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notmyneighbor · 2 months

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instinct | doppel francis mosses x female detective reader

rating | explicit

part 2/?

words | 3.9k

cw | mention of blood and violence, no explicit content this chapter

ao3 link

fanart credit | kri_stasss on X

taglist | @maskedpacific @dreamndestiny @r-o-s-e-0

By dawn, your eyes are burning.

Your neck and shoulders and spine ache. You readjust your position in another futile attempt at achieving comfort, convinced now there is no such thing. The doppel has gone quiet beside you as your surroundings gradually lighten.

The potential suspect exits the house around six, dressed in what you’d consider business casual, carrying a briefcase and a thermos presumably of coffee. He departs swiftly and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding.

“Off to work,” you murmur.

“We should go take a look around inside the house.”

You glance at the imposter milkman. “We can’t. Not without a search warrant.”

Francis’ clone shrugs. “I’m not really concerned about such things.”

“You should be. Anything you might find would be inadmissible in court. If he is our guy, he’s gonna walk scot free.”

The replicant frowns over your phrasing. “That makes no sense. You’re saying if we present evidence that assures his guilt, he could somehow still be innocent?” He shakes his head. “You humans have an odd idea of justice.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong there.” You rub the back of your neck.

“So what’s the call? I can’t go in?”

“Not yet. We should do some questioning first. Your alleged eyewitness, for starters.” You yawn around the last word.

“You need to sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes. But our bodies have different requirements. Different stamina.”

“Hmph.” You hate to delay pursuing what might be your only lead, but the doppelganger is right. You do need to get some rest. You’re not going to be able to function properly if you don’t. “I guess I could sleep for a bit.” You run your fingers over the steering wheel. “We’ve got three more nights to nail this asshole. If we don’t, on the next night…”

“We’ll get him,” the doppel says confidently.

“Alright. Quick nap. Then back at it.”

“Agreed.”

***

You forget to set your alarm and end up sleeping until the late afternoon.

It’s the doorbell that wakes you, making you curse and fumble your way out of bed. You glance at the digital display on the clock sitting on the nightstand and curse for a second time, rising and padding barefoot out of the bedroom into the living room.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Give me a sec.” You pull open the door a crack to peer at your visitor: Francis Mosses. Or his imposter, rather.

You close the door and unlatch the chain, then reopen it wider, beckoning him in. His clothing, much like the outfit he’d worn last night, looks crisply pressed, his hair neatly slicked back. You suddenly remember you’re still wearing pajamas: a tshirt and matching shorts in pastel yellow with little pink bows printed on them.

“I overslept,” you offer as an excuse and apology both.

“I see that.” He sounds almost bemused. “I would have brought that infernal substance you humans insist on consuming, but I know you can be very particular about how it’s prepared.”

You blink in contemplation, still groggy. “Oh. Coffee. Yeah, I need that. I’ll make some real quick. I’m guessing by that description you’re implying you don’t want one?”

“No.” He follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch you work, changing out the old filter from yesterday morning, filling up the water reservoir, and spooning a heap of coffee grounds into the new filter before shutting the lid of the appliance. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve arranged a meeting with the witness. They’ve agreed to converse in,” he glances at his watch, “two hours. And I swung by the highschool. Milk delivery to the cafeteria, you know.” He winks cheekily as you retrieve a mug from the cabinet.

“And?”

“The general consensus matches what the neighbors had said. He keeps to himself, for the most part. Doesn’t seem to socialize with the staff. Teaches chemistry and physics. Student opinions seem pretty neutral.”

“So nothing suspicious, really.” You sigh, filling your cup and taking a grateful sip. “We have another problem, you know.”

“Which is?”

“A testimony from a doppel witness isn’t going to hold any weight. It’s not just about me being prejudiced or whatever; it’s a simple fact. So even if they convince me, it won’t be enough. I don’t know how we’re going to get the warrant. And I don’t like the idea of waiting and watching until he decides to strike again. Too risky.”

“Your laws were made for humans, but you’re not the only species inhabiting this planet anymore. Things needs to change.”

“That won’t happen anytime soon.” You drain the mug further, feeling more alert. “We’ll need to talk to him ourselves tomorrow. At the house. I don’t like him suspecting we’re on to him, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Alright.”

A sudden thought occurs to you. “Who gave out my address, anyway?”

“Chief.”

“Hmph.” You finish the last of the coffee. “Well, I’m going to go get ready real quick.”

“I’ll wait.”

It’s a strange feeling, having the doppel inside of your apartment. But then again, he’d been crammed inside the car with you for hours, so you suppose this is slightly less uncomfortable. Still, you feel his eyes on you as you walk to the bathroom.

It’s a quick shower, and a quick slide into clothes hanging up in your closet. Not ironed, but you don’t want to waste any more time. You emerge to find the replicant pacing the living room.

“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But that can wait.”

“We have an hour to kill.”

You pause with your hand on the doorknob. “You want to go get food again, don’t you? Honestly, we can’t eat take out every day. It’s going to ruin my skin. And add extra pounds I don’t need.”

“You look fine,” he says. “Though I didn’t mind that other outfit earlier.”

“What…my pajamas?” You hiss, sounding scandalized.

“Yes, those.”

“You’re not supposed to be ogling me.”

“Why not? You do it to me.”

Your mouth falls open incredulously. “I do not.”

Francis’ clone smirks. “You most certainly do. I’m not complaining. Just an observation.”

“I don’t ogle you,” you repeat firmly as he follows you out the door.

The doppelganger hums in amusement. You’re led to the car and you automatically walk to the driver’s side. “Give me the keys.”

“I can manage. Passenger door is unlocked for you.”

“I am not riding shotgun. You are.”

He frowns at the expression, then shakes his head. “Not today. Go have a seat.”

“Uh-uh. No way.” You fold your arms across your chest.

“We’re wasting valuable time. Just let me drive. I’m perfectly capable.”

“This is perfectly ridiculous,” you grumble. “Alright, fine, whatever.” You hate to admit it, but he’s right. You are wasting time. You loop around the nose of the car and settle inside the passenger seat as the mimic sits behind the wheel.

“Seatbelt,” he says, slotting the key in the ignition.

“Oh for pity’s sake.” You grumble but acquiesce, securing the safety restraint in place.

“I’ll let you pick where we go to grab a bite,” he offers in consolation, easing onto the street once traffic has cleared.

“Oh, how generous,” you reply sarcastically. “Are you going to let me order, too?”

“Of course.”

He glances at you, smirking, and you scowl at him. You think he’s secretly enjoying this. Or not so secretly, because he looks smug as all fuck, and you want to wipe that expression right off his face; obliterate those curving lips and dimples and dark, smudged eyes. There’s a little bend to the top of his nose you’re just now noticing, the slightest aberration where the original must have had a break at some point that didn’t quite align correctly when it had healed.

“Let’s get sandwiches. The place on Fifth. You know it?”

He nods, hitting the turn signal and pressing the brakes. “You’re doing it again, just so you’re aware.”

“What?”

“The ogling,” he murmurs.

“Oh, piss off.”

He laughs at this, the first time you’ve heard it, and it’s a rich, deep sound that’s pleasant to your ears. One of the tidy chocolate locks loosens and falls forward, and your fingers itch to tuck it back into place. The car reaches congested traffic and halts. The imposter’s features grow solemn when he sees the expression on your face.

“You want something.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“No, I don’t want anything.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” you insist, all traces of humor now absent. His stern gaze burns until you relent. “Okay, fine. I was just thinking about fixing your hair.”

“My hair? What’s wrong with it?” He glances in the rearview mirror. “It looks okay to me.”

“There’s just this one piece, out of place. I just…”

“So fix it, then.” Traffic is moving again. You’ve reached your destination. Francis’ clone pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine.

“The drive thru…?” You query, puzzled.

“Faster to go inside at this hour.” The keys jingle in his hand. “Are you going to fix my appearance?”

“I…” You hesitate, wondering why you’re so fixated on this. Such a stupid, little thing.

“Are you afraid to touch me?”

“No,” you deny, a little too quickly. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re the one that brought it up. After staring once again.”

“For the last time, I wasn’t…” You reach out, just to get it over with, but his fingers close over yours, halting you.

“I’m not afraid to touch you,” he says, his voice low and husky.

“That’s not appropriate.” You haven’t moved your hand, and he hasn’t shifted his.

“This? This is nothing.” He leans closer and you find yourself gasping. “This, however, is something.” His lips touch yours, and you do nothing to stop him. His mouth is gentle, pressing lightly before he eases back, releasing his hold of your fingers. “Pleasant,” he murmurs.

You let your hand drop, shaking your head. “You can’t just…just do that,” you sputter. Your heart thunders.

“You didn’t seem to mind. You didn’t try to prevent me or pull away.”

“I was caught off guard.”

“So you didn’t like it then?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

You bite back your initial reply. “Let’s just go inside. We’re wasting time again.”

“Alright. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes. It is.”

One eyebrow quirks but the doppelganger says nothing, exiting the car. You follow his lead, walking beside him, pointedly looking at anything but the mimic beside you.

***

You’re parked in front of the possible witness’s house a half hour later, belly full but finding yourself not sated.

You hate how much you’d enjoyed kissing the doppel, as brief as it had been. It was appalling to even consider a follow-up on that advance; certainly not professional. You’re supposed to be working a case, not indulging in intimate acts with your partner. Your non human partner.

Francis’ clone doesn’t broach the subject again; hasn’t made any more moves on you. You hate that you’re disappointed about that. Ridiculous. Focus. The case.

The doppelganger’s front yard is tidy. There are even flowers in the window boxes. You try to imagine one of the replicants taking the time to trim the lawn or water the plants. Keeping up appearances. Just wanting to blend in and be good, upstanding neighbors. It was completely preposterous.

The woman that opens the door after you knock on it looks like she’s in her thirties. She’s wearing a plain dress. You can hear other voices, from what sound like children. She looks slightly afraid, until she sees your partner, and some of the tension eases out of her shoulders. You introduce yourself and ask for permission to enter and she nods, guiding you both into a living room, where the apparent owners of the voices are currently lying on the carpet, both engaged in writing, perhaps doing homework.

“Mommy needs to talk to these people. Can you go play upstairs for a bit?”

The pair of kids, a boy and a girl, elementary school age, look curiously at the visitors before nodding obediently and ascending the nearby stairs. The sound of a door closing interrupts the sudden silence as the female replicant gestures for you both to have a seat on the couch while she settles into the loveseat adjacent to it.

“Can I get you anything to drink, or…?”

“We just ate,” the milkman’s imposter replied.

It’s eerie how natural the setting seems. Just a typical household, a hospitable mother and her well behaved children. You wonder where the original versions are; what else is in the refrigerator besides the potential drink you’d just been offered.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” you begin, pushing away the grim thoughts you’d been steering towards. “I’m going to be quite blunt, I’m afraid, because the nature of this case demands it. I’ve been told you were a direct witness to one of the violent murders that have been happening in the area. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” She fusses with the hem of her dress. It looks so natural. Just an ordinary response, one a human would display while being nervous. That was somehow almost as terrifying as the murders. Humans were being taken over and completely replaced, and convincing ones like this made it impossible to tell the difference; no way to be certain that the woman sitting in front of you was anything but, until it was possibly too late. Blending right in. They were too adept. More dangerous than ever. You’re in a house full of doppels right now, and you’re the minority. That realization keeps repeating in your mind.

“And you are a doppelganger, isn’t that also true?”

She bites her bottom lip, glancing at the male replicant, then nods.

“Tell me exactly what happened. Everything you saw that night. Don’t leave anything out. Every detail matters.”

“Are we going to be safe? You’re not…arresting us?”

You frown as you retrieve your notepad and a pen from the pocket of your blazer. “I can’t promise you that won’t happen ultimately. I will do my best to advocate for you, and your cooperation today will help further your cause, but it’s out of my hands. If my boss wants you brought in, I’ll have little choice.”

You feel the doppel sitting beside you shift. He’s not pleased with this meager offering, but you’re being honest. You can’t guarantee the doppelganger’s fate. You can’t guarantee the fate of any of the doppels in this neighborhood.

“What we can promise is that what you’re doing will help us catch this killer. And that means saving a lot of lives. We need your help,” Francis implores.

The other imposter inhales deeply, then nods. “It was probably about two months ago now. I was doing the laundry at the laundromat. Washer was on the fritz, and we couldn’t get anyone out to repair it straight away. It was early evening. The sun was just going down. Mark—my spouse—was with the little ones. I had to wait for him to get home from work.”

You scribble some notes, wondering over that statement about a husband. Did they actually get married? Have a ceremony? Doppelgangers meeting and falling in love and having offspring? Or was it all just an illusion? Just doppels cohabitating and pretending to be a family?

“When did you first notice the suspect?” Francis’ clone prompts gently.

“It was in the alley, right next to the building. I had two loads to carry to the car. First one, didn’t notice anything. But when I was bringing out the second…I heard a scream. Dropped my basket. Went to see what was happening.”

“Was there anyone else there at the time? Was it a male or female scream?” The male doppelganger asks.

“No one was around. Couldn’t really tell by the sound. I walked into the alley. Tried to be quiet about it. He was near the dumpster. I couldn’t even make out what was on the ground. There was just blood everywhere. Gore. A mess,” she murmurs.

“And the murderer? What about him? Was he holding a weapon?” You press, pen paused above the pad of paper.

The doppel shakes her head. “No. He had…I though they were gloves, at first, like those latex kind used for cleaning that go up to the elbow, but then I realized they were something else.” Her fingers twist together, her gaze focused on the shag carpeting. “He was wearing a doppel’s arms. Scales. Claws. All of it superimposed over his own flesh.”

“Shit,” your partner curses. This was clearly all new information to him, more detailed than what he’d originally managed to draw out of the reluctant witness. “That explains why they look like doppel attacks. Fuck,” he curses again, then looks a bit sheepish. “Sorry for the language.”

“You’re certain it’s this man that you saw?” You draw a photograph out of your pocket now, holding it out to the female replicant. She shudders and nods, declining to even accept the picture into her grasp. “You saw his face directly? How did he not see you?”

“He was too busy with the…victim,” she replies, clearly deciding to change her phrasing at the last moment. “But it’s him. I’ve seen him before. He helps run the annual science fairs for the junior high and high school students. My boy loves attending and viewing the projects,” she says, a hint of fond pride in her voice.

Sending the kids to school, too. Well, you suppose she’d have to, to keep up appearances. Doppel children. Of course they had to exist. You’ve just never encountered any.

“And you didn’t tell anyone? Not even so much as an anonymous phone call to the police?”

“I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. I was afraid of being taken; of having my family taken, too. And it was too late for that individual. No one could help them. I’ve warned my own kind in the neighborhood. I thought…I thought that was the right thing to do.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Francis’ copycat murmurs.

You turn to your partner in disbelief. “Like hell it was. That body didn’t get reported for days. Not until the trash collectors came to empty the dumpster. That evidence was potentially compromised, being exposed to the elements, not to mention that just allowed the killer to continue on his merry way, killing more innocents. You let him keep killing,” you say, facing the female doppel again. “You only warned your own kind, and you let all the humans be put at risk.”

“Easy.” You feel the male replicant’s fingers close over your arm and you shake him off. “We’re all on the same side here. It’s not her fault that this man is a serial killer.”

“You’re a doppelganger. You’re a killer yourself. I don’t understand why you’re afraid. You could have defended yourself. He’s a man pretending to be a doppelganger. Surely you could have—”

“—I was thinking of my family,” she interrupts, voice shaking but growing louder. “Not myself. Them. I have no interest in human affairs. We’re just trying to survive.”

“Right. And what’s on the menu for dinner tonight, Mom? You expect me to believe you’re just serving up regular meals? That you’re not guilty of killing humans yourself?”

“You’re out of line. Stop, right now.” He grasps your arm again, the grip vicelike this time.

“I don’t take orders from you. Let me go.”

“She’s trying to help us. She’s our only witness. What don’t you get about that?” He growls before relaxing his grip.

“This is exactly why I didn’t go to the police. You promised she was going to be understanding. Reasonable,” the female mimic looks accusingly at your partner.

From the top of the stairs, voices can be heard. The children have reappeared, inquiring what the yelling was about.

“Everything’s okay. Just a little disagreement. I’ll be making supper soon. They’re leaving now.” She stands, and you rise stiffly, shoving your supplies back in your pocket. You’re escorted to the front door, the interview clearly over.

“We’ll be in touch. Thank you for your cooperation.” Francis’ clone follows you to the car. “Get in.”

You jerk on the door handle and slump inside. He doesn’t speak again until he’s back at your apartment, parking along the curb, then following you to your door.

“I cannot believe what I just witnessed,” he says, his voice low.

“What? What did you expect me to say? Everything I said was the truth. She needed to hear it.” You know you’re speaking much too loudly, your neighbors can certainly hear every word, but your blood is boiling. “I’m so sick and tired of you fucking doppels lying all the time. Acting like you’re the victims. You’re not. And I have to somehow convince our boss that her statement is valid. I’m basing this entire investigation on the word of someone who’s built for deceit. Who’s very existence depends on it. Do you know how fragile that is? I’m putting all of my faith in you right now, you get that? In your kind. So don’t act all superior and entitled when I’m risking my career here. And I don’t know why you followed me up here. We’re done for tonight.”

You shove your key in the lock, pushing the door open and your partner follows, shutting it behind him. You whirl around, about to respond with another angry statement when he grasps your arms and shoves you back against the door.

“We are not done for tonight.” His voice sounds unsteady. His chest is heaving, dark eyes flashing.

You struggle to free yourself from his clutches but it’s useless. He’s too strong. “I hate you.”

“That’s fine. You can hate me. You can hate every doppel there is. But that doesn’t change the fact that you have a duty to protect the innocent. Your hatred has no place in this investigation.”

You squirm again, trying to resist; angry because you’ve let your temper get the better of you. He’s right, and it rankles. It’s loathesome to admit it. “Okay. I’m calm. You can let me go now.”

“You need to apologize to that witness.” His fingers are still clamped around your upper extremities, his body blocking you from escaping.

You sigh. “I will.”

“And to me.”

Your eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. “Why to you?”

“Because of what you said before.”

You let out a long exhale. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I know we’re supposed to be working together towards a common goal.”

“Not if. You did.”

“I apologize.”

“You don’t sound particularly sincere.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. My apologies aren’t good enough either? What do you want from me?”

The doppel looks at you, remaining silent. His fingers finally relax, releasing you from his grasp.

“I don’t hate you,” you mumble. “That wasn’t true.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of this.” His face leans towards yours and his mouth captures your lips.

Any protest you might have issued fades instantly. It’s not gentle like before. It’s hard, rough, sloppy now, his tongue tangling with yours as your hands snake around his neck, holding him there. Heat licks at your sex, impatient and aching. The species doesn’t matter right then. Your body recognizes there’s a male with you, wanting, that same desire echoing back.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #that’s not my neighbor #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #the milkman #tnmn francis mosses #doppelganger francis mosses #francis tnmn #francis mosses tnmn

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teegeewrites · 29 days

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Positive Validation

Synopsis: It's been a week since Mario and Luigi rescued Princess Peach from Bowser's latest kidnapping, and Mario hasn't seen or heard from Peach much during that time. However, Mario receives an invitation from Peach to visit her at the castle to speak with him alone. Curious yet eager, Mario accepts the invitation and finds himself in a position where he not only has to be honest with Peach, but also himself.

I've rewritten the summaries of my previous stories but kept this one mostly the same since it's fine the way it is.

