wide, forlorn eyes like a baby deer; and the way you lit up when he arrived with it at your doorstep. “Baby, you could–”

“What do you think your coworker’s will be wearing?” You turn to him suddenly, eyes bright. “I need to see the invite again, want to make sure I’ve got the right dress code. It’s… I mean… I should look classy, right?”

“If you want.” He says, stepping closer.

You’re huffing, rummaging through the depths of your wardrobe.

“That’s not a real answer, Mig.”

He pads to your side, and you feel a hand curl around the fat of your waist. It's warm, poking underneath the little tank top you've been wearing. His fingertips, impossibly rough and soft at the same time, rub circles into hip bone.

“Baby.”

You ignore him, grunting with frustration.

“You're overthinking.” He says it soft, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Steadfast, you continue to rifle through the wardrobe. You're stubborn, this much he knows, pressing gentle kisses into the juncture of your jaw.

Eventually, you soften, hands on his as he hugs you from behind.

“I just–” You start, turning around to give him a look akin to a half-drowned puppy. “I want them to like me.”

“You brighten up every room, mi vida. Why wouldn't they like you?” He smooths away a deepening furrow by your brow, kissing it better.

And when you melt, sinking into his arms and burrowing your face into the crook of his neck, all he can hear is the pounding of his heart.

“Don't laugh.” You say it into the side of his neck, creating warmth that blooms from his chest to fingertips.

“Never.” He means it. Of course, he means it.

“I want to look like I belong next to you.”

It makes him short circuit. Miguel blinks; once, twice. He blinks a third time, gently pushing you up by your shoulders.

“You-” He's incredulous, hardly able to process the implication of what you've just said. “You want to look like you belong next to me?”

Shakily, you nod.

“You're amazing. Smart and kind and talented… and if they don't know it already at work then they're idiots. So,” You chew your lip, as if mulling over the right words.” I know it's just New Year's, and it's a stupid work thing, and you probably don't care… but I'm so proud of you. I want to show you off, tonight. I want to shine like you do, Mig.”

It makes him smile, thinking back to all the times he gushes about you at work. Usually quiet, generally reserved; but everything reminds him of you. Your hair, your smile, the very first time you laughed at a stupid joke of his. The way your shoulders sag after a long day, the way you curl up to his side on the couch everytime, without fail.

Your favourite foods, your favourite colour, the way you marvel at his long lashes in bed or poke his frown lines in the morning. The gentle way in which you love him. The way he would bend over backwards to make you feel just a fraction of the love he has for you.

“Oh God.” You groan. “Don't look at me like that. I said… don't laugh… I specifically told you not to–”

He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to bed slung over his shoulder. In a heap of giggles, you land on soft sheets with a gentle thump, chasing away cold hands pressed all over your body.

Miguel tosses off the clothes littered across the bed, whilst you lunge for your precious silks.

You're laughing, writhing at the strong hands that pull you closer to his chest. “What's gotten into you?”

He's breathless, pressing kisses to the fat of your thighs. His hands travel up, hooking underneath tiny shorts. Like a man possessed, he massages the rise and fall of plush flesh, eyes trained on yours as his mouth dips low. Lower, into the crease of skin where your thighs meet your gorgeous folds, where soft cotton underwear is eaten up by your cunt.

“Mig!” You sit up on your haunches, hand in his hair to pull him up.

He looks at you, entranced, red-brown eyes sparkling as he rests his head on your thigh.

“I love you.”

And he says it like the first breath on a cold winter’s day; letting the words curl into the air like crystal and vapour. Gentle, oh-so soft.

“Oh.” It knocks the wind right out of your sails. “Well… I love you too.”

He shakes his head, sitting up in a display that has you scratching your head.

“No, baby. I love you.”

You frown. ��That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I love you.” He grabs your hands, pulling them to his chest. “I love you. I love you I love you I love-”

“Miguel.” You say it slowly, cradling his head in your palms, tilting him this way and that to examine his face - currently cracked into a dopey grin. Unconsciously, you brush away a stray curl that springs up by his forehead. “I love you. But I don’t really understand what’s going on. Did you take something? Hit your head? Do I need to call Gabi? Because he really wouldn’t–”

“I went to the mall about a month ago, after — I think it was the day after we had dinner at Pesci’s and you said that you haven’t had a good churro in years–”

“No, I said the last time I had a churro was at Six Flags–”

He looks at you blankly. “Same thing, babe. So I went shopping for ingredients, went to that market, passed the shop that sells the weird looking plushies and then…” He takes a breath. “I passed the hardware store. Key cutting for half-off, or something, and I didn't even think about it. Just did it. Got a copy made of my keys and put it in a little ring box that's been burning a hole in my pocket for God knows how long.”

