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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

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~ Stitch ~

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Warnings: 18+ dealing with the trend (and still sometimes practiced) vaginal modification postpartum of stitching a woman’s vagina tighter than natural, ostensibly for the husband’s pleasure but achieving nothing more than tightening the entrance alone, causing pain and complications to the woman’s natural ability to expand and retract when necessary. The smut and descriptions may give some of you the heebie-jeebies, you have been warned. On the upside we have fluff and babies and Elaine being a boss and pussy inspections, more lactation kink, reunion sex and Elvis deep diving into sup-space which neither of these ill informed babies have any clue about. 🥂

Summary: after her trip to Germany and the arduous treck through the airport, Elvis and Elaine settle down for their first evening reunited

“Traitor,” Elvis growls at the headboard as the heated, writhing kiss he shares with his wife causes the damn thing to bonk obnoxiously against the wall like a damn tattle tell.

He and Elaine have stopped and started, stopped and started this, their first attempt at intimacy since she landed today in Germany, about five times already. Elvis has begun to think maybe they should play the old married couple and just roll over and sleep, hope for better things in the coming days. The knowledge that they won’t be having a house to themselves for at least a couple weeks, that their hosts–a superior officer and his kindly wife–will be putting them up until Elvis can find a house of his own with a gate and security close enough to base to make him feel confident in putting his family there makes him want to punch something. It really is generous of them–the officer and his wife–to open their home and by god he’s glad he doesn't have to sleep in barracks away from Elaine, but laying in a plush bed with his long-missed wife needy and ready beneath him and only communal walls and a creaky bed keeping him from his duty… it’s maddening.

“W-we could–against,” Elaine is trying to get out a contingency plan in between kisses, trying to harness her logistic prowess again and again but forgetting her train of thought each time she presses her lips against his. She’s missed him, didn’t even realize how much, but holding him and being held and kissing like it’s the only thing that’ll keep them alive, it’s got her yearning and happy and it’s shockingly natural. Watching him defend her earlier, nearly feral in protectiveness, has her warmed and thrumming. She thinks he may have had the right idea, married life with kids brings out a harmony between them she never saw before he gave her this.

She could grow to love this man, truly love him, not just be enamored. She thinks she’s in danger of it now with the way he can’t help but shower her in praise even as he jerks and pumps against her as they kiss. But he’s been so patient and so insistent that they do this properly, that he must ascertain that she is all healed up enough to take him. He’s decreed an inspection is necessary first but can’t stop kissing her long enough to look at the goods.

He’s boyish in that way, can’t decide where he wants to be. Compact as his wife is, her beauty is still spread out enough he worries he’ll miss something in her eyes when kissing her breasts or something with her gorgeous calves if he’s face first between her thighs. It frustrates and soothes him all at once, being stretched atop her, it makes him huff and growl and writhe.

The headboard bonks traitorously again.

He pulls away, glaring at it before looking over at the crib holding the sleeping babies. It’s been quite a day. First hauling ass with no notice from base to the airport, that arduous trek through the press to their ride, hauling ass back to Frankfurt with his family, introducing Elaine and the babies to every fellow private who managed to snag a leave and be at his officer’s house when he brought her back, dinner and games and small talk while sat in wet pants, pandemonium in trying to situate rooms, and then, then finally being alone. Just them. His little family. Alone to haul bags around, change diapers and nurse again, comfort jet lagged infants, strip out of his uniform, brush his teeth and collapse.

It wasn’t really the twins’ fault it took so long to settle them, they fed off the hectic atmosphere and Elvis may have been at fault for being unable to put them down for longer than a minute at a time, always picking one or both back up to study them and babble to them and kiss their fuzzy heads. Being a father required a lotta luggage and a lotta energy and once his babies had fallen asleep he laid on the bed inert beside Elaine, bathed in yellow lamplight beneath a whirring fan, exhausted but never happier.

She had turned her head to him sleepily, a little shy again and whispered softly,

“Hey you.”

“Hey you,” he had grinned and kissed her nose.

It made her laugh. He liked making his wife laugh so he kissed her again, then she kissed him. They kissed each other. The headboard banged against the wall, the slats creaked and through the wall he heard the unmistakable shuffle of their hosts settling into their respective twin beds. Though, by the resuming silence, it would seem that the worthy couple had chosen to read tonight instead of make starving, violent love to each other after three months of separation.

Elvis then groaned and wove his hand deeper into Elaine’s hair, tilting her just right and trying his damndest to devour her. He had shifted up for leverage and–BONK.

“Goddamn it!” he whines this time.

“Wall, the wall!” Elaine gasps out her solution before an insistent and wet tongue can stifle her again, “We could, ya know…against the other wall.”

“You wanna move the bed?” he asks, “Gonna make a whole lotta noise, gonna wake the babies and besides, their eldest daughter is in that room,” and he points at the opposite wall in question. In the dim his long lashes cast a dramatic shadow against his cheekbones as he blinks in confusion down at her.

“I meant just, ya know, against it,” she pants below him, lips puffy and eyes dark in the feeble lamp light. “You could take me against it. Standing, like you did that time…”

It’s funny, two babies made, married nearly a year, and yet there’s a shyness remaining in the sheer mention of that incident in the Fort Hood lavatory. He feels himself twitching at the memory and worries he might have another accident at this rate.

“Ok,” he whispers, suddenly a little shy too, and pulls away, goosebumps forming on his bare arms without the heat of her embrace. “Wanna, wanna inspect ya first, though.” He lays down the law despite looking rather unimposing standing there in tented boxer briefs and ruffled hair.

“No really, Elvis, I’m ready,” she insists, but he gently grabs her by the ankles and hauls her playfully around in the bed until she’s facing the lamp and its bedside table, the silky fabric of her night slip riding up her thighs.

“I’ll be the judge of that, lil mama,” he gives her an admonishing look and she grows meek and pink again and bites her lip like she did on their wedding night.

He hits his knees and peppers kisses up her calves, hauling her by the backs of her own knees to the edge of the mattress, hooking a leg over each shoulder. The feel of his bare back beneath her legs is homey and exciting all at once. The silk pooling between her thighs is quivering with each heavy breath she takes and he feels little tremors going through her, of excitement, he hopes. He kisses the baby soft skin right above her kneecap soothingly.

“You alright?” he asks, just to make sure.

“Yes, it’s just,” she pants and can’t seem to keep her eyes on him, like it overwhelms her when they lock eyes, his breathing so close to her throbbing heat, “it’s just, I-I’ve missed you,” she tells the blurry blades of the ceiling fan.

“Missed you too, so damn much,” he groans, pressing another kiss higher this time.

He takes a thumb and forefinger and grips the silky hem, he wafts the fabric up and the smell of her hits his nose, making his mouth dry out and then water uncontrollably. He wants to kiss and suck and slurp her up, but he’s got a job to do.

He left her in Memphis torn and stitched and raw from pushing his children out, it’s the least he can do to make sure his sweet little kitty is as patched up as she assures him it is.

Elvis Presley is neither a braggart, nor is he burdened with false modesty, it’s the God’s honest truth that he knows Elaine’s pussy, short as their marital bliss has been, better than the frets on his guitar. He thinks he’d know, just instinctively know, if something were amiss. But it’s a little hard to concentrate, to recall specifics of this pink oasis when she’s letting out little gasps of pleasure at his prodding touches and the sticky feel of her wetness clings to the pads of his fingers as he spreads her open. He’d wrung himself dry enough to the thought of her he almost feels like he’s rereading the bible after a long tour, spiritual transportation. She’s so wet down there, downright dripping for him, and that’s ever so pleasin, but there’s a tenseness to her folds as he drags his calloused fingertips below her entrance, where she tore, that he doesn’t like one bit. Maybe just skittish, but he isn’t satisfied with the dim lighting.

“Elvis, please please keep on, I’m goin mad up here,” she begs as he stops his little rubs and swivels to grab the lamp.

He yanks it off the nightstand, making a racket with the cord trialing and the lampshade toppling off and he doesn’t get why she freezes at the noise until remembers: they have babies. He crouches there between her thighs, bare bulb lamp in one hand, his other spreading her open as he awaits her verdict. After a minute of no rustling or whines from the crib she relaxes, her head falling back to the mattress again–all clear.

“Elvis, baby…” she sounds so needy it’ll drive him mad, and it comforts him some.

“Patience woman, patience,” he teases.

It’s different down there, somehow. She looks healed but it’s in a taut, stretched, angry pink sorta way he’s not sure he likes. Not sure he likes at all the way the flesh doesn’t give round her entrance like it oughta, like he taught it to. But she lets out a resounding moan at the breach of his thumb into her channel, and teased beyond her last vestiges of obedience, she rocks against his digit and he watches her suck him in, then spit him out wet and shiny in the stark lamplight. Over and over, deeper and deeper, humming happily as her slick starts to coat her taint and thighs in its excess. He adds another finger. She bucks up, taking him with a hiss.

“You been puttin’ your fingers up, like I told ya?” he doubts it a little, except he had heard the squelching proof of it over the phone.

As had the rest of the nation, he recalls with a scowl.

She mistakes it for displeasure aimed at her and is quick to swear, “Yes E, every night.”

“Good girl. And the coke bottle? How’d that go?” he inquires, finding it easier to abstain from sinking balls deep in her if he plays this like a role, pretends he’s not got any more business with her but examining her.

“It…burned a little,” she admits, tentative to give him any more information that might prolong her mulish husband crouching between her legs with a lamp stuck up in her business. “But it got better, as ya talked me through it, made sure to tilt my hips like you showed me, made it easier. Sorta felt like the first time all over again, honestly.” She admits the last bit softly, “And it got good, after the first bit of burn. Really baby, I’m all fine,” she insists, leaning up on her elbows to watch the way he contemplates her little house, blue eyes dark and earnest, his childish mouth ever so firm and burdened.

She wants to wipe that look away, she wants that gasp-inducing first thrust, she wants to feel him twitch and throb inside her again, she wants to watch him forget his manners and his mama’s teachings and take her like a savage, spewing worship from his mouth all the while.

She wants him. Some of this comes out verbally and he’s only a man, he’s persuaded. The lamp is clumsily put back in place and his lips, once headed for her own, dive between her legs, no longer able to hold out.

It’s clumsy, his slurping, sucking, nibbling attack down there, but that’s not to say it isn’t skilled. Elaine winds her hands into his army-cropped hair and hangs on, unabashedly chasing his nose and lips and tongue, smearing the evidence of how much she missed him all over his beautiful face. Kneeling as he is, and she laying sideways on the bed in her pursuit of his mouth, the headboard is not the culprit, rather her ever increasing moans and cries are, her lips bitten cruelly to try to stifle them but she can’t help it, it’s too good, he’s too good to her.

Her thighs crush his cheeks, puckering him up like his cousins enjoy doing to goad him, and he sucks and sucks, managing a finger fuck while he’s at it, and then there’s that gush and wail he knows so well as his wife releases onto his wicked tongue.

“That’s it, that’s it oh oh, just a little more I’ve, I’ve got a little more oh, oh baaaaby, oh god, just like tha–”

She’s wailing her pleas and she’s good to him, too. Sounding reverently awed but never shocked as the pleasure lights through her. She knows better than to be shocked by what reactions he can draw from her body, she finds him too capable to insult him by being surprised by any outdoing of himself he might do. He loves her for it, he’ll take the reverence, the trusting admiration that he thinks, hopes, prays might be love in its infancy.

She’s boneless and quaking when he pulls away, leaving one last longer smooch to her puffy little rosebud. Her thigh jerks in response.

She can taste herself in his mouth when he lays atop her again, kissing her soundly as he is somewhat sated by pleasing her but needier still, the throb begging to be relieved.

“Perfect, perfect woman,” he’s mumbling praises, or thanks to heaven for her, she’s not sure which.

She’s too busy running her hands along his back, up his sides, registering suddenly that the plush softness of his ribs is gone, lean, corded muscle in their stead.

“Where are my handles?” she demands, teasing but entirely in earnest, vigorously squeezing his boney sides for emphasis, then in outage she slides her way to his ass, kneading that firmed up muscle with begrudging acceptance, “Has the army taken my love handles, too? Good lord, what have they been feeding you, baby? Or have they not? I’ll make ya a midnight snack after this, I swear, I…oooh.”

Laughing into the crook of her neck he starts to hump her, his briefs beginning to stick and drag against her from the sloppy mess he made of her down there. She whines at the friction, the rough cotton against her freshly kissed petals and tugs the offending fabric down, over the swell of his backside, craning her neck to watch in apprecIation as his thighs ripple and jiggle to kick them off entirely.

If she were to be perfectly honest, Elaine thinks his butt does look magnificent. She might be forced to concede at gunpoint that it looks even better than it did when she first saw it on the wedding night and spent a delightful amount of time petting it, entirely unaware there was more to conjugal duties than kneading the swell of her beautiful groom’s flank. She pets it, for old times sake she tells herself, and it serves to bring him closer, his slick cock already gushing precum like a fountain and nudging at her like a thing possessed.

“Wall?” he pants, his voice starting to grow gruff in need.

“Yes, yes!” She hooks her heels around his hips and hangs on by his neck as he staggers upright, towards the opposite wall, managing not to stub a toe on the crib.

“I love you,” he swears into her gasping mouth as he grinds her against the wall, bumping her button with every upstroke.

“I love you,” she insists back, just as she had every phone call these last three months, separated by an ocean.

“Can ya–” he begs.

“Yeah.” She understands and reaches between them to line him up, excitement plain in her sparkling eyes.

That look of hers fires him up and he thrusts inside, gently and slowly as intended but almost forced to be so by the unrelenting ring of her entrance. It’s odd, it’s ungiving and tight and he’s missed her and she is warm and wet and tight and oh no–oh fuck, she looks like she’s in agony, her hands coming to slam down on his shoulders in a bid to push him away.

“Oh dear god,” she whimpers out and it’s a genuine plea for relief, no flicker of pleasure or curiosity anywhere on her precious face, just crumpled agony and he feels himself wilt slightly before he can even manage to pull out. She sobs as he manages it, every dragging inch of him feeling like sandpaper against her entrance. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry just let me try–” she sniffles, short staccato little sniffs of resolution, bravely trying to reach between them again.

“Woah, woah no, it’s ok, my love, it’s ok, oh god, shhh, shh,” he holds her against the wall as she trembles, little hiccups jerking her body from the lingering shock of that unexpected horridness. “That weren’t right, was it?” he observes, confused but mostly sick over that look of agony on her face. “Wasn’t right at all.”

“No, it wasn’t, but I–”

“Shhh,” he insists, pushing at the back of her pretty head till she lays her cheek down on his shoulder, allowing him to just soothe her for a minute, running his hands down her strong back and over the gorgeous globes of her ass, just swaying his hips to an inaudible tune, a gentle rocking against the wall.

Sideways he sways, never a thrust, never a motion that might spook her and he can feel her starting to relax again in his arms. She begins to pet him, his neck, his shoulders, his collarbones, his arms, his face. Casually, then with curious purpose, like she did their first night when he realized his mother knew more about what he needed in a wife than he ever suspected. For as he had laid there beneath that daisy fresh girl that was the newly minted Elaine Presley, she had petted and stroked his body, told him he was beautiful, showered him with praise that tumbled from untutored lips, oblivious that such things were often considered too feminine for a man to allow for himself to hear or enjoy. It had chained him to her for life, and she hadn’t even a notion of its potency.

His pretty little wife who’s not so fresh now but no less impressive, who’s petting him now and who had to do so very much more than he ever anticipated since marrying him. Now this… pain. They’re owed a break. They’re owed it.

“We’re gonna be ok, ya know that?” he whispers to her, it’s a mantra he’s told himself every night, “We’re gonna be ok, just gettin’ tested s’all, and we’ve got blessin’s by the dozen already, we’re not forsaken, jus’ a little roughed up. And I’m here now, and ain’t nothin in this world gonna separate us again.”