I've been bottling this up for quite some time, but I’m finally ready to say it out loud: Princess Peach is my favorite character in the Mario franchise and one of my all-time favorite fictional personas, period. I’ve mentioned before that she’s my comfort character, but she embodies so much more. I adore her beauty, her gentle spirit, and her unwavering optimism. I admire her readiness to fight when the situation demands it and her fondness for the color pink. Above all, however, I truly value her unapologetic embrace of femininity. She distinguishes herself in a time when characters like her are often scorned in favor of those who display more masculine traits or a less feminine approach. This isn’t to say that there’s anything wrong with those other characters; I actually admire several of those archetypes. Nevertheless, I hope for a future where the more traditionally feminine characters are celebrated just as much, like Marle from Chrono Trigger, who remains less popular than Lucca and Ayla.

Admittedly, I’m quite sensitive when it comes to criticism of my favorite characters. I make a conscious effort to steer clear of negativity surrounding them. For instance, if I’m diving into a fanfiction and see my favorite characters being mocked, belittled, or if it’s obvious that the author has a disdain for them, I’ll promptly stop reading, no matter how well-crafted the story is or how invested I’ve become. Peach is the main character I’m particularly protective of. One of my top pet peeves is when a character receives accolades while Peach gets torn apart. I’m of the belief that can be admired without having to belittle another. A moment that seemed to really stoke the fire of disdain towards Peach was the controversial Super Mario Odyssey ending. It seemed like the criticism towards her increased exponentially after that. I often hold back from reacting or defending my cherished characters, knowing it can exacerbate the situation. However, even with my usual patience and understanding, there’s a breaking point to how much negativity I can tolerate directed at them.

This is where Positive Validation comes in. My inspiration for this narrative struck me when I noticed a relentless wave of criticism directed at Peach. I wanted to incorporate these genuine criticisms into the story, illustrating how Peach learns of them and their influence on her psyche. While she tried to maintain her composure, the words clearly weighed heavily on her heart, leading her to seek out Mario—the one who consistently puts himself in harm's way to rescue her—and understand his perspective on the matter.

In the tale, Peach openly articulates her feelings regarding the comments made about her, admitting that some of them hold a grain of truth. To reinforce this theme, I made a passing comment about Mario and Luigi heroically rescuing Peach from Bowser once more before her travels. Mario comforts her by pointing out that much of the criticism is baseless, as the critics don’t truly know her. This dialogue also allows Mario to share his own vulnerabilities, with Peach offering him the same encouragement. Ultimately, both characters finish the story feeling uplifted and their bond strengthened. To lighten the mood after such a serious discussion, I sprinkled in some lighthearted humor at the end.

Although I chose to narrate the story from Mario’s standpoint, it certainly could have been told through Peach’s eyes. In truth, I feel the story might have been more compelling if it had been written in the latter, as she was the central figure. One day, I might just rewrite this tale from her perspective, but don’t hold me to that!

Overall, Positive Validation was admittedly a self-indulgent story, and that’s what makes it one of my personal favorites. It seemed to resonate with some readers and commenters who are just as enthusiastic about Peach as I am. Witnessing my work evoke such feelings in others is truly rewarding, enhancing the entire experience. 😊

As a bonus, I recommend this post by @willowisapillow for any Princess Peach fans. It does a great job defending her character and highlighting what makes her great.

#Positive Validation #fic centered around assurance #Mario #Princess Peach #mario x princess peach #mareach #mareach fanfiction #ao3 fanfics #ao3 fanfiction reflections #tee's thoughts #tee's commentary

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flatoutin-eaurouge · 11 months

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My beloved tyhmä poika

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x JJ Letho

This fic is for the beloved @kimizilla 🫶🫶. A redemption arc for JJ after my recent fic. I remember how we situated this prompt in 1989, so Michael wasn't really that much in the picture yet. Therefore no heartbroken Makkinen 😇.

It all happened way too fast to comprehend. Driving in fifth position and nearing the Bombhole corner, he saw a backmarker spin in front of him. A flash of blue, white and yellow coming to a halt only meters in front of his Dragon Motorsport car. He neared the solid object with staggering speed, and had to give a harsh tug at his steering wheel to prevent himself from crashing into it.

Turning his steering wheel like that - with this speed - was an unforgivable mistake in usual circumstances, but Mika knew he might have saved his own life and the life of the backmarker with the manoeuvre. Mika saw how quickly the tyre wall grew more prominent into his vision. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

His ears were ringing, the faint sound of steam coming from the engine only slightly audible. He could feel the bruises forming along his chest and suspected that it was due to the safety belts that had kept him inside of the car during the crash. It took a couple of blinks to get rid of the blurs and make sense of where he was: Snetterton, August 6, 1989. He smelled the scent of petrol, and quickly unclasped the safety belts that still had him trapped in its bruising hold. Mika could feel his body drop a few centimeters down onto the tarmac, which meant the car had landed upside down. As soon as he had crawled from underneath the wreckage, he started to walk away from his car until the unsteadiness in his legs forced him to drop to his knees.

His limbs were trembling and his heart was racing. It didn't take long for marshals to appear around him, telling him he needed to see professor Sid Watkins. Mika shook his head. What did he need a doctor for?

"No, I am fine. I can walk so I am fine." The tremblings and his heavy breathing had everything to do with his state of shock, didn't it? There was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't hurt.

A marshall grabbed his shoulder. "Mika, see a doctor. You don't know if you're fine until the adrenaline has worn off."

Mika ignored him. He stood up and wandered off in a numbed, apathic state. Feelings and emotions shut off for the moment. He just wanted to reach his motorhome and lie down on his bed. He didn't need a doctor.

On his way to the paddock Mika tried to fend off worried members of his team. He himself had no idea how terrible the accident had looked from their point of view or how much debris had flown over the track. He didn't notice the tyres of the tyre wall strewn across the tarmac. He didn't even register the very obvious fact that the race was red-flagged, meaning that he kept the points for his fith position.

Somehow his efforts to dodge his worried team members were unsuccessful, because before he knew it, he was pushed into Sid Watkins office by his team principal. "Don't be stubborn, Mika."

Mika sat down on the examination table with his race suit unzipped to his waist as Watkins shone into his eyes with a flashlight, making his dilated pupils shrink the seize of thumbtacks.

"Everything seems to be okay. You haven't been unconscious, have you?"

Mika shook his head. "No." He was well aware that he'd crawled away from the wreckage in a matter of seconds. Pure driver instinct. Smelling fossil fuel and running away from it as far as you can.

"Alright." Watkins inspected the bruises on his chest. "Do you have trouble breathing? Did you hurt your ribs?"

Mika shook his head once more. "No, Sir. I am fine. Really."

"Okay, then. I am going to dismiss you, but if you find out about any ailments later, don't hesitate to contact me."

Mika rolled his eyes when the doctor turned around. Was all the fuzz really necessary? He zipped his racesuit back up and jumped off the examination table, ready to hole himself up inside his motorhome, far away from the British press and the nosy people.

On his way back, Mika noticed that there was indeed a lot of press gathered around parc fermé. Really? For a F3 race? He looked at the standings on the electronic board located at the pit exit and noticed Paul Stewart on P1. Of course the English press would love it when the son of Jackie Stewart gets his maiden F3-victory. Mika smiled despite everthing. Good for him.

Jyrki Järvilehto had been absolutely terrified when he saw the crash happen on the tv-screens in the paddock. Contrary to believe, the impeccable, unfazed Finn was shocked to the core. He had watched the car of his beloved catapult through the air by the sheer speed of his car and the heavy impact against the tyre wall. He needed to make sure Mika was ok, so he waited for him at his motorhome.

As soon as he saw his younger compatriot, he took a heavy breath. There he was! Seemingly alright! He ran towards his favourite blondie and pulled him into a tight hug. "Mika, kulta. Are you okay?"

Mika was startled by the swiftness in which the familiar blonde guy standing by the door of his motorhome turned up in front of him and pressed him so tightly against the other's body that he only barely refrained from whimpering against the pain it caused his bruised chest.

"Jyrki! Hi! Where did you come from?"

The older Finn caressed a hand through Mika's fluffy hair and pecked his lips. "I took a plane to England to see you drive. Can't believe you scared me like that though! Are you okay?"

Mika sighed. Why was everyone so worried all the time. Especially Jyrki, he wasn't the type of guy to worry. He is so tough! I can't show any weakness to him. "Yeah, I am fine even with the adrenaline worn off. Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki ruffled Mika's hair and smirked at his adorable, grumpy face. "I don't know if I can, kultaseni." He stroked Mika's cheek with the back of his hand. "I saw the crash. You told me you're physically fine, how are you dealing with it mentally?"

"Not," Mika replied curtly.

"What? 'Not' what?"

"I am not dealing with it mentally, because I don't need to. I am not fazed by a crash like that. There is nothing wrong, Jyrki." His heart banged against his ribcage. He tried to calm it with slow and steady breaths. Anything to not show weakness to his tough compatriot.

"Okay. Fine." Jyrki didn't believe him. This would no doubt have an impact on the younger Finn. Mika couldn't be that stoic, could he? The aftermath of this crash would sent him spiralling soon. Jyrki himself had been there once. "And by the way, you need to call me JJ now."

Mika grinned. "Is that your street name?"

Jyrki slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Tyhmä poika, Keke told me it's better for marketing. You know that, tease."

Mika chuckled. "Come on inside, Jykri."

Jyrki rolled his eyes as he followed the younger Finn into his motorhome. Upon arriving in the living space, he grabbed Mika by his hips and pressed him against a wall. He stared into the boy's sparkling blue eyes and kissed him on the lips with great vigor.

"My handsome kultaseni! I missed you so much."

His finger caressed the lips he just kissed and it downed on him that Mika could have died this late afternoon.

"I can't lose you! You know that?"

"What?"

Jyrki's arms wrapped around Mika's frame and he could feel the slight tremors running through his body. Was that the adrenaline finally wearing off? He grabbed a hand full of the sturdy material of Mika's racesuit and pressed him closer against his body.

When Jyrki let go off him and looked him up and down, he saw tears being held hostage in the corners of his eyes, he saw lips pressed in a thin line, and he saw hands balled into fists. Mika was trying to force his emotions away.

"Ssshhh. Don't do that, Mika."

"Do what?"

"Don't try to act unfazed. Don't hide your fears and emotions for me. You can hide them from the people in the paddock, but not from me."

Mika glared daggers at him, his usual kind eyes glimmering with anger. The squint of his grumpy frown caused the tears he had held hostage to roll down his cheeks. Jyrki couldn't know he was secretly shocked by the crash. "What are you talking about?"

Jyrki swallowed. He felt bad for his beloved who tried so hard to uphold his impassive mask, but the stony facade of it had fractured on all its sides, and tears were leaking through its cracks.

"Don't be angry with me, Mika."

Mika's lips twisted into a pout as more tears flowed down his face, betraying how upset he was.

Jyrki's thumb tracked their damp trails. "I only mean well. All young drivers go through this." His fingers wrapped around Mika's trembling hands, blanketing them in warmth. "I have been there too."

Mika untwisted a hand from Jyki's grip and rubbed it over his chest with a pained frown. Why did his body hurt so much all of a sudden?

Jyrki followed the action with worried eyes. He grabbed Mika's hand. "Hey, are you hurt?"

Mika shook his head. "Not really. Only a little bit."

Jyrki didn't believe him at all. He had been lying before... His fingers let go off Mika's hand and went to the zipper of his racesuit. He swiftly unzipped the overalls down to his boyfriend's waist and rolled his fireproof up to his chest. He swallowed upon seeing the red and purple bruises blooming on his chest. His hand ghosted over the hurt skin.

"The safety belts?"

"Yes, but it's nothing." Mika pushed Jyrki's hands away. "Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki halted Mika and grabbed his hands between his own. "No!" Jyrki said strictly as his voice bellowed through the trailer. "You are hurt and I need to take care of you!"

Mika took a step backwards. He knew the older Finn was very serious. His act of playing unfazed had failed. He had shown way too many emotions for a stoic Finn. Pathetic.

"Lie down on the bed." Jyrki's voice brooked no arguments or excuses.

Mika hesitated only for a second, before he walked to the bed and lay down on top of the blankets quietly.

Jyrki walked towards his beloved and stared at him in admiration. The moisture on his damp cheeks gleamed in the dim lights above his head, his teary-eyes shimmering in the same glow. His sweat-matted blonde hair was sticking in all kinds of directions. He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Jyrkie walked to the fridge and grabbed an icepack. He returned to the bed and pressed the pack against Mika's bare chest.

Mika hissed and shuddered as the cold icepack came in contact with his skin. "This makes it hurt more!" He fumbled with the icepack trying to get rid off it.

"No!" Jyrki lay down on top of him and forcefully pressed the icepack solid in position with his sternum. "Keep it there!"

Mika's cheeks turned a brilliant red, as he stared into Jyrki's beautiful ice-blue eyes. The icepack forgotten due to the heat that spread inside his body.

Jyrki caressed a rosy cheek of his boyfriend's precious face. "You're stubborn, tyhmä poika."

He leaned down and trailed a path of sloppy kisses down the younger Finn's neck, breathing in his scent. "You're my beloved tyhmä poika. Don't ever scare me like that again." His lips trailed further down, sucking a hickey on his collarbone.

When he felt the hickey forming on his skin, Mika's hands tugged at Jyrki's hair. "That will be another bruise, Jyrki!"

Jyrki stood up from the bed and smirked at his boyfriend. "Be glad I didn't suck it somewhere people can see." He stared at Mika and grinned some more. "You must be cold now."

He grabbed the blankets of the bed and started folding them around Mika like a burrito, trapping his arms in the blanket coccoon.

"Jyrki, what are you doing?" Mika giggled as the older Finn lay down on top of him and enveloped him in a solid, octopus-like hold.

Jyrki leaned down and pecked his nose. "Can I offer you some tea or hot chocolate?"

#mika häkkinen #mika hakkinen #jyrki järvilehto #jj letho #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #flatoutin-eaurouge #f1fanfic

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blasooch · 3 months

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GameShire Stopaway: Why the Most Heavily Manipulated Stock on the Market Has Potential to Become a Massive Holding Company

If you've been following Gamestop recently, you know it’s stock market Mortal Kombat. Hedge funds naked shorting ETFs, shares failing to deliver (T+35), and retail traders yolo-ing 401ks. This is not going to end well.

GameStop is, without question, the most manipulated stock on the market. While the extreme volatility makes GME attractive for short-term trading, I strongly believe that under the leadership of their new CEO, Ryan Cohen, along with Larry Chang and the new board of directors, GameStop has significant potential to become a massive holding company. This is my case for "Gameshire Stopaway".

Rewind back to 1964. Berkshire Hathaway was a faltering textile mill that nobody cared about. Plants were closing, layoffs were common, and their core operation was in nonstop decline.

Then came Warren Buffett. He bought it, transformed it into a holding company, and expanded investments across insurance, finance, entertainment, food, construction, and everything else.

Fast forward to today, Berkshire Hathaway is trading at $617,249.90 a share.

"Berkshire’s economic goal remains to be the best investor and partner for our fellow owners, and we will continue to accomplish this by investing in excellent businesses." - WB letter to shareholders (2020)

Just as Buffet transformed a failing textile mill into a colossal holding company, I believe GameStop’s Ryan Cohen, is poised to steer GME on a similar trajectory.

The basic idea of a holding company is to own parts or all of other companies and to let those companies operate autonomously. Like Bershire, GameStop is a registered holding company. Here's why I think they are poised to pivot:

1. Massive Cash Reserves. GameStop has a better price-to-cash valuation than all 100 companies listed in the Nasdaq100 index.

With virtually no debt and $4 billion in cash on hand, they have more cash than AT&T, Starbucks, Verizon, Target, and Delta Airlines.

If GME were to simply drop their $4 billion into a money market with an average APY, the interest alone would outperform their annual net profit from their legacy retail business.

2. The Dream Team. Ryan Cohen, Larry Chang, and the new GME Board of Directors are straight up e-commerce all stars. Cohen, who takes no salary, led the largest e-commerce acquisition of all time (CHWY) and successfully competed against Amazon in a niche e-commerce market.

They are strategically phasing out GME’s legacy retail footprint, closing underperforming stores, reducing overhead, and pivoting into the digital space.

"We are trying to do something that hasn’t been done before: to transform a legacy retailer into a technology company." - Ryan Cohen

While details of GME’s digital strategy aren’t public yet, betting on Ryan, Larry, and a $4 billion dollar war chest is a solid bet.

3. "Subsidiaries Wanted". With so much friggin’ liquidity, GME is not only well-equipped to weather a potential recession, but they are also well-positioned to scoop up acquisitions on the cheap during a market downturn. They are registered holding company ready for subsidiaries.

Based on Ryan and Larry’s history of turning nothing into something, it seems highly unlikely that they will just vault away their cash like Scrooge McDuck. Who would they acquire? We can only speculate. But my gut tells me that Ryan will follow the path of Berkshire, GE, and Icahn, and build a portfolio different than their legacy operation.

GameStop’s new leadership, strong financials, and potential for acquiring subsidiaries makes it a compelling long-term play. Just as Buffet saw the potential in Berkshire, I think Cohen and crew could turn what once was a struggling brick and motor into a ‘Gameshire Stopaway’.

Could I be wrong about all of this? Yes.

Am I qualified to give anyone financial advice? Absolutely not.

Am I betting on Ryan Cohen? Friggin' absolutely.

#gamestop #gme #gme stock #investing #finance #music #gme price stock #stocks

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positivlyfocused · 4 months

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How To Bend The Government To Your Will

The power of government, like the power of everything, lies within you. You can shape the government to your desires. Doing so, however, requires high-level alignment to All That Is. That is, you cannot push against the tide of All That Is. And All That Is is progressive.

All That Is is constantly expanding into more. It voraciously moves in the direction of the undiscovered. All That Is seeks that which is new, that which has never been done before. So if you’re trying to thwart something you think is unfair, immoral or “against nature” or even “against god”, then you push against the tide of All That Is.

Humans have a way of thinking they understand what All That Is is about. They’ve written books about their thinking and called those books “the will of god”. But the god they think is god isn’t that. Sure, there’s wisdom in those books. After all, humans are god in human form.

But because of the nature of “human” a lot of distortion lies in those books too. The trick of getting at the wisdom is knowing the difference between the wisdom and the distortion.

This story details an unfolding thrilling me these last few days. It’s evident of everything you just read. You are the creator of your reality. All of it. That means your government too. Here’s an example of how you can shape it to your will.

Let’s dive in.

Shaping your government flows from your focus

First we must realize the government we experience is uniquely ours. It’s not the same government others experience.

That’s because every point of consciousness exists in its own reality. And that reality emerges from and reflects back to it, the consciousness experiencing it.

This explains again why trying to force others to accept your version of what you want brings difficulty and resistance. People inherently know they create their own reality. So they’ll naturally resist something that isn’t their creation.

And yet, those who don’t know what you just read are willing stooges. Others can easily dupe them into following a “leader” because those people live mainly in a subtle, yet pervasive sense of insecurity. An insecurity that has them reaching for relief from that insecurity through a source external to them. This is what we see with both major political parties and politicians in general. Politicians are happy to be that external source. But politicians also are insecure, which explains why so much churn exists in politics.

But you don’t need involve yourself in any of that to enjoy a government that supports what you desire. You only need to focus on what you want. Focus on what you want purely and with a delicate form of nonchalance, and the government will bend to your desire. It won’t happen instantly, but it must happen if you hold your focus.

That’s what happened with me over the last three years.