“I've been waiting for a good time to ask. I mean… I thought it was too soon but Gabi thinks it's time and Pete says it's not soon enough. And you've already got half your clothes at mine, and your mugs, and that fucking… rat’s nest of a jewellery plate that I gave you and you refuse to throw away.”

“It's pretty, Mig.”

“Lyla made me go to a pottery class once and I will never hear the end of it. Say the word and I will smash it into a million pieces.” You giggle and it makes him smile even wider. “You said you've always wanted a cat, and your building doesn't allow pets but mine does. Which is such a shame, because you'd be a great cat mom. The best.”

He gives you a weak smile, voice shaking imperceptibly. But you notice - because of course you do.

“I love you so much it hurts. Sometimes I lie awake at night and stare at you like a fucking creep because I don't know what I did to get so lucky. How did I find someone as brilliant and beautiful and bright as you? And you want me? When you could have anyone else?”

“So I'm asking now - and there's no pressure, of course,” He takes a deep breath. “Will you move in with me? Please?”

His sincerity bowls you over, knocks your hair back like a hurricane-force wind. Miguel, stoic and ever the voice of reason, spilling his guts out to you in a sickly sweet daze. He's usually so forthright and upfront - and the image of him tossing and turning about the perfect time to ask you makes tears swell at the corner of your eyes. God, and then you're laughing; lost in gasping peals of giggles as he looks on, confused.

“You…” You wipe away fat tears. “You think the best time to ask me is when I've got my pants halfway down my legs?”

Oh. Heat rises to his cheeks, and he buries his head in the covers.

Gently, you nudge him. “That's a yes, Miguel, if you couldn't tell.”

When he smiles; wide and lopsided and exposing deep dimples either side of his face; you wrap him up in a hug that turns carnivorous, pressing obnoxious kisses everywhere you can. Eventually, you toss off your shorts and wrap bare legs around his torso, flipping him over with your hands planted by his sides. You put your lips on his, hungrily, chasing that deep, rumbling laugh that always sets you on fire.

You kiss it into skin, making sure he'll carry it around for as long he can: love - caring and unquestioning and blinding. It wraps around him like a well-worn sweater, the slightly-itchy kind his mamá would give him for Christmas. For the first time in his life, Miguel realises; it fits.

It makes him swallow roughly, and open his mouth wider, slipping his tongue to those spots he knows you like. It makes him shudder and shake and press you up against him impossibly close, grinding his hard length into the thin fabric at your cunt.

Before he knows it, you've pushed the gusset aside, enveloping him between your plush walls and sinking down on his cock with incredible heat. It burns, the way you touch him, fingertips tracing his torso as you lift up his shirt. Miguel doesn't know where to look as you peel it off him – back arched deliciously as you latch onto his nipple.

“F-Fuck.” He stutters, one hand gripping plush thigh and the other at the back of your neck. You’re messy - and wet - slobbering at his chest as he grinds up into your pussy.

He's so, so close in no time at all. Your cunt flutters around him like you know, and then you're both falling; sinking into each other's bones in a wispy haze.

Settling in his chest, panting and fucked out, you look up. You trace his wispy lashes, stunned by the way light kisses its peripheries, caught in golden flecks in his irises.

“I don't like it when you talk about yourself like that.”

You put an ear to his ribcage, steadied by its slow thump.

“Like what?” He says it lightly, hoping the slight shake to his voice doesn't betray him.

“Like you don't deserve to be loved.” Rolling over, you wrap your legs around his middle once more. You want to look him in the eye when you say it, so there is no misinterpreting your next words. “Because you do. Because you are.”

Miguel cups your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart splinter. He kisses you with that same tenderness, stumbling over himself to show what his words can't. He’ll fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. He’ll wrap himself around you like two pieces of a puzzle; like you were made for one another.

If Miguel isn’t built for love, then this feeling that bubbles up in his ribcage must be something else: spreading to his fingertips and toes like hot chocolate and fresh churros whilst you watch the fireworks, light fizzing and crackling across a cool night. If Miguel isn’t built for love, then the ring he’s wrapped up in a sock won’t make its way onto your left hand during a gentle night like this one.

He surveys the mess you’ve made of the bedroom. Dresses and bedsheets and fancy shoes all over the floor, and you’ve fallen asleep in the midst of it all. Miguel pulls you closer; clearing his head of widowers and puppets and love woven into silk sheets and scraggly blankets all the same.

Oh well, he thinks. He’s got the rest of his life with you to figure that out.