She pulls her head up from his shoulder, cheeks red from the violent reaction and then the pressure of his shoulder. It makes her eyes look a little puffy and young again, he finds he likes, can’t help but grin back as she grins at him, her hands scritching at the buzzed hairline at the back of his neck.

“I’ve missed you,” she informs him again, although this time there’s more there and he dutifully perks up to catch the undercurrent of meaning she seems to be lacing in those simple words. “I’ve missed the way you promise,” she says, leaning forward to brush his lips with her own, soft pecks and presses, “the way you remind me God’s on your side.”

“Our side, baby,” she’s got to understand, he’s got to make her understand this union right here was written in the book of life.

She uses her hold of his hair to tip his head back, his neck bowing and strained, he staggers a little from the wall, “Then who can be against us? Hmm?“ She recites while beginning to leverage herself from his shoulder into a grind along the front of him and that, maybe the scripture, maybe her earnestness, maybe her hunger–it does something for him, and he ends up staggering back into the bed. Making an awful racket as they both land heavily, panting and squirming, thumping the headboard against their hosts’ wall. She begins grinding herself furiously on his half mast cock and he lets her, encourages her, his hips meeting her part way and sliding himself perfectly through her folds again and again until she’s shaking apart above him for the second time, and his balls remind him they’ve been forced from the brink once already.

“Whew-eee!” she cheers in a hushed, shivering little celebration as her aftershocks recede and the lewd sound of her lubing up his cock with her pleasure slowly comes to a halt, along with her grinding. “Right, a pallet, is what I’m thinkin’,” she states, suddenly hopping off her perch with renewed vigor and seizing the quilts and beginning to tug them to the ground, arrested only by the lump of meat that is her husband’s blood-deprived brain and body. “Up up, this’ll help us keep it quiet,” she explains and clumsily, through a fog of watching Elaine traipse around in a silk nighty with her soaking, bare snatch hanging out quite prominently, he sees the light and complies, getting up. Manages to contribute and toss a single pillow onto the now neatly crafted pallet at the foot of the crib.

Oh god, he’s about to violate their mother right next to them. Oh hell, this was not part of the fantasy, somehow in his dreams, there were always children in her, but he hadn’t thought of what that would mean for making more with some outside her. Graceland, he assures himself, Graceland is big enough to hold the football team promised and for him to take her in plenty of abandoned little corners and nooks. It’s just this damn Army life and the shared room and, wait. Which one’s that? Goddamnit he doesn’t even know his own kids apart yet.

“Oh no ya don’t!” Elaine threatens, on her knees amongst the blankets already, objecting to the way little Elvis begins to droop again. She eyes his cock like she can glare it back into hardness and usefulness..

“I-I-I think one of ‘em’s lookin’ a’ me,” he shudders, less from the feel of her hot mouth now surrounding his cock and more from the idea that the image of this act is quite visible to his owl eyed infants through the slats of the crib.

Elaine pulls off with a wet pop, and unconcernedly peers through the slats at her babies, hand still working on him–against him, he thinks. “Oh Ella does that,” she explains fondly, “funny little thing sorta flutters her lashes in her sleep, forgets to close them all the way at times.”

Oh god, it’s his daughter. His poor, sweet, innocent daughter–is this how Mr. Phipps felt when Elvis took Elaine off his hands and carried her upstairs after the ceremony? Someone will one day come for Ella, and he’ll murder them, plain and simple. It’s decided. “S-so she’s asleep?” he begs.

“Dunno, try smiling at her, if she smiles back she’s awake, just drowsy.”

Elvis, perhaps through the strong fortification of his ancestor’s blood running through his veins or the few Hollywood acting lessons, manages to smile down at his baby girl, even as he hisses and jars the crib with his grip as Elaine swallows him whole again.

Ella smiles back.

“I-I-I can’t do this, oh god she’s watchin’!” but his knees are buckling, in existential crises and pleasure, as Elaine rubs and mouths at his balls.

A goddamn natural, that woman.

“There, that’s it,” Elaine coos to him as he falls into the cradle of her hips, “there we go.”

“Elaine, I–” he goes to look through the slats, now at ground level, but she places a hand on the side of his face like a horse blinder.

“Don’t look at the crib baby, please,” she cajoles, “They haven’t any idea what any of this is. But you do have a wife on your hands that’s missed you so much she’s resorted to puttin’ coke bottles up to ease the ache.”

She’s spittin’ straight facts and he tries to gather his energies, to focus on the fact Elaine is laying there beneath him, her soft thighs clamped around his hips as if he’ll run away, a breast right there beneath his cheek…he wonders if they’ve got milk in them again.

“M-maybe turn the lamp off?” he suggests, so very conscious of his progeny’s eyes on his ass.

“You're below eye level, Mopey,” she giggles, a patient eye roll accompanying it and his traitorous cock twitches at that, “So just, stay down, hmm? Besides, watchin’ your face is my favorite part!” she pleads with him, peppering his cheeks with persuasive kisses.

Yes, yes he recalls that it’s her favorite part. It was so unsettling that first night to be looked down upon with such marveling awe by a virgin girl riding his cock that he’d flipped her over and took his little bride from behind, like an animal, lying through gritted teeth that it was better for breeding that way. He likes to think he’s grown up a little since then. He thinks he at least ought to try.

“Alright,” he concedes and she’s a gracious victor, happily bringing him down to lay every inch of himself against her, the floor hard and unyielding beneath her back but the blankets cozy around them. “I don’t wanna hurt you again–” He brings up the obvious, hoping but unsure that her second orgasm may have loosened her up enough.

“It was just the angle, the angle was off,” she assures him, wriggling like an eel beneath him in her uniquely squirmy way of trying to ease her hunger, it’s adorable and he’s missed it an unbearable amount.

He grabs one of her arms to pin her still, taking himself in hand and dragging his tip through her utterly soaked folds. Her face looks so excited again, like a kid waiting for a present at Christmas–and it’s the fact he’s done this to her, turned the pretty and promising Miss Elaine into a hungry cock-wringer that has him collapsing onto her, into her, his puffy cockhead nudging into her with instinct and no finesse. Her little ring is so tight it burns his foreskin going in and he thrusts hard to get past it, to make that stupid burn stop and get himself tucked in where it’s warm and spongy and giving and fuuuuck, he’s missed her and–she just bit his shoulder to stifle her scream. It has the unfortunate effect of making him jerk deeper, despite his overwhelming sense that he shouldn’t, that he was right, that something about this isn’t ok. Something isn’t right at all.

“Don’t-don’t, don’t pull out.” She frantically halts his movements with a hand to his butt, forcing him to stay in as far as he’ll go and he thinks maybe he read her wrong, that it was a scream of pleasure she stifled, but there’s no mistaking her trembling rigidity and the wet tears he feels on his cheek.

“Baby, this ain't right,” he firmly declares, making to pull out.

“Oh for god’s sake please don’t move! Please, please I can’t bear you moving,” her voice is thick with suppressed anguish and, helpless, he stalls, obeys her, guiltily feels himself twitch and swell from being kept inside.

The male mind is a callous bastard, he thinks, bitterly. “Talk to me, darlin, talk to me, please tell me what’s goin’ on, whatcha want me to do–I’ll do anythin’ just, just talk to me,” he begs, his voice wavering.

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” she insists like the lying, foolheaded, brave darling that she is, “Just gotta get used to it again.” She lets out a deep breath she’d been holding since he first plunged in.

“I dunno, mamas, this seems awful bad. I not lick ya enough?” instinctively his hand moves down to where they’re joined, teasing her little bud persuasively but it just makes her clamp down harder on him and he hears her sob out,

“God no, please don’t make me do that,” she begs, referring to the natural way of a woman clenching on her man’s cock as if it were torture.

He’s had enough, enough of trembling and holding himself still while she cries in the shade of the crib, blocking out the yellow lamplight. “You’re tellin’ me you put a coke bottle up juuuuussst fiiiine but this is unbearable?”

“Alright, alright, the coke bottle hurt!” she admits, still keeping her iron grip on his ass and every time he goes to pull out she looks so pained it stops him, “It hurt, but I was pretty revved up with the way you were talkin’ over the phone and the doctor had said it would be bad the first few times after and we just gotta keep on and-and you’re a damn sight thicker than a coke bottle!” her remonstrance builds in heat and vulnerability as she goes on but he latches onto one thing in particular.

“Doctor said it’d be bad?” he asks, genuinely unsure of himself now. Breaking in a virgin is one thing, this is entirely unexpected.

“Yes, and that it would hurt but just to keep goin’… I thought I’d be able to, to take it or, or at least not be so wimpy about it–I want, I want you to feel good! It’s supposed to feel good, does it feel good, baby? He said it’d be like a virgin all over again.”

She looks so scared yet so expectant that it sends a chill down his spine, he can’t tell why. It feels–strange, and not like a damn virgin, not like it at all.

“Baby,” his voice cracks, can’t help it but he clears his throat even as his forearms start to shake from the plank he’s holding above her, “what’d he do to ya down there?”

“He stitched me.” She’s puzzled, “You know I tore–”

“Yeah, yeah, what was he talkin’ ‘bout virgins for?” His own voice is rising in panic at the idea that some Memphis fuckwit quack has officially ruined his new wife, “This is worse than that, ain’t it? Wasn’t so bad poppin’ yer cherry that ya screamed on me, ever, did ya?“

“No,” she whispers in defeat, agreeing that this is much, much worse than the wedding night, “He said he’d put an extra stitch in to make it tight for you again.” She looks so lost, so confused and hurt by his anger that he thinks he sees her flinching from his scowl.

That won’t do, won’t do at all, he lowers himself fully atop her, his arms giving out and he holds her close buried to the hilt as he nuzzles the tear tracks on her cheeks, trying to get a hold on himself, to be what she needs right now.

“You listen to me, darlin, you listen to your husband real well, ok?” he whispers into her ear, dragging his lips along her temple and her panicked shakes subside, “There ain’t nothin wrong with ya, this ain’t your fault, but there ain’t a thing about ya that needs fixin’, or tamperin’ with in any way, you hear me? You hear me, Elaine? You’re goddamn perfect, just the way God made ya, don’t you let no fuckin pervy sunuvvabitch make ya feel less for anythin’, aright? A man can have a child or he can have a woman, I wanted me a woman, I made me one outta ya and there ain’t nobody gets to take that from me, ya hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, I’m sorry,” she grits out, bitterly frustrated.

“That wasn’t my point,” he whispers, firmly gripping her chin so that she’ll meet his eyes, “my point was that you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. Nothin’ at all. You’re a champ.”

“You’ll, you’ll do it, right?” she whispers urgently.

“Do what?”

“Break me in again?” she urges, squeezing his biceps encouragingly, “I want more! I want more babies and I want it to be good again!”

“I-I-I think you might need a doctor for that–” he balks, truly miserable and at a loss as to what to do, compounded by the fact he’s been so damn lonely for her these passed months that now he has her, he feels like his guard is down and all that strength he needs to be the man of the family is just–hemorrhaging into the sheets.

“Elvis.” He’d recognize that tone anywhere, he’d recognize it half dead and already resigns himself to the fact he’s gonna do whatever it is Elaine’s about to tell him he’s gonna do, “Elvis baby, ya made a lot of promises, and I made a lotta sacrifices, and we’re gonna keep ‘em, alright? And all it requires from you is to use the tool God gave ya and open me back up? Alright? And don’t be a pansy if I bite your shoulder next time,” she teases, squishing his cheeks together fondly, “I pushed two children out of my body, I can take little Elvis. I can, c’mon, I want ya to move, try movin again.” And she digs her heel into the plush muscle of his arse for emphasis.

“Did you just kick me like a horse?!” he cries, aghast, his dignity outraged.

“Maybe.” she smirks.

“I should get some oil or–” he dithers.

“I’m sopping wet down there, that ain’t the problem.” She shakes her head, pushing at his chest to get him to plank above her again, despite the fact he can tell this whole procedure–for it hardly feels like making love so much as it feels like surgery–has made him a bit floppy inside her. “You just gotta tear it open,” she explains emphatically and in a tone so brave he gets queasy.

“Fuck baby–” he whines, the memory of her shaking in pain not at all distant, despite her new found courage.

“You had no qualms tearing me before!”

“That weren’t the same!” he protests adamantly over that rather roughly disposed of hymen.

“Elvis, darlin, please move, just try it, for me. For more babies, please, come on.”

He props himself up, a pathetic little distance between their bodies as he has no intention of actually leveraging himself into her with any force and the idea of being far from her, even by a few inches, is rather unbearable right now. He comforts himself with the notion she’s seen him crying dozens of times before, and it never seems to put her off taking him.

It’s not quite as awful, that first drag out and push back in, he’s soft and shrunken inside her and the hopeful quirk of her eyebrow tells him she feels the improvement, too.

“That's it,,” she encourages as he goes in again, swaying over her in gentle little lunges as she holds her legs apart by the knees, her precious face contemplative as he continues, braver little stabs that she refuses to wince at.

He can’t seem to firm up. And she knows why. It’s the owl-eyed infants observing from the crib beside them and the thought of hurting her and the guilt in his heart and those hateful, hateful thoughts that take up residence in his head when he hasn’t someone to spill them to.

“I’ve missed touching you,” she whispers, letting go of her legs to draw his face down to her, that face that has become so darling, nearly talking into his moaning mouth as she begins to recite all the things she loves and misses about him, “I’ve missed reading together at night, missed coffee in the mornings and prayin’ in bed. I’ve got all those magazines you marked up with the crib sets, they’re in my, oh, my uh, my suitcase, and I’ve got all those color swatches still laid out on the desk, just as you and me and your mama left ‘em–OH!” He’s hardening up inside her, his mind back home, back to the life that they barely had a chance to build but that he has clung to these three, lonesome months. “And the way you defended us outside the airport, you’re so strong, so, so oooh–”

“I’ve missed you.” His voice shakes and he sniffles, snotty and guttural in the crook of her neck, “Missed it all so bad I wanted to die some nights.”

“I know, I know,” she coos, firmly focusing on his heartache and not the terrible pain growing between her legs as his desire mounts and his hips begin to move in earnest, his cock hardening and stretching her just as she asked, just as is horribly necessary for this life they want to grow into being. “But we’re here now, your family is here, you feel us don’t ya? We’ve gotcha, we’ve oh, we’ve gotcha, that’s it, that’s it, oooh.”

There’s something awful happening down there, a tearing or a ripping or a god knows what as he throbs and jerks inside her, and her sob comes out despite her best efforts. He stills again immediately, his head flung up and his eyes warily studying her as his mind comes back to the here and now. She can’t have that, she can’t. It’s got to be done, and she’s the one in this new family, for better or worse, who does the job when it’s too awful for the rest to stomach. He’s a tender fella, her man, sensitive and intuitive to the point of terrifying, and she thinks it’s not so great a sin to deceive him on occasion if it’s important, if it’s in the cause of taking that sensory burden off him, once in a while.

“I missed you so bad I just had to come see ya, I knew my boy needed me.” She gives an alibi for her sob but he seems cautious to buy it, until…

…until she remembers that dazed and transported face staring up at her in his uniform as he drank from her mere hours ago…

It’s unfair, but Elvis Presley has never fought fair and his wife reckons it would be dishonoring to differ from him. All's fair in love and war, her darling idiot had once quoted to her, and she decides he’s not fully silly. All is fair, surely, she thinks as she makes a consciously alluring motion to knead one full breast, then the other, not missing the way his eyes flick back and forth from her face to her breasts in a desperate attempt to stay focused. Each glance downwards to the leaking nipples becoming more and more prolonged, her face forgotten as she kneads out a little trickle. She sees him instinctively wet his lips and she feels his cock twitch violently inside her, brushing up against that secret place he found on their housebound honeymoon, and she lets out the first truly pleasured moan of this session.