^^Many think god will line up against their enemies. They claim that being is on their side. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Deliberate creation springs from one’s emotions

Back in 2021 then president-elect Biden ran on a platform which included forgiving student loan debt. He wasn’t the only one. Several other progressives at the time argued for doing the same. Existing provisions in federal law offered paths to student loan debt forgiveness. But Biden wanted to expand that.

As a holder of student debt myself, I was all for it. The moment candidates began talking about this, I was on board. Indeed, I had a strong sense my student debt would be forgiven. So I held lightly the idea and doing so pleased me. So did the idea. This is a positive sign.

Nearly every new client, when asked the purpose of emotions, gets the answer wrong. Which tells me people don’t understand emotions’ purpose. But this is a crucial bit of information! Without it, humans literally are adrift on a sea of emotions, bobbing around on waves with no control, no rudder, no way to steer a course. Without course selection ability, they remain buffeted by the waves. Waves coming in the form of the latest “breaking” news, or the latest “leader” trying to get their attention, their vote, their money or all of the above.

But those who understand emotions’ purpose enjoy tremendous influence. Not influence over others, although that happens, but influence over their reality. They can literally shape their reality to their desires, thereby becoming deliberate creators.

That’s what I was doing by noticing how pleased I felt while entertaining the idea of the government forgiving my student loan debt.

^^Biden expressing his intents on student loan forgiveness back in 2020.

The soft focus creates manifestation

Now, emotions don’t create reality. Reality emerges as vibration energy assembles about itself along frequencies matching the core vibration. All that happening doesn’t feel like much at first.

Not long after momentum ensues, however, vibration becomes thought. And our brains are designed to interpret evolved or expanded vibration that is thought into thought form. That’s what happens in the process humans call “thinking”.

Our job as humans is to hold that focus on that evolved or expanded vibration. Doing that, we add our own momentum to the unfolding. In time, that focus must move that vibrational expansion into a manifestation; a manifestation our senses interpret as “physical reality”.

So as I felt pleasure thinking this idea of the government forgiving my debt, I focused on the pleasure and the idea. Not with a rigid death grip on the idea, but a soft focus similar to what martial artists practice at advanced levels. Doing that, I could feel momentum increase. What happened next was part of the unfolding.

The following year I had a dream. In the dream I stood in line with others who all were getting their student loan debt forgiven. Here’s my journal entry recording the experience.

^^A dream where I am fulfilling my desire!

Dreams are an important aspect of deliberate creation. Knowing their role adds confidence to the whole process. So the fact I had a dream about having my student loan paid off helped bolster my belief in what was happening.

Nothing can resist momentum

Of course, most republicans were not OK with democrats proposing what they were proposing. In fact, many right wingers even now oppose the idea. Those who claim people should “pull their own weight” and “pay their debts” have no idea what’s happening in All That Is. They’re literally clueless.

I wonder, what did conservatives who think people should “earn their living and pay their debts” do to “earn” their place in reality? How did they earn their being born into the world? How are they earning the air they breathe, or the energy of the sun that warms them and the planet for their benefit? I often wonder how they earned the results of all those who came before them; who dedicated their lives and energy to creating the future; the things and ideas that these people today enjoy?

If conservatives really looked at what’s happening in physical reality, they would see they earn none of what matters most in their lives. Indeed, these things flow to everyone equally in a state of massive abundance. An abundance that is constantly becoming more.

So when republicans started trying to put the kibosh on Biden’s plans to forgive student loan debt, even when their efforts got to the Supreme Court, and those nitwits ruled Biden’s first attempt unconstitutional, I held my focus. I knew this was evidence of “what is” pushing back against what is becoming. And so I stood my vibrational ground, knowing all would unfold as I desired.

Nothing can withstand new momentum once it gets underway. Including momentum of what is. Indeed, because of this, the deliberate creator can experience the “push back” inherent in “what is” not as resistance, but as a sign of things going their way.

How physical matter works

What is, the state of reality in physical, is vibrational momentum at a state actualized into reality. Humans think this state — what is — is the now, the present. But it’s not the present. What is, is the past. It has manifestED. What’s manifestINGis the present moment, the now. And that always trumps “what is” eventually because All That Is ALWAYS wants more.

But what is, the energy inherent in it, enjoys its own momentum. So it kind of pushes back on that which is becoming. That’s a natural part of how physical matter works: it will resist somewhat that which emerges from it. That’s right, what’s becoming ALWAYS emerges from what is. This state of emergence is the contrast Abraham refers to so often.

The problem with human perception is we amplify what is by focusing on it. We also amplify it by reacting to it. Amplification causes what is to persist.

The key to having anything improve is not focusing on physical reality therefore. When we instead focus on what we desire as an emerging reality, we add momentum to and amplify that. Then that happens faster and easier.

That’s what I did when the SCOTUS ruled against Biden’s plans. I knew even the “highest court in the land” can’t stand against that which I create.

The SCOTUS ruling was just last year. More than two years had gone by. I was determined in my focus. I know how reality happens. So I didn’t allow myself to feel daunted by the SCOTUS ruling. Instead, I felt even more committed that my debt would be forgiven.

What happened next convinced me even more.

It’s always about the journey

After the Supreme Court ruling, Biden took a different tack. He found a way around the ruling, thus forgiving some $48B in student debt the same year the court struck down his earlier attempt.

I knew this was a positive sign. Momentum ensued further and by February this year the administration had forgiven over $138B in student loan debt. By this time, I knew the government would forgive my own debt soon.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The best indicator showing that your desired reality is flowing into your experience is that you aren’t thinking about it hardly at all. And when it happens, it just feels like an “of course”. This is especially true for those big manifestations we’re wanting.

That’s because by the time momentum has built to the point of manifestation, you just know it’s happening. After all, this manifesting business isn’t about the manifestations. It’s really about the journey to the manifestation.

Manifestations’ value lie in their unfolding. When we hold a desire, we summon life force through us. That feeling of life force flowing is what puts the eternal in eternity. So the more desires we have, the more we contribute to All That Is. This explains why people have so many desires!

The problem for many people is they don’t know what you’re reading. So they don’t know how to line up and receive what they’re creating. And that explains why things often take a long time to improve: people aren’t lining up with their desire. So they die without real-izing their desires. Meanwhile, future generations get to experience them. So it’s all good!

Feeling great feels great

All the while, as the administration forgave people’s loans, they said eligible people would get an email from the Department of Education. So on Friday, when I received my email, I wasn’t surprised at all. Instead, I just felt really, really pleased. Pleased and confident that “I did this.”

^^My email from the Department of Education.

It was an “of course” when I saw it in my inbox. But it also indicated something else. With the doubling of my clients, and the increase in the rate I’m charging clients, I’m doing very, very well in manifesting money in my life. Indeed, I’m on track to enjoying a six-figure income from my client practice.

In addition to that, I have other manifestations in the works regarding money. Really big, exciting manifestations. And I know this student loan forgiveness manifestation is a stepping stone along that path to financial abundance.

With this forgiveness I’m officially debt-free. That feels great. My plans for my financial future are HUGE. And thinking about them, like I thought about this student loan forgiveness manifestation, means they, too, are unfolding…all in perfect timing.

But what really feels great is the feeing of feeling great. It is the epitome of life experience. The Charmed Life I write about is the feeling I’m describing here. Sure, the manifestations are fantastic. But what really feels great is the ongoing feeling of improved mood. A feeling of joy, of confidence, of clarity.

Clarity that I am a deliberate creator. One who creates their reality deliberately. There’s nothing better than that.

#positive thinking #positivevibes #spiritualawakening #positivity #spirituality #positivethinking #spiritual life #spiritualgrowth #happiness #student loans #politics

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edenspetals · 2 years

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This weekend is gonna be a rough weekend can I request some dre fluff? Doesn't matter what it is I want dragon daddy to hold me in his arms

·⊰ pairing. dreandre / reader

·⊰ summary. dreandre finds you in the dead of night within the kitchen and immediately senses that something is wrong

·⊰ notes. I really hope that your weekend gets better!! I also hope that this helps at least a little bit <3

The feeling of a soothing chill engulfs your form as two strong arms now find themselves around you. A pair of icy lips find the crook of your neck and you exhale as the tension, that you had not realised was building up, suddenly released from your muscles. In turn, you lean back into the new presence and delve into the affection spread across your neck.

“It is far too late for you to be here, dearest.’’

His deep voice sounds so soft as it rumbles against your skin. Once more, cold lips press a kiss just below your ear and you cannot help but shiver as you lean further into the countertop. “Forgive me, I just have a lot on my mind. I thought maybe a snack would help.’’

All you receive is a hum before large hands turn you around and slide down to the backs of your thighs. Effortlessly, he lifts you up and sets you upon the counter after the tip of his tail swipes away whatever utensils you had been using. On instinct, you bring your hands to lay upon his collarbone, yet avoid his gaze altogether. “I hope I haven't worried you. I assumed you’d be busy with the scrolls.’’

Fingers, strong yet delicate in touch, take your chin between his thumb and index before he raises your head so that your eyes meet amber slits. “Is that the truth?” Despite his lowered voice, it still held some semblance of sternness which prompts you to clear your throat.

It was always so nerve-wracking to lie to a literal deity.

“Of course, Dre.’’ In an attempt to steer him away from any suspicion, you use your little nickname for him. However, it appears that your luck ran out as you witness slitted pupils constrict.

“Let me reiterate,’’ he leans in, some of his white hair tickling at your skin. “Do you think that you can lie to me?”

There was no helping it, not when he had you trapped in a corner. So with a hushed sigh, you bring your arms to hook around his neck and bury your head into his white robes. “I just don’t want to bother you, is all.’’ You’re well aware of how muffled your voice is, but you know that he can hear you — as emphasised by the gentle hold that you soon feel at the back of your head.

“You have been really busy lately and I — I just. . . Miss you. That’s all.’’

Silence.

For a moment you think you’ve messed up.

He’s a divine being, of course he has duties. How can you be so —

“Look at me.’’

It takes all your courage but you eventually draw your head away from his robes, albeit hesitantly, and look up at him as asked. The hand that was at the back of your head trails down, fingers gently taking your face in their hold before he leans in and presses the softest of kisses to your lips. Enough to relax your nerves and quell any doubt within the pit of your stomach.

He pulls you up once more, slipping both arms down to now support your thighs and legs around him as he holds you in such a way that leaves you a little raised above him. Your arms move back so that you can cup his jaw with both hands — dishing back the passion that he poured into the kiss.

He parts, slightly, so that his lips still brush against yours. “You needn’t worry yourself with such falsehood,’’ the dragon mutters, pecking your lips before speaking again. “I can always find time in my day for you, dearest.’’

Any sliver of doubt melts away and you nod in the slightest. It is then that the arms around you manoeuvre in such a way to position you so that your legs are now draped over one of his arms and your back rests against his other. He steps away from the kitchen, carrying you bridal style through the jade-decorate halls.

“I believe that some rest is in order. Allow me to take care of you for the night.’’ As he speaks, you lay your head upon his chest and curl into his comforting coldness. In return, he bundles you closer and does not break the contact even when you reach his chambers. Instead, he places you on the bed and slips beside you so that an arm hooks around your middle and the tip of his tail drapes over your thighs.

“Will you rely on me when your heart is troubled, dearest?” He questions as he brings his chin to rest atop your head. You cannot find words, so you only hum and take his robes between your fingers as you shut your eyes.

“Then I assure you that I will care for you with all of mine.’’ Dreandre mutters, dipping his head to press a kiss to the top of your hair before returning back to the cuddling position.

·⊰ masterlist.

·⊰ buy me a coffee?

·⊰ taglist form. @kiatheinsomniac @rurifangirl @mikkies @squacthy77

#— ꒰🥀꒱ 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 ៸៸ dreandre ଓ.°#monster x reader #terato #terato x reader #dragon x reader #dragon boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster boyfriend x reader #dragon oc #monster oc #oc x reader #oneshot #writing

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lunaevangeline · 3 years

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Haikyuu Boys

What random things he will do with you in the middle of the night

Iwaizumi

When you text him that you couldn't sleep that night, a few minutes later you can hear a low sound of a car engine. It's his car in front of your apartment! Hastily, you go down to the lobby and reach your boyfriend's car. "Hi!" he throws a wide grin, an enchanting grin you kept falling for everyday. "It's 2 a.m. in the morning, Haji! Are you crazy?" "But you can't sleep either right?" he raised his eyebrows, increasing the attractive level fold times. You hummed and nodded in agreement, "You're right". "Then how about late-night drives with me, princess?" you chuckle, "You sure are amusing, Hajime". You open his car and sit comfortably on the passenger seat. "So, where are we going to go?" you glance at his silhouette. His arms flex from holding the steering wheel and eyes are piercing on the road ahead. He let out a chuckle and shrugs, "Wherever it leads us". "You don't mind being lost right?" he retorts to ensure. "Of course", you lean your head on his shoulder and wrap arms around his biceps, "As long as I'm with you", both of you smile in contentment. A slow song plays on the radio and you two start singing together along the way. A midnight drive with him is just perfect.

Osamu

You kept changing your sleep position uncomfortably, you can't sleep soundly that night. Osamu whose arm loosely embraces your figure notice it. "What is it, baby? Ya couldn't sleep?" "Ah, sorry I woke you up. It's okay, go back to sleep, Samu" you caressed his cheek and give him a quick peck on the lips. "Ya know, I'm a bit hungry now that I'm awake", you chuckle, burying your face on his broad chest. "Do ya want some soup?" he continues. You look up at him with a gleam, "How can I deny my beloved's cook?". He smiled at you fondly and rises from the bed, hand holding yours to guide you into the kitchen. When you two are settled in the kitchen, he grabs some ingredients from the fridge and starts to chop the vegetables. On the other hand, you play a song from your Spotify: a dream is a wish your heart makes. "Another Disney playlist?" he let out a small chuckle. You hum, "Cuz I already found my prince charming", hugging him from behind. "With a knife rather than a sword?" "Yeah, much perfect", you two let out a giggle. "Need some help babe?", you asked. "No, just sit pretty please." "Then, I'd rather cling to you while waiting", you continue hugging him and humming the cinderella song.

Atsumu

"Wanna grab cup noodles and beers?" Atsumu, who you thought is already sleeping behind your back, asked. You roll to face him, "Huh? Why so random Tsumu?" "You look so restless", he pouts with eyes full of concern. You smile, caressing his cheek lovingly, "Sorry to make you worry, Tsum. But I think a bit of fresh air will help". "Okay, let's go!" you are ready to go but before you can leave, he holds your hand "Wait, babe! Please wear this, this, and this!" Atsumu makes you wear a set of a black hoodie, black mask, and a glasses. He whines that he wanted a matching outfit to go out but turns out the matching outfit has gone wrong. You can feel a cautious gaze from the cashier. You nudge his arm by your elbow, eye glancing at the cashier, "That's why I told ya not to wear these outfits", you whispered. "Why? It's cute, we're cute as hell!" You snorted, "Yeah cute like criminals". "No babe, we kinda teach a moral value right here. Don't judge a book by its cover", you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's silly thought. But besides, you know he just tried to cheer you up and it really warms your heart. A cup of instant noodles and beer is indeed a comfort food, especially when you have it with him, giggling and snorting in front of the convenience store at 1 a.m.

Ushijima

"What is it? You seem haven't been asleep yet", even he doesn't look at you directly, he can sense that you've been awake from the pace of your breath. "I don't know, I cannot sleep, Toshi". He hums, hand tucking the strands of your hair behind your ear, "How about we try to do other things? Like watching a film?". You nodded in agreement, "Sounds good". Then, he stands up and carries you in his arm, walking into the living room and placing you comfortably on the couch. "What do you want to watch, love?" You pause to think before met a decision. "How about we watch a horror movie?" "Yeah that's okay with me", he nods and puts one of a disk in the CD player. The two of you decide to watch a horror movie about a nun. Ushijima places his hand around you and you lean your head on his shoulder. While watching, you can hear his blunt comments like: "Wow she looks sick, is she okay?" "Toshi, it's the ghost" "Oh". And along the movie, you are the only one who screams and shudder. Wakatoshi stays still, poker-face, and doesn't bother by any screams or strange voices - sure nothing can scare the great Ushiwaka. When the movie ends you're already turned into a human roll and he brings you back to bed. "Don't worry, nothing to fear as I'm with you", he comforts you with cuddles and soft kisses.

Oikawa

"Mi amor, are you still awake?" You got a sudden midnight call from your boyfriend, Oikawa. "If not, who's the one talking to you right now?" you retort. He chuckles in response, "Of course of course. Then meet me in front of your dorm" before you answer he already ended the call, seems like you don't have any other options except following him. When you open the lobby door, you can find him in a pair of grey sweat pants and a black hoodie - he looks good in it. He waves at you and throws a grin. "What's up, Tooru?" "Wanna join me to stargazing?" you chuckle at his random idea, but who doesn't love it. "Alright!" You follow him side by side as he takes your hand in his, it spread warmth in the middle of the cold night. "How do you know that I'm still awake, Tooru?" "By telepathy I guess", you smack his shoulder murmuring "silly" then you laugh off together. The stargazing spot is not far away, a small hill that is only 10 minutes away from your dormitory. The place is dark with a minimum lamplight. You are astonished by how the minimum light pollution can enhance the beautiful night sky. "Such a breathtaking view", you gasp. "Right?", he smiles in amusement. But actually, the man in front of you is also a breathtaking view though you only vaguely see him in the darkness. "If you watch carefully at the Taurus constellation tonight, you may catch a shooting star", he pointed at a star pattern that looks like a horn. "Really?" you were excited because it is your first time hunting a shooting star. "Then, what would you like to ask the shooting star?". He let out a small giggle, "Why do you have to ask something to merely a comet dust, attracted by the Earth gravity and burnt by the atmosphere friction?" "Besides, I already have it. All I have been wished for", he holds your hand, looking into your eyes love sickly.

Bokuto

"Kou, I can't sleep", you roll your side to face him, meeting his golden orbs that are still wide awake. "Me too", he answers, pausing for a moment until he gleams from an idea. "Do you want to play with me, baby?" "What do you want to play, Kou?" "Board games!" he replies excitedly. Now you are in the living room together, playing a very classical board game - a monopoly. During the game, he grunts when he accidentally got into jail and whines if you can spare him (but of course not because it's the game rule). And he snorts because you ended up having more assets than him. "Uhh how can I lose to my girlfriend!" you giggle at his adorable pouts. But he hasn't given up yet, "Okay, let's change the game" "Alright if you think you can beat me" "Uh meanie, I challenge you to play twister! I'm very confident with my athletic skill". So there you are, together with Bokuto trying so hard to keep on a weird position in the middle of the night. When you finally stumble and lose your balance, you ended up falling into him and you two bursting a laugh. You nuzzled your head on his chest, his arms are now wrapping your figure and hands are combing your mane. "Okay Bo, you won. Why don't we just go to bed and cuddle?" "Good idea", he helps you by picking you up with a bridal style. "But hey! I deserve kisses for winning, right?" you smile fondly at him, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him into a kiss, "Of course, as much as you want".

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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Deflowered Part Five

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Count: 9.3k

Warnings: baseball stuff, Zeke being mildly condescending, smut, filming (dubious consent), Zeke’s ego, cumshots, cum eating (barely), jealousy, Christmas festivities, mentions of alcohol, goofy white elephant gifts, mentions of angst, new cover stories, brief dacryphilia, desperate fucking

A/N: this is my first piece of the new year, and i don’t know how to feel about it. anyway, hope it holds up and that y’all are still enjoying. i introduce hitch in this chapter and mention her relationship with one Nile Dok. if you aren’t comfortable with that, you should turn around because they will become a larger part of this fic. other than that, thanks for all the support on this fic and enjoy~

The pitching machine makes you flinch with every ball it launches into the cage, your shoulders jumping slightly, eyes widening then growing even more when the sound of ringing aluminum echoes into the evening sky.