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #kat_writes😼#fluff #miguel o'hara smut #Spotify

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months

Text

Offerings

a/n I would say don’t ask cause my brain works on its own accord. Thanks to @twilighttowayvision for listening to me yap and making me write this. 🤍✨🫧🤝🏻🙂‍↕️

summary: this is loosely based on worship. Our oc is a back vocalist for ST and her and the boys aren’t afraid to get handsy on stage. The problem however is that she catches an eye of another band. So when Noah from bad omen wants her to be the guest act in one of his shows emotions run high. Jealousy bubbles. Pretty white jaws get bloody.

warning: sexual tension, sexual behavior implications, brat goodness.

Sleep token boys x reader

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The pre-show prep had been slow today. Mostly because you had enough time to get most of the stuff up and running in the couple of days that you’ve spent here. Meaning that there had been no running around, no packed sound checking, and no feeling of needing to be at four places at one time. So you had made yourself comfortable on one of the backstage sofas. Scrolling through different group chats you had going on with the whole sleep token crew.

That’s when you came across the endless links Espera had sent you. “Tell me that you’ve seen this," the message read, followed by heaps of emoji that made no sense. You frowned slightly, clicking on the first link. And it’s not what you expected. A moment of confusion turned into shock before a grin spread onto your face. You quickly sat up, pressing on another link. A video after video played on and on until you were biting your lip.

“What are you smiling at?”, the sound of a iii’s voice nearly made you drop your phone.“Nothing," you answered a tad bit too enthusiastically, instantly making your bandmate narrow his eyes at you. “Yeah, right. You look like a Christmas tree," iv he huffed, pulling a towel from over his head as he dried his curls. You could lie. You couldn’t if you were being realistic. Their bullshit radar was too good for that. A half-truth might do the trick. Might… “Girls sent over this video," you shrugged, glancing back at your phone and trying really hard not to let your cheeks flame.

“Oh, no… another thirst trap of us," ii grinned as he too stepped into the room, reaching for the beverage fridge. “You don’t need to drool over us via screen, baby girl," iii he cackled, wiggling his eyebrows. Striking one pose after another. He flexed his muscles as if he was indeed attending a competition of sorts. You couldn’t help but cackle at him.

“Got the real deal in blood and flesh right in front of you, darling," iv plopped down on the sofa, next to you, leaning in suggestively. You pushed back at his chest. “Not self-obsessed one bit," he simply shrugged, that shit-eating grin shining bright. “Give me that." You didn’t even notice ii coming to your other side before your phone was in his hands, fingers flying over the numbers on your lock screen. “Hey, no." You moved to stand up, but iv wrapped his arms around your middle, bringing you back down. This time onto his lap. Arms snacking over your middle. “You all suck," you growled, knowing full well that they were going to be met with.

“Yeah, if I could, I would steal the Siren," the voice on the screen filled the room and you don’t have to know it all to notice the way the three of them instantly looked at one another. Piecing together everything that had been happening. “Have you seen her? Her vocals would fit into most of our songs." A light groan left IV's lips as Noah’s voice continued to bleed into the background. iii’s arms were crossed over his chest. There was no gleam of amusement in his eyes. It’s ii who seemed delighted with this. But not in a you-go-girl kind of way. Oh no, he knew what shitstorm this was going to cause. And to help with your matters, Vessel and Esperas casually stroll backstage as well.

“We’re working on getting her on our side; I’d die a happy man if she brought her worshiping to our stage." That was enough to make Vess halt. “What the fuck was that?”, he huffed, walking towards ii, glancing at the phone in his hands. “Bullshit, that’s what that was," iii said, shaking his head, leaning back against the wall in frustration. "Oh, come on," the girls laughed in unison, “a boy has a crush." Your eyes grew big as you shook your head with a hiss, “Girls.”

“Has a crush, my ass!", iv practically growled, hands tightening on your thighs, but you were quick to peel his hands off you. “Now who’s being hypocritical?" You stood up, narrowing your eyes at him. He was annoying when he wanted to be. You knew that first hand “What is that supposed to mean?” Iv is quick to jump up too. You knew he was harmless, but his quick movement still made you step back slightly. “You go off to play with Oli, and no one says a peep about it," you wheezed through gritted teeth. “That is different," ii cut in, and you couldn’t help but gape at him. Of course, his shit-stirring ass would side with them. “Last time I checked, he can also grab iv dick, no NDA about that?" you said, crossing your arms over your chest. Just made the mistake of glancing at iv, who was practically red with anger now, “You fucking...", but he didn’t get to finish the sentence before iii draped an arm around his shoulder, turning him around. “Cool off," he muttered, tapping a hand on iv’s chest.

“Breather. Outside. Now”, Vessel pointed towards the door. And as much as you hated the pre-concert arguments, you didn’t want to drop this now. “Bark while you’re at it," you raised both middle fingers at iv, but the sight was short-lived as Vess stepped in front of you, gripping your jaw and pulling your face to meet his. "Y/n," it was barely a whisper, but the tone shift said it all. “We’ll talk about this after." You want to fight back, but instead, you just nodded. Pushing past him to go get ready. Simply out of spite moving to quickly typed out a message to Bad Omen’s Instagram account. The likelihood of them seeing it, however, was low. Right…?