Stock still though he is, he’s breathing so hard watching her grope herself he sounds like he’s run a marathon. He gets these odd looks on his face at times, like he’s a different person or there’s a different mind up there on occasion when they’re making love. She isn’t sure what it is yet, but he becomes suggestible, terribly, terribly lost during it, and almost frighteningly confused after it. She wishes to learn him better, to know why and where he goes in these bouts, how to make them nice and sweet for him, instead of confusing and shameful as he seems to think. To learn him she must be with him, and engage with him, and the first part she has accomplished. She’s on a bedroom floor in Germany with her husband. Check. Now for the engagement, now for him to start plundering her so passionately he forgets anything but them, them, them.

“Come on, sweet boy, come on an’ taste me,” she whispers, swiping a trickle with her fingers and bringing it to his wobbling lip, then pushing inside his gaping mouth and over his tongue, sliding along the smooth muscle until he whines and clamps his mouth shut around her finger, sucking like more will come.

Like a dog with a bone, a baby with a pacifier, she leads him mouth first, down to her breast, making the transition from fingers to nipple seamlessly. He latches on, he sucks, his arms flinging out to grip her shoulders in a crushing embrace as a shake rips through him so powerfully she’s certain this is somehow something more, she just doesn’t know what yet. Loathe to jar him from his ravenous, moaning, close-eyed sucking transportion, she holds him close to her chest and leverages her hips up, taking it upon herself to be the one to wring him dry. The noises of him sucking, the lewd smack of their sticky hips and the complete control she has in this moment–despite his position above her, over her, in her–is so strangely delicious she finds herself gasping in arousal from the dynamic alone, the pain beginning to subside. Strangely, cooing to her husband like he’s a child as he joins in pumping her full, spurred on by each swallowing gulp and filthy encouragement spewed by his wife’s lips, is actually damn exciting. Elaine would have thought she would find such a thing burdensome, lonely, maybe even a little frightening to be left alone in charge while her husband descended into a mindless, titty sucking, hip pumping inseminator. But oddly, she finds herself squirming up to meet him joyously, thighs burning with the force of her efforts to impale herself, gasping almost as loudly as he is at each vibrating moan he sends through her breasts, the strangest of promises and assurances babbling from her own lips.

“That's a good boy, that’s it, just like that, oh you’re so good to me, so perfect, so pretty, gonna give me those babies if you keep that up. That’s it, use those hips for me, I-I-I’m never gonna let you go, never gonna let you outta me ever, you’d like that? Hmm, oh oh, yeah you like that, oooh of course you do, of course you do that’s it, you’re almost there aren’t you? Come on, harder baby, harder, whatever y-uh, uh uhn, you need, whatever you neeeed–”

His pace grows brutal and she feels the tear when it happens, a burning, raw fleshed pain following with each animalistic thrust he indulges in after the give of her entrance becomes apparent to his cock, if not his brain. She bites her lip bloody and craves the warm, soothing release of him every bit as badly as this lust blind boy above her.

“Mama!” he begs, wrecked and bent in on himself as he fucks into her like a man and sucks her teats like a babe, “Mama, please, please I need, please can I–”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to but learns right after her acquiescence as his pace falters and the whole lean composite of him bows up and begins to shudder out his release, hot spurts splattering her neglected womb and the thick, sticky trickle of him soothing the torn petals of her entrance. “Oh my, darlin,” she pants, labored and overwhelmed, the feel of him collapsed atop her both heavy and steadying. A comforting weight, her man, all sinewy muscle and long, limp limbs.

She runs her hands along his sweaty back and into his hair and down again, petting and talking to him, though he doesn’t seem aware, he just gives little shakes and mewls atop her, his softening cock finally slipping out as she shifts them to their sides. He seems asleep or unconscious nearly, except for the strong grip his hands maintain on her little frame, the only direction she has to suggest he needs her close.

She can do that, she can stay close. She’s never wanted anything more than that–closeness. How sweet to have found another who needs it as badly as she does. Is that love, she wonders. Who gets to define love, anyway?

She hauls the blankets up higher and ignores the throbbing, wet injury done between her legs, focusing on the way his wet cheek feels against her inner arm as she cradles him, studying this strangely vulnerable man of hers in the yellow lamplight. This striving of theirs took nearly all night, like Jacob and the angel, and the European dawn will be quick to intrude, she knows. Perhaps like Jacob she, too, will carry a limp in the morning, a souvenir of a brush with God. She throws her leg over his hip and draws him nearer, surrounding him as much as she can. She takes Elvis’ slack hand and lays it on her belly between them, watching as his fingers flutter over it even as his eyes remain firmly shut.

“Please, please,” her prayer to the Almighty gusts wet and fervent into his hair, “please take care of us. And bless us, bless us as we try to please you.”

Next thing Elvis knows it’s morning and there is a warm, sizable, but seemingly boneless little thing nudging his chest as he lays there waking up, eyes closed, trying to recall what happened before he took his pills and drifted off, trying to think of the circumstances that would fill him in on what sorta practical joke the boys might be pulling on him this morning. Then that warm, squishy, sizable thing pats him with a tiny, clammy little hand and he nearly bolts upright in realization of his surroundings. Thank God he has decent reflexes or else his sudden jerk would have sent his child flying, all the same they’re both a little startled as he catches his tiny daughter and their matching blue eyes have a staredown in the clear light of day.

“Hey, hey baby girl, sorry I startled ya,” he murmurs as he cradles her, that bizarrely unique smell of baby head breaking his heart and making him fall in love all at once as he kisses her forehead.

At the sound of his voice, the one she’s heard over the receiver day after day while an ocean separated them, Ella’s judicious frown smoothes into a toothless, buttery little grin that matches his own joy in having found each other.

“God, you two are unbearably cute.” Elaine’s gentle voice so close startles him and on further inspection of her position across from him, seated as well on the fluffy pallet on the floor with her back against the crib nursing his son, he realizes he’s lost a considerable gap of time in his memory before falling asleep. “Good morning, sleepyhead, how ya feelin’?” She points her toe and rubs his inner thigh fondly and he feels himself tearing up at the tangible, weighty, ticklish, warm realization that his family is here, they’re really here. This isn’t another dream brought on by some damn good sleeping pills.

Speaking of which–he’s suddenly certain he didn’t take them last night but he slept all the same, and that begs a dozen questions. He figures he’ll be well-mannered and answer his pretty wife’s first, though.

“I-I-I’m over the moon,” he rasps out with a stupid grin ruining his enunciation, his voice coming out scratchy from disuse and an unsettlingly deep slumber. “Feel like I been dead, slept so hard,” he mumbles, taking in Elaine’s rumpled elegance and the angelic portrait she makes cradling Jesse to her breasts and–

–oh God. Last night. What even happened last night? What’d he do to her? What’d she do to him? Did he hurt her? There was so much awfulness and pain and blood is on the sheets now he thrashes in them to inspect his family for damages, and oh god–he really is a selfish boy. The Colonel was right, you can put a ring on your finger and stop wearing a condom but it doesn’t mean you’ve grown up a bit and he–

“Elvis, baby, keep her head up.” There’s that tone again, the one he heard his wife use last night and that he submitted to before he descended into a fog of baby making and tit sucking fuckery, “And don’t panic, everything is lovely and is gonna be lovely and I’ve already spoken with your officer and he said that you’ve got another two hours before you have to be at base. And I was thinking maybe we could have a bite and then go with Dodger to the park or we could stay in, ‘course we could stay in, and you could get to know the babies or–”

She’s got so many options, his little wife, so many suggestions to make him happy, to calm him down, to give him peace. He settles back down beside her on the somewhat cringingly damp pallet, Ella’s head properly supported and he just looks at her. Looks and looks at the love of his life to his heart's content, which he thinks will be the day after never. He’ll be looking at Elaine with as much awe in fifty years as he does right now. He’s not sure how she took care of him last night, but he’s sure that she both did it, and did it cheerfully.

Thank ya, mama, he prays silently.

“You,” he answers aloud, laying his head on Elaine’s shoulder and watching his son grin around her nipple at the sound of his daddy’s voice, “I jus’ want you.”

Meanwhile, two years later…

Sarge Masterlist

I hope you all enjoyed, I love your prompts and screams and thots, never hold back, unleash them freely. 💋🌹

Copious thanks to my darling @prompted-wordsmith for the scheming and the editing and the friendship.

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #mine #elvis imagine #elvis x you #elvis fanfic #austin butler elvis #elvis smut

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mycarhasasecret · 9 months

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Like usual, at some point, the bots meet the human reader, and end up befriending them. And everything was going fine for a while, the bots never suspected that something was up. However, at some point, it’s finally revealed that they (the reader) isn’t really a human—not anymore at least, now, they’re a ghost, and they’ve been like that since they first met the Cybertronians.

Headcanons for how MTMTE Spinister, Rescue Bot’s Blurr, Beeverse Optimus, MTMTE Drift, and TFA Grimlock would react/feel about this?

Sure. Question, are we still counting Beeverse and Bayverse separately, even though they're the same?

MTMTE

Spinister

-Spinister's processor is unable to come to terms with this new information, and he just kind of stares at you for a while. Give him a minute...he's connecting the dots...one...by...one...

-Eventually, his processor digests the information...improperly. In his mind, his human friend was not a ghost. So, obviously, this figure in front of him, who is a ghost, is not his human friend. Needless to say, he shoots at you.

-It passes right through you. No harm, no foul. Misfire to the rescue. He manages to stop anymore shots being fired, and explains it to Spinister again, very slowly. You're not sure he really gets the idea, but at least he's not shooting at you anymore. He moves on from the incident fairly quickly.

Drift

-This is...certainly a strange turn of events, isn't it? Honestly, since joining the Lost Light crew, he's dealt with far weirder. He's curious more than anything. He already knows you, so why be afraid?

-His main concern is why you kept this from everyone, including him. You may have even lied to his face to keep this under wraps. Did he not seem trustworthy? Were you afraid of judgment or fear?

-He has questions, but avoids asking them in too zealous of a manner. He doesn't want to come off as too eager. Actually, he'd like for his friendship with you to remain the way it was before, if at all possible. A friend is a friend, no matter the species. And what's a ghost but Human Lite?

Rescue Bots

Blurr

-He screams. And then denies that he screamed. Everyone makes fun of him for *months* afterword. He gets all huffy about it.

-He kind of cares, but also kind of doesn't. It won't really affect your relationship with him in the long run, but it's still weird to think about. Straight up gives him the heebie jeebies.

-His real concern, the one that eats him up at night, is are ghosts faster than him? Can you teleport to the finish line? Are you going to smoke him in every race from now on? He's extremely concerned about this..

Beeverse

Optimus Prime

-He is surprised to say the least. There are many ancient figures and artifacts throughout the universe. Most of which he has seen, but still many which he has not. Ghosts are...definitely a new one.

-He demands to know why you've been keeping this from them. He's a little upset, but who can blame him? he has the weight of the universe on his shoulders, and now there are ghosts involved.

-Ultimately, he rolls with it. The fact that you are already dead is, honestly, kind of a stress reliever. He doesn't have to worry about you dying because of a mistake he made. Or at all, really. He's upset that you kept it hidden, but in the end it's one less thing on his plate.

TFA

Grimlock

-It takes a minute for him to get it. At first he thinks you turned into a ghost (another transformer! it's okay, he didn't know he was a transformer at first, either), then he kind of understands that you're dead.

-You were always dead? No, wrong. Grimlock knows you were alive. He thinks you're trying to pull a fast one on him. You...kind of just have accept the lack of logic for now...

-Over time, he starts to connect bits and pieces from memories with you. It kind of causes a weird cognitive dissonance. He just tries not to think about it too hard. Which is pretty easy for him. And probably for the best.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte spinister #rb blurr #beeverse optimus prime #mtmte Drift #tfa grimlock

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pangolinheart · 1 year

Note

Now I'm kind of curious, what's the relationship like between Z'rhiki and G'raha?

Haha well this is kind of complicated and probably won't make Rhiki seem very sympathetic but...

**Also disclaimer: I'm not hating on G'raha/the Exarch. I think he's a fantastic character! Rhiki as a character just has Some Opinions about him, which are not reflective of my own lol.**

When Rhiki first met G'raha she liked him! She had just come off of Moenbryda's death and she was excited to make a new friend and take a little time off from saving the world. (Alas, the Crystal Tower also turned into "saving the world.") They got along pretty well and she confided some things about herself in him and tried to listen to him talk about Ancient Allag (she didn't really get the appeal, but he seemed so excited about it so she did her best.)

So when G'raha made the choice to seal himself inside the Crystal Tower, presumably forever, Rhiki was upset about it. She wasn't ready to lose another friend so soon. She didn't really have the frame of reference to understand his decision. She couldn't really wrap her mind around his sense of duty, his preoccupation with destiny, or his desire to carry on the Allagans' legacy. The Allagans had been dead for ages! Who cares what they wanted! To her it seemed like he was turning his back on everything and everyone in his life to fulfill the dreams of a bunch of people who weren't around to appreciate (and whose civilization was still popping up to cause harm to this day.) So she... may have over-reacted a little bit. Before he sealed himself away she told G'raha Tia that she hoped she never saw him again. She didn't mean it, she was just confused and hurting. She regretted it later, of course, but it was too late then. As she grew and matured over the course of her journey she came to realize that, on the off chance she did see him again she would have to apologize to him.

Well....

When Rhiki met the Crystal Exarch she was immediately skeeved out by him. She didn't know what it was, per se, he just gave her the heeby jeebies. He had essentially kidnapped her and turned her friends into ghosts (or whatever - she doesn't really get aetherology.) Sure, he was doing it for the sake of his world so she couldn't exactly hold it against him, but she didn't like that he wanted to be super buddy-buddy immediately after, or that he called her "my friend." She didn't like that he seemed to have put her on this pedestal, even moreso than most people did to the "Warrior of Light," and made her out to be an unerring, unwavering ray of hope for humanity. Most of the other Scions seemed fine with him, so she tried not to make a big deal out of it, but he still gave her the creeps and she endeavored to spend as little time around him as possible.

(After you defeat the first Light Warden the Exarch says somehting along the lines of "When this is all over I will beg your forgiveness." and Rhiki's internal response was essentially "Then beg. :)")

This comment also didn't help...

Things only deteriorated further when she found out he and Urianger had been lying to her about defeating the light wardens corrupting her aether. It wasn't just that she was maybe going to die, or worse. It was that they didn't think she deserved to know. And the only reason she could think of that they wouldn't tell her was that they thought that, had she known, she would have refused to help. Which, to her, seemed like a pretty insulting assumption to make of someone you kept praising as being a paragon of hope and salvation. I think she may have had it out with the Exarch at this point, breaking down and yelling at him for lying to her and having such a low opinion of her. She still went through with the whole thing, of course, because she wasn't nearly petty enough to let everyone on both planets die because the Crystal Exarch was a jackass. But her opinion of him was considerably lower after that point.

(Wow, I sure hope this isn't a thinly veiled allusion to the WoL. It's going to make it very awkward when he finds out she's already in the process of filing a restraining order against him.) (*rhiki voice* Hahaha weird. Well, good luck with that! I should probably go...)

Things probably made... a little more sense when it turned out that the Exarch was actually G'raha Tia, but it certainly didn't feel any better about it. (There was that whole turn where he pretended to be the villain, presumably for the WoL wouldn't feel bad about him dying to save them? I couldn't help but think "Poor guy. Rhiki probably wouldn't have been that torn up if he jettisoned himself into space without the whole heel turn bit.") When the hood fell she kind of got the urge to grab him by the shoulders and be like "You realize this fixation isn't healthy or normal right??? Like you understand that this is weird and unhinged? Look at me, I need to know you understand that." Fortunately or unfortunately, Emet Selch showed up and she soon had other things to worry about. Her almost becoming a sin eater didn't really improve her mood at all. ("Okay. We'll go to the Tempest because I don't want to become a monster and destroy two worlds. And if the Exarch happens to be there we can maybe rescue him. If it's not too out of our way.")