Zeke nods to himself as the ball slams into the fence then wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt and drops back into his batting stance. And, you just watch him, the way his spine curves, the way his biceps press against the material of his sweatshirt, the way one hand lets go of the bat after every hit so that the metal swings back and forth just slightly–and it’s such an odd little detail to fixate on, but fuck, it’s hot for some reason.

Once the last ball has fallen to the ground, Zeke turns to look at you, mouth pulling up on one side as he walks over to where you’re shivering in his jacket. Shivering yet hot all over. Just like you always are when you’re with him.

“Thought you were a pitcher,” you tell him when he closes in enough for you to blink up at him. “Why’re you so good at batting?”

He chuckles as he leans the bat up against the fence next to you. “Those hits might look good to the untrained eye,” he starts, tapping your cold nose with the tip of his finger, “But I assure you not a single one would’ve been a homerun. Few fouls in there too, I bet.”

“To the untrained eye,” you mimic with a roll of said eyes, but you’re still fighting a smile.

Zeke stoops, his hand warm from his previous grip on the bat as it slides to the back of your neck, and then he’s kissing you, heated body pressing you into the chain link for just a moment before he’s gone, and you are even colder than before.

“Alright, you’re up,” he says as he steps back, picking up the bat he’d only just set down and holding it out to you. “Let’s see whatcha got.”

You make a face, shake your head because even though you are more than happy to watch Zeke practice, you have no desire to face sixty-mile-per-hour baseballs head on.

“Come on,” he tries. “It’s not like I’m gonna make fun of you. Plus, it’ll probably warm you up.”

“You know what else will warm me up?” His eyes flash, and you snicker because, for once, that is not where your brain is. “Okay, I was thinking of the heater in the Bronco, but that would work too.”

He hums as if contemplating–what, you do not know–then shoves the bat into your hands and pulls you away from the fence to steer you toward the little square that’s supposed to be home plate.

“Alright, before I load the balls, show me your stance.”

Frowning, you try to imitate the position he had been in just moments ago, knees bent, shoulders back, lean forward a little. Zeke pushes his lips out in consideration as he glances over you, mutters a short, “Not terrible,” then moves to correct everything that’s wrong. Squatting, he pats your right leg and tells you to scoot it back a few more inches, then he takes hold of your hips to center them, straightens up and presses against your sternum so that you straighten a little more, until your body feels to be in an even less natural stance than before.

“Is the point to be as uncomfortable as possible?” you ask as Zeke slides behind you, arms curling around yours so that he can modify your hold on the bat.

He snorts. “No, smartass. A strong stance increases the likelihood of a strong hit while also lessening the chances of injury.”

“Says the guy who fucked up his elbow playing.”

“Okay firstly,” he speaks into your ear, making goosebumps spring up all over your body, “I hurt myself pitching, thank you, and secondly, you are sassy tonight.”

“‘m just cold,” you pout. He’s lucky you’re just in the mood to tease and not in the mood to whine because that has been known to happen. That said, you can’t imagine letting yourself act like a baby or a bitch with Zeke, still so concerned with what he thinks of you.

“Just hit a few, and then we can go warm up at the house,” he promises before leading you in a gentle swing, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good to have him so close, chest against your back, his frame moving with yours as he gets you used to the angle. A few hits will definitely be worth going back to his place and getting even closer.

A heavy helmet is placed on your head, the foam on the inside crushing your ears against your head and muffling Zeke’s voice when he smirks, “You’re cute,” but you can still read his lips and therefore still blush.

The first pitch makes you shriek which isn’t surprising to either of you. It just flies at you so fast. Zeke laughs, tossing the next ball back and forth as he waits for you to shake it off, and once you pace for a second and calm down, you return to the painted square and nod at him.

This time you don’t scream, but you do still step out of the way and laugh a little hysterically.

“Baby, just swing,” Zeke calls out, clearly amused as he grins and pushes hair from his face.

“I’m trying!”

About to drop the third ball into the machine, he reminds you, “Just keep your eye on it, then swing once it’s in range.”

He’s definitely oversimplifying it, and it makes you squint at him, but… you really want to get back to the house.

“Okay, fine, fine, load the next one.”

You’re able to make contact with the ball, but only barely as it pops up above your head in what you know would be a foul or a ball or something else not at all impressive.

“Hey, that’s progress,” Zeke comments. “Steady improvement.”

“Thanks, coach,” you can’t help but reply sarcastically, and it makes him raise an eyebrow, mouth twisting to possibly fight a smile. “Next, please.”

Two pitches later, you finally manage to really slam into one. The bat vibrates and sings in your palms, and the fence rattles where it’s hit, and Zeke lets out an enthusiastic, “That’s my girl!” that makes pleasure run down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

He has no idea the effect he has on you. No idea.

“One more?”

You nod, trying not to stare too hard at his bright, handsome face as he readies another pitch, and when you hit it this time, his excited, “Fuck yes,” makes you giggle.

Anxiety mostly drained and with a better grasp of the rhythm, you let Zeke load up three more, trying not to look too smug when you hit all of them.

“Little pro over here,” he plays when you both start to clean up, filling the cart with all the stray baseballs. “Gonna have to get you your own jersey.”

“Or, I could just wear yours,” you murmur, bent over as you grab the last bit of equipment.

When you straighten back up, it’s to find Zeke a few feet away, his light eyes trained on you, lips parted until he speaks again, “You’d wear it better than I ever did. That’s for fucking sure.”

You laugh in your throat, heat rising to your face. “Doubtful.”

You’ve seen a few photos from his pro days on his instagram, and you will not soon be forgetting the way your mouth had literally watered at each one–that dark red jersey, white pants gathered up at the knees to show black socks and messy cleats. Even his silly little sports glasses were attractive to you. It’s ridiculous.

The ball cart and bat are pushed back into the corner of the cage, then you make your way back to Zeke’s car, the only one in the parking lot of the high school. The batting cages, tennis courts, and soccer field are all open to the public on weekends–not exactly your idea of a perfect date, but you’ll do pretty much anything Zeke asks you to at this point just as long as it means hanging out with him. Besides, you didn’t have a bad time. It was actually pretty fun once you stopped sucking.

“Oh hey, did Eren ever let you know if they made it in okay?” you ask, getting situated in the passenger seat, Zeke holding the door open as he watches you.

“Yeah,” he nods. “He texted me a couple hours ago. They all made it just fine.”

“Good.”

The younger Jaeger as well as a few of your friends are spending the better part of the holiday break at his parents’ in Cape Cod. You and Marco were also invited, but you both had to turn down the offer due to work. Your brother is more than a little disappointed considering Jean is one of the people tagging along, but you can’t say you’re all that upset considering it means Zeke has the house to himself for the next two weeks. The crew had left this afternoon, and not an hour later, you’d gotten a text from him.

It’s exciting. The idea of being able to spend more time with him has you tingling in more ways than one. You’ll have to think of a few different cover stories to make sure you don’t get caught, but, well, you’ve always been creative.

It’s completely dark outside by the time you get to the house, and the lack of lighting inside makes the two of you fumble for a moment until Zeke finds the switch with one hand while the other closes around your hip. Your packed bag is still sitting on the couch where you left it before heading to the cages–clothes, shampoo, everything you need to feel at least somewhat comfortable for a night or two.

You ate a couple hours ago, food nice and settled at this point which means…

“I’m gonna run and shower since I got a little sweaty back there,” Zeke says, pulling you close when he asks, “Wanna hop in with me?”

“You really have to ask?”

That smirk is back, the one that makes your stomach flip.

“Don’t wanna be too pushy with you.”

You can be as pushy as you want, you think. Tell me whatever you want me to do.

Shoes are kicked off, sweatshirts and jackets tossed over the couch as the two of you make your way upstairs to Zeke’s bathroom. He strips his shirt off then bends to turn the water on, and as his eyes are averted you take off your own top and bra, still self-conscious when he turns back to you and stares for a solid five seconds. Just to avoid his gaze, you shimmy out of your jeans and panties, but as soon as you’re no longer at risk of tripping, your attention is forced back to Zeke when he lifts your chin.

“You don’t have a single clue how sexy you are, do you?” His voice is soft, thoughtful, and it makes your throat a little tight.

“I–”

You know you aren’t painful to look at, but… sexy? To Zeke Jaeger?

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbles just before shoving his own pants down. When he straightens again, he huffs out a delighted, “Lucky for you, I have no issue in showing you.”

He motions to the shower, stepping in after you and crowding you against the wall. The tile is chilled enough to make you gasp, but the spray of the water is nearly scalding, and the almost painful dichotomy is not lost on you, reminds you so much of what is happening between you and the man whose hands are roaming your body–that cold feeling in the pit of your stomach versus sweltering desire.

Lips trail over your temple and down your cheek until they find yours, soft from being chewed on in the cold. You hum into him, a content sound that never fails to make Zeke smile, and then his tongue is in your mouth, and his fingers are gently toying with one of your nipples, and you’re lost in him all over again–a storm you’re never entirely prepared for.

You run a hand down his chest, the ridges of his abs, until you grip his hardening cock in a loose fist and start to pump him in a leisurely way that makes him groan deep in his throat. Zeke rocks his hips forward softly, chasing friction as he strokes over your tongue. His fingers thread through your damp hair and slowly tighten as he breaks away, pulling your head to the side so that he can attach himself to your neck.

The way your body undulates between him and the wall is completely involuntary, and you feel that ache settle deep inside of you, that familiar throb.

“Want you,” you hear him grunt into your skin, and those words paired with the desperate way he’s rutting into your hand leaves you breathless. “Wanna be so deep in this sweet pussy, wanna watch my cock stretch you out…”

Your pathetic whine sounds too loud when the fingers playing with your nipples drop to the place between your legs, Zeke petting your folds for a moment before moving to your clit and giving it a gentle flick.

“You can–you ca–fuck, Zeke…”

It’s incredible, how fast he can make you unravel, nothing but putty in his hands as he plays with you.

Caught in a hungry kiss, you moan into Zeke’s mouth as he traces around your entrance, but before either of you can get too invested, he pulls back and sighs, “Water makes the worst lube,” then shows a devious little smile and shuts the shower off. “We can rinse off again later–actually bathe once we have something to wash off.”

An image flashes through your mind, one of yourself, all messy hair and rolling eyes with your chest splattered with cum, and you want all of that and more right now.

You barely run a towel over yourselves before prancing into the bedroom, your back against the mattress in record time as Zeke delves between your thighs, his tongue like a dream as he laps at your pussy.

“Already wet for me, baby?” he teases, sliding a finger inside of you with ease and placing a kiss on your swelling clit when your back arches.

“Always,” you breathe, and the sensation of his beard rubbing against sensitive flesh makes you groan and leak.

A sharp sort of warmth spreads quickly between your hips as Zeke massages that spot inside of you, and you can feel his eyes on you as he tongues at your clit, only pausing to ask, “You’re always wet for me?”

You release a short, airy laugh, unable to focus when you answer, “I–oh–k-kinda–fuck, might as–might as well be.”

“You think of me that much?” he pries, and his voice is so low, a dangerous tone that makes you shudder.

“So much,” you whimper when he sucks on the bundle of nerves. “T-too much. All the time.”

Your euphoria is loosening your tongue, but you can’t help it. You’re drunk off of it, off of him, his tongue and his fingers and the way he growls in satisfaction.

He makes you come like that, hips twitching so that your dripping pussy glides over his lips and chin as you clench around his finger, Zeke muttering the whole time, “Come for me, come for me, there we go, just like that,” and immediately sucks your clit back into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue over it and watching as you tremble in his hold.

Once he’s had his fill, he sits up on his elbows, looking nothing but pleased as you stare at him and pant.

“Need a break?”

You shake your head and move to pull him back to your face, uncaring of the mess as you kiss him deeply, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder as you reach down with the other, wrapping around his cock and guiding him to your pussy.

“Want me that bad?” he chuckles, biting his lip when his tip slips inside of you, and his words are a little strained when he lightly mocks, “You my cock-hungry little girl now?”

Locking your ankles around his back, you force him to slide in the rest of the way. It’s too much, too fast, makes you cry out, but it’s so good. Always so fucking good.

“Fuck, baby,” he wears, sitting still for a few seconds. “Gonna make me come too fast if you keep doing shit like that.”

You offer him a blitzed smile, swallowing back the drool that’s pooled in your mouth because that stretch–that fucking stretch. It burns, and you’re so aware of how thin you’re spread around him, but you feel so full, so whole, all your empty spaces finally accounted for and stuffed to your liking.

Zeke’s rhythm starts off slow but quickly picks up. On his knees, he presses your thighs to your chest, opening you up for him and ogling your pussy, the way you, “... take me so well, fuck, you have no idea… you have a perfect cunt–Christ–”

His weight disappears as he pulls out and tugs your hips up higher, leaving you resting on the the top of your spine as he buries his tongue inside you again.

“Oh my god, Zeke–”

He’s messy, rabid as he eats you out. The wet sounds of his mouth on your sloppy pussy ring loudly in your ears, only serving to get you more worked up, make you tense and relax over and over until Zeke drops you on the blankets again.

Just as he’s lining himself up, a thought seems to strike him, and the grin that takes over his flushed face actually has you a little scared.

“One second.”

You watch as he rolls off the bed and walks to his closet then listen to the clack and slide of plastic hangers until Zeke finds what he’s looking for.

When he re-emerges with one of his old jerseys, you try to hide your giggle behind your hand, telling him, “I was mostly joking earlier, you know.”

“Mostly being the keyword,” he counters as he holds it out to you.

You eye it for a while, reach out to feel the material and muse, “You know this is probably worth, like, a considerable amount of money, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Put it on.”

Clicking your tongue, you shrug and do as you’re told, unbuttoning the jersey and swinging it around your shoulders so that you can slip your arms through the sleeves. It’s very large on you, hangs down to your thighs when you stand up. You don’t bother closing the top, letting the Warriors lettering and logo remain halved where they fall over your chest.

Zeke is staring at you like a predator, irises the color of ice now mostly black from blown pupils, and you can’t help but laugh, “Is this an ego thing?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he answers shamelessly before twirling a finger. “Spin.”

You do. Slowly. Make sure he gets a view of the curve of your ass just barely peeking out from under the top, and before you’re even facing him again, Zeke has you bent over the bed, cock cleaving you open, hand keeping your face pressed into the comforter.

His rhythm is ruthless, hitting just where you need him to and making fluid dribble from your abused hole—fuck, fuck, he’s so good, feels so good, it makes you scream.

“Knew you’d wear this better than I ever did,” he groans, speech slurred as he traces over the large numbers sewn into the back of the jersey. “So fucking cute, drives me insane. This pussy—” he delivers an especially deep thrust that makes your jaw drop and eyes roll, “—drives me insane.”

If you weren’t stoned off sex, you might be offended at being called cute while face down, ass up, but considering Zeke’s cock is currently giving you tunnel vision, you can’t exactly complain.

You stay in that position for a while longer, drooling into the sheets while he gives your bouncing ass a few spanks, not too rough as if he’s testing the waters. Then, he flips you, gazing down at your sopping cunt when he pushes in before his eyes travel up to your tits.

An animal-like sound leaves Zeke's chest, and he bends over, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and nibbling while pinching the other. The ridge of his cock keeps pressing into your g-spot, and the thatch of blond curls at his base keep rubbing over your sensitive clit, and soon you’re fisting both hands in his wavy hair and coming, body uncoiling all at once as your core muscles spasm around him.

You moan through every crest and trough, fucked through your orgasm until you’re nothing more than a rag doll taking everything Zeke still has to give you.

You open bleary eyes just in time for him to reach for his phone on the nightstand, the angle of his cock inside of you changing as it pushes into soft, gummy walls.

“Fuck—wha—”

“Smile for me,” Zeke coos, and you’re able to focus on the particular way he’s holding his phone, little camera lenses pointing directly at you. You feel your lips part in surprise, a protest on the tip of your tongue, but then he’s rocking his hips into yours again, and you’re helpless.

“Such a messy, creamy pussy,” he comments, fingers of his free hand dancing over your clit and around your hole. “Did I make you feel good, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke, mouth curving the way he wants it to, but the camera isn’t on your face for long as he plays with your overstimulated cunt, fucking into you slowly now and focusing his phone on the way his cock slides in and out of you. When Zeke pulls out entirely, you can feel the way your hole shrinks with its emptiness only to open back up when he presses in again.

He draws it out a little longer before ending the video and tossing his phone to the side, then starts fucking you with renewed vigor, muttering the whole time—how good you are, how soft you feel, how he could fuck you every day—until he tears himself away and begins stroking his cock, white shooting from his tip almost immediately, painting your stomach in warm lines.

He’s so sexy when he comes, it makes you dizzy—eyes screwed shut, jaw dropped and sliding forward. His upper lip curls ever so slightly, showing off incisors and making him look primal, and his hair is completely out of place, hanging over his eyes and sticking out in odd directions.

He’s stunning, and you are hopeless.

You’re not surprised when he reaches for his phone once he’s done, panting and shaky as he opens his camera app again, only this time he just takes a few pictures. You contemplate covering your face, aware that if these ever got out you would be in deep shit, but you don’t think Zeke is that type of guy—more of a private collector.

So, you just stare into the lense, eyes heavy as you bite your bottom lip, eventually growing bold enough to dip a finger in the puddle of cooling cum and bring it to your mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Zeke croaks, and you grin around your fingertip.

He puts his phone down on his nightstand then grabs a few tissues to clean you off, tossing them in the trash can afterward. You let him pull you to your feet, let him hold your face and kiss you again and again as you melt in his grip.

“I’m so fucking obsessed with you, it’s stupid,” he mutters into your lips.

Coming from anyone else, you might be alarmed, put-off, but considering this is Zeke, you just giggle, brush it off as post-orgasm endorphins. He’s being dramatic and silly, but you’re happy to bask in it until he comes back to his senses.

It’s a Wednesday evening—Christmas Eve eve—and Zeke finds himself at a familiar restaurant bar surrounded by his usual band of merry idiots. Six PM and Reiner is already sloshed, too loud as he slings his arm around Bertholdt and flirts with the little bartender in a way that makes her give him a pitying look. Porco is off for the night, sitting on a stool next to his brother and pouting about not being able to drink at his place of employment.

The high table a little off to the side is where Zeke has posted up, Annie on one side of him and her new friend, Hitch, on the other. They’re talking about something—or Hitch is, anyway—and Zeke is trying to keep track, but it’s impossible when you keep walking past him with that little fucking smile of yours.

Given the holidays, company policy must allow for some leniency with the dress code because you’re walking around in tight jeans and a dark green sweatshirt designed to look like a Christmas sweater. An image of Michael Scott is plastered on the front as well as the quote Well, happy birthday, Jesus. Sorry your party’s so lame, which definitely got a chuckle out of Zeke when he first saw it (though, it’s nowhere near as funny as Bertl’s Shrek The Halls sweater).

You seem to be closing out your last table, another server having come in to relieve you about twenty minutes ago, and then you’ll be free to go to the back and drop whatever cash you owe then head to the apartment with everyone else.

The idea to pregame for the little Christmas party/gift exchange had been Reiner’s (of course), and when Ymir mentioned you were working today it only made sense to come to Garrison’s—

“That way I can just drive her back here when she’s off, and everything’ll be squared away—ready to party hardy!”