The concert ended up being only mid. The tension that usually had everyone grinding against one another. Pushing the possible limits had turned into a cold war. In moments like this, iv pride was bigger than him. You knew he wouldn’t blow off before the show started, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise that he pretty much avoided you like the plague. Leaving you at the mercy of iii and Vessel for the most part. So it was Vess who had you press against his chest until the black paint was smudging all over your back. Hand on your throat as he sang the lyrics of the songs straight into your bloodstream. Even the kiss that iii leaned in for felt off, so you didn’t push him. Didn’t push any of them. Not when your attempts of luring them out of their pissy mood was cut with a cold shoulder. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t frustrated about it.

"Here," warmth spreads through your body as a familiar scent filled your senses. You welcomed it on most days, but today it only made your frown deepen. So with a shrug of the hand, you pushed the leather jacket off. “Don’t be a brat; you’ll catch a cold," iii grunted, forcefully wrapping you up in iv’s jacket.

“Who knew you would be the one mending the bridges", you hissed out, taking another drag from your cigarette. iii tapped at his lips, and you quickly held the same cigarette out for him, letting him take a couple of drags in. “He’s pissed because he cares," iii said after blowing out the smoke. “We both know that he’s fiercely protective over people he lets in close." And you knew that. Knew that from all the tines his steal mask would slip. And you would be left with nothing but a needy man. One that’s constantly leaning into you or falling asleep on your shoulder. “You remember him after people started talking shit about Vess dancing”, iii pointed out, “He yapped about it for the rest of the night. I throw punches, iv talks, that’s his weapon”.

“You are all acting as if I’m about to sell my body on the highway," you huffed, shaking your head in frustration. “We found you first," iii nearly sang, snatching the cigarette from between your fingers. “Oh Jesus, it’s that fucking male ego," you growled, wrapping the iv’s jacket tighter around your body. iii extended one of his arms out. You didn’t need to be told twice, as you buried your face in his chest. “You are a whole package," he muttered under his breath, pressing his lips to the top of his head. “We don’t want you jumping ships." You pulled back slightly. “I’m not leaving you; it’s one concert from what I understood," you whispered, knowing full well that if they said no, you wouldn’t go. After all, they were your people. And the last thing you wanted was for them to feel as if you were replacing them in some way. “One too many, baby," he let out a sigh, “One too fucking many”, killing the cigarette with his foot before pulling you back into the warmth of the back room.

The topic of those videos was dropped without bringing it up ever again. They don’t bring it up, so you did just the same. Until one night, your phone pings, and you couldn’t help the grin that spreads over your face. “Tell me that I can see your cute face tonight”, it read. Making you fall back onto your bed, as you silently screamed into your screen. You keep it to yourself this time. The least ears heard about the less hearts would break, but even as you were getting ready to leave, you knew that there was no way you could leave the apartment you all rented out without the boys noticing you walking down the stairs, and from the sound coming from lower floor, they were in the living room. In conclusion right by the staircase. But what was bitting another bullet after all?

"Okay, style icon," iii whistled as the sound of your heels made them all turn your way. You shot him a smile, “You like?" Twistling, you gave them all a look at your head-to-toe black outfit, only a baby pink mini dress bringing contrast to the whole outfit. “Are you sure you girls don’t want us tagging along?”, Vessel asked, tilting his beer bottle your way. And here you were. Screwed all over. You had forgotten about girls going out tonight. Well, you were going out with them until you got that message, and then your brain blanked. “She’s not going with the girls," iv muttered, his jaw clenched as his eyes looked you up and down. Not the gentle kind of look. Oh, no. He was eating you with his gaze. Burning through your skin. Seeing into part of you, you didn’t want him to. Sending a shiver down your spine. “IV is right, I’m not." You held your head up; you owned them nothing. Well, not fully true, but still. You were your own person. “Tell me that it’s not what I think it is," ii chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Wipe that grin off your face," you grunted.

Silence fell over the room. ii kept his eyes on you challenging you to break first. But when you didn’t back away he leaned forward. Both inked palms firmly placed on the table. “Careful, or you’ll be whipping something else off your face and legs," he said, leaning forward. His blunt answer and forwardness took you off-hand because to get through the impenetrable wall of calmness that ii had built was impossible. It had been impossible. “Not yours to paint tonight," you shot them a smile, reaching for the bottle iii was holding before downing the last remaining liquid. “But I’ll send Noah your hellos," you smiled at them right as the sound of a car signaling outside of the window echoed, “Don’t wait up, boys." You waved them off over your shoulder. Feeling your heart hammer against your ribcage. The dizziness clouding your eyes. But you couldn’t turn back now. You couldn’t go there now when you knew they were boiling. This was good. This would give them time. Right…?

#sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token x you #sleep token ii x reader #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #sleep token iv x reader #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token iv imagine #sleep token vessel imagine

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solbaby7 · 9 months

Text

A Guy Who Takes His Time

pairing: azriel x burlesque!reader

warnings: nothing really, just me watching Burlesque and yet again not having any form of self-control

summary: The High Lord takes his two brothers to a Burlesque show to take in and watch the finer things in life—you.

—

String pearls.

Tassels.

Waiting staff wearing skimpy little skirts and tops that earned plenty of stares and even more tips teased into the dip of their bustier.

Liquor flowed and desire pulsed hotter than any of the dimly glowing lights hanging from the ceiling. “You’re up in five,” Tess’ voice shouts through the changing room as you shimmy your next number on.

Ten years here and still you’d never get tired of the confidence that ebbed from your form when wearing nothing but leather and diamonds, feathers and pearls, lace and miles and miles of bare skin. Someone’s touching up your makeup, probably Sean with a brush coated in a lipstick a brighter red than the blood pulsing in your veins and when the stage lights go black, you know it’s time. “Wish me luck.”

Tess swats at your ass, a playful smile on regal features. “You don’t need it.”

You take your place, the slow drag of your heels against the stage is the only sound in the whole bar and you can feel yourself shift into the persona that takes place to exude the role you’re playing. The crowd is full, every seat occupied and even then there are more filtering in, standing in the corners with drinks in their hands and eyes trained on the stage—on you.

One group catches your eye, placed smack dab in the middle of the room is a trio of men; powerful, that much is obvious even with their plainclothes on but there’s no time to ponder when the music begins and a bright light shines on you.

A two, eight count pause while the band sets the mood and you’ll never grow tired of the way the crowd shifts in their seats when you begin to sing.

Oh, oh, oh, oh

A guy who takes his time, I’ll go for anytime

Countless hours of dancing, training the moves over and over until you were ready to rip your hair out from the root when Tess kept telling you to be aware of every part of your body.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

It repeated in your brain like a mantra.

“If you let them make you believe you don’t belong on that stage—that you don’t own that stage then you don’t have any business being up there in the first place.” She’d drilled into you after applying ointment to the blisters on your feet, wrapping them in bandages thick enough that it didn’t irritate in your high heels.

Presence.

Your hands rake over your body, fingers hooking into the see through cover-up and sliding it off your shoulders. You can feel their eyes follow the clothing drop to the ground; the air charged with anticipation, wondering exactly how much you were planning on taking off while looking so pretty doing it.

I’m a fast-moving gal who likes ‘em slow

You’re eyes catch on that group in the middle, sliding over their faces while you continue your routine and while you were supposed to stay up here, you can’t help the way your body slinks off of the edge of the stage, back arching like a stretching feline.

Got no use for fancy drivin’, want to see a guy arrivin’ in low

The lights follow your every move, back-up dancers filling up the space you’d left occupied but it’s like you’d taken the stage with you—attendees twisting in their chairs, necks craning and eyes glued on you as you ease through the tables.

Engagement.

You stop by one male, dressed nicer than most and the cocky smirk he sends his group of friends makes your fingers itch to bring him down a peg. Your palm ruffles through his pristinely styled hair, painted nails tracing down his neck and you pause as cup your hand around his throat. A public display of dominance—of who really ran this fucking show and commanded the attention of everyone who’d handed over their hard-earned money just to watch you prance around in your tiny little clothes and sing just like you did at home when no one was looking. There’s a ring on his finger and you make sure to loosen up the tie around his neck, pressing a red kiss on your hand to smear over his mouth before leaving as if you’d never ever seen him.

I’d be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

A hurry-up affair, I always give the air

The three men in the middle are even more handsome up close, you realize. The thin material of your tights brushing their knees and you see the one in the middle tense—happily taken, you conclude.

A huge part of your job was reading body language, understanding the people in your crowd without truly exchanging words and he sends you a grateful smile when you casually avoid him.

His other two friends were fair game, both with inky black hair but while ones was cropped short at the shoulder, the other; it was clear there was even more hiding in that bun at the nape of his neck. Their wings are tucked tight behind them, a silent warning not to touch without permission and you’re careful when extending your hand.

The one of the left comes to your aid without hesitation, eyes wide with awe as the alluring scent of your perfume washed over him. His hand is slightly calloused in yours as he helps you onto the table before them, lights shifting with your new position with ease and you can feel a few of the male bar staff gravitate a little closer—trained to ensure the safety of the dancers above all else.