She continued to be less-than-impressed with the Exarch after the fall of Hades. She wasn't completely without sympathy for him and, to an extent, she couldn't really blame him for kidnapping her, lying to her, almost turning her into a monster, etc. He did genuinely think he was doing the right thing, and it may very well have been the only way to save the First. What she could blame him for, though, was doing something she had had her fill of long ago: Deifying her. Mythologizing her. The Exarch had built a person in his mind based 95% on old records and storied and second-or-third-hand accounts of her heroics and 5% on the like 3 weeks they'd spent together several years ago and then become obsessed with that person. And he wanted to project that radiant, perfect person onto her. And she wasn't exactly in the mood to play that role for him. She continued to avoid him whenever possible and really only engaged with him to talk about getting the other Scions back to the first. (She probably would have felt a little bad if he had had to die to achieve this - because she's Rhiki and she feels terrible every time she sees someone die. But only a little. She probably would have gotten over it quicker than some other notable traumatic deaths.)

(There's also the scene at the end where the WoL promises the Exarch that they'll take past-G'raha on their adventures with them. For Rhiki I imagined this went more along the lines of "UGH FINE. But you have to promise you won't be weird about it." (He probably will.))

She didn't LOVE that she had to be the one to go and wake G'raha from the Crystal Tower afterwards, but everyone else seemed to think she should do it and she couldn't justify just leaving him in there because she didn't want to see him. But she also was not thrilled when he joined up with the Scions.

It's not entirely clear in the post-patches (and I haven't played Endwalker) if G'raha has any memories of or knowledge about being the Exarch. I assume he doesn't but I could be wrong. Even if he has no inkling of it, though, Rhiki can't help but think of the Crystal Exarch when she looks at G'raha. She knows how manipulative he's capable of being, and how obsessed he can become with "the hero's story." He still makes her uncomfortable and she doesn't like being around him. Adding to the long list of things that are Not Helpful to their relationship is the fact that everyone else seems to think they should be best friends. Luckily, even if he has no memory of being the Exarch, she has her little temper tantrum from ARR to fall back on as a reason for not wanting to hang out with him. G'raha is one of the only people Z'rhiki enforces the use of the first letter of her name on. She tries not to be outright mean to him, because he doesn't really deserve it. But she's also not her usual friendly, cheerful self whenever he's around because he makes her feel weird and she doesn't like it.

I'm not sure if, when, or how they'll end up repairing their relationship, but it will definitely take some time! I want to be clear in that, as a person, I like G'raha Tia as a character. I think he's well-written and interesting, and I have a lot of sympathy for him. There are a lot of complex moral questions in his character and he obviously struggles with a lot of his own emotional complexes. So I don't want it to seem like I'm bashing G'raha/the Exarch. Rhiki in particular just doesn't like him because he sketches her out lol.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #asks and answers #rhiki tag #poor guy he's trying so hard #rhiki be nice to him

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immortalconclusions · 10 months

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What do you think about the recent (to me at least) rhetoric that fans who continue to produce art&fic of book Louis are slave apologists? I was a little shocked cause I’ve always viewed the books and show as their own thing that while similarities may obviously overlap, ultimately it wasn’t a either/or situation and as someone who’s enjoyed yours and many others vc fics&analysis for years, I’ve also enjoyed really good show verse fic&analysis and still find JA’s Louis to be the star of the show. As it is I just think fans of vc have lasted this long because while the books are certainly far from perfect (as we all know just how gross AR was) the characters stand alone as strong nuanced and interesting characters which continue to make my brain itch lol. Just sucks that gatekeeping still continues to exist in fandom I guess. Sorry feel free to ignore I really don’t mean to invite any discourse just had to get that off my chest.

I haven’t seen that rhetoric, but I also haven’t been in the trenches lately. There was a lot of weirdness in the pre-show book fandom and I assume there’s still a lot of weirdness now. The works I always found the most engaging were the ones which head on addressed the moral bankruptcy of the characters and didn’t try to push it under the rug in exchange for nonstop warm fuzzies. The whole concept of an apologist is VC is pretty funny because all the characters are horrible dirtbags and I feel like we’re supposed to be super aware of that. Then again some people have always been weirdly defensive of them (*cough cough* Marius fans). But I agree with you that the characters are so strong and nuanced that their clarity remains even when filtered in new reimaginings. I think there’s a big difference between those crusty fandom olds/Facebook warriors who hate JA’s portrayal and insist on white Louis, and normal book fans who appreciate both the original and the AMC interpretation.

(I’ll also add that while I love AMC Louis, the main reason I don’t write show!fic is AMC Lestat gives me the heebie jeebies and not in the fun way.)

#vc #iwtv #answered

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videostak · 10 months

Text

ughhkfdsajklfjkl so there was that thing w/ maggots like a week or two ago that was hellish and now theres like tons TONS of flys in the house all bundling together in corners by the windows.. literally like idk 30 AT LEAST in my room and my room doesnt have anything that would be like a nesting reproducing ground for flies its insane... this may sound dumb but i think my family may be cursed or like the house ._. theres a family member who we havent talken to in like a decade or so cause of drama and the guys wife apparently cursed my mom (i was too young back then to even kno what the beef was like what the reason is) and thats been going on for a long time so like my mom sees it as the reason for her declining mental health and i dont wanna totally buy into it since a lot falls on her personality and like not entirely out of her hands n stuff but like w/ the maggot infestation (unexplained how they got to that many so quick and what would even cause them to appear) and then this rn like we’ve had flies in the house b4 but never this bad... just insane in the corners of my window there were like 20 alll bunched up in a lil ball. getting flashbacks to the maggots cause my necks all getting heebie jeebies n stuff like cause so manny flies... tho also dont wanna just be like oh its a curse cause to be fair the house is very very mess lol... like i dont kno if its messy enough to warrant that per se but like it could def use a deep cleaning for sure.. hope i can sleep tonight cause last night they were legit like attacking me for a while lol. also this sounds even dumber but im frustrated at myself since that one relative said i had a third eye (despite never even meeting me actually cool af makes me feel like the main character there was oncei went to mexico and he was at the same place my family was at and he said like he didnt wanna cross paths or talk to me cause he didnt wanna interfere or negatively influence my third eye lol kinda cool af for me) anyways frustrated that like i cant use my ummmm powers to stop the curse. LOL that sounds like. fucking hilarious saying that and being like serious. “im frustrated i cant use my powers to stop the curse” well im mexican so its not super embarrassing if i was liek white astrology dummy or some shit that would be truly embarrassing lol but like im like UGH how do i unlock my powers my hidden potential... do i have to go on like a pilgramage or smthn...

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megan-is-mia · 3 years

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Hi there, can I request yandere Jade with prompt number 22 please? Thank you!

(Here you go hope you enjoy it!) 22. “Please don’t scream. I don’t want anyone thinking I’ve done something terrible to you.” (Yandere! Jade Leech x Fem! S/o)

(Y/n) didn’t know why she’d let herself be dragged to the Spring Fling, oh wait no she knew why. She had let herself be brought here cause her date had threatened physical harm on her friends if she hadn’t agreed to go with him. But who would have stooped low enough to threaten her friends in order to get to her to be his partner? Well, it was none other than Jade Leech the cunning vice-dormhead of Octavinelle. True the boy hadn’t directly promised violence on her loved ones but he’d insinuated as such. And when it came to the so-called more reasonable eel-mer, insinuation was a courtesy being paid to her because of his interest in her. So (Y/n) had swallowed her feelings, taken his hand, and they’d gone to the dance together. If she’d been worried about him touching her inappropriately, her concerns were for nothing. Jade was nothing but a gentleman, and instead of that calming her nerves, it only made the young woman’s nerves kick into high gear. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and for disaster to strike. Yet everything seemed unusually normal and calm, if she was with a boy she actually loved (Y/n) might have even wanted to kiss while they danced around under the beautiful lights of the ballroom. However, she was not with someone she loved, not even someone she liked. No, she was with Jade and the curl of his lips gave her the heebie-jeebies. When the current song came to an end she felt the young man’s arms tighten around her and she was dragged away from the dancefloor into a quiet corner. “Minnow, what’s wrong you’ve had a frown on your face the whole night” Jade crooned, sinking down onto a loveseat that had been set up in case some dancers grew tired and needed a place to rest their feet. As he sat, he brought (Y/n) along with him so she ended up resting in his lap. “Won't you tell me what’s on your mind?” he added, one of his hands trailing down her back. The young woman shook her head, she didn’t want to talk to the boy unless she had to.

“Come on Minnow, bottling up your feelings won't do you any good. If you won't tell me I’ll have to force it out of you and that wouldn’t fun- well it wouldn't be fun for you as for me… well if I must, I must” Jade said, his tone making it clear that there wasn’t really a choice for (Y/n) other than doing what he told her to do. “I want to go home, let me go home. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I came with you to the Fling and we danced. Haven’t I done enough for you?” the young woman said with reluctant honesty. “There are many things I want Minnow, you think one or two dances are enough to make me happy? Don’t be silly, I want to dance the night away with you. If not dancing, perhaps we could go strolling across campus until the morning star starts to rise” Jade said with a chuckle. “Besides, this night is my night off from work. It took a lot of persuading to get my brother to take on my workload for the evening. I don't think he’d like it if he had to do even more work” he added making (Y/n)’s skin crawl. “More work?” the girl asked tentatively. “Yes, that friend of yours Cotton was it? She’s a bit behind on her payments to Azul, isn’t she? I asked that she’d get some leniency since she’s so important to you and I’d rather not upset my date. However, if you don’t want to be around me I might as well go back on my word” Jade said with cool detachment making (Y/n)’s eyes go wide with terror. Her eyes found her friend who was standing near the dance-floor with Floyd watching her from the shadows.

She opened her mouth to scream and give her friend warning of the danger before her lips were captured in a kiss by the eel-mer whose lap she was sitting in. “Please don’t scream. I don’t want anyone thinking I’ve done something terrible to you” Jade said, pulling away from (Y/n)’s lip with a smirk on his mouth. “Besides, Cotton will be just fine as long as you don’t try to leave me so soon. So Minnow, what do you want to do? May I have another dance?” the boy added, receiving a reluctant nod from the girl as he kissed her again...

THE END

#Yandere Jade Leech #Jade Leech #Twisted Wonderland #Yandere Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Yandere TWST

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

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Dressed Up For Halloween (Hoseok)

Summary: You love Halloween and everything about this day, the costumes, the scary movies, all of it. But your boyfriend most certainly does not. Your costume for this year may have been too much for your poor boyfriend’s heart.

Warnings: SMUT! As per usual, be prepared for: swearing, erotic body touching, thigh humping, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, 69 position, grinding, unprotected sex (please be safe out there!), cowgirl position, multiple orgasms (female receiving).

Word Count: 3776

So maybe you went a little overboard with your costume this year. Especially taking into consideration that you had nothing planned and would probably just stay home all night, opening up the door to any kids trick-or-treating around your neighborhood.

But you loved Halloween. You loved the spooky season, the decorations, the colors, the opportunity to dress up as whatever you liked. Just because you had nowhere to go to, didn’t mean you didn’t want to celebrate it just as much. But as the ever so ironic life would have it, you had to end up in a relationship with someone who mostly dreaded the iconic day.

You had been trying to change his mind all month long, but he really wasn’t having it. He didn’t want to dress up, refused the opportunity to get tickets for the haunted house this year and agreed to watch only one scary movie with you once he got home.

Even so, you still loved Halloween so you made the effort and got yourself into costume. And maybe overdid it a tiny bit. You got a fantastic red and black jesterina outfit on sale online, a romper with an asymmetric one-shoulder top, with ruffles at the collar and mismatched patterns, a black tule skirt to go over your large hips and barely conceal your thick legs left bare by the shorts, thigh-high mismatched socks that went along with the rest of the outfit. It also came with one glove for your unclothed arm, a curly wig colored black on one side and red on the other and even a cane with a skull for a handle.

That was all well still, you thought you looked kind of sexy, actually. But then you started on your make-up. And you went a little too “joker” for your boyfriend’s taste, with two lines extending your smile across your cheeks, diamond-shaped black eyeshadow on your eyes and paste white skin on your face. You were just finishing applying your red lipstick when you hear the door open and a sunny voice calling.

“Sweet cheeks, I’m home!”

You hear the slippers making their way through the floor of the hallway in the direction of the room you were in. You smile and throw the door open and jump, with the intention of pulling him in for a surprise hug.

“Hey darling, I’m here!” you say happily, arms stretched out and about to throw yourself at him. Thankfully, you managed to stay balanced when he screams in a high-pitch and falls to his knees with his hand on top of his heart.

Hoseok’s face elongated as he screamed with his mouth wide open, eyes rounded with panic as he fell on his buttocks. The yell soon gave way to a whine as he realized it was you and his features scrunched up when he frowned heavily with a pout, shaking his head and calming his beating heart. He was wearing a black hoodie with colorful lettering at the chest and down the sides of his arms, with simple baggy white sweatpants.

“Why are you wearing that?” he cries, trying to get back on his feet. “Do you want to give me a heart attack? I swear my soul left my body for a second…”

“Sorry, Hobi, I didn’t mean to! I just… kind of got carried away with my costume?” you apologized, helping him back up.

“You know I hate scary clowns and as much as I love you, seeing you like this gives me the heebie-jeebies” he complains, barely able to look at your painted face.

“Fine, fine! Give me a second and I’ll take it all off. How about you start the popcorns for our movie night?” you propose as you get back into the bedroom searching for your make-up wipes.

“Are we still watching a horror movie?” he asks in an anxious tone, probably hoping for a negative answer.

“Yup” you respond without hesitation.

“Really? Even after you almost kill me, do you have to make me suffer?”

“Hoseok, stop exaggerating. And you promised we could watch at least one scary movie tonight; you know they are my favorites! And it’s Halloween, for God’s sake!”

“If only God had anything to do with this day, it would probably be less scary…” you hear him mumble as he walks back down the hallway.

“You say that because you never read the Bible! It’s full of scary shit!” you yell back, laughing to yourself as he dismisses you in a resigned voice.

Removing your make-up, you end up with a clean face and decide to keep it that way. You walk into the open-concept living room, with an open view to the kitchen where he was putting the popcorn in the microwave. Feeling just a bit apologetic for scaring him like that, even though you were sure the memory would cause you to giggle in the near future, you walk silently towards him and throw your arms around his middle as you hug him from the back. He startles for just a moment, before his arms quickly cover yours and he relaxes into you.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Hobi. I’ll try and discipline myself for the next Halloween” you promise with your chubby cheek pressed against his back.

“It’s okay, sweet cheeks” he assures, spinning around so he can have a look at your cute face. “Oh, my bare face girlfriend is so incredibly cute!”

He smiles and leans down to kiss both of your cheeks, his hands circling the top of your neck, fingers brushing the skin behind your ears. You can’t help but return the smile, always incredibly contented when he reacted like this even when you weren’t wearing any make-up. For someone that spent so much time in that world, with all beautiful woman looking so amazing all the time, it meant a lot to you.

“You’re just trying to distract me so we won’t see the movie, aren’t you?” you joke, a breathy chortle leaving your smiling lips.

Your eyes watch first with amusement and then with incredulity as Hoseok’s expression lights up at such a concept, a smirk taking over those well-defined wide lips that end up attaching themselves to the skin of oft your jaw line.

“That’s not a bad idea. Pretty sure I could do that” he declares with confidence, hands starting to wonder from your neck to your squishy waist, pulling you closer as he kept pecking at you neck.

“I was kidding, Hobi” you inform, rolling your eyes at him but at the same time fighting the tingles his mouth was leaving just below the surface of your skin.

“But I’m not. And without the scary make-up from before, I have to say you look very sexy for a Halloween costume.”

“Th-Thanks” you manage to say, your heart starting to speed up once his hands brushed your sides and explored your back, lips pressed against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Fortunately, the beep of the microwave brought you back to reality. “C’mon, the popcorn is ready”.

You manage to sneak past his arms and get to the microwave, taking the popcorn out to a bowl and speed-running to the couch, with a pouting Hoseok right behind you.

“What are we watching anyway? It better not involve murderous clowns, Y/N!” he warns, with anxious uncertainty that makes his voice a bit higher than usual.