“Something tells me you won’t be driving anyone anywhere,” Zeke had grumbled after Reiner, and now, watching him scribble what must be sloppy digits on a coaster before sliding it to the bartender, Zeke knows he was correct in his earlier assumption.

Typical.

It’ll be a good time, though. Even if his friends are drunk and stupid, Zeke knows he’ll enjoy himself since you’ll be there. He may not be able to indulge as he’d like to, but he’ll make do. He can control himself if he must.

The next time you pass through the bar, you stop right in between the high table and Reiner’s stool, letting the whole group know, “I’m gonna do my drop, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Guess that means I gotta close my tab, huh…”

“Yeah,” you fake sympathy as you pat Reiner’s back. “Sorry, bud.”

He heaves a heavy sigh only to flash a huge smile at you and shrug, “It’s cool, I’ll just drink all your cousin’s liquor when we get back to your place.”

It makes you laugh, which makes Reiner laugh, which makes Zeke squint and run his tongue over his teeth as he watches.

The somewhat oafish blond has always had a knack for irritating him (they’d almost come to blows when they first met), but this, this giggling and playful shoving—oh, Zeke doesn’t like this at all. He doesn’t like seeing the way Reiner plucks the felt reindeer antlers from your head to put them on his own, doesn’t like seeing the way you smile and tell him, “They suit you very well,” and he definitely doesn’t like the way Reiner winks at you in return.

“Does he flirt with everyone when he’s drunk?” Hitch asks, forcing Zeke’s attention away from you.

Annie waves a hand and answers, “Mostly, yeah. It’s way better than the alternative. I promise you.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“If Reiner is drunk, he’s doing one of two things,” Annie explains casually, “He’s either trying to get into someone’s pants, or he’s crying in a corner somewhere. Like, literally. Weeping.”

Zeke snorts while Hitch takes on a sympathetic expression and lets out a little, “Aw. The hot ones are always weird and tortured.”

“Don’t know about tortured, but weird for sure,” Zeke drawls, tracking you as you move through the bar and disappear into the back.

Ten minutes pass before you re-emerge, purse over your shoulder and a renewed pep in your step at having finished your shift. Everyone else is paid out and ready to go, spreading out in the parking lot as you announce, “Mir and Marco should already be there. They both got off at five,” and then you’re all splitting up into different vehicles.

Porco drove to work, so Marcel joins him in his pickup truck. Annie, Bertl, and Reiner are basically a package deal, and since Hitch is more familiar with Annie than anyone else, she naturally clings to that group as well, though she does still look at you with a cocked head and offers, “We can make some room! It’s a small car, but you can sit on my lap if ya’ want!”

Zeke comes close to protesting, doesn’t exactly appreciate the assumption that you’re uncomfortable at having to be alone with him, but he can sort of understand the concern. Girls have to watch each other’s backs and all that.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, glancing up at Zeke and adding, “He taxis my friends and me around all the time, so I’m used to almost dying in his car.”

With a scoff, Zeke shoulders into you, but he has to admit, your air of casualness is to be admired. You look cool as a cucumber. For now.

Hitch hums a dismissive, “If you say so,” then follows the others to Reiner’s beat up four-door that Bertholdt ends up driving.

As always, Zeke helps you into the Bronco, glancing to make sure the others are a good distance away from the parking lot before pulling you in for a kiss. He squeezes the thigh closest to him, massaging through denim and wishing he could feel your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Hate when you come to the restaurant,” you tell him between nipping at his lip. For a split second, Zeke’s feelings are a little hurt, and then you elaborate, “Can’t hardly focus with you around,” and everything is okay again.

He just—fuck—he wants you all the time. Wants to pet your hair and trace your lips and gaze into your eyes so full of misplaced adoration. You look at Zeke like he’s some kind of hero, and it’s as disconcerting as it is intoxicating. He wants to destroy you and put you back together all at once, and god dammit, you’d fucking let him.

But, he doesn’t have time for that tonight, so he just stands in the open door of his car, holding your face in his hands while he gently sucks on the tip of your tongue, only vaguely aware of the time passing.

“Mm, did you—” you’re interrupted by your own little laugh when Zeke peppers a series of smaller kisses over your mouth and cheeks.

“Did I what?”

“Did you bring your white elephant gift?” you’re able to finish this time.

Zeke finally tears himself away from you, trying not to notice the way your eyes are a little too wide and your lips are a little too swollen because if he focuses on those things, he’ll be pulled right back in. He’ll feel the too-quick rise and fall of your chest, feel your hummingbird heart beating in anticipation as you wonder what he’ll do next.

What will Zeke do next? Honestly, most of the time he doesn’t even know the answer to that.

“In the back. Just a stupid little thing,” he tells you, nodding toward the seat behind you.

Reaching up to flatten some hair against his head, you remind him that, “Stupid is the point. It’s more fun that way.”

The rule is the gift either has to be something from home or under two dollars. It’s obvious no one will be walking away with anything of real value tonight, but Zeke is sure the evening will be full of laughs.

“Is that why Ymir told everyone to wear ugly sweaters too—go along with the theme of stupid?” Zeke pesters, picking at your thick top and dreading the moment he actually has to dawn his own.

You smile, “Probably,” then take on a thoughtful expression. “Honestly, I think Ymir is trying to get everyone in the festive mood for my and Marco’s sake. Haven’t really celebrated Christmas in a couple years, so the holidays have been super fucking depressing. I think she’s trying to change that for us.”

Groaning, Zeke rests his head against yours and sighs a dramatic, “Fine. I guess if it’s for the sake of the orphans—” He hears the click of your tongue and quickly chuckles, “Kidding, kidding, that was mean.”

You roll your eyes at him but are still clearly amused as you tell him, “You’re rude,” with no real bite.

“Only sometimes,” he concedes, deciding he’s had enough banter and that it’s time to head to the apartment. Zeke makes sure your legs are tucked in before closing the door then slides into the driver’s side.

He queues up the playlist he made just for you, always happy to see the way your mouth moves along with the words you apparently know by heart now. Zeke has to wonder how often you listen to it, if you put it on repeat when he first sent it to you, if you ever fell asleep or studied with it playing in the background. How many of these songs will you associate with him from now on, and how can he add more?

Once in the complex’s lot, Zeke spots Ymir’s little Corolla as well as Reiner’s car and Porco’s truck. Hopefully, they haven’t been waiting too long.

It’s only when you’re both standing outside of the Bronco that Zeke grabs the tacky sweater folded in his backseat, grumbling as he pulls it over his head then holding his arms out for you to get a good look at how fucking ridiculous it is.

“Wait, is that—”

“Yes, it is,” Zeke cuts you off, feigning annoyance because the thing really is atrocious. There are too many colors and too many designs, but the ones that stand out most are golden rings, the silhouettes of nine humanoid figures, and the large, orange eye that takes up most of his chest.

“I love it so much,” you beam at him before doing your best Elijah Wood impression and teasing, “I will do it. I will wear the sweater to Mordor.” Fuck, you’re adorable.

“Yeah, laugh it up.”

“Hey,” you pin him with a raised eyebrow and mischievous smirk, “If I can wear a jersey for you, you can wear this nerdy sweater for my cousin.”

“That—yeah, okay, that’s fair,” Zeke agrees, brain temporarily glitching as he recalls the way you looked wearing his number, painted with his cum, and fine, if this stupid sweater makes you happy, he can weather a night of potential ridicule.

After snatching a small gift bag from the back, the two of you make your way up to your unit, and once inside Zeke is relieved to see that no one has settled, still a lot of movement and last minute set-up going on as Ymir stands on a step-ladder to secure what must be the last pin in a string of lights she’s hung up along the ceiling.

It makes you stop in your tracks, and Zeke watches as you look around, note the tiny Christmas tree on the coffee table, weighed down with even tinier ornaments and cheap tinsel. There are finger sandwiches also stacked into a vague tree shape and a couple cartons of cookies decorated with red and green.

“Mir, you did all this?”

“What do ya’ mean all this? It’s some lame lights and a tree,” she says, slightly out of breath when she hops off the stool, showing off her garish, pink sweater that reads Sleigh the Patriarchy, Santa underneath, flipping everyone off while flying behind his reindeer.

“Still effort,” you state, walking further into the apartment.

Zeke has to fight the urge to follow closely after, to reach out and pull you back, keep you close to him. There’s no reason to. This is a night with friends. His friends. You’re technically the tag-along since your group is the one in Cape Cod, so why is it that Zeke feels like attaching himself to you?

“White Elephant gifts on the table,” Ymir tells him, motioning toward the pile of them.

“Lemme grab mine from my room,” you say, slipping away from the group and into the back.

With you out of the sight, Zeke can finally appreciate the rest of his surroundings. The festive lights are cute, and the crackling fireplace that the TV is set to makes him smirk. There’s even some mistletoe (that’s really holly) hanging over the kitchen entryway.

“Never took you as the maternal type,” he tells Ymir a little snidely.

Her initial comeback is a sharp, “Fuck off,” which is fair, Zeke thinks, but she follows it with a lower, “It’s for them. They deserve cute shit and festivities and stuff. They’re just kids.”

Zeke’s stomach rolls at the word–kids–because he definitely does not want to think of you in such a way. You’re a little naive sometimes, but there’s nothing innocent about you. Not anymore.

“I think she would’ve been fine doing what we have been the past couple years,” Ymir continues, nodding in the direction of your bedroom. “But, Marco for sure needs this. Usually Jean and your brother are here to keep him distracted during holidays, but–”

“Yeah, they’re all gone right now.”

“Any particular reason you’re not with ‘em?”

Zeke makes a face and tells her honestly, “I’m not a huge fan of family gatherings that involve my stepmom.”

“Don’t vibe?”

“Not one bit.”

You come back out to the front, one hand holding a present, the other holding Marco’s arm. He looks a little mopey, but that’s to be expected. Everyone dicks around for a few more minutes, gathering drinks and snacks then taking up spots in the living room.

Ymir goes over the rules of White Elephant and decides to start with the youngest. Marco goes for the bag closest to him, pulls out some white tissue paper followed by what looks to be a faded beach towel. Snorts and snickers erupt among everyone as he unfolds it, showing off the Star Wars movie still that has seen better days.

“I’ve had that since Phantom Menace came out,” Bertl says. “It was time to pass it on.”

Marco’s lips twitch into a soft smile as he chuckles, “Thanks,” then folds it back up and sits it in his lap. “Vintage.”

A few groans can be heard throughout the room, one of them being Zeke’s because vintage? Really?

You’re up next, and Zeke tries not to stare too hard, but it’s near impossible given the way your jeans hug your ass perfectly as you bend and reach for a wrapped gift. It’s from Marcel, a Fox and the Hound VHS that makes you go all soft in the face.

“Oh my god, this is so cute. No one is allowed to steal it.”

“It was my favorite as a kid,” he tells everyone. “I think I’d cry if I watched it now.”

Porco mumbles, “Pussy,” under his breath which earns him a kick from his brother, and then the exchange continues.

Hitch’s promise ring from high school ends up in Porco’s grubby hands. Marcel unwraps a self portrait of Ymir that Annie ends up stealing which leaves the older Galliard to pick Marco’s gift of shoe freshener balls which Marcel actually seems quite happy with. Hitch gets Porco’s old shark tooth necklace, Reiner rolls his eyes at Zeke’s signed baseball, but it gets several laughs, and that’s all anyone really cares about at this point. Bertholdt finds himself with Reiner’s old iPhone charger, then Ymir ends up with Annie’s gift which is soap that Bertholdt took a bite out of on a dare. Zeke has half a mind to steal that one because it’s fucking funny, but he’s kept track and knows the last present is from you.

He is not disappointed, trying to keep the heat in his body at bay when he opens it to find a half empty bottle of perfume.

“Just what I always wanted,” he muses, mostly sarcastic, but when he locks eyes with you, he knows you can read his expression. He is all too happy about this, has gotten stoned off your smell before, and now he has it at the tips of his fingers whenever he wants. How serendipitous.

“Yeah, now you can smell like cute chick all the time,” Porco jokes.

“Maybe it’ll be a red flag for all the girls who’re weirdly attracted to you,” Ymir adds snarkily, and you quickly lower your head as if to provide cover for yourself.

Zeke hums, “Maybe,” then cracks a grin. “Good game, guys. That was fun.”

“It was! New tradition?”

“I’m down.”

A chorus of agreements and jokey small talk, and then Ymir introduces the next game–the whipped cream trickshot challenge. Not everyone’s hand-eye coordination is up to par, and it results in some cream on the ceiling as well as on Bertholdt’s sweater and in Marco’s hair. You manage to get half of yours in your mouth, but the other half is a little off, sliding down the side of your face onto the floor and leaving a white residue that has Zeke thinking all manner of terrible thoughts. He doesn’t even realize he’s licking his lips until he catches your eye again, and god dammit, he actually blushes at being caught.

It’s difficult having to keep his distance, especially the more he drinks. Slowly but surely, he gravitates toward you. As everyone else is hooting and hollering in the living room, Zeke makes his way to the kitchen where he knows you are, probably getting another drink. Conveniently enough, so is he.

You cross paths at the threshold, right under the “mistletoe”, and he didn’t plan that, but he also didn’t not. Zeke won’t actually kiss you here–way, way too risky–but the two of you stop and look at each other for much too long. His mouth curves upward. You bite your lip and blink up at him with eyes hazy with inebriation.

He’s ready to leave. With you. Ready to be in the privacy of his own home or even his car, ready to have you in his lap, on his cock, moaning his name in broken little sobs. Fuck, he wants you so bad, he can feel his dick stirring in his jeans.

“Ehem.”

Both of you startle and turn to find Hitch standing a few feet away. She is wearing possibly the most devious smile Zeke has ever seen, and all he can think is, well, shit.

“Just gotta get past ya’,” she says with a little giggle.

Zeke can hear you swallow before you slink to the side, and once Hitch slips between the two of you, he looks down to see panicked eyes staring back.

“It’s fine,” he tells you, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll handle it.”

You nod quickly, frantically, then turn and walk away, knees practically knocking together.

Running a hand through his hair, Zeke sighs before stepping into the kitchen. Hitch is leaning against one of the counters sipping a bottled beer, looking at him like she knew he would come speak with her.

“Listen–”

“No one knows, do they?” she guesses, tongue poking out as she grins.

Zeke glances over his shoulder to make sure no one’s listening then shakes his head. “No.”

“She’s legal, right? I know she’s older than Marco, but–”

“Yeah, she’s nineteen.”

“And, you’re…”

He tries not to scoff, doesn’t want to come off as offended or, even worse, ashamed. “Twenty-seven.”

Shrugging, Hitch makes a flippant noise. She really doesn’t look worried at all, more amused than anything.

“That’s not terrible. My boyfriend is almost fifteen years older than me.”

That catches his attention. Women and older guys. He can only pretend to understand. Pretend and be grateful.

“I’m not concerned about the age gap as much as I’m concerned about Ymir and everyone else.”

“I get it,” she nods, sounding sincere when she tells him, “My lips are sealed.”

“I appreciate it.”

He stands for another few awkward seconds before turning back around to head into the den. You’re pretty much zoned out on the couch, only looking up when Zeke passes in front of you, trying to be as subtle as possible as he gives you a quick thumbs up, and he can see your entire body visibly relax.

Crisis averted. For now, anyway.

You manage to catch Hitch outside when she takes a smoke break. You know Zeke handled things, but you’d still like to address what she saw yourself, just for peace of mind (and also to make sure he wasn’t mean about it because you have witnessed him get short with people from time to time).

“Hey, girlypop. Thought I might see you before the night was over,” Hitch greets cheerily.

She seems nice enough, though you haven’t talked to her other than introductions at the restaurant and the short conversation as you were all splitting up to come here.

“Yeah, um…”

“Hey, don’t stress. I already told the hipster–your secret’s safe with me.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, relieved all over again.

“I kinda know how you feel, actually,” she goes on, and you tilt your head in interest. “The guy I’ve been seeing on and off for the last few years is, like, substantially older than me.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Also, has a girlfriend half the time.”

That gives you pause. “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” she waves off before taking a drag from her cigarette. “I’m mostly okay with being a side piece. No one fucks me like he does, ya’ know?” She giggles again, all bubbly and bad. “I know you know.”

Your face is very quickly on fire, your only saving grace being the cold wind blowing, but she’s right. She’s so right. You know all too well what it’s like to be fucked so good you just have to keep going back.

“Y-yeah,” you huff, finally smiling. “Yeah, I know.”

She’s gleeful, full of satisfaction when she teases, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, okay?” putting her cigarette out. When she looks back at you, her hazel eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’ve got your back. I can even be your cover story when you need one. I definitely know what it’s like to have to sneak around.”

“That–” you take a deep breath, really process what she’s saying, what she’s offering, and realize, “—that would be really, really nice, actually.” Would make things so much easier.

You jump when Hitch squeals excitedly, suddenly grabbing both of your hands. “Excellent! Consider me your new best friend.”

It would be nice to have someone you can actually talk to about this, someone who knows and even understands.

She only proves that she does when she adds, “Sneaking is hard, but you do have to admit–” she begins pulling you back toward the apartment just in time for you to start getting a little too chilled. “—it’s at least half the fun.”

Another thing to agree on. And, when you get back inside and see Zeke relaxing in a chair, ankle kicked over his leg, in his silly Lord of the Rings sweater, all you want to do is sneak around with him some more.

It goes without saying that when the little party comes to a close at about ten, you are thrilled that Hitch makes a show of proclaiming her adoration for you and basically demanding you come to another little afterparty with her.

“A little closer in age, maybe easier to relate to,” she explains, glancing at Ymir and telling her, “I’ll keep her safe, promise! No drugs, only alcohol.”

Zeke is watching closely. You can feel his eyes burning into your back, and it makes you shudder.

Your cousin is a little too drunk to care, just waves a hand and tells you, “S’long as you’re safe.”

“Always am.”

It means you ride with Annie’s crew to Hitch’s place, getting dropped off to “get ready”, and two minutes later you’re texting Zeke the address.

“Thank you.”

“Any time,” Hitch winks. “Can tell from tonight alone you two are up to your fucking eyeballs with tension. I feel and appreciate that.”

When Zeke arrives about fifteen minutes later, he also thanks her, tells her genuinely, “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m more than happy to play wingwoman for you guys. It’s sorta cute, honestly.”

You all talk for a few minutes before you all but throw yourself into Zeke’s Bronco, the ride to his house a blur, but then everything comes into focus once you’re inside with lips pressed together and hands tugging off clothes.

You make it as far as the couch, stripped of your stupid sweater, and jeans, grinding down on Zeke’s hard cock as you soak through your panties.

“I’m starting to fucking hate hanging out with other people,” he confesses, chest already flushed with arousal.

You rock your hips back and forth, the material separating the two of you now wet and plastered to your folds as you repeatedly rub your clit over him.

“Same, it’s–mm–it’s like torture.”

He grips your hips and starts moving you to his liking, his thighs twitching beneath you until he decides he’s had enough of this and tells you to take your panties off. You do so, so quickly it makes you stumble, and Zeke catches you with a chuckle, teases, “That desperate, huh?”

“You have no idea,” you breathe, not even worried about prep. You’re wet enough to forego lube, and honestly, you enjoy the burn that comes with him stretching you out a little too much.

Knees on either side of him, you sink down on his length, hissing through your teeth then whining when he pulls you flush into his lap. He’s so deep, nestled inside of you like he belongs there, and you think he just might because you feel so empty when you’re not with him, when you’re not full of him.