Confidence.

Your routine continues without a hitch, moves coming to you like second nature. Exaggerated movements that didn’t seem so obvious when the rest of your body followed suit so smoothly, hips slow when you put on a show and you’re certain they’re staring at the pearl thong shoved up your ass when you bend at the hips slowly.

You could hear Tess’ voice in your head. “Balance, baby. Every naughty move has to be followed by something soft and sweet. I can’t explain it but it just adds to the allure.”

And while one friend is eager to appease you, the one on the right pretends you aren’t even there. A brow quirks—finally, a challenge.

You voice carries through the space, a picture worth painting when gently pressing a heel to his chest. It forces his gaze, hazel eyes burning as he looks at you for what seems like the first time the whole night and you try to ignore the chill that runs down your spine—like you’d met him before, known him from somewhere but you can’t quite put your finger on it and you’re certain he catches the way your eye squints down at him.

Your head shakes slightly, as if physically pulling yourself free from the feeling and the cool mask you wore when performing slid back into place when reaching for his hand. You can feel his whole body tense and he waits for you to recoil, to pull your hand back but you truly make no indication that you could even feel the misshapen scars there and it’s then when you gain his full attention.

Hazel eyes boring into yours like you were a puzzle he had to solve in five minutes or less and the clock was tick, tick, ticking away.

It surprises you; the way your body reacts to the slow drag of his palm up your thigh and you don’t stop until it’s reached the little clip at the top holding your stocking in place. His throat bobs when it flicks open with a click, sheer material pliant and loose and sliding down the length of leg you’d guided him up before but this time he does it on his own.

Everyone else seems to melt away when you stare at the way he does it, seemingly captivated by the truly bared skin and when it’s bunched at your ankles he makes gentle work of slipping off your heel, planting a kiss on the flesh toned bandage wrapped just under your big toe. The fabric falls free from your body, heel back in place and your steps are a little wobbly when you retract, Luca; one of the newer staff security subtly raising an arm to stabilize you.

Oh a guy what takes his time, I’d go for every time

A hasty job really spoils a master’s touch

It takes every bone in your body to step away, to finish your set–on stage where you were supposed to be but every step felt like you were leaving behind something you didn’t even realize you were missing. And when you finish off the final note, the lights go dark and the curtains close.

You’re rushed back to the fitting room to change for the next set and the whole time you’re shaking in anticipation, waiting for the chance to see him again but when you go to finish your final number—he’s not there.

In fact, all three of them had left, their table cleaned and another group was being ushered to sit in their place. You shun away the disappointment, silently cursing yourself at the distraction and in an instant you’re back—cool and calm.

This was your stage. You owned it and no one could ever take it from you.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

The curtains rose and the light snapped to light, focused right on you and you’re sure you did well, judging by the cheers outside when your pushed to the back room, drinks already being brought in and you’re searching for Tess but she’s nowhere to be found. “Tess?” You call out for her, rounding the corner to the dressing rooms, eyes scanning over the empty office before going to the makeup tables and you freeze. “Tess, I need help. I can never get out of this one without breaking the zipper—“

Because sitting at your spot, eyes trained on a framed picture of you and all the girls on some trip you’d taken a few years back—was him.

“You’re not, Tess.”

“No,” He answers and his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

Suddenly, it feels too quiet in here and you’re more aware of the fact that everyone is surely already changed and filtering out for food and drinks after a long night but you can’t bring yourself to tell them to wait for you. “You’re not really supposed to be back here.”

“No? Well, I spoke to woman who claims she owns this bar and she told me I could wait for you here.”

Tess.

It’s then you seem to notice the flowers, a pretty bouquet obviously hand picked from the garden that Tess’ best friend Sean liked to tend to during the day but you don’t point it out. Instead, you look at them like it’s the first time ever seeing such colors on soft petals . “Those for me?”

“They are.” He hands them over almost nervously, pinky finger twitching when your hands grazes his own.

Your eyes flutter shut when you take in their smell, comforting and familiar and everything you could’ve ever wanted. “And who am I to thank for such lovely flowers?”

He’s behind you when he answers, fingers ghosting over the zipper stuck between your shoulder blades and your heart hammers against your chest when his knuckles graze your back as the fabric split down, down, down until you were clutching it in place at your chest. “Azriel,” His name is whispered on your shoulder, breath catching in your throat at the close proximity and every bone in your body is screaming for him to touch you; somewhere, anywhere. “But for now, I’d like to just be a guy who takes things slow.” Your heart skips a beat, excitement and interest and all of the perfect crush forming feelings beginning their dance in your belly when he finishes softly. “You hungry?”