He seats next to you on the couch, two arms sprayed wide across the back and crossing legs, foot twitching with anticipation. You turn to him with an excited smile, turning on the TV with the movie already set to play.

“Don’t worry, darling. Today, we’re going back to the classics! Nothing too bad, you’ll see.”

And it wasn’t, not for you. In fact, you almost knew all the scenes by heart, always perfectly aware of what was about to happen next. As for your boyfriend, well, he jumped and screamed at every little jumpscare and even a few non-jumpscary scenes that just changed the camera too quickly or increased the volume too much.

You would think it would be annoying for someone like you to watch the movie with someone like Hoseok, but it was honestly so fun. It had been so long since you saw anyone getting truly scared of such an old movie and his reactions were priceless. You wanted to watch every single scary movie ever made with him by your side, even if it meant you would spend more time looking at him and hearing his whimpers and screams rather than the film itself.

“Is it over? It’s over, right? It’s over?” he asks with a pillow in front of his face as the last character gets killed on screen and you know the movie is about ten minutes to the end.

“Yes, it’s over, you can watch now” you reassure him, shaking your head and laughing for yourself.

The doorbell rings and Hoseok yelps in the couch at the sudden sound.

“Calm down, Hobi! It must be the kids trick-or-treating” you guess and, opening the door, you find you were right.

You hand out some of the candy you had bought for today and get complimented on your outfit. It might have been with the hopes of getting some extra candy, but you like to think the kids were thrilled to have a ‘jesterina’ giving them out candy. By the time you look back at the television, the credits were already scrolling and Hoseok was laying down on the couch. You take off the wig you had been wearing, sighing with relief as you set your hair free, and join him.

“I think those will be the only guests tonight. Didn’t see any other kids out there besides that one group” you share as you come around the sofa and manage to sit your bountiful butt at the edge of the seat, against his thighs while you brush his arm carefully. “You okay? It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“I guess not” he admits, one of his hands coming to land on your leg and he starts picking at the long sock covering it. “I do have to say, seeing you dressed up for Halloween does make me like this day a little better. You look gorgeous in this.”

You smile and lean down to peck at his lips.

“Thank you, darling.”

You were about to straighten back up, but his hands come around your back and keep your chest pressed to his, faces mere inches away and the look on his eyes changes to a craving one, albeit with a hint of playfulness behind them.

“You could try and persuade me to appreciate the day even more” he suggests in a low voice with a smirk, leaving butterflies kisses around the flushing skin of your face.

“Oh? Is that so?” you exhale in wonder, already giving in and laying comfortably on the couch on top of him, your heavy weight almost entirely on top of him except for how you kept one arm holding you up, and your legs intertwined with his. “Do tell.”

“Better yet, let me show you.”

And with that he takes hold of your mouth, demanding lips tugging at yours and moving with intent, small sparks of electricity prickly at your brain as you respond. You could taste the popcorn and the soda he had been drinking as your mouths smacked together, his hands on your back and your ass keeping you close to him while you gripped his bicep with your free hand.

Soon his tongue darts out to taste your lips and reexamine every crevice of your mouth, as if it had never done so before, curling around yours in a breathtaking encounter. His kisses are hungry and demanding, stealing any coherent thought from your brain and instigating the most naturally needy sounds you had ever made.

Blood is rushing through your veins at a dizzying speed and you can feel a frustrating tug at the pit of your stomach. His hands move to encapsule the most they could of your plentiful rump, under the tule but over the romper, kneading at the flesh there as if it was play-doh. And then he raises his leg and guides your hips just right to make you grind on his thigh while he kisses you and a throaty moan leaves your lips.

“Hoseok, you know what that does to me” you complain with your eyes close, leaning back up.

“Yeah, I do” he says, and then he does it again, flexing his covered leg and making you grind on it.

You moan and a shudder rushes through you again, your core burning with need and the thigh in between your legs giving just the amount of relief that had you craving for so much more. Even with all of the clothes still in between, you could feel yourself growing slicker by the second.

“Get up and take the costume off, sweet cheeks” he asks in almost an order, retrieving his leg from yours. You get up from the couch to do so, starting with the tule and then going for the socks before he stopped you. “Leave the socks. I kind of like them on you.”

“Fine. And you can keep the pants, but I want your hoodie off” you retaliate, searching for the zipper on your romper.

“As you wish” he is more than happy to comply.

Once you are only in your underwear and socks, Hoseok still in his pants but his muscular torso displayed for your sight, he sits on the couch upright and pulls you in by the waist. He kisses your fluffy stomach and squeezes at your love handles, then at your ass and thighs. Your hands explore the naked skin of his strong arms and the expanse of his shoulders while he does so, your body growing with heat from within at each of his ministrations.

Slowly, his thumbs hook at the sides of your panties and pull them down your thick legs, kisses lowering down to the sides of your dimpled legs and upper thighs, contributing for the mess between them.

“Come here, baby” he calls, lying back down on the couch.

You nod and are about to lay on top of him again, facing him, when he shakes his head and grabs you, making you turn around and before you know it, he is trying to make you sit on his face while you face his lower body. Your heart flips with nervousness and you try to pull away, unsure of yourself.

“Hoseok, I don’t know if-”

But he doesn’t let you get away. He encircles your legs with his arms and pulls himself up just enough to reach your hoovering core, mouth open and taking one big lick in between your puffy lips. You wail and lose strength on your legs, making it easy for him to lay back down with his face still secured between your thighs. His tongue dips back into your slick slit, making zig-zag lines on the velvet skin and circles around your trembling entrance, making you absolutely out of your mind.

Your chest is laying down over his abdominals, his crotch right at the level of your face and you eye the tall tent forming inside his pants. Your mouth waters and you still have enough brainpower to manage to pull them down, releasing his beautiful long and thick cock. Almost as if per instinct, your right hand encircles his girth and he grunts into your pussy, the vibrations sending shock waves of pleasure up your body. You moan and your hand stars pumping him, increasing the tightness and speed as he got harder and harder in your hands, tip flushed red and twitching. That is when you take him into your mouth, your hand still at his base but englobing the rest of his length between your lips.

You can’t be sure of what he says, since his lips are still very much attached to your juicy pussy, but you are fairly certain he curses when you start sucking him off, bopping your head up and down, letting your tongue press against his shaft inside your warm mouth, fighting to breathe when his tip reached so deep inside your throat you almost gagged.

Pleasuring him only seemed to provoke him even further, and now Hoseok has found your fleshy little pearl at the top of your labia and uses his hands to open your cunt even further by pushing your ass cheeks apart, exposing your clit for his tongue’s torture.

You have to release his cock to scream, the pleasure so intense your hips start shaking, a wet string still binding your lips to his dick. Your hand starts pumping him as you try to regain your breath, the saliva providing decent lubrification.

You had every intention of resuming your work with your mouth, but Hoseok decides to had one of his fingers into the mixture, keeping his tongue busy with your clit while his ring finger fucked at your little hole from behind like there was no tomorrow. You couldn’t take it, it was all the right stimulation to push you over the edge and the knot in your womb came undone fast, your pussy clinging to his finger and your hips shaking against his face as you orgasmed.

“Ah..! Ahhh!!... Hoseok!... Hoseok…” you screamed and then sighed his name as you came, your forehead falling to his stomach as he kept his mouth on you until he felt you were done.

“Was that good for you, love?” he has the audacity to ask, as if you weren’t fighting for air as he spoke.

“Y-yeah…” you still respond, brain too mushy to come up with more than that.

“Good, because that was fucking awesome for me too. Ready to continue?” He bites and then kisses at the back of your thigh, hands brushing the skin lovingly.

“Continue?”

His hand joins the one you still had absent-mindedly around his shaft, tightening your fist and making it move up and down his still very much erect member.

“Ride me, love?” he asks, with a sweet tone of voice you always had trouble saying no to. “Please?”

Regaining control over your body, you nod and rearrange yourself, standing up just to turn around to face him and then straddle his waist. One look at his face and you lick your lips, seeing his flushed cheeks, dark eyes and the remains of your pleasure staining all around his mouth renewing your lustful desire. You wanted to pleasure him too, make him crumble underneath you, have his face scrunch up in the most beautiful of ways as he achieved his relief.

First, you just grind on him. Your already slippery cunt moving with ease atop his cock, trapping him in between his lower abdominals and your body. Hoseok groaned with frustration and grasped your upper legs with an almost violent force, but did nothing else to stop you from continuing your agonizing cares.

You started slow, taking him into your hand and aligning him correctly, taking just the tip first and then, very gradually, sinking down on him completely. Oh, the way he nestled just right inside of you had you already pulsing hard and he could feel it, much to his frustration. You rest your hands across his torso, letting your fingers brush his tense muscles with delight and even playing with his nipples for a few moments.

The pace goes soft and tender as you pull yourself up only to descend back down on him, enjoying the feeling of him hitting you deep inside your craving tunnel, the way his cock brushed your eager inner walls, all the pleasure it brought. The tightness inside your gut was back full-force, strong tugs at the renewed knot keeping you together as you kept moving.

Hoseok moaned and grunted as he watched you bouncing up and down on him, the way your body jiggled and the ripples of your flesh at each descent only intensifying the fire threatening to consume him from his groin to the ends of his body. You looked the most beautiful to him like this, riding him as you chased your own pleasure, using him to reach that sweet relief. He had to control himself tremendously to keep himself from reaching his end before you.

As much as you enjoyed taking your time, it was difficult when he felt this good, filled you up so deliciously, looked this hot under you. Before you know it, your hips are snapping faster, quicker, his head kissing at your cervix and smashing against a sensitive spot that electrifies every cell of your body. Your own moans and hisses join his grunts and fill the air alongside the erotic sound of skin slapping together.

The strength of your arms fails you and you lean down on him, hiding your head on his neck. You don’t even realize that he is now moving his hips, thrusting upwards to your inviting cunt with unmeasurable speed as he holds on to you for dear life. He is whispering you name over and over again against your ear but you can’t even hear him with the white noise and the blood rushing through your veins.

The knot holding you together breaks in the midst of his deep plunges, cascading waves of pleasure coming down on you while you moan loud, your inner walls convulsing around his length, fluttering with orgasmic relief. Hoseok feels your throbbing walls sucking him in and is like a match had been lit in his flammable gut, abdomen contracting and leading to him emptying himself inside of you, white spurts of cum painting your walls.

You can’t help but let your full weight fall down on him, your muscles refusing to work for quite a while after your climax. Your head stays glued to his chest and you smile as you feel his ribcage moving up and down as he tries to catch his breath, heart hammering inside. You wonder if he can feel yours too, beating at a similar speed.

“I’ll… I’ll watch two scary movies next year if… if we can do this again” he declares, still short of breath but already peppy enough to tease.

You laugh and force yourself to look up at him from his chest, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Are you telling me you really wanna wait a full year before we do this again?”

“No fucking chance” he immediately states, grabbing your face and pulling in for a sweet loving kiss.

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 12

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your existence in their world had reasons. A purpose that involves the contentment that Geralt never found in the world that he was in. The feelings you have for your witcher makes you feel things that you haven’t experienced yet, desires that make you feel sorts of things as it also was a cause of the Cicatrix that laid in between your chest. The question is, were you on the same page as Geralt is? or was it just a misunderstanding prior to that night?

Warnings: Soft and smiley Geralt! (*rolls on the ground*), Sexual Implications, a needy reader, an annoying bard, MODERN references, mention of Divergent, grumpy Geralt, a soft-touchy-feely reader. FLOOFY chapter! Insecure reader tho. 😭 Harry potter and Lord of the Rings references. HAHA!

Words: 8.5k (Well, Hello long ass chapter)

A/N: THERE’S STILL CHAPTER 13.1 BEFORE THE SMUT. AHE. Sorry for the delay. Happy mother’s day to all the mothers out there! Y’all are the best and real superheroes! If this chapter didn’t make you smile, then this means I am a failure for everyone! 😂💖

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

KISSING GERALT HAS BEEN SUCH A DREAM. The kiss felt like you were in seventh heaven and it also kept your mind wide awake the whole night; even with Geralt by your side with his lulling monster stories and those gentle fingers raking your hair like how he always does.

The gesture even made you a little more giddy than ever and Geralt didn't seem to mind as you've kept yourself wide awake; watching him sleep and never keeping him out of sight.

Though, he'd eventually covered those coy eyes of yours because it was bothering him; coaxing you to stop staring and just have your beauty slumber because you needed all the energy for your training.

A training that you thought would be for Cirilla because they've always had their swordplay fights before the sun rises and sometimes in the middle of a beautiful morning; as you watch Geralt in discreet as he wields his sword like how the waves move in the ocean. Very satisfying to ogle and observe.

The way he handles a sword was perfectly smooth and bland like how your coffee tastes in the morning.

Which is why your face was scrunched in peculiarity when he was done with Cirilla's training; giving the smaller silver sword to you with that reticent expression on his face; his habitual tight-lips now relaxed as he eyed you back with that tender gaze he holds whenever you were there.

An image you weren't used to; but may seem to wish it would be there forever because of how soft he appeared for you to see, not his usual brooding and serious persona.

"This is a very nice first date," you sarcastically muttered; wanting to scoff and whine from how unusual it was to receive training from the witcher like you were some sort of Tris Prior in the world of Divergents.

After the kiss last night, you've expected him to give you flowers, gifts, kisses or maybe more of his attention. Howbeit, you'd remember that you weren't in your world and that he wasn't a typical man who'd woo women like that. Geralt was probably a man whom women has been trying to court just to have his attention based on how beautiful and captivating he was.

Were you his beloved now? A girlfriend? his lover? you actually had no idea and chose to stay silent. Never asking anything more as to not ruin his good mood as he woke up in the morning.

Geralt didn't specifically told you anything about being his beloved. The only thing you understood in his words last night was that you were important to him and that he also cared.

Perhaps, he doesn't roll that way. The witcher wasn't particularly that type of man.

Therefore, you left it at that although it was dithering your heart. You were contented whether how ill-defined your position was in his heart.

"Why am I doing this again, Geralt?"

The latter silently watched you fidget with the sword on your hands, your cheeks puffed from how strange you thought his favors may be. He couldn't help but give you a beam that showed his teeth, his emotions thoroughly in a bliss after the night he confessed; parts of his aggression lifting up his chest, "The bard knows how to fight with his dagger," he adhered strictly to the fact, keeping the sword safely on his side.

Those lips of yours jutted in an opposing pout; your eyes seeming to connect with his spellbinding ones while he continued to wheedle, his cat-eyes curving into a soft shape of a crescent and you were totally enamored. Your heart skipping a beat when he was never breaking his gaze away; giving your stomach the heebie-jeebies, "---Cirilla is finally learning the techniques of using a sword,"

Your mouth was now turned into a tight-lipped one, shaking your head from the idea he wanted as you scrunched your nose further, "And I am better watching you and Cirilla have your little sword play fight," pause. "---I'm not going to fight anyone,"

You've continuously shook your head, tutting at the brilliant idea he'd tried to think of. Though, Geralt was adamant for his preposition; seeming to think the idea won't get you stabbing him accidentally or better yet, yourself.

"We can't be certain that there wouldn't be," he proclaimed, utterly determined.

You huffed out a frustrated breath, face falling right in the middle of the meadow as Geralt stood before you. His comely stature shining against the morning light and you were sure you've been blinded, "Right. Bad people are chasing you still,"

A bashful look has been unintentionally given to the witcher, lighting up an amused crooked smile and hum from the latter as he stayed completely taciturn, admiring the shy woman that stood before him.

You've suddenly felt him shift, turning your focus back at the Herculean, white haired Legolas as he'd languidly took a step back, looking calm and composed as he firmly ordered. His smile falling, turning all ruminative.

"Hit me."

More complaints were sent for what he requested, finding the whole ordeal somehow lamented because all you ever held was a pen, paper or laptops that certainly doesn't deal with people shedding blood unless you stab a pen at them. Sure, you've dreamt of fighting in combat in fantasy series or movies; but in your imagination, you were skilled. The version of yourself that you had in your dreams had talent and the one you have today only had idiotical abilities to plot your own demise because of how foolish you were in their world.