You whimper where you sit, shaking and digging nails into his shoulders sharply. You don’t know if it’s that pain or the way you clench around him that makes Zeke groan and start bouncing you, somehow pushing in even further, and when your jaw drops, he leans forward and catches your bottom lip between his teeth, mumbling a breathless, “I know, baby, I know. Feels so good, yeah?”

Nodding as best you can, you start trying to move a little more, bucking in his lap and huffing out a pathetic, “Fuck, fuck,” every time he hits your spot.

“Wanted you all–all night. Couldn’t stop th-thinkin’ about you…” you whimper. He drags his mouth down to your neck in response, biting too hard for a split second before sucking a bruise into your pulse point.

You feel out of control, spiraling into nothing. All you can do is keep moving, keep fucking, keep stretching around his cock until you make a mess on it.

Zeke doesn’t stop when you cry out, just lifts and drops you, sending himself deeper–deeper, kissing away tears of overstimulation when they begin to leak from your eyes.

“Pretty when you cry for me–so, so pretty,” he coos, and the sensation of a tongue on your cheek makes you open your eyes. His are half closed, glasses crooked on his face, and he’s so sexy, licking tears from your face and fucking up into you with such urgency, it almost gives you whiplash.

Your pussy is opening up for him, swelling and pulsing and pushing against him, and you can’t tell if you want him out or if you want more of him, settling on the latter because you’d be stupid to stop him, stupid to protest when he’s this perfect–fuck, he’s perfect. Everything about him has you completely enraptured. Possessed. You feel like you’re infected with him, a sickness you never want to treat.

“God, I could do this day and night–keep you here forever, my cute little fuckdoll,” he babbles, getting close judging by the way his grip tightens and his lip curls. “You’d do that for me, right? Fuck, fuck–spread your legs whenever I ask?”

“Yeah–god, yes, fuck, Zeke–”

“Fuck, that’s hot. You’re so fucking hot, I’m–”

He pulls you off of him, pushing you back and demanding, “Suck me off, baby, lemme come down your throat.”

And, who are you to argue? Especially in the pliant state you’re in.

You fall to your knees, immediately taking him into your mouth and bobbing. You drop your jaw, his velvet head sliding past your covered teeth and rubbing against the soft palate of your mouth, and when Zeke grabs a handful of hair and shoves himself deeper, you gag and cry and swallow every line of cum that shoots from his cock.

“That was–fuck–that was close. So close to coming in your pussy.”

You wipe your face as you stand on weak legs, squeaking when he tugs you off balance and into his arms. He’s still panting, and you’re still high after your own orgasms, not minding the mess in his lap–the one you made when he made you squirt and cream all over him.

“Maybe… maybe one day?” you try, unable to tell if you’re even lucid as you bring it up. “When I’m, like, on birth control or something.”

A rumble sounds from Zeke’s chest, deep and desirous. It makes your heart beat faster, threatens to trigger your fight or flight because that noise, that growl…

“You wanna feel me fill you up one day?”

You peer up at him, eyes still foggy with lust. Your cunt is already throbbing again at the mere idea.

“Yeah, I do.”

You’re pulled to sit up again, legs wrapping around his waist, and Zeke swears when his cock slides between your sopping lips. He’s going soft after climaxing, but he still twitches under you.

Guiding your face until his mouth is next to your ear, he promises, “One day I’ll pump you so full of cum, you’ll fucking drown in it.”

It comes as no surprise that you end up going a few more rounds before passing out in the early morning hours–under his covers, limbs tangled together, ready to pick up where you left off as soon as you both wake up.

#mels deflowered #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #snk x reader

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

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Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #hotch imagines #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #fic: undercover

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

Text

Miss American Pie

Chapter Two: The Perfect Partner Project

Warning!: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing. Please keep scrolling if that’s not for you. 💜

Summary: After you’re freed from Dreykov’s control you team up with Yelena and Natasha to take down the red room.

Chapter One : Chemical Subjugation

“I thought you had a jet?” Yelena cocks her head to the side, as you approach the decrepit helicopter.

“I asked for one.” Natasha mutters, under her breath.

“This isn’t a jet.” You add, the closer you get, the worse it becomes.

“I realize that!” The man who’d been standing with his back to you whips around to defend himself. This must be Natasha’s friend. “But you know what you didn’t give me? Time. Or money. I’m not made of jets.”

“Aww, he’s sensitive.” Yelena coos, “I see why you keep him around.”

“I’m not sensitive.” He protests.

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Listen you-“ he breaks off. “Who are you again?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Yelena introduces you, climbing aboard. “She’s my partner….” She shrugs, “you name it really.”

“Partner works.” You chuckle, joining her in the cockpit.

“If you say so,” Yelena waves a dismissive hand. Getting a feel for the controls.

“Wonderful,” the man acknowledges your title.

“Thanks for the ride, Dick.” You salute him through the front window.

“It’s Rick,” he calls back.

“I know.” You give him a thumbs up. Waiting until he turns back to his conversation with Natasha. Taking the opportunity to lean down, kissing the top of Yelena’s head.

She cranes her head back to see you.

You nuzzle your nose against hers, until an exaggeration throat clearing tears you apart.

“We don’t have time for this.” Natasha, of course.

Yelena scowls at her, “yeah, yeah.”

Breaking Alexei out of a maximum security prison using only an earpiece, stowed inside of an action figure is a terrible plan. Nearly as bad as using him for information on how to locate a facility that’s impossible to find, run by a man who’s too slippery to kill.

That doesn’t stop you though. Generally speaking it’s going well. Until one of Yelena’s shots triggers an avalanche.

“Woah.” She marvels at the scene before you, her masterpiece. “Now this would be a cool way to die.”

“Yeah,” you holler back, sarcastically, over the chaos.

“You were getting no where with your tiny guns.” Yelena points out.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” you remind her.

“Fast is better. Solves problems.”

“And clearly creates new ones.” You jerk your chin toward the mountain.

“Get us out of here!” Natasha’s voice blares through the headset.

“I’m on it.” Yelena assures her. Moving into a better position for extraction. “Watch the side window.”

At her request you shuffle to the main ship. The prison guards are still putting up a fight. Inmates running in every direction.

“Alright, Natasha’s with us.” You confirm, once she’s secured her place on the black hanging rope. “Circle between the walls on your left to grab Alexei.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Yelena snarks, steering the plane away from another explosion.

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Fine,” you huff. “The spot is tight and the angle is bad. I don’t know how you’re gonna pull this off.”

Yelena is silent, processing the information. “Lie to me a little.” She amends.

“You got this.” The blinding wall of white threatens to swallow Alexei whole. You’re holding your breath too as the rope moves past the metal bridge he’s standing on.

“Well?” She yelps, impatiently.

“I don’t know. I can’t see.” Once the snow and ice clears, you spot two figures carefully scaling the rope. “Yelena?”

“Hmm.” She hums, expecting the worst.

“I knew you had it.”

“Yes,” Yelena sighs, before falling into easy laughter. More invested in this than she will ever admit.

————————————————————-

Unfortunately, entertaining as Alexei may be, he has next to no information about Dreykov.

Instead he drawls on and on about how the man wronged him. Stuck him on that “boring mission” in Ohio. Then tossed him in jail and threw away the key because of…hair? A party?

You weren’t entirely sure. You excuse yourself to the vacant seat beside Yelena. Giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Full lips twitch up into a grin.

“Tell us where the red room is.” Natasha grumbles.

“I have no idea!” He shouts, and then in Russian. “Why don’t you ask Melina?”

“Mom Melina?” Yelena whips her head around.

“We thought she was dead.”

“You cannot kill a fox that swift,” Alexei sucks in a breath.

You choke on your own saliva.

“Ew.” Natasha winces.

“What?” The man shrugs. “She was the master mind. His architect.”

“Are you telling me that Melina works for the red room present day?” Natasha leans closer.

“Yes,” he nods. “Remotely, outside Saint Petersburg.”

“I don’t think we have enough fuel for Saint Petersburg.” Yelena decides, after checking the needle on the gauge.

“We’ll make it.” Alexei waves away her concern.

“Ok,” Yelena mutters.

You look over at her.

“We’re not going to make it.” She mouths, with a shake of her head.

You smirk, closing your eyes and relaxing into the seat. It’ll be nice while it lasts.

Before long you’re falling into a controlled crash, at the Saint Petersburg city limit.

“So,” Yelena jumps out onto the dirt. “Are we there yet?”

“No, you will know when we are there.” Alexei begins snorting like a pig.

——————————————————————-

You take a seat in the chair opposite Yelena inside Melina’s humble abode. Her pigs can be heard carrying on out in the yard and Alexei’s early snorting makes perfect sense now.

Your eyes dart around the three women at the table uncomfortably as noises continue erupting from the bathroom. “Everything alright in there?” You bellow, loud enough for your voice to carry down the hallway.

Another groan is the only response.

“Let’s drink,” Melina’s voice breaks the tension. She fills each of your shot glasses in turn.

“Thanks,” you raise the clear liquid and toss it back. Feeling it burn it’s way down your throat before going back for another.

After a moment a clunking from the doorway calls your attention.

“It still fits.” Alexei announces, having stuffed himself into his old costume.

Melina whistles, with a slow clasp as he approaches the seat at the head of the table. “I never washed it once. Come eat.”

He hums a tune under his breath, reliving days gone by. “Look at us, family back together again.” If you didn’t know better you’d think it was sweet, he seems…happy.

“Well,” Melina swallows, dishing mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Seeing as our family construct was just a calculated ruse that only lasted three years, I’m not sure we can use this term anymore.”

“Agreed,” Natasha perks up. “So here’s what’s going to happen-“

“Reunion then.” Alexei offers instead. “I want to say something right off the bat.” He says to the woman who’d once been his wife. “You haven’t aged a day. Just as beautiful and supple as the day they staged our marriage.”

Melina moves closer, “you got fat, but still good.”

“I just got out of prison,” he confesses, “I have a lot of energy.”

“Ooohooo.” The older woman exhales.

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that forces its way from your chest. Covering your mouth with your hand as Yelena takes another shot.

“Please don’t do that.” Beside you Natasha looks physically ill as she protests. Swallowing down her disgust she begins again. “So listen. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

“Natasha don’t slouch. You’re going to get a back hunch.” Melina flicks her fork in Natasha’s direction.

“What? I’m not slouching? I don’t slouch.”

“Eh, listen to your mother. Up! Up!” Alexei joins in.

“I told you, I don’t want any food.” Yelena pushes her plate away.

“Eat a little something Yelena, for God’s sake.” Melina says, piling food onto her plate.

Yelena groans.

“Are you kidding me? Stop it all of you. This is ridiculous.” Natasha bites out.

“Me? I didn’t do anything. That’s not fair!” Yelena argues.

“It’s true, she’s just sitting there.” You shrug.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Natasha roars, effectively silencing the room. “You’re going to give us the location of the red room.”

Melina purses her lips, avoiding the topic. “It’s like when you told them they could stay up to catch Santa Claus.”

“That was fun!” Alexei recalls. “Look out girls, he comes down the chimney. And when the cookies are gone you know he is there.”

Melina clicks her tongue.

“What? I want them to follow their dreams, shoot for the stars girls.”

“No good.” Melina disagreed.

“Killing Dreykov isn’t a fantasy. It’s unfinished business.” Natasha looks between the two of them.

“You cannot defeat someone who commands the very will of others.” Melina says, softly. “You never got to see the culmination of what we started in America. After the perfect partner project was rejected, we took a different route.”

“The perfect partner project?” You repeat, racking your brain. You’ve heard that somewhere before.

“Why’d Dreykov scrap the project?” Natasha’s voice cracks like a whip.

“I don’t know.” Melina’s eyes dart down to her plate.

You can see that she’s lying.

“That’s when we turned our focus to chemical subjugation.” Melina continues, “the control is so profound that when the subject is instructed to stop breathing. They have no choice but to obey.”

Yelena shakes her head. Perfect lips turned into a frown. Hazel eyes glistening with tears as they meet your own.

“That’s enough.” You warn the older woman, seeing the expression. The last thing you want to do is cause her anymore pain.

“No.” The blonde insists. “Tell me more about the partner project.”

“Yelena, we don’t have to do this.” You shake your head.

“Yes, we do.” Yelena slams her fist against the table in frustration.

“The extraction was messy to start. A high profile missing children’s case in North America. But the bond was very strong. Enhanced through targeted conditioning and subliminal messages. Until something happened that Dreykov did not anticipate.”

“What happened?” Natasha wonders.

“The girls became…attached.” Melina’s mouth twitches, “so they were separated.”

“Do you know who they tested on?”

Melina’s guilty eyes land on you. “I am sorry.”

“No,” you suspected, maybe. Somewhere in the back of your mind. You spent the first six months in the red room under solitary confinement. Rapidly and rigorously conditioned in a matter of weeks instead of years. Preparing you…for her. The teenager girl you couldn’t stand, the woman you eventually came to love.

“You,” Yelena laughs, although it’s not particularly funny. “Us.”

“Yelena-“ you reach for her hand across the table.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t tell me that it will be ok. They stole your life because of me. I never asked them to do that. I never asked for you!”

“I know.” You assure her. None of this was ever her fault.

“That’s right, because you know everything. Don’t you, Y/N?” Yelena scoffs, her hands balling into fists on either side of her dinner plate. “You know what I think. You know what I feel. Look at you. Ready to come out of your own skin because I am unhappy. Prepared to move mountains, prepared to start wars.”

“Like you’re any better.” You challenge, she knows you like the back of her hand.

“That is my point!”

“I’m sorry that this happened.” Alexei interrupts. Surely gearing up for a ‘father of the year’ speech. “But we are here now. All together! Wasn’t that worth a few years of-“

“Shut up!” Natasha growls at him. “You are an idiot.”

No response.

She moves her attention to Melina, “and you’re a coward. You’re a coward. And our family was never real. So there’s nothing to hold on to. We’re moving on.”

“Never family, huh?” Alexei throws up his hands. “In my heart I am simple man. For a couple deep undercover Russian agents I think we did pretty great as parents.”

“Yes,” Melina nods her agreement. “We had our orders and we played our roles to perfection.”

“Who cares? That wasn’t real.”

“What?” Yelena’s voice breaks.

“That wasn’t real.” Natasha repeats for emphasis. “Who cares?”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me. You are my mother!” Yelena all but sobs. “You are my real mother, the closest thing I ever had to one. The best parts of my life were fake.” She pauses, drawing in a steadying breath. “And none of you told me.”

You swipe at the tear that escapes your eye. Traitorously running it’s way down your cheek. It was never fake. Perhaps arranged, but never fake. The way you want to wrap her up in your arms, protect her from her own sadness. The way your heart breaks in time with hers. That is real. It has to be.

She turns back to the woman who she considered a mother. “Those agents that you chemically subjugated around the globe…that was me too.”

Finally she addresses Natasha, “and you. You got out. It is impossible to escape. Are you going to say anything?” A pause. “No.”

She pushes her chair from the table, taking the bottle with her as she stands. Turning her back in the four of you.

“Yelena.” Natasha calls after her. Guilt eating away from the inside out.

“No.” Yelena dismisses her a second time. Moving into the next room and closing the glass doors behind her.

You look down at the plate of food in front of you, now lacking any appeal.

“I had no idea.” Melina whispers, wringing her hands.

“I’ll go to talk to her.” Alexei offers, rising to his feet.

“About what?” You hum, “how you handed her over to a life of pain and suffering at the age of six? How you experimented on her? How you didn’t come back for her? Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what she needs right now.”

With that you excuse yourself, back out to the front yard. Slowly circling the perimeter of Melina’s cottage. Not looking for anything in particular. Just killing time until someone produces information about how to get to Dreykov.

The blinding light that appears moments later catches you off guard. A team of men exit one of the three circling planes. Since you couldn’t find the red room, this is the next best thing.

—————————————————————

Waking up is disorienting, coming to from a tranquilizer always is. It’s bright, almost blindingly so. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You attempt to use your hands to cover them, only you can’t move your hands.

Leaning up as much as your restraints will allow you discover that you’re strapped to an operating table. And you’re not alone.

“Yelena?”

“Miss American Pie,” she drawls from a similar position. Neither of which gives you much chance to escape whatever fate awaits.

“You’re not allowed to die mad at me,” you grumble.

“I’m not mad at you.” She blinks slowly, as the surgeon marks a clean line at the perimeter of her hairline. “I’m just mad.”

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh, turning back to the light above the gurney. “Me too.”

“You are my perfect partner.” She murmurs, while gloved hands busy themselves with preparations. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Acceptance…peace. “I love you, you know.”

At this Yelena smiles. A genuine, happy, smile. “I know.”

Something to remember her by.

The syringe at your neck releases a sedative into your blood and you fall asleep. One last time.

—————————————————————

Dying is peaceful, gently rocking in the ocean. Then swaying more violently, giving you the urge to be seasick. Your body should move with the force of it. But something holds you steady, something warm.

“Yelena?” You croak.

“Not quite, but there is resemblance, huh?” A different voice greets you.

“Alexei?” You realize, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

“That’s a girl, up you go.” He says, clapping a hand against your back.

“What happened?” You ask, “where’s Yelena?”

“Still inside,” Melina confirms. “Brought you here so you’d be safe.”

“Natasha?”

“They’re coming.”

You sigh, ready to jump out the open door of the hovering chopper.

“What are you doing?” Alexei demands.

“Going to find them.”

“Wait! Y/N, wait.” He pleads. “There’s something I must tell you. I tried to tell Yelena but I don’t have earpiece.”

“What?” Your brows furrow.

“Never mind that.” He shakes his head. “The point, is you were right. What you said about Yelena. We complete our mission, we move on. But losing her, losing my girls is my biggest regret.”

“I’ll tell her, don’t worry.” You give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Please let me finish.” He stops you again. “She carried your unconscious body through burning building, through explosions. This is not easy, you are very heavy.”

“Oh, Alexei!” Melina scolds him.

“Not that.” He amends, “you know what I mean. It is dead weight.”

You nod, “sure.”

“I look at you together and I see true love and I am happy. You are family now, and this time…we are going to stay together. We’re not leaving without you.” The older man says, helping you onto the metal grate of the falling red room.

Not a second later an explosion rings through your ears, sending Melina, Alexei and your get away vehicle spiraling to the ground.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you’ll make a new plan.

You run toward the flames and gunfire. “Yelena!” You call out, searching the surrounding area.

“Y/N,” Natasha finds you. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t find Yelena.”

“I thought she was with you.” The woman frowns.

“Well she wasn’t!” You bite out, fear and frustration getting the best of you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. You go-“ the red head pauses. Her eyes focused on something behind your head.

You turn to follow Natasha’s gaze. Finding her. Yelena. The wild, unpredictable, firecracker of a woman. On the wing of the jet with Dreykov inside.

“Yelena! Stop!” You rush over, realizing what she’s about to do. Her staff poised at the propeller.

She pauses at the sound of your voice.

“He’s not worth it.” No one is worth it. Not when she is the cost.

Yelena smiles, eyes alight with mischief, “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Natasha tries to reason with her. “Don’t do it!”

“This was fun.” Yelena tells her sister, jamming the propeller and effectively destroying Dreykov’s jet. The force of the explosions sends her backwards, hurtling towards the ground with the remaining pieces of the red room.

“Put your pack on and jump.” Natasha tells you. Rushing for the nearest parachute. “I’m going to save my sister.” She dives head first over the edge, without putting on her harness.

“Not if I get there first,” you challenge. This would be a cool way to die.