The smile he pulls from you is genuine, eyes sparkling when you look up at him. “Starved.”

“Come on—change. I know a place.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #cassian #cassian acotar #18+ age range #burlesque #azriel x you #azriel x reader #acotar azriel #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #azriel #batboys #copyright

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passivenovember · 3 months

Text

Being a dad is something he's always wanted. Call it a cliche, right, the all-American, golden boy who's caught up in the idea of four to six snot-nosed brats looking up to him as they try to make sense of all the big and small things because they have no other choice. You only get one dad, right?

He images them, crawling and then walking and then sprinting through the same ancient, brand-new stages of life. Six months, learning the kitchen-magic of how their fingers and toes bend on command. A year, stumbling Jello-legged down a hallway. Fifteen, slamming their bedroom door only to rush, crying, into Steve's arms when he works up the courage to rap his knuckles on the wood like the dad from Full House.

Maybe. It's all Steve's ever wanted. More than that signed Nicks basketball his own dad sent for him when he was twelve. More than Nancy Wheeler. More than his need for mountains, and oceans, and something else.

But then he meets Billy, and it's like all that other shit goes away for a while. None of it disappears, really, but he's got something to focus on, now. Something to work toward, with someone, and that makes it worse, in a way.

Billy finally lets him fuck, and Steve lays in bed that night with an irritatingly awful douchebag drooling a spot onto his chest, and Steve thinks. Knows--

Look, he won't admit it on the first fuck, but this is it for him. He wants to buy this dude house, and he wants wedding rings around the fat and bone of both their fingers, and. He wants babies, with Billy.

Aches Billy to love him.

He wants a life with this asshole. The whole nine. Steve runs his hand through Billy's hair and falls asleep imagining family Christmases, and vacations, and the fragile, shining hope that Billy will wake up tomorrow and swear that he's in love. That Steve is who he's waited 19 years for. That to each other, they'll always belong.

Obviously, that doesn't happen. Maybe.

If it does Steve wouldn't know, because Billy's not a lunatic. He's gone before the sky's fully blue. Leaves his phone number scrawled on the corner of Steve's mirror in Sharpie.

Steve's in love.

So. Immediately, he wants the impossible, but mostly, he just wants Billy. And by some giant, invisible, choking miracle he gets Billy. His body first, and then his thoughts. His laugh, genuine and biting and whole. Billy shares his memories, like pieces of bread dropped in water for hungry birds, for Steve. Achingly slow, he tells his hopes, his dreams, and.

Eventually, one night with his head on Steve's chest he says, "You terrify me. I never want it to end."

So. It's basically love.

Steve's a loose canon when it comes to this feeling. Pedal to the medal, he shoots through walls with bright red booming firepower until everything is cracked and bleeding and open around them. Until there's room enough to say, "I love you, move in with me."

So, Billy does. Impossible.

Wonderful and joking, even though it's not a joke when Steve's parents meet him on move in day and Steve's dad is thrilled that Billy knows shit about cars, and Steve's mom likes that Billy has a weathered recipe book that was, "passed down from my grandma, back in California," for her to find a place for in their tiny, warm kitchen while she unpacks.

"He's very nice," Steve's mother says, "Respectful. Handsome." In that same wistful, sleepy tone that she used when she first called Nancy wheeler sweet. Beautiful.

"He's a fine young man, son," Steve's dad tells him. "Try not to run him off."

Steve watches them reverse from the ratty, rocky, untamed driveway, with his heart in his throat. Imagines the day he and Billy will leave their kids, supported and loved fiercely, to make that wobbly step toward the brush-fire shore of their lives.

Steve's plan for the future lives and breathes in a small, tucked-away corner in his mind for months. He nearly chokes to death on it, several times a day, watching Billy relax into his routine.

Billy cooks dinner every night. They eat on the couch in their boxers, dishes left on the coffee table until Billy kisses him awake in the blue light of the television, "Let's go to bed, baby," he says. Steve always notices that the plates and cups are cleared away, the living room tidy for the dawn.

Billy buys a shovel and digs two holes in their patchy backyard. Steve watches him from the kitchen window, wondering what the cavities will grow with the start of spring.

Billy plants a clothesline. "My mom used to dry our clothes this way," He says, when Steve raises an eyebrow. He tacks sheets and sweaters to sway in the sunlight. Talks about laying a patio out there, so they can grill for people when it's warm.

Steve gets hard from the image of himself, in an apron, grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for their friends, first, and kids. Someday. A total dad.

Billy makes use of his library card and checks out every book about homesteading he can find. He learns about gardening, and bricklaying, and how to buff gashes out of hardwood floors. For his birthday, Billy hints at a Better Homes and Gardens subscription.