"Can't I fight with Jaskier?"

Geralt cocked his head to the side; in utter amusement as a small smile carved his pretty, luscious lips that grabbed all your attention. The witcher immediately noticed and had a smug glint in his amber eyes as he talked, "If you wish to annoy people and woo the king then he is excellent at it," pause. "---You wouldn't learn how to use a real sword from the bard. Unless, using a lute as a form of weapon in the middle of a royal banquet is your choice of fighting then Jaskier would do a great job,"

Thus, from the moment Geralt has made his utterance, Jaskier somehow had the luckiest time on planning to feed Roach as he emerged from the doorway, ceasing himself from sending a teasing ridicule as his name has been called in vain; backstabbing him by finding entertainment from how he tried shielding himself from the incident back in the years.

"I've never received any compliments from you don't you, witcher?" he hollered back, enclosing his mouth with a hand as he called from afar; a bucket full of Roach's food on the other.

Jaskier seen Geralt shake his head, a surprising beam drawing his face as the witcher playfully wisecracked out loud, "You don't need them, Jaskier."

The harmless banter made Jaskier pucker his lips in surprise, never anticipating how he'd gradually changed from being the brooding, reserved witcher to the grinning, active man he was seeing as he was teaching a woman who had no inspiration on learning the techniques of sword fighting.

Geralt simply turned his head to see you awkwardly holding onto the base of Cirilla's sword; having a gawky, hunched stance and the witcher took heed of it but chose not to correct it yet. You were dubious of even holding a sword and also a lot more hesitant as you've tried to strike a blow at his face. Without effort, he'd simply dodged the attack with one hand using minimal strength. The swords instantaneously crashing against each other with a satisfying ring of metals colliding.

Unfortunately, the weapon flew out of your hands as he'd dodged your strike, shamefully falling on the ground with a soft thud. Geralt snapped his eyes at the sword that fell from your hands before feeling his eyes turn to you, "Midget." he calmly scolded, having at least a massive amount of patience for you, "---Take it easy." you'd heard him advice. Baritone timbre soft but still rough which stirred that familiar warmth pooling just below your stomach; heart beat stumping upon your chest because of how you were worried it would obscenely pool in between your thighs. Just the thought of Geralt's presence kindled with the fire raging your insides.

You've never had felt any such strong desire for a man other than the witcher himself and it was beginning to grow frightening because of how you wanted him so bad; the kiss you had probably triggering something inside of you that didn't know it existed.

Maybe, it was probably horny hours like how you had them back in your apartment. The problem here was that you finally had a man to do it with, but you weren't sure if he also desired for you the same way as you do.

What if he only wanted you for companionship? Perhaps, he'll somehow find you boring like how your dates went back in earth when the time comes?

You didn't notice Geralt has grabbed onto the sword that flew right out of your hands, sauntering towards where you were and his presence lingering a little too close for those kindling flames aggravating that desire you had when his voice vibrated from behind.

"Also, try harder."

Despite of how enormously tall and brawny he was, the witcher leaned down to grab onto your hand, his rough fingers caressing yours that was sparking up the flames as it felt so gentle. He placed the handle of the sword onto your palm, delicately dragging the other to hold onto the base. Those calloused palms of his enclosing yours in a warm embrace as his warmth from behind seemed to turn more quenchless as time goes by, a sudden hunger flooding your system as your body turned putty with just a simple touch.

You've felt your throat run dry, stance turning standoffish when he'd loomed behind you. Heavily aware of his presence. Your voice cracking and stuttering as you mindlessly thought out loud, trying to wash the vulgar thoughts away, "I--I--I am! It's just that you've given me a real sword for practice!"

Geralt reiterated; utterly droning, "It's lighter than mine," with a simple raise of his brow as he stood behind you, his face inches close and you could feel his stare completely immense, making you look away from how flushed your face have been, "Even so! It can hurt anyone! Can't I learn witchcraft instead? I’ll be the potato version of Hermione Granger! It’s impossible that your world has no Voldemort! Expecto Patronum! Avada Kedavra!"

The preposition was hurriedly rejected with just Geralt's smile turning upside down; replaced with a scowl that coaxed you to turn your head to see him shaking his head with his face approximately close to yours; those amber eyes trying to melt your heart as he still had that vivid, affectionate dewdrop clustering in those peepers that provoked a satisfied sigh out of your ajar mouth.

His pitch suddenly turned austere; mouth tight-lipped as he quoted, "You will not use any ounce of sorcery from my world," you've seen the side of his lip turn into a smirk as he haughtily added, "---Alas, you are also too clumsy and impulsive for it,"

Geralt grudgingly moved his face an inch away; not before seeing a sight of him taking glimpses of your ajar lips as you awaited to be kissed by the witcher himself; howbeit, he chose to tease and ignored the accented feelings he had been trying to hide since the first day.

The latter surprisingly gave a chortle, his chuckle sounding heavenly amongst the birds chirping in the background, "How dare you?!"

He gave your hands consolatory pats as it was already surrounding the base of the sword. Geralt straightened his back, his thumbs casually giving the back of your hand a soft caress before taking heed of your silent squealing from his seraphic touches, "Hold the sword with your dominant hand, midget." before he took a step back away and muttering a mocking repartee, "---Maybe a Hirikka will be a better combatant than you,"

You've watched him waltzed back to where he was as he stood in front of you with a grin on his face, "I shouldn't have accepted your apology last night." you deadpanned with your eyebrows furrowed from how riled up and entirely flustered you were feeling early in the morning.

The witcher tipped his head with his smug grin, "You didn't. I just knew you would because you never get to have your nap without receiving cuddles and chill from me,"

You've feigned a gasp, unclasping your hold around the sword as you placed your palms around your hip, giving him a sassy posture of how you were appalling by the truth that he suddenly was giving; thoroughly surprised by his sudden pesky, frolic attitude he seemed to vibe. He was learning from your modern references and it shocked you even more.

"It was cold last night!"

"The night is also dark," He ridiculed and mocked what you've said to him last night while he was asking for forgiveness. His teeth slipped against the cardinal pillows of his lips, giving you a gorgeous toothy grin that made your breath hitch as if his aesthetics radiated off the sun light, "---You needed my warmth, midget."

A playful glare was sent to the witcher; intentionally keeping up with his mockeries as you gave a chuff and found his mischief rather entertaining because he rarely acts the way he is right now, "Are you a furnace? No. You aren't, Geralt of Rivia. Don't act like raking those fingers of yours through my hair doesn't help you sleep at night---"

"But, I'm your furnace amidst the benumbing night."

You couldn't help but giggle from his innocuous pick up line, utterly finding it amusing and endearing when you've understood it way differently despite of how ingenuous he wanted it to sound.

Their era and how they communicate was certainly giving you a good ol' laugh.

"Are you calling yourself hot?"

Geralt couldn't help but outstare; gawking from the dazzling laugh you've mindlessly given him. He was oblivious of his beguiling beams he has been making you see and the gaze that bewitched the morose of his spirit, puzzling how a mere person could take away the misery that has been haunting him since the moment his mother has left him alone to become a witcher in their world and a lot more great affliction he'd somehow experienced.

Presumably, your existence in their world had reasons.

Hence, the witcher knew it involved his happiness.

"Now, keep your stance firm," he snapped out of his daydream, gently tapping the tip of his sword on your thigh which erupted a squeak and a tiny whine from you, "---I can't always be with you when you are attacked by anyone who wants my family dead,"

You tilted your head to the side, cheekily wiggling your eyebrows as you grinned up at him like a Cheshire cat as he shook his head from your playfulness, "Did you just lowkey tell me that you treat me as family?"

"Would you want it to be that way then?"

Another failed attempt of giving a successful, strong blow has been swung towards the latter, easily stepping one foot back as he blocked the smite with one hand. Though, you hadn't let the sword fly out of your hands this time which Geralt considered as slight improvement for being taught in the first day.

"Hmm. Again." he'd given an entranced hum, giving a tight lipped smile as he affirmed and tried to wriggle out more strength from you because it was pretty much a reluctant strike as well.

You've straightened your back, keeping your feet loosely away from each other as you sighed an exasperated one. The sword falling on your side as you wanted a truce. Feckless of the pout you were giving to the witcher who was too persistent in giving your body an ache from the training. Geralt raised a brow, seeming to enjoy your whining and allegations from the moment he'd given you a sword.

"Stop puckering your lips like that. I'm not giving you a buss when you're acting like a chit,"

A buss. It sounded pretty much familiar as it was used in those romance books you've read back in earth. His straightforwardness tickling your spine in a delicious way that got you flustered for the tenth time this day. You know your eyebrows rose up till your hairline from how he was assuming things that were actually the truth, "Did that mean a kiss?! I--I wasn't asking for a kiss though!"

"Then, acting adorable won't let you get away from this."

You've groaned out loud; fighting yourself off from stomping your foot out in utter vexation from how he'd always seem to knew what you were thinking. Were you that obvious?

"I hate you,"

Geralt took a stroll towards you, thoroughly leaning down to your height with a cross of his prodigious arms; the sword still in his fist and watching how he'd closely stared into your eyes as he fought off a smile, "The hate is quite indistinct and difficult to tell after you've been kissed last night,"

Your heart wanted to burst from the embarrassment, feeling your face turning into flames. Just add a little bit of oil and people could probably fry anything they wanted to as they use your face as a pan.

Reprehension would have escaped your lips if a hand hasn't clutched onto the side of your neck, his hot breath assaulting your face before you've felt his lips on yours in a hot second; never giving you time to process everything as he broke the buss with a sweet, tinge sound that seemed more soundly in your ears rather than swords colliding in a battle.

His hand behind your nape left in haste, straightening his back and shoulders; acting like he hadn't done anything wrong nor he continued to act like he didn't even give you a small, plain peck to the lips that gave a startle and somehow positioned you into a blissful, heart exploding condition.

"You don't dislike me, midget." Geralt's expressions were indescribable. His features stoic for five seconds before seeing his lips turning into a gloaty smirk as he spun in his heels, leaving you dumbstruck from the surprise.

"G-GERALT! That's not fair!" you stood rooted on the ground, keeping your lips together as you smacked it out loud like you couldn't believe he'd given you another kiss to ruin your ovaries and focus.

He strolled along the meadow, his emotions flying elsewhere as he was entirely finding your reactions hilarious. Geralt walked the path back to where he stood before, turning around in face-front to see your face all red and giving him the stink-eye, "Nothing is ever fair. Now, use all your strength to hit me with your sword."

You tightly grabbed onto your sword with both hands, listening to how he'd told you it should be held and also thoroughly remembering the basics that he told you prior; keeping your stance better than the one you held a while ago, watching how his face lit up as yours turned serious and challenging, "Oh, I will! You're a cocky witcher today and it's annoying!"

Jaskier have fed Roach back in the stable, he walked back to the doorway to see Cirilla leaning her back on the stone walls, arms crossed with a smile that tells how amused she was as she watched how you were trying to strike a successful blow at the witcher who found your lack of knowledge utterly astonishing and endearing; regardless of how he has been fond of having lovers which were strongly independent and knew how to stay alive in a battle.

You were a paradox to his life. Utterly questionable as to why you have even arrived.

"He's not teaching her how to fight," Cirilla admitted towards the bard who subtly nodded beside her, also watching the quote training unquote that you had with the white wolf. Yet, both of them could see how his way of teaching seemed to be less harsh than how they've been taught. Totally aware of how he was also buoyant rather than serious and brooding.

It was like a different Geralt that loom before them as he tutted and shook his head to cease your reckless attempts of trying to hit him with the sword; grabbing onto your fingers to cease you as he explained with a relaxed face he'd given while all you could do was glare and huff back.

Jaskier gave a small smile, eyes narrowed from how the sunshine hits his face and mindlessly tapped the handle of the bucket with his index finger, "The witcher is flirting with the rat, probably want some bonking,"

The lion cub of Cintra gave him a once over, "Some what, bard?"

"Forget what I said,"

Cirilla brushed him off as she went on with her lurking, Something you said ignited a grin out of the witcher as he quietly listened to your rants and rambles about how annoying he have been, "Also, this is the first time I'd seen Geralt smiling like that again. I hope she doesn't leave. I'll do everything for her not to leave,"

The bard gave a nod of understanding. Deeply thinking as to why Cirilla would do everything in her willpower for you not to leave; hence, seeing the smile that Geralt has given you was a simple answer as to why you needed more protecting and a lot more time to stay. Would it be selfish of them when you probably had a family back in your world?

Thus, Jaskier's gaze lingered on you and saw how you giggled back at the witcher who has said something that made him scowl. The mere sight of you strumming along the rakish onslaught of his heart strings from the week that Geralt wasn't around bothered him but he chose the better of it and ignored.

"But, isn't it strange?---" he momentarily ceased, snapping his gaze away from you as Cirilla gave him a nasty lour for whatever thoughts he wanted to say out loud, "---That your step-mother would be pretty much smaller than you?"

The child loudly groaned in response, turning her back away from him as she pulled the doors to go in, "You are honestly the most irritating person in the continent,"

The day has been pretty much a blur. After being trained by the witcher no matter how many failed attempts you tried; his patience utterly high for you to even comprehend that he had a lofty tolerance for your inability to successfully strike a sword.

Your arms were somehow sore, considering the amount of attempts that Geralt has been repeatedly telling you to just hit him with all your might, yet being active in the battlefield will never be your forte. He tried giving you hope, downright telling you that it was normal and everyone improves sooner or later as long as your training had consistency.

You've been a bitchy-pants after the training. All catty and stopping yourself from sending a t-bird for the bard who received a snide remark and decided to send irritating teases that you were just being sexually frustrated.

Simply to say, Jaskier knew you were having your horny hours. That time of the day or that day of the week.

How'd he know? you had no idea. It was probably only his guesses as to why you were acting bitchy towards everyone except Kolby and Cirilla. You were being bitchy towards the men of the house especially at Geralt who has given you body soreness.

If only it was a different type of ache, you would probably not be bitchy.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat your back along the walls of the hallway, the only place where you've found peace because walking in the first floor even got you vexed because Jaskier seem to find your irritation amusing and had been running his mouth about how it was fine to just give in to your fantasies especially that the witcher probably had wanted it as well since the first day.

You were contemplating whether or not to turn on your cellphone; remembering how it was only at seventy-five percent. You've stared on your phone that rested on your hands, spinning it around as you were trying to fight off the kept fervor that has been insatiable and a bother when Geralt has given you one touch.

The feelings and emotions have been skyrocketing, it was already there even just from the start of your morning. However, after going home from the Djinn troubles, it started doubling and began to grow bestial like a monster wanted to come out of your chest from how you badly needed the witcher.

It just wasn't normal.

Geralt was entirely aware of your vexation. Though, he was meters apart from you and was actually outside to take care of Roach. Inside his chest, he felt an ounce of disturbance with the help of your irritations and frustrations; the sensations coming back again and the witcher still had no idea why.

He knew where you were and decided to find you. Finding a midget hunched in the middle of the hallways with her brows tightly furrowed, a worried pout on her face and blown cheeks as you fidgeted with your phone.

Geralt fought the urge of smirking and just sauntered to where you were, his heart beat beating in blissful thumps that got him wondering how it was even possible in just the sight of you.

You've felt his presence looming before your stooping form, a stink eye was given to the witcher who crouched in front of you, his burning gaze solely on you as he cocked his head to the side, observing your face and the state you were in with a smile growing on his face.

"You're annoyed." he artlessly admitted, never risking to leave your sight.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you felt the burning desire grow even further, turning away to help your poor little heart from feeling more bothered than it ever intended to, "How'd you know, Legolas?"

The nasally mention of that nickname you had for him got Geralt frowning. His forehead creased to the extent that he seemed to be thinking rather too deeply as to who this Legolas was and why were you even calling him that.