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

#marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova fanfiction #natasha romanoff #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n

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arvinsescape · 3 years

Text

Impossibilities.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one, bit different of a topic to deal with. I have read a lot of stories of these things happening, I have put warnings in and if the topic is too much please don’t read. I will accept constructive critiscm. (I understand that what happens throughout this writing is not a reality for some but it is a work of fiction and I absolutely hold no intent to offend anyone.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, talks of infertility, language.

W/C: 5K... there may be typos.

You were almost in shock as you stared at the test in your hand. Impossible. There was no way that this was true, it couldn’t be, you’d been told as much. You furrowed your brows as you looked up at the doctor.

“This isn’t, this can’t be right.” You stumbled out.

“It is, we’ve tested you almost every way possible. You’re pregnant.” He confirmed and you still couldn’t work out how it made you feel.

You’d never considered this as an option, you were told when you turned sixteen that you couldn’t have children, that you were infertile. You struggled with bad periods and when you went to the doctors they ran full tests on you and that’s how you found out. You’d never thought about children, why would you have? The idea of being a mother wasn’t something you ever considered and now you were faced with it, well you didn’t know how to feel.

You were terrified, you’d come here today because you thought you were ill, not pregnant. You wondered if you were dreaming, you were so sure you’d turned your alarm off and rolled out of bed this morning for this appointment. It must have been a dream, there was no way this was possible.

The doctor continued to look and you and you looked up at him, you couldn’t speak, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know how you should feel, let alone what to say about it. “Would you like us to call Mr Holland?” The doctor asked, he’d grown concerned over your quiet demeanor.

“No,” you shook your head. “He’s away.” You continued quietly.

“Would you like me to call someone for you?” He asked again and you shook your head.

“No, I’m okay. I just, I don’t know. I’d never considered this a possibility. Will it make it? The baby I mean?” You asked quietly and the doctor gave you a small smile.

“You stand the same chance as every other woman who falls pregnant.” He offered, it was almost a comfort to you, the worry setting in that you’d miscarry because you genuinely believed the universe didn’t pick you to have children. You nodded slightly as you stood. “You should talk to your husband.” He added.

“I will.” You confirmed, you just didn’t know how and when. You’d told him about your infertility early on in the relationship so you could save a broken heart down the line, save him getting his hopes high as the relationship progressed. He’d mentioned the idea of adoption, but it was something you both wanted to wait for and hadn’t fully decided if you were going to, what if this hindered the plans you’d made together?

Being a married couple who seemingly couldn’t have children, you’d planned your lives to work a little differently. It never involved a family in your mid-twenties. You’d been with him for three years, married six months and now you were about to become parents. Where would this leave you?

You suddenly felt guilty, you were part of an extraordinarily rare group of women. Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy? Maybe you would be if you weren’t so shocked. You hadn’t exactly been trying, of course you’d gone three years having unprotected sex with no birth control but there was never any need. You were never doing it for the purpose of procreating. You didn’t even track your period, that’s how much you believed you couldn’t conceive.

You made your way out of the doctors, sitting in your car as you pressed your forehead against the steering wheel. You debated telling Tom your appointment was over but ultimately decided not to. He was only an hour ahead of you from where he was filming, you knew he’d be waiting for your text or call but you weren’t ready to have the conversation, you still had a lot to process first. The drive home was almost a blur, making your way back to your shared house.

Tess greeted you, jumping up at you as you mindlessly stroked her head, making your way into the kitchen, she was hot on your heels, your greeting towards her wasn’t what she wanted, it felt off. It was like she always sensed when you were out of sorts or having a bad day, she’d follow you around, make sure you were okay. Pouring yourself a glass of water you thought about what you should do.

Your thoughts spiraled more the more you thought about how you were going to tell your husband. You wanted to feel complete and utter joy, but you couldn’t, so many emotions running through your mind at once. It was almost head ache inducing. Your phone buzzed on the side, bringing you from your thoughts as you picked it up, opening a message Tom had sent you.

Tom: You finished yet? Seems like a long appointment. You okay? I’m getting worried not hearing from you xx

You stared at the text, how do you respond? You can’t tell him news like this over a text or a phone call, it didn’t seem right. You needed to tell him in person, but he wasn’t due back for a month, you swallowed thickly as typed out your response.

You: Yeah, sorry, I forgot to message, got distracted. I’m okay xx

You read his reply, he was happy you were okay, a light scalding about scaring him like that. You needed to see him, but you couldn’t ask him to come home, he’d only worry more, and he was filming, his schedule was tight. You sighed as you pulled up Harry’s contact, it didn’t take him long to answer.

“Y/N? Hey.” Harry said, his usual chirpy self.

“Hey Harry. Can you send me the details of where you’re staying? Want to surprise Tom.” You said as normal as you could muster.

“You missing him already? He’s only been gone a week.” Harry teased with a short laugh.

“Yeah, I just want to see him.” You confirmed, tone dropping slightly.

“You okay?” Harry asked worriedly, he knew you were always up for a laugh, but you’d not taken the bait, so he knew something was off.

“Yeah, like I say I just miss him.” You sighed, hoping Harry wouldn’t press further. “Just don’t tell him I’m coming, yeah?”

Harry promised he wouldn’t ruin the surprise, giving you the location of the hotel they were stopping in. You put the phone down and booked your flight, the next one wasn’t until tomorrow and you needed to talk to someone about this, you also needed to find cover for your shifts. You killed two birds with one stone as you called your best friend, asking her to come over if she could.

“Y/N? What’s up? You okay?” She asked as she made her way into your home. She knew something was off when Tess didn’t greet her like she usually would. The dog only looking at her to make sure she wasn’t a threat before placing her head back in your lap.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, you felt tears brim your eyes, the emotional confusion was becoming too much for you. She sat next you, carefully as not to disturb the dog in your lap, who huffed, leaning her head onto you more. She became almost jealous when anyone else tried to comfort you, Tom found it endearing and infuriating at times.

“Have you had a fight with Tom?” She asked carefully, the pups ears pricking up at the mention of her owner. You shook your head in response. “You just missing him a lot?” She pried, trying to get to the bottom of your problem.

“No more than usual.” You answered as you slightly scratched Tess’s head.

“Help me out here Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” She asked and you looked at her, she noticed the tears in your eyes and furrowed her brows. “Y/N/N?” She asked softly and you let the tears fall, you couldn’t help it. Tess standing on your lap as she nudged at your face. She assumed you were missing Tom, she was always so attentive and tried to cheer you up when you cried.

“I’m pregnant.” You said through your tears, pulling Tess into a hug as she placed her head on your shoulder. Your friend looking at you, shocked expression on her face.

“Are you, are you sure?” She asked carefully. Of course she knew about your supposed infertility.

“The doctor said so. I don’t know. I didn’t think it was possible. I know I should probably be happy but it’s so much to take in. I didn’t know this was possible.” You got out. Your friend waited for you to calm down, watching as you cuddled Tessa, the dog licking your cheek every now and again until you calmed down.

“Sorry,” you said as you sniffled, eventually calming down. Your friend smiling at you, in a comforting way. “I just, I don’t know how this is supposed to make me feel.” You said, Tess now peacefully back in your lap.

“I don’t think there’s a hand book for this sort of thing.” Your friend said. “Look, you’re just confused. The impossible has just become possible for you, of course you’re not gonna know how it makes you feel. You told Tom yet?” She asked.

“No, I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if it’s something he wants right now.” You said, tears welling your eyes. “How do I tell him?”

“I think you should just come out with it. Just say it. He loves you, I’m sure he won’t leave you. This is a good thing.” She reassured as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “A really good thing. Just tell him. I’ll cover your shifts this week, just go and tell him.” She said with a smile.

“You really think he’ll be okay with it? That we’ll be okay?” Being pregnant was already scaring the living hell out of you and the thought of doing it alone? You couldn’t think too much about it right now.

“I know he loves you and I know that the two of you are solid. You guys can work through anything. I think he’ll be over the moon. You’ve been given a chance that not many people in your position do, I know that means you’re scared but you don’t have to be, you’ll be okay. Just let the excitement in.” She said and you took in her words.

Maybe you did need to relax, this was a good thing. You didn’t feel ready to have a child, but you were given a gift that not many other women in your position are. You should be excited, you thought about it for a while, letting the excitement flood you. This felt like a miracle, an absolute gift from the universe.

After a relatively short flight you were met with your brother-in-law’s arms, as he picked you up from the airport.

“I could’ve gotten a taxi.” You smiled and Harry shrugged.

“Toms on a closed set, spoilers and all that. Didn’t have anything better to do.” He teased as he nudged your shoulder and you smiled. “Right, out with it.” He said after your lack of usual response.

“What?” You asked, furrowed brows.

“Something’s off. What’s wrong?” He asked, concern written all over him as he opened the passenger door for you, making his way to the driver’s side.

“I just want to see him.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up to play with your bottom lip.

“I appreciate that, I do. But, you had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and all of sudden you’re rushing to see him.” He observed, he cared for you just like he would his own sister.

“How’d you know about that?” You asked and Harry gave you a knowing look, of course Tom will have spent the last few days worrying about it. “Can I tell you when I’ve told Tom?” You asked quietly.

“Wait, are you sick? Like actually ill?” He asked as he pulled into the drive of the hotel. He turned the ignition off and looked at you. “Y/N/N, are you okay?” He asked again and you couldn’t help as you burst into your second fit of tears in two days. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry I’m just worried.” He furrowed his brows, when you didn’t respond he sighed as he pulled you into a hug.

“I don’t know what to do.” You said vaguely.

“About what?” He asked as he hugged you tighter, it was awkward positioning, but you felt slightly better.

“Harry I need to tell Tom something and I don’t know how he’ll react.” You sobbed, something about being in the hotel grounds had your nerves shooting through you, you weren’t far off Tom right now.

“Hey, whatever it is it’ll be okay.” He said as he rubbed your back, you silently calmed yourself and he pulled you back to look at him. “Come on, let’s get you to your husband.” He said as you both exited the car.

The walk through the hotel didn’t feel long enough, your nerves felt like they were eating away at your heart, making your breathing more difficult as you tried to calm them. Harry was quiet as he led you through the halls. When he stopped outside the door you knew was Tom’s hotel room, you felt panic rise, you couldn’t do this.

“Harry, I can’t.” You said as you stopped him opening the door. He whipped to look at you.

“Y/N/N, when has there ever been a point in your relationship where you haven’t been able to talk about something?” He reassured and you sighed.

“This is different.” You said and Harry smiled sadly.

“It’s nothing you guys can’t handle. You’re a strong couple you know.” He reassured as he grasped your hand in his. You’d always been close to Tom’s family, they became like your own brother’s. “Come on.” He said as he opened the door with the second key, Tom had his back to the door.

“Harry? Where’d you go?” He asked, knowing it was his younger sibling.

“Went to pick up a present for you.” Harry smiled and Tom turned with furrowed brows.

“Wh- Y/N/N?” Tom let out a breath of surprise. Seeing him after almost eight days apart still brought that feeling of excitement in you as your feet moved before you could stop them. Running to him as he opened his arms, ready to catch you. Your body collided with his as he picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

You inhaled his scent, letting it calm your nerves, it always did. His scent and being in his arms, grounded you, kept you sane. It wasn’t long before the panic set in, what if he wouldn’t be there to ground you anymore? What if he didn’t want this? It was hard, you knew everything about him apart from his want or lack of when it came to children. You didn’t know how he was gonna react.

“I’m just gonna.” You heard Harry excuse himself as he heard your sobs start again. Tom stiffened slightly, holding you tighter.

“What’s wrong? Hey, it’s only been eight days, we’ve done more.” He said as he lightly shrugged his shoulder, forcing you to look at him. He took in your face, how tired you looked, it wasn’t until he settled on your eyes that he saw the fear in them, he didn’t miss a single detail when it came to you. “What’s happened?” He asked and you shook your head before stuffing your face back into his neck.

He held you, let you cry, he knew you’d talk but he wouldn’t push you. As worried as he was he’d wait for you to calm down, wait until you were ready. You stayed like that for a good five minutes before he heard your breathing calm and sniffles quieten, running a hand through your hair and running a hand up and down your thigh in comfort.

“Tom?” You whimpered and his heart shattered, he couldn’t decipher what the fuck was going on and it scared the shit out of him. You’d seen him and cried your eyes out, your sobs shaking your body in a way that had Tom’s heart hammering in his chest.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked, voice soft as he kissed your temple. “What happened?” His grip tightened when you tried to get down, your body had still clung to him like he’d disappear. Hands relaxed as you let go of the tight grip on his t shirt. He didn’t want to let you go.

“Can I get down please? You might want to sit for this.” You said and Tom furrowed his brows as he did as you asked. He studied you for a moment before you gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, wiping at your sore nose. You’d rubbed it so much after all your crying that it felt a little tender. He sat and you sat next to him, taking his hands in your shaking ones as you played with his fingers, he knew you did that when you were nervous or extremely relaxed and he deciphered the reason easily.

“Hey,” he said as he let you continue playing with his digits. “You can talk to me, sweetheart you’re scaring me here.” Tom said, voice incredibly soft, he was scared if he talked any louder you’d break, he’d never seen you so vulnerable.

You breathed in, you had to say it, he’d find out eventually, it wasn’t exactly something you could hide. On top of that you and Tom didn’t do secrets, not between each other. You let out a shaky breath as you looked at your husband, nothing but worry and care reflecting in his eyes.

“I,” you started, voice hoarse from all your crying. “I don’t know how to say it.” You admitted and Tom’s heart dropped, he’d never in your entire relationship seen you so vulnerable, never seen you at such a loss for words.

“Just say it. Rip the bandage of?” He offered in aid, and he heard you take in a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m pregnant.” You breathed out in a whisper. Tom didn’t catch it as he pulled one of his hands from your grasp, eyebrows furrowing as you pulled it back into your grasp. You were grounding yourself, using his hands as a way to keep your emotions in check. He knew that which is why he left his hand he’d previously tried to free.

“Sorry darling, I didn’t catch that.” Tom said as he placed his chin on your head. You played with his wedding ring on his finger for a moment, twirling it on his finger, it wasn’t as mindlessly as you usually did it, before you spoke again, it was still quiet, but Tom didn’t miss it. The words echoing around the silent hotel room. Of all the things he expected to be wrong, this was not it.

“What? How?” Tom got out, shock taking over his system. He didn’t think this was possible, didn’t think you could.

“I’m sorry.” You said, voice quiet, no tears but Tom would be surprised if you had any left. You placed your head on his chest as you waited for his response. You were nervous, incredibly so and Tom was shocked.

It was your fingers playing with his more harshly as you grew more nervous of his silence that brought him crashing back to Earth. His heart hammering in his chest, excitement bubbling through his system. He felt like he’d just been told he was King of the world, felt like every good piece of news had come back to him all at once. This was a miracle.

“Say it again.” Tom said with a smile on his lips, he needed to hear you say it again, just so he knew it was true.

“I’m pregnant Tom.” You said and he couldn’t help himself as he let a tear fall, his chest filling with a happiness he hadn’t felt since you’d said, ‘I do,’ and he was sure this was even happier than then. You’d done something you were told was impossible. “Are you angry?” You asked, voice small as you grasped a hand around his wedding finger.

“Angry? Princess this is the best news in the world. We’ve been given a chance, one most couples don’t.”

You looked up at him and studied his face, it was full of nothing but joy and adoration, you smiled sadly as you let the excitement settle in your chest. You didn’t have to do this alone, he wanted this. You both did.

“I’m scared.” You voiced your concern.

“You’ve got me, and I’ve got you.” He said reassuring as he kissed at your cheeks. “We can do this. Together, like everything else.” He said again and you let go of his fingers as you hugged him, strong hands finding your back as he pulled you tight against him

A month later and Tom had quit the role, the director and his agent understanding, he needed to be here for this, he couldn’t and wouldn’t miss it. He didn’t care if it gave him a bad name, you and your baby came first, always. Luckily everyone understood, well everyone involved in making the film. You still needed to tell your families, your mum and dad had cried at the news, your dad unbelievably so. Your sister was nothing but ecstatic for you, it was not time to tell Tom’s family, Harry had been worried after your exchange when he picked you up, but he stopped pushing when Tom reassured him you were okay.

“What? I thought?” Harry started as he looked at the couple in shock, of course Tom had told him that you were unable to have children. He’d told all of his family to stop the questions about them cropping up.

“So did we.” You said with a smile, nothing but excitement was left now, all your fears and concerns leaving your system.

“Are they certain?” Sam asked, he was just as shocked as Harry.

“Yeah.” Tom said, you’d been to a couple of doctors to confirm the news, the two of you both lived for a solid week thinking you were dreaming and almost needed it confirming as many times as was possible.

“I’m so happy for you.” Harry said with a wide smile, engulfing you in a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Have you told mum and dad?” Sam asked, smile matching his twin’s.

“Not yet.”

“Mum’s gonna cry.” Harry smiled.

“What?” Dom asked, like everyone else, nothing but shock evident.

“Oh Tom,” his mother said as she hugged him, smile on her face as she cried tears of happiness. “This is a miracle.” She said and Tom smiled as he hugged his mother back.

“I thought it wasn’t possible.” Dom was still in disbelief.

“So did I.” You said and Dom pulled you into a hug.

“I couldn’t be more happy for you.” He said into your ear.

His parents understood this was different for you, Tom had made the choice where you’d not had one. As harsh as it sounds Tom could have called it quits in the early stages of your relationship when you’d told him. Whereas for you, you’d lived your life thinking it didn’t matter who you married you’d never have the choice and here you were. Nikki was the next to pull you into her chest.

“I’m so unbelievably happy for you, you have no idea how happy I am for you right now.” She cried into your shoulder, and you smiled, Tom mouthing a slight ‘sorry’ over her shoulder before his dad pulled him into a hug.

It wasn’t until your three month scan that things got incredibly emotional, when the nurse had placed the gel on your stomach to listen for a heartbeat. You all heard two and the only person who didn’t catch on was you, you assumed it was your own heartbeat. Tom cried when he heard them, cried so incredibly hard and you assumed it was because he’d heard his child’s heartbeat for the first time and it was, but it wasn’t only that.

“I knew twins ran in the family but Jesus fucking christ.” Tom muttered as he sniffled, and you looked at him confused.

“What?”

“Darling, there’s two heart beats.” Tom said as he looked at you, how had you not caught on. You looked to the nurse for help.

“Mrs Holland, you’re having twins.” She smiled and you almost screamed in joy. How had you gotten so lucky? You couldn’t help as you pulled your husband into your arms, he let out a slight breath as you pulled him to your chest and cried into his hair.

Neither you nor Tom cared the gender of your child, male or female, you were ecstatic. The baby reveal was incredible, it brought tears to everyone’s eyes as they watched the two of you with your little confetti canons.

“Okay, darling. On three?” He asked, nerves kicking in for the both of you. He whispered out the numbers and on three you both set your canons off. Blue confetti showered everything in its path, they were both boys. You heard as Harry and Paddy practically roared in excitement, Sam clapping his older brother on the shoulder with a ‘congrats.’

Tom picked you up and cried into your chest, you were both over the moon. You ran your hands through his hair as you kissed the top of his head, you’d never seen him as emotional in the last few months, he cried at everything do to do with your pregnancy.

“We’re gonna have nephews!” You heard Paddy scream as he fist bumped Harry, the two had been adamant they were both boys. You smiled at their excitement.

The labour was long and hard, you felt like you couldn’t carry on through the last four hours. Both boys being born, half an hour apart, you both cried, Tom cutting the umbilical cords with shaky hands.