When Steve forks out the cash and the May issue arrives in the mail two months later, Billy presses a hasty kiss to his forehead and disappears onto the porch. He spends his Sunday afternoons with sticky notes and an overused ballpoint pen from that moment on, circling things that have no rhyme or reason, to Steve.

They've been living in their house for six months when Billy says, suddenly, "We should see if we can buy it." Like he's been planning his own version of their future.

It's Sunday, and he's just come up for air from Better Homes and Gardens. There's a cheese plate in his hands. He's parked by the front door, on his way out, looking startled as if the words escaped from a caged area buried deep inside of him.

"Huh?" Steve's more of the lay-around-and-rot-in-his-underwear-on-Sunday's type. He's eating ice cream out of the container, distracted by something Barney Fife says. He laughs.

"We should buy the place," Billy tells him.

Steve blinks, "The house?"

"It's our house," Billy says delicately, with all the weight of the world resting on him.

Steve looks up from the television set, shocked that Billy's hair is wet in some places and drying in others. As if he was being groomed by some large, impatient cat. He peers around Billy, out the screen door. "Is it raining?"

"Sprinkling," Billy says, "I have an umbrella."

"Your magazine's gonna get wet."

"I'm reading The Grapes of Wrath," Billy tells him, pulling a weathered copy out from under his cheese plate.

"Sure, but if the rain picks up, your book--"

"--The characters could use a little water," Billy says, "They're trapped in the dust bowl."

"I'm in love with you," Steve says. Like it's the first time he's ever admitted something like this out loud. So it's a surprise. "I like that you read. I like that you talk about everything like it's real."

Billy pads over to the couch and knocks Steve's legs apart. He settles on the arm of the thing, cold, wet toes pressing into Steve's thigh. Steve winces, sputtering when Billy feeds him a slice of American cheese wrapped in bologna.

He chews. Swallows. "I need to make more money, baby."

"Why," Billy asks, feeding himself.

"Because," Steve chokes on the next round Billy feeds him, heart soaring when Billy smiles, "Because if we're gonna lay a patio and grill for our friends I want to make sure you have decent ingredients."

"I don't mind the cheap stuff."

"You deserve better," Than what I can provide, Steve doesn't say.

Billy shrugs, feeding him another round of cheese and meat. "Well, if we're following through with the patio and the grill--"

"--And a porch awning," Steve says, feeding Billy a slice of cheese, "I'm adding that to the list. You can’t read your book and eat snacks while holding a fucking umbrella over your head."

Billy stares at him, swallowing and red cheeked. "I think any sort of permanent installment has to be cleared through the landlord."

Steve thinks about it, humming low when Billy slips off the armrest and settles, heavily, into his lap. "So, we buy the place."

"I need a better job, too."

"We'll look when the paper comes tomorrow."

They lapse into silence, eating cheese and bologna until it's gone, then they move to the ice cream Steve was working his way through, chuckling at The Andy Grifith Show.

It starts pouring rain, little hammers falling on the roof until the power flickers. "I want to make this house nice for you," Billy says.

Steve looks at him. "It's already nice."

"It could be better," Billy says, fiddling with the hair on Steve's chest. "We could have a garden. And I think the beige walls are boring as shit, we need to get some wallpaper. Or paint, or something."

"What else should we do?"

Billy shrugs, "The kitchen needs a rug. I saw this book at the library about how old men in Russia and China and shit learn to weave rugs on giant wooden looms. Some of them have seaters, and others hang them from the ceiling. Your car needs a new power steering pump--"

"--Sounds like you need a shed."

"Yeah, I guess so," Billy says. He grins, and then his brows furrow. "But. Steve, I want to build us a life, here. I want to start my life with you, I don't want to wait until we move to something we own, because I like this house, and I feel like when we start to grow our family, we can--"

Steve's heart stops beating.

His vision tunnels, all his focus collapsing on the words Billy says. Phrases that sound wonderful and impossible, all knitting together to equal nurseries built from two-by-four.

Billy stares at him cheeks red. "Sorry, I know we haven't talked about any of this. I get excited."

"I'm in love with you," Steve tells him, breathless.

"I know, dumbass, I'm in love with you."

Steve kisses him. Pulls away. "You really wanna buy a house?"

"Yeah. Not a house, this house."

"You wanna have my babies?"

Billy tugs on his chest hair, grinning when Steve yelps. "Maybe you wanna have my babies, instead."

"Sure," Steve tells him immediately, "Yeah, anything you want."

"I'm going back onto the porch," Billy says, "We'll start with the job listings in the paper."

Steve watches him go. Thinks he could be alright at this, being a husband and a father. Someday.

Right now, he's alright at being Billy's.

#harringrove #anyway #I hope you enjoy it!#soft billy hargrove #protective steve harrington #first home

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