"---and now you're the one annoyed,"

Geralt kept his lips in a tight firm line. Amber peepers shining in dissatisfaction.

You brushed off his noncommittal reaction; already used to his lethargic norms as you complained about his infuriating friend, "It's Jaskier! He's annoying me since this morning!"

He just continued to give you a listless look, giving a displeased hum as he wholeheartedly let you rant to him.

Then, you added, "---Just his breathing irks me!" which only a hum was the only word you've received again, "Hmm."

You've irritatingly grunted, giving him a glout as you also kvetched, "Stop the humming! You're annoying me as well! You've been annoying me too since this morning!"

Your cavils has stirred a defeated sigh from the latter. His sudden actions obviously had reasons as to why you were abruptly being trained with a weapon. If only he hadn't brought you with them in the marketplace and haven't run into Tybalt then gallants weren't supposed to be searching for you by fair means or foul.

"What did I do this time?" he lowly grumbled, utterly dead beat. A faint, crooked smile raising those lips of his. You've held onto your phone a little more tighter, feeble arms crossed in front of your chest as he simply gave you his attention that you somehow yearn a lot, "You and Jaskier can stay in one room together while I sleep in yours! Men are so annoying! Always have been!"

Geralt's features appeared to be of someone who was suddenly bothered at the understanding of your statement, his listening comprehension twisting whatever it is that you've said as he skeptically appalled, "You have been with other men?"

Your face twisted in a tight cringe, bewildered by his presumptions that sounded like he was telling that you had a lot of men back in the days or basically his words were telling you that he couldn't believe that you actually had a man before. You've given him at least ten seconds of you just giving him a displeased flicker of your eyes before the white haired witcher proceeded with his remarks.

"Also, are you threatening me in my own home? You're kicking me out of my own chambers?"

An innocent nod was given to Geralt. The witcher simply gave an enervated blink, hearing a serious growl buzzed out of his chest; scrutinizing for whatever your eyes held out to him. The intensified gaze of his peepers searing that says he needed your sincere answers.

"This...Legolas you have been calling me," pause. "--- Do I remind you of your previous lover?"

You waited for more additional questions or perhaps a moment where he could tell you that he was just joking around. However, the intimidating, gargantuan monster-slayer who was crouched before you; never said that he was just giving out any jocularity of his previous light-hearted demeanor as he was all brooding again.

He fervently stared you down, making you shift on the floor as you looked up into his eyes; mirth surrounding the windows to your soul when he didn't budge after you've given him an guileless beam, "Yeah. Pfft. Earth also has their own witcher slash elves---What? Oh my God, this is funny."

Geralt is all wordless and silent; awaiting for whatever explanations you could give him and you couldn't help but ask in a skeptical manner; bizarrely gasping for his seriousness.

"Wait, you're actually---stop giving me a scowl! I never had...one? He's a Lord of the Rings character and I swear to God, he is fictional---Not real! Though, he looks like you because the hair and such---but---" you've jumped from one thought to another, feeling the scrutiny under his gaze and obviously nervous that he appeared to look like he would grab his sword and look for the man to behead him. Though, it will never happen due that Legolas was entirely fictitious to even start.

You ceased yourself from trying to explain the background story of Legolas for Geralt. Your nerves getting the best of you whenever you were being interrogated. An exhale of breath escaped your lips as you took a good look at the grimacing witcher before witlessly reaching onto his face with your palms on either side of his chiseled face as you gave him your best doe-eyes, sweetly trying not to coo at how his brooding demeanor actually makes him look fetching nevertheless.

"Stop being mad at me," you buttered his silence up with a tender tone of yours and the way he scrunched his nose and appeared to be looking bizarre tells you that your sweet-talking was cringe-worthy because of how you probably never knew how to simmer a man's troubled day.

Or he was just not used to gentleness.

You've retracted your hands away from Geralt's face and tried your best in avoiding those questioning and bemused eyes of his as you abruptly stood on your feet, shamefully rubbing your nape as you had yourself wincing from the second hand embarrassment of treating Geralt like he was some soft baby, reminding yourself to never do it again, "I am embarrassing myself,"

At the time you've stood up, Geralt also has been on one's feet. He didn't mean to look at you weirdly as you've cupped his face with that tender gaze inside your eyes. When the moment your delicate fingers brushed his, he felt as if he was in utopia. The man wasn't just used to intimate touches especially your caresses that felt like Gossamer.

Geralt just wasn't used to people treating him like he was actually human instead of someone who deserved to be treated differently.

Only Renfri, Yennefer and you had this effect on him. Though, with yours seemed to be much stronger.

Your panicking state urged you to flee from his presence, but the witcher wasn't going to let you go that easily as he'd caught your wrist; gently pulling you as your back hit the wall. Both hands and fingers scooping your neck like a baby chicken he'd caught and decided to take care of as his his warm touch skimmed till his thumbs brushed against your jaw, carefully urging you to peer up into those amiable gazes he successfully tries to give.

"I'm not mad." he dearly reassured, his small smile bringing your heart into euphoria because he was much more beautiful this way; smiling as if the world hasn't condemned him with an ill-fate of being a witcher.

Your beams were difficult to fight off; immediately giving him a smile as he also did as well. Chiefly, only giving you the sight of his crinkled eyes. His thumbs tenderly caressing your jaw which coaxed you to calm down from being fidgety which was totally a good medicine because your nervous jitters actually ceased with just his gentle touches.

You've grabbed onto his hand, memorizing his soft features as it was ever been a rare sight. Never believing he was acting the way he right now towards you. Your fingers brushing against his hands like a feather tickling the witcher's sanity.

Before another utter cockblocker slash disturbance came trudging up the staircase and somehow found you both in an heartfelt position; with Geralt cradling your face like no other.

"Oh! Ughm, this is a rare sight." Jaskier ceased his steps, midway through the hall, the bard's growing grin seeming to give you jitters as his ridicule began, "---and the small rat has been sexually frustrated, Geralt!"

You just wanted to strangle him sometimes.

"Cot damn it, Jaskier! SHUT UP!" you exclaimed, totally flustered as Geralt dropped his hands to the side; looking between you and Jaskier in ponder; those eyes of his full of curiosity, "You're...?"

"I AM NOT FEELING SMUTTY!"

If only you could dig and cover yourself up from the embarrassment, you would.

"---Smutty."

"You get my point, Geralt! I know you do!"

Geralt had his forehead in a tight wrinkle, thoroughly thinking what you meant; though, he understood none because the word seem to be peculiar, "Midget."

Jaskier exhaled an exasperated breath, dramatically rolling his eyes as he waved you both off and curved right pass between the both of you, entering his chambers to grab onto some clothes because he wanted to bathe.

The bard pointed a finger as he walked off, his hips swaying as he does so and never looking back, "She needs some nightly penetrating! You're welcome, witcher!"

Geralt watched Jaskier leave, an amused pucker of his lips was the answer to your questions that he certainly understood everything now and cocked his head to the side, peering you down as he awaited for an explanation. Yet, all he saw was you covering your blushing face with a guilty, forced smile as you washed your face in frustration to give him your regretful eyes.

"Don't listen to him," you quoted and begged for him to just take the bait.

Nevertheless, you've seen him raise a hand; about to start talking about being one horny woman for him when you've stopped him midway and tried to shift the topic away, "Anyways, I forgive you, Geralt. Now, can I braid your hair?"

The witcher closed his ajar mouth, humming in wonder as he dropped his hand to the side; narrowing his gaze at you, "I wasn't asking for any of your forgiveness."

You've blinked back at him, jutting your lips together as you looked away, tone teasing and slightly threatening, "You sure that's your final answer? No regrets?"

Geralt roughly puffed out a breath, muttering profanities beneath his chest, "Fuck." and another grunt because he'd remember how he still wasn't forgiven by yelling at you for last night, "---Fine. Do I have a choice?"

Your smile turned into a knavish grin, wanting him to regret why he even agreed to whatever plans you have for him as you bluntly answered.

"No."

The one you had in mind, planning for a simple diversion for Geralt to erase the horrid truth that Jaskier has told out loud for him to hear was actually another rabbit hole that had caught your feet, catching you going far down the pit like you have been scammed. Clearly, because Geralt's unwitting deep groans and hums has made you hot and bothered every time you've tried combing his hair along his snowy locks.

You were wincing every time he has his nose flaring whenever your fingers thread along his hair, the knots giving his head a rough yank from how you were trying to untangle those knots.

Geralt sat on the floor; his arms on either side of the bed. With you who sat on the bed and your legs criss-cross behind his impressive, thewy back; tempted to just give him a big hug because he seemed so comforting but chose not to based on how grouchy he became once you've combed his hair with your fingers.

You didn't even know if he was irritated or somehow liking the whole situation because he was deeply growling, groaning and eventually having to hear a slip of guttural, restrained whimpers that caught your ears. Enlivening that cravings and curiosity you had for some human touch.

"Midget..." he grumbled another complain and lowly warned, hearing the baritone growl he'd ought for you to hear which made you ignore his protests as you had your own protestations as well, "Stop complaining. Also, don't you own a comb? Your hair---It's---Oh! I'm sorry! Can you please stop growling and moaning at the same time!"

His head was minimally pulled back because of your reckless combing. Your nose scrunched even more as you'd received another menacing hum that tells he was close to hitting your face with a pillow because of how rough you were taking care of his hair. It's not that you weren't rough, but the locks in his hair was frustrating you to the highest.

"Hmm."

You subtly leaned down, sneaking your head to the side of his face to see his expressions void of emotions. The typical Geralt whom you've met as he felt your presence nearer, he'd turned his head to give you a lackadaisical look in his eyes that tells that you were stressing him out.

Your eyes twinkled apologetically as you had no problem in receiving a glare from the fussed out witcher. "Well, that sounds like a displeased hum," you stated as a matter of fact, shrugging your shoulders before straightening your spine and grabbing onto his Ivory roots again, "---and a different kind as well,"

He sighed in defeated, letting you handle his hair in spite as he simply closed his eyes. There was no more backing out as he was now sat in front of you, hair all untied as you've threatened to cut his hair with a scissor you've managed to have that was sat beside you.

"Bad kitty! You're liking this, aren't you? You like your hair being pulled!"

No answer was received and you left it at that. Thinking that maybe he wanted silence as you went on with brushing his hair with your fingers. Now, all gentle as the tangles were already free from the knots. It was certainly improvement; in Geralt's side because he stopped complaining after you scolded him so and quietly waited for you to finish; showing like he trusted you with his hair or whatever.

With a gentle tuck of his hair behind his ears, the witcher was all putty on your hands. Hearing a low rumble that resonated off him in pleasure and satisfaction because of how your touch was sending torment to the cravings he had for you.

Hence, his patience and respect he had for not throwing you over the bed and just relishing in with those insatiable desires he had for you needed and deserved an applause because of his high-capacity to resist the mania.

His appetite was surely in a famished mayhem as he breathed in slow and deep, your gentle touches that raked through his roots and his cravings growing more and more uncontrollable with each passing day and night.

Maybe, the scar you had on your chest had effects. Lewd effects for the both of you.

After minutes of comfortable---well, aching moments for Geralt; you've heard him mutter through gritted teeth in the midst of his slow breathing, "I'm not a cat."

You were already at the ends of his Ivory hair, simply braiding them in perfection as you objected, "But, you are! My grumpy kitty!"

There was no response again and you focused on braiding his marvelous hair and let the silence flow. You were actually just hearing him breath as it also calmed your nerves; a bewildering occurrence on how one's breathing could simply put you in peace.

You've grabbed onto his black ponytail which seemed to be owned by Cirilla and tightly tied onto the ends. Small hairs that seemed to not be possible in tying them down were imperfectly out of its nest; though, the ruggish effect it gave was actually making it look perfect for him.

"There! Done!" you mirthfully exclaimed, giving out a tiny tee-hee before you recklessly surrounded your arms around his musclebound shoulders. The irresistible urges just telling you to cease from being shy even just for today and be more of your unshackled self; stepping out of your timid borders every once in a while. It surprised the witcher with your touchy-feely attitude as his body went stiff when you've embraced him from behind, "See? I told you! You'll still look beautiful with your hair braided! Now, payment time, mister!"

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, clicking his tongue as he tried to find any words to say from your hasty, sweet gestures while he was not one who is used to receiving such care. Geralt had no words to say, his mind going in a haywire as he suddenly saw your palms in front of his face, begging like a peasant with your face nuzzled to his side as he weirdly stared at your palm.

"You want coins?" he skeptically questioned, your warmth and scent crashing his ability to think straight. You've dropped your arm around his shoulders, your actions seeming to surprise you as well but you paid no heed and just wanted him closer; his warmth insatiable as you hugged Geralt tighter. Your warm touches giving his body to adjust and be used to it as you felt him slowly relaxing against your hold.

You peeked from the side of his face, giving him a twinkle of those vindicated eyes as he languidly turned his head to see you giving such a naive look that he couldn't help but be fond of everyday. If it would take his hair to be braided for you to sweetly look at him like how you do right now; he would take the risk on letting his hair get yanked, "I don't know. Whatever payment you have in mind---I would love it,"

Faces were inches apart. You've seen the way his eyes glow in sudden mischief. His risquè suggestion making your heart warm in a way that got your ravenousness fueled as your face felt the blush and sudden excitement, "The one I have in mind is quite unseemly for your chastity,"

You gave a giggle, always loving how he'd intensely stare into your eyes like you've given light to his darkness; that type of glow inside his eyes that got your insides churning whenever he does, "Aren't you playful and naughty today, Geralt?!"

Geralt gave a tight-lipped smile; knowing you wouldn't accept his ravenous suggestion because of particular things he knew about. The witcher knew he wasn't wrong, he can never be wrong by what he was sensing.

However, a rare smirk was promptly shown, the ingenuous flicker inside your eyes changing in just a snap of one's fingers as it turned suggestive and playful, "What if I actually want that?"

It was what your heart wants and what those voices inside your head has been whispering. The mere idea of Geralt defiling your chastity that you have been treasuring because no other men deserved was utterly thrilling and worth it.

Not because of the thought that he was striking, but he was the only man you've wholeheartedly trusted and probably have given your heart like he was a king no matter how unsure of what you were in his life.

Closer and closer, you went in for the kill. Just his golden peepers alone was enough to pull you into a hypnotizing trance as you closed the space between you both, landing your lips to his in a soft, birdsweet peck that got you insides melting and the desire rapidly coming back in scorching flames, "I thought you wanted to indulge my curiosity all night long?"

Your words were temptingly drawled slower as your warm breath hit those ajar lips of his, an impenetrable haze in his eyes that suddenly brought uncertainty to what Geralt actually meant the last time you had the bathroom moment, your sudden confidence kind of wavering but still you've wanted to see how he was fond of you the way you also had your affections for him, "When I told you I was curious, it’s true, Geralt."

You've brushed your lips together and felt the witcher sigh before you had given one last honeyed kiss to his lips in which Geralt had puckered back, raising your hopes that he was solicitous about you.

'More,' his consciousness and emotions echoed, kissing you back with the same tenderness you held for him. He seemed like he was about to deepen the kiss; breathing through his luscious lips before you've felt the pillowy vermillion brush against yours as he abruptly ceased, hearing him lowly growl as he kept the tip of his nose, touching yours in an eskimo kiss before slowly pulling away to your disappointment.

The hesitation of wanting to deepen the kiss shot a sting to your heart; your overthinking self reading his actions that you've misunderstood his feelings that it was downright doting because you were head over heels for him after quite sometime.

But, hearing his next words immediately brought a weight down your chest, feeling the ineptness, dismay and shame for even suggesting lechorous behaviors that made you feel shameful because you think that it was rejected; thinking he rejected you.

He bedded tons of women. So, what makes you different?

You probably just weren't worth it.