“I’m so proud of you.” Tom said as he kissed your temple, you were sweaty and in your opinion probably looked like shit, not to Tom though. You looked like an absolute angel.

“I never thought I’d have this.” You said in a small and tired voice, a wave of emotions hitting you.

“I know sweetheart.” Tom said, he knew there really was nothing else to say, no ‘if’, ‘buts’ or ‘maybes.’ What had happened for the two of you was an absolute miracle, a chance not many were given.

“I love you.” You said as a tear slipped, and Tom was quick to wipe it away as he moved the sweaty mess of hair from your forehead.

“I love you to, more than anything.” He said as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Tom, I’m all sweaty.” You groaned as you tried to calm your onslaught of emotions and he laughed.

“How do you think these guys were made, we had to get a little sweaty then didn’t we?” Tom teased and you lifted a tired hand to slap his shoulder. He laughed as he pulled away to hold your hand.

“Thank you.” You said as you played with his fingers, particularly the wedding ring that rested on his finger. Although this time, it wasn’t out of nerves, you were content, happy, in pure bliss.

“What for?” He asked, the gratitude confused him.

“For staying with me, sticking by me.” You said as you closed your eyes slightly, you were so tired, a long labour having caught up with you.

“I told you when I asked you to marry me, I’m never going anywhere, no matter what. Get some rest darling.” He said but it fell on deaf ears, your breathing evening out as you looked the most content and happy he’d ever seen you in his life, sleep consuming you. Your hand didn’t leave his, your two healthy boys were currently sleeping next to your bed. As Tom looked around the room at his family that was much bigger than he’d anticipated at the start of the year he counted his blessings that whoever was up there had given you a chance.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom hollad fic

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multiplefandomsblog · 3 years

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request; Can I request Nagito, Kokichi, and Rantaro with an s/o that has a hard time understanding why someone feels a certain emotion in situations?

pairing(s); rantaro x gn!reader, nagito x gn!reader, kokichi x gn!reader

warnings; blood, violence, broken noses, strong language, kind of angsty — sorry that nagito's is super long- i started off with him and i haven't written in a long time so i just shit all over the place, fluff at kokichi, i have mood swings I'm so sorry about the whiplash you are about to witness

note; yesss i am back to finish these requests yurrrrrr sjansjdhfbasdkjfds I'm not gonna make a big announcement or anything(I'm still trying to figure out how to balance everything in my life rn, so I'm sorry for people who are waiting on me—) , just gonna spit out as many finished requests as i can, sorry for the abrupt pause of everything by the wayz ill be (hopefully) regularly posting works from now on.

(also this request was kind of vague, so i used the example of someone getting upset/angry and reader not understanding why; i hope that's okay :'))

Nagito Komaeda

◊ I think Nagito would understand your struggles more than anyone else.

◊ And… honestly, it kind of reassures him that you share a struggle with him. It makes him feel less alone, less like the odd one out.

◊ Being similar to someone like you in any way, even if it was a genuinely difficult and real struggle; was a blessing in disguise for someone as lowly as him.

◊ Getting that out of the way, Nagito would never see your struggle as what it is. The way he views you, how highly he puts you up on a pedestal, as well as how much hope he believes you to hold; he, at first*, won't help you at all with your struggles.

◊ As a strong believer of hope overcoming despair, good defeating bad; Nagito is positive that the struggles you hold will always be defeated, bludgeoned into a despairing sludge by your all-mighty hope.

◊ And at first, he won't even think of this as a bad thing! You should be proud of it, of course, unless it stirs despair within you.

◊ * That being said, if he sees you struggling with your inability to understand human reactions to an awful point, he would put his obsession with hope aside, and focus on trying to help you as your boyfriend.

◊ Though I'm afraid, he wouldn't be much of a help, because he gets stuck on this one too.

◊ If you ever unintentionally angered someone, however, and/or provoked them to potentially hurt you; he'd immediately step in and lay the damp washcloth of apologies on the accidental fire you had set.

◊ Though there is a high chance, he'll make it worse by saying something he hadn't intended to sound condescending. It just came out that way.

◊ Nagito would never put your well-being before his insatiable need for you to accelerate and empower your hope.

◊ He's your boyfriend before he is your admirer of hope.

— "What...? How can you- how can you be so calm!?" Confusion, fear, and intimidation seemed to overwhelm you as you stepped back, eyebrows creased in utmost confusion as the person before you, seemed to have been angered by your wording.

Suddenly, you had started repeating and reversing over what you had previously said, scanning your wording for things that could have been perceived as offensive; only to grow even more confused as you had found none.

"I... What? Are you... are you mad at me or something?" Your genuine tone of voice, as well as the genuine look of confusion on your face, had been blurred and unnoticed as the ugly emotion of anger seemed to destroy their human senses— and the person had unfortunately taken your question as an insult.

Without another word, the sickening crunch of flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone echoed throughout the trial room. Flesh and bone that had thankfully, and unfortunately, hadn't belonged to you.

"Holy- Someone hold them back!"

"There's... no need for that...!"

Turns out Nagito took the hit for you.

He peeled the hand tending to his nose away from his face, revealing the nasty bruising and the blood dripping down his nostril—despite the gruesome sight of it all, he still seemed to be smiling. Smiling as if something amazing had just happened, and he was dying from the joy he had been feeling.

He wasted no time to spew out whatever he could think of, despite the shock and adrenaline from getting a broken nose, he still fought through the struggle to speak properly, as well as merely breathing without immense pain.

It was like second nature to him, to steer the blame and the aggression away from you—even if it almost killed him. Anything... to protect his hope.

"Haha, this is... Whatever you need to achieve your hope, whether it be a good old-fashioned beat-down or... murder;" a laugh crossing the line to psychotic erupted from Nagito's scratchy throat.

"I personally invite you all—especially (name)—to bruise me up and brutally murder me for your pleasure, and your hop!" —all at the expense of him making sure no one gets the chance to lay a single finger laid onto you.

◊ He loves you, and he swears this is out of (mostly) good intention <3?

◊ i- i think i lost it somewhere in the middle

Rantaro Amami

◊ Literally, the most understanding, supportive, and comforting man you will ever meet and have as an emotional support boyfriend when you struggle with humans and just... humans.

◊ For first impressions, Rantaro will remain as understanding as he already had been, and is. If he visibly sees you struggle with the reactions of others to specific situations, he'd never start up shit, as well as assume you mean something bad immediately. He will always give you the benefit of the doubt, and the fact that he loves you may have been a factor — but I swear, he does this with everyone else too.

◊ If you ever responded/reacted to something that normal human beings usually respond differently, Rantaro would definitely notice, but he wouldn't say anything until he had his suspicions confirmed — and until someone else decided to get pissy or upset about it.

◊ If you ever get into a conflict with someone about how you seem emotionless( even though you're really not ), Rantaro will always be there to defend you and back you up. The first thing he would do is try to understand your side, then their side, and then try to see how the two fit together, and how you both grew to have your reaction.

◊ Most conflicts and arguments end peacefully, at fault to Rantaro's experience of being exposed to many personality types(his sisters), and completely normal and human struggles(also his sisters).

◊ Though, notice how I said most.

◊ Some situations and arguments, really can't be resolved, nor looked past—especially when personal, and very strong feelings are involved. You really can't avoid it when people are still grieving.

◊ But even so, Rantaro will remain a mediator and a peace-keeper until the end; he doesn't and never has enjoyed violence or super over-the-line arguments.

— "N- no, I a- actually don't understand...! I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, shut up! No one's believing that crap!" The shock and the hurt from their words had visibly affected you — the disbelief and their rage hadn't done anything to calm your anxiety from not having understood what had been wrong.

Rantaro would intrude on the one-sided argument, a gentle yet nervous smile on his face as he tried to put some distance between you and the person who had gotten offended. "Hey now, I understand you're upset, but it'll be safer for all of us if you don't insult them. I'm sure this was just a big misunderstanding... let's sit down, yeah?"

◊ If you ever feel frustrated or upset about a past interaction with someone he had reacted in a way you hadn't expected, feel free to expect Rantaro to be there for you with his comfort. Whether it be assurances, hugs, or just a listening ear; he'll be there for you.

◊ He may not understand your struggles to an extreme extent, but he will try his best to empathize with you and to understand you; and if he doesn't? That's okay. Because he still has cuddles + listening to you rant as his plan B solution on getting your frustrations out.

Kokichi Ouma

◊ Kokichi... doesn't understand you at all.

◊ It's second nature to him to react abnormally or to over-exaggerate towards something that probably shouldn't have gained a reaction like that — but that doesn't necessarily mean that had been his true reaction from the start.

◊ They're lies, well, most of it.

◊ When Kokichi notices your confusion, or if you come to him about your frustrations; he won't believe you at first. It's a stupid thing to not trust someone about, yeah, but he lies all the time about this kind of thing — so not only would he feel terrible if you were telling the truth about your real struggle, he would-

◊ Oh, you're telling the truth?

◊ ... Oh.

◊ Well, of course, he feels horrible for his past faked reactions and lies. A part of him believes it to be his fault entirely, whilst the larger, louder part of him believes it to be someone else's fault.

◊ And he's a liar; so of course, he'll lie. To himself, at least.

◊ "Wha—!? Who's been confusing my beloved? Gimme names and I'll get 'em!"

◊ He's not much of a listener, nor a person who really just... talks about serious shit. So despite not wanting to talk directly about serious things, as well as not being the best at comforting you in a 'serious' manner, he has his own little way of dimming your frustrations with human beings.

◊ He won't show it, nor will he mention it, but he does try to be more transparent with you; as well as tries to be less confusing when talking and/or interacting with you.

◊ The reactions are dimmed down, and despite that, he still continues to be silly and still continues to joke around — just not in a way that'll frustrate or confuse you(ish). He's all about getting reactions out of you, especially frustration but, he wouldn't purposely augment your anxiety about this type of thing.

◊ ^^ If he was to do that, however, he would always tell you it was a lie afterwards. After all— despite enjoying the thought of you thinking of him all week—he doesn't want you stressing and/or overthinking about it for the rest of the week.

◊ Kokichi definitely feels guilty of your struggles, however, they may have not blossomed directly from him, he still feels horrible for triggering it? You? — look- what he's trying to say is, he feels awful, and he hadn't meant to make your struggle with understanding other human beings, worse.

◊ Though there are times he does find your confusion and gullibility to be sort of entertaining in a way, but he would constantly feel bad about finding pleasure in your frustration.

◊ Kind of bad.

— "Nishishi! I'm just saying, if someone took a fat shit on my lawn, I would thank them—"

"Wh- Seriously.. ? Why??"

◊ He finds it hilarious how you seem to take his words to heart, but of course, fun comes to an end as he says—

— "Nope! It's a lie!"

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perlukafarinn · 3 years

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sequel to this fic (read it for context. or don’t, i’m not the boss of you). i blame @hermywolf for this.

Things were tense for a while.

Now, Dean knew why he was awkward. He’d offered himself up as Benny’s personal human juicebox and something in his fucked up, wires-crossed brain had gotten so turned on by the act, he’d been about point three seconds away from grinding on his friend like a sophomore at prom.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Benny or Cas acting so weird.

Benny, and there was no other way to put it, had gotten really touchy-feely. Dean hadn’t realized how rare a non-violent touch was in Purgatory until it wasn’t anymore, until Benny kept putting his hands on Dean’s body, on his back, his shoulder, even his knee as they sat by the fire pit at night. Every touch casual and yet rife with some meaning Dean couldn’t comprehend, and every single one leaving Dean yearning for more.

And then there was Cas. When he wasn’t hovering over Dean, constantly appearing between him and Benny, he was lingering somewhere behind them, sour-faced and glowering off into the distance.

So yeah, tense.

It was the first time Dean was actually thankful for the unending stream of monsters in Purgatory. The near constant combat didn’t leave much time to worry about anything else. Dean was almost convinced that they could get past this whole episode without mention, given enough time and distance and distraction by monsters.

Then Benny had to go and get hurt again.

It wasn’t life or death this time but it was close enough, a lucky swipe from a werewolf nearly tearing a hole open in Benny’s chest.

Cas got to him first again, heaving Benny to his feet and easily holding his weight when it turned out Benny’s legs couldn’t quite support him. Dean got there second, a few moments later, heart pounding as he surveyed the damage.

He met Cas’ eyes.

“Dean, no,” Cas said, catching on almost quicker than the idea had passed through Dean’s mind. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Dean said, face growing warm for reasons he really didn’t wanna examine. “You’ll heal me after, right?”

Cas sighed. “You know I will.”

“He’s right, cher,” Benny spoke up. “Gimme an hour or two to heal, an’ I’ll be fine. You don’t gotta do this.”

Dean ignored him, stepping in close and pulling down his collar. “Shut up and let me help you.”

Benny laughed, low and strained. “If you insist...”

He leaned in and Dean closed his eyes in anticipation, one hand grasping Benny’s shoulder to steady himself. It wasn’t enough, the sudden pain of fangs sliding into flesh sending him stumbling against Benny until an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him still.

Heat stirred in Dean’s gut and he quickly tried to focus on the pain, on the unnatural pull of Benny’s mouth, on his knees still aching from the earlier fight.

It didn’t work. Somehow, the pain just threw the pleasure into sharper relief. It was all too much; Benny’s warmth against his side, his mouth hungry and insistent, his fingertips digging into Dean’s skin as he tried to pull him even impossibly closer.

Dean opened his eyes and oh, big mistake. Cas was right there, inches away, still holding Benny upright as he drank his fill of Dean’s blood, staring into Dean’s eyes with a look that might almost be mistaken for hunger.

Dean should have looked away but he couldn’t. He felt trapped, pinned down by the monster at his throat and the divine creature staring him down.

A pained gasp escaped Dean’s lips as Benny pulled away his fangs. He didn’t back off completely though, mouth remaining at Dean’s throat as he carefully licked up every drop of blood. Dean shivered, knowing he should be recoiling in disgust and not fighting off every instinct to lean in closer.

Finally, it was Cas who put an end to it, grabbing Benny by his hair and pulling him off. “Enough.”

Benny shot him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Easy there, chief. Can’t a man enjoy a meal in peace?”

He wasn’t being serious, Dean knew. He was just trying to rile Cas up.

Did that make it more or less fucked up that hearing Benny refer to him as ‘a meal’ kind of turned him on?

“You are not a man,” Cas said, voice low and dangerous. “And Dean is not yours to consume with reckless abandon.”

Holy fuck.

Dean glanced between them as they now stared at each other, Cas all righteous anger, Benny stubborn as a mule. The moment stretched on, tension building, and as Dean was sure something was about to snap, Benny looked away.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, laughing breathlessly.

Dean shot him a curious look but he didn’t say anything else, letting go off Dean and backing away. Dean stumbled on unsteady legs but Cas was there in an instant, arm around his lower back and hand raised to cover the wound on his neck.

It was too much, too fast. Dean’s head was spinning, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few minutes and drawing a blank on any plausible explanation. He felt lightheaded too, the blood loss finally catching up with him, and as warmth poured from Cas’ hand, healing him, all he could think was

Have Cas’ hands always been that big?

The third time it happened, it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination necessary.

Still, Benny had broken his leg. Even if it would only take a few hours to heal it would still slow them in the meantime. And even if he could still fight in this condition, why make an already difficult situation even worse when they had such an easy solution?

Cas didn’t protest this time. He took one look at Dean and sighed, sounding defeated. “If you must.”

Guilt stirred in Dean’s chest, strangely enough. “It’s easier for all of us this way, right?”

Cas didn’t look like he agreed. “Let me know when you need me to heal you.”

And he stormed off. Dean watched him go, the guilt growing stronger. Which was ridiculous, what the hell did he have to feel guilty about? Cas healed him without complaint after any other kind of injury. What made this so different?

Dean looked at Benny, who was sitting on the ground with his broken leg, watching the proceedings with an odd look on his face. His expression softened when he met Dean’s eyes.

“I hope you don’t feel obligated to do this,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, you gotta know that.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I just wanna - it’s not a big deal.”

He walked up to Benny, kneeling down on the ground next to him, straddling one thigh as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“You keep saying that,” Benny said.

He put his hand on Dean’s waist, steering him closer as if it were second nature.

“Cause it’s not.”

Benny hummed, eyes hooded, gaze unfocused and hungry as Dean leaned in. “It is to me.”

He bit down, lighting fast, saving Dean from coming up with a response. Dean didn’t bother to silence his whimper or to resist the urge to sit down on Benny’s lap fully, drinking in the touch of him as Benny drank his life’s blood in slow, deep pulls.

He didn’t take much this time, barely giving Dean time to get used to the pain before he was pulling his fangs out again, laving his tongue over the wound to soothe the sting of their exit.

“This isn’t a one-way street, you know,” Benny muttered, lips still pressed against Dean’s neck. His tongue darted out again, licking up a stray drop of blood. “I’m sure there’s something you want I could give in return.”

And Dean didn’t doubt for one second just what he was implying. It was hard to, really, with Benny’s dick growing hard against his ass, feeling impossibly hot even through the layers separating them.

It was tempting. No one had touched him that way in far too long and Benny was willing, more than. He wanted it as badly as Dean did and they were already half-way there, practically dry-humping on the cold, damp ground of Purgatory.

But… “Cas.”

Benny sighed. Pulled away and Dean missed the warmth as soon as it was gone. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” Benny looked up at him, a teasing glint entering his eye. “You know, he wouldn’t have to be a problem. I wouldn’t mind him joining in on the fun.”

A fuse blew in Dean’s brain. He shot to his feet, nearly stumbling over Benny in the process.

“That’s - I don’t -” Dean stuttered. “He wouldn’t!”

Benny gave him a meaningful look, though what meaning was completely lost on Dean, and got to his feet.

Instinctively, Dean held out his hand. Benny grabbed it, grasping it tight even as he got to his feet, steady as if he’d never gotten hurt at all. He leaned in and Dean didn’t even think, staying perfectly still as Benny kissed him.

He tasted like copper, blooming bitter on Dean’s tongue.

“Offer still stands,” Benny said, pulling away with a grin. “If you change your mind.”

Dean stared.

“Now go find your angel and get patched up.”

An order. Okay, Dean could follow that, even if his mind was becoming more of a jumbled mess by the minute. He walked away, going in the direction Cas had disappeared to and finding him a short distance away, standing in the middle of a clearing.

He looked up as Dean approached, opening his mouth to speak but whatever he had to say dying on his tongue. Dean stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling wrong-footed and uncertain.

Cas closed the distance between them, slowly walking up to Dean, into his personal space and then closer still. He raised his hand but he didn’t reach for Dean’s neck, for the still-bleeding wound just below his jaw.

Instead, he softly cupped Dean’s face, placing his thumb on his lower lip. Dean froze, breath caught in his throat, heart beating wildly against the cage of his ribs like a frightened animal.

“Did he-” Cas started then stopped.

He dropped his hand. Dean followed it with his eyes, spotting the dark smear of blood on Cas’ thumb. Dean’s blood, left on his lips by Benny.

Oh.

“Be careful,” Cas said, finally placing a hand - his other hand - on Dean’s neck and healing Benny’s bite. “Behaving recklessly in Purgatory has too steep a price.”

The warning rankled something deep in Dean’s chest. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to disobey, to lean in and smear his blood on Cas’ lips like Benny had done to him.

He ignored it. Reckless or no, Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew a rejection when he saw one.

#deancas #deanbenny #destiel #spn fanfic #blood drinking cw #team purgatory #purgatory #violence cw #perlukafarinn writes

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