"You don't mean that," Geralt lowly grumbled, his robust shoulders moving from how deeply he was breathing; ceasing himself from doing anything more further as the witcher continued to dispassionately utter, "---I don't deserve it,"

You hardly ignored the shame trying to strangle you into feeling such tightness around your throat as you unlatched your arms around his shoulders, skeptically eyeing the witcher who avoided your eyes, "What do you mean you don't deserve it, Geralt? You do,"

Were you desperate? Was the irresistible sensations making you act this way? Maybe. Howbeit, you would never regret every little thing you do for Geralt because it was what your heart has been telling you to do and not just your impulsive decisions.

Yet, the more he'd talk; it felt like as if the only thing you would regret was asking him what he meant.

Geralt heavily swallowed, jaw tightening as he apathetically muttered, "I'm guessing it's the Djinn's work that is talking,"

His response to your question ignited such ferocity inside your heart, shooting straight to your mouth as you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Did you misunderstood everything he has said when you were important to him? Deeply thinking that him and you were actually in the same page when his gestures and words right now seem to be the opposite?

"Are you saying that what I feel about you isn't true?" you questioned in disbelief. The scoff automatically being done as you've seen the tight scowl that Geralt has managed to put up again, "---That it's all...magic? The thing happening between us?"

You've tightly bit the insides of your cheeks, watching him stay silent and cease from opening up to you as he went on in avoiding your gaze and looking like he was the one who'd been rejected when it was you.

Thus, a continuation of your vulnerability went on despite of his stillness, your honesty probably will rue once it was said and done, "---before the Djinn even happened, you've been clouding my mind since then," a breathless pause. "---Since the first day I've been here, it felt like I was bound to fall for you, Probably, because the reason why I'm here is because...you are also here,"

Your candor has gotten the best of you and when Geralt was about to open his mouth for whatever that he wanted to say, your anxiety has managed to take over as you stood up from the bed in haste, feeling your palms tickle in humility from how everything that has been planned went down the hill because you misunderstood everything.

"Midget---"

You tightly swallowed the tightness stuck in your throat, finally feeling his gaze on you but you chose to look away; eyes now downcast as your toes fidgeted inside your boots, voice cracking when the apprehension was starting to take a toll as it was harshly plucking with your heart strings, "It's fine. We're just probably not on the same page yet and I understand why. Who would want me even?"

Geralt has been ruffled by your sudden assumptions, yet he chose to stay silent and be upset by whatever lies he'd been hearing; only having the actions to grit his teeth together as you restlessly tried your best to steer clear of your own dismayed feelings.

You shuffled on your feet, briskly walking towards the door before giving him a faltering gaze of yours as you awkwardly pointed at his perfectly braided hair while you stammered and tried to get a hold of yourself from the mortifying, stinging shame, "It's probably just...the genie effects doing these effects on me---I'll go apologize to Jaskier or something---Don't take that off, okay?!"

Hence, Geralt could only watch you leave as it was obvious that he'd upset you by his complicated behavior. Thus, leaving his heart stinging as well; feeling the same way as you.

Y’ALL ARE PROLLY CURSING ME FOR MAKING AN ADDITIONAL CHAPTER 13.1 AHONHONHONHON XD (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, buddy! Please do check your settings, bb! Thank you!)

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthorr @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky

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gravelyhumerus · 4 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 7

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Hallowe’en chaos.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

After trivia night, Emily Prentiss found her world had shifted slightly.

For the first time in her life, she had a friend group: a consistent presence of not only just Derek and the occasional Hotch, but also Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia and most importantly, Jennifer Jareau.

Emily noticed it most in the dining hall. Most mornings this semester, she would grab coffee and maybe an apple on her way to class. Now, she was invited to breakfast in the caf. And everyone was also invited, so the six of them began eating not only breakfasts together when their schedules lined up, but soon that melded to include dinners and the odd lunch between classes. While Penelope initiated at the beginning, soon this became a routine.

While they were all busy, and driven people, all with full course loads, extracurriculars and miscellaneous commitments, they managed to get the whole team together multiple times that week.

A few times, extra faces joined them. Penelope’s friend from class, Kevin… something, joined for a lunch on Wednesday. He sat shyly as Derek stared him down the entire time. On Thursday, somehow Hotch convinced their Criminology TA, David Rossi, who was part time Masters Student and part time weed dealer, to have lunch with the bribe of them using their guest pass so he could get a free meal. He reluctantly acquiesced, but seemed to enjoy himself. On Friday, the day before Halloween, Emily brought Tara Lewis, the MC from the Trivia night that was two years ahead of her in criminology, they ran into each other in the quad, recognizing each other. This open door policy made these dinners fun, with new faces alongside their team.

This was all new for Emily. Not having friends, that is, because Emily could always muddle along with some friends, and when she was younger she shaped herself easily into whatever the popular kids wanted her to be. No, it was new because it was so easy. The team, as they now called themselves as a shorthand, had fallen together so effortlessly.

Today was Halloween and they had plans at Dave’s student house, the shabby place that she had ran into JJ, Penelope and Spencer all that time ago. Had it only been a month? She felt like she had known them all for lifetimes by now.

It happened that way with Derek last year, the whole living together thing sped up that connection. Intimacy comes fast when you brush your teeth next to someone.

Emily was sitting at her desk, finishing up her makeup. She was aiming for a vampire, which wasn’t hard given her previous fashion aesthetic.

Yes, Emily did have a goth phase. She will admit it. Not to her new friends just yet, and Derek had been sworn to secrecy. She was now a much more toned down goth, more alt than goth, wearing mostly black but significantly less chains and make up.

Tonight, she wore her fishnets, a short black dress and a cape that was already tied around her shoulders. She had put a slightly too pale foundation on her face, down her neck, and was currently working on her eye liner. She carefully created elegant swoops over her lashes, coming to sharp points.

Next, she added a deep red lipstick. Blood red. It was all very spooky.

Finally, she struggled to test out the fake teeth insert that she had ordered online, slipping it over her top teeth. It fit surprisingly well.

“Happy Halloween,” she said to herself, testing out whether or not she had a lisp. She did. She didn’t care. It was perfect.

Emily did a couple of spins in the mirror on the back of the door. Turning off the overhead light, she looked at herself in the glowing light of her string lights.

She was satisfied. She looked like a hot vampire.

She grabbed her tote bag, which was filled with six miscellaneous beers and coolers that she had leftover from the last few weeks, knowing that she hated the cheap hoppy beer that Rossi would have at his party.

Emily was picky about her alcohol.

She glanced out the window, considering taking an extra layer. It was dreary outside, with the sky an eerie green and powerful gusts of wind rattling the window. Emily grabbed her leather jacket.

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and draping her coat over her arm, Emily peeked out of her door, looking out into the hall. In both directions were students in costume; she spotted a Frankenstein, a couple of cats and even someone dressed up in an inflatable t-Rex suit.

She made sure her door was locked and then walked down the hall to Derek’s room, who was at the very end of the hall, as he had lucked out and got a massive room with lots of windows, across from the showers.

She opened the door, finding just about all of their friends already there, sneakily drinking out of mugs, cups and water bottles.

Reid was a zombie, wearing tattered, bloody clothes and a full face of makeup that Emily assumed that Penelope did for him. Sitting next to his computer, queueing music for their pre, was Derek, dressed in a baseball jersey and hat, apparently as a baseball player. This was expected, he wasn’t big on Halloween. Hotch was… a devil? He wore all black and simply had devil horns on his head. Low commitment but the spirit was there.

Emily hoisted herself onto Derek’s bed and greeted her friends.

Spencer was sneaking up behind Derek, peeking his head over his shoulder. Derek, at that moment, seemed to be texting, squinting down at his phone.

“I’m going to eat you!” Spencer yelled into Derek’s ear, causing the larger man to jump to his feet, swatting at the boy in his fright.

Emily laughed at her friend’s distress. He really didn’t like Halloween that much.

“Are you ready for a spooktacular evening?” Spence asked, making his voice wobbly as he put on a dramatic effect. He shone an orange, pumpkin patterned flashlight under his chin.

“Of course,” Emily lisped, “In fact, I vant to drink your blood!”

She lunged forward, and Spencer hid from her behind Derek. It was silly but she could tell how much he liked Halloween, he had talked about it all week, and she couldn’t help but adopt a lispy vampire voice to go with her costume. Though the boy was only two year younger than them, his thin frame and wide eyed expression made him seem much younger.

“Your teeth are excellent,” Spencer pointed out, “Very realistic.”

“I don’t get the hype about Halloween,” Derek said, “Disguises? Pass. Horror movies? No thank you.”

“Booooooo,” Emily protested, “Don’t be a buzzkill, Morgan. Let us have a little fun.”

The door opened again, and Penelope, followed by JJ, joined them.

“Is my statuesque god of sculpted chocolate thunder being lame again?”

“He barely dressed up,” Emily complained.

“Neither did Hotch!” Derek said, gesturing to Hotch’s devil horns.

“Hey, at least I bought these at the party store,” Hotch said, “I’m sure both of those are items from your own closet.”

Derek did not confirm or deny this. Emily knew he wore the same get up last year.

“So when should we be there?” JJ asked.

She was dressed as a witch, with an oversized pointy hat perched on top of her head, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in perfect curls. She wore a purple dress and tall boots to go with her witch look. She and Penelope joined Spencer on the floor, sitting with their backs to Derek’s closet and cracking open a beer for JJ and a fruity cooler for Penelope.

With large wings, glittery make up and an adorable skirt, Penelope was clearly dressed up as a fairy, which was entirely apropos to who she was as a person. In fact, it was not entirely dissimilar from her normal outfits.

“Rossi said to come by eight,” Hotch said, “So in party talk he means nine-thirty earliest.”

“It’s, what?” Derek checked the time on his laptop, “Eight fifteen now, so we can pre here for an hour or so then start walking over.”

“Yeah,” Hotch said, “His house is just off campus.”

“The weather is crazy out,” Penelope said, looking out the window. The trees were swaying and the leaves were blowing everywhere.

“We could take a cab?” Emily offered, “I’d rather avoid getting leaves in my hair tonight.”

There were some nods, then they got back to preing, playing a few rounds of King’s Cup to ensure that all of them were sufficiently drunk before they left.

Morgan put on his new playlist, not “For The Boys (and emily)” this time, but one titled “Team Vibez” that Emily had seen him make during their lecture on Thursday. It had a lot of his normal songs, some top hits, but a few fun pop songs that Emily knew he added for Penelope, and even some classic rock for Hotch.

At this point, Emily was feeling buzzed. She had two cans discarded in the bin, both hosting lipstick prints from her dark red vampire lips.

JJ was currently chatting with Hotch about some student government scandal that was happening at the time. While politics gave Emily the heebie jeebies, she had reluctantly joined the Criminology Academic Society. It would give her a leg up on grad school applications, for one, and so far, even as a low-level member, she found she was actually making a difference for her classmates. This meant that Emily, despite her deepest urges to not touch political scandals with a ten foot pole, knew exactly what they were talking about.

As the two discussed the student politicians—there were some minor accusations of nepotism, embezzlement and coverups by the undergraduate executive—Emily looked at JJ. Her brows were furrowed in concentration and she was gesturing wildly with her hands as she talked about how badly they were handling their crisis communications.

Suddenly, interrupting this discussion, their phones blasted out a siren, followed by a chorus of the same robot voice announcing an emergency alert.

“National Weather Service: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 10:15PM EST,” the robot announced, “Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building.”

They looked at Derek’s three, large windows, and watched as large gusts of wind sent leaves barrelling down the street.

“If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris,” it continued. “Check media.”

Then, their phones went silent and Derek’s music continued unheeded.

“A tornado?!” Penelope said, “Here?”

The window rattled. Derek stood up and hesitantly moved away from it.

Penelope grabbed Derek’s computer, her hands moving in a flurry.

“Ok so,” she began, “from what I can gather from the good old Internet, we’re in a region of extreme winds and the meteorologists are thinking that funnel clouds and tornados are possible this evening.”

“So much for Halloween,” Spencer whined.

“Party is definitely off,” Hotch said. “We should probably take shelter. Is there a basement here?”

“There’s the laundry room?” Emily said.

Adrenaline started pulsing through her veins. She’d been through some severe weather before in her life but never a tornado, nor did she expect one. They were in the north east, nowhere near tornado Alley.

They all stood, making a move for the basement, when the lights flickered once, twice, then shut off entirely. Rain begin to fall down, hard onto the windows, and the boom of thunder filled their ears.

“Shit,” Emily said. “Anyone have a candle?”

---

Ten minutes later, the six of them were seated in a circle, on the strange carpeted floor of the laundry room, with the severe weather making the wind howl outside. Between JJ’s two candles, which were very against the rules, and Derek’s laptop screen, they had enough ambient light to see, but it was all very spooky.

The room smelled damp and earthy, with a strange combination of laundry soaps and dryer sheets. They had to move a spare sock to form a circle around the candle. It looked very much like a séance, so that did fit the Halloween spirit.

“Well,” Hotch said, “At least this is festive.”

Derek was still queuing his music, filling the silence with his DJ skills.

“Aren’t you worried about your battery life?” JJ asked, “What if the power doesn’t come on in the morning.”

“Then I have a great excuse not to finish my essay,” Derek said with a shrug.

“Fair point.”

“Anyways,” Derek continued, “No sense giving up on our party. We have drinks, we have music and thanks to JJ we have illegal candles.”

“They’re not illegal!” She protested, “Simply very against res rules! I like lighting a candle while I study.”

“It’s lucky that there was no one left in res because of Halloween,” Emily said. “Or we would've had a bunch of party crashers.”

“This is better,” Penelope, “Team bonding!”

“What should we play?” Hotch said, “we don’t really have much to work with.”

“This is all very high school,” Penelope said, “A couple of kids, in a basement, sitting in a circle on the floor…”

“With a tornado tearing through our city…” Emily quipped.

“Statistically speaking for this region we are more likely to experience dangerous winds rather than an actual tornado. Worst case is that fallen tree branches hit power lines, or fall onto houses or cars.”

“So you’re saying that we’re in the worst case scenario right now?” Hotch said.

“Yup.”

Hotch frowned.

“How about we play truth or dare?” Penelope changed the subject.

“I’m down,” Emily said, surprising herself. “If everyone else is.”

“I’ve never played!” Spencer said.

“Never?” JJ asked. “Not at any sleepovers.”

“I didn’t get invited to many sleepovers.”

“Neither did I,” Emily admitted, “Some parties I went to played it too.”

JJ looked at her, there was a brief look of sympathy, and then understanding on her face. Emily made note of that.

“I guess we’re playing,” Hotch murmured.

“Derek,” Penelope purred, “Mon cher, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said defiantly, bracing himself with a swig of whatever was in his water bottle.

“Who is the prettiest fairy in the basement?”

“You, of course,” he replied with a wink.

“Gross!” Emily exclaimed, “Truth or dare is not for flirting. Hotch: truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Show us the… most embarrassing photo of you on your phone.”

He frowned.

“I don’t take many photos.”

“Try,” Emily urged with a laugh.

He fumbled in his pockets, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his photo album for a few minutes.

“It’s from high school,” Hotch said with a sigh. “I was in a play.”

He held up a photo of him in a pirates outfit, he looked smaller, younger than he did now. His hair was shaggy and his face rounder. He was pointing the sword at the camera.

“Who’s the girl?” JJ asked.

“My girlfriend Hayley,” Hotch said, “we’re long distance now. I joined the play to get close to her and it seems to have worked.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” Penelope said, “that’s adorable. Try again.”

“Oh I have one!” Emily said, pulling up her Snapchat memories. She had a photo of him conked out in a lecture last year. His mouth was open and his head conked back, fast asleep in a dimly lit lecture hall. Emily had taken a series of these photos before waking him up.

“Now that’s what i'm talking about,” Derek said.

“How can you fall asleep during lecture?” Spencer asked in horror.

Hotch shrugged.

“I was tired, we had a game the night before,” Hotch said. “Morgan: Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I don’t know any dares,” Hotch looked around for help.

“He could play the tinder game?” Emily said.

“What tinder game?”

“Oh that’s a good one,” JJ said, “Derek opens tinder and we randomly tell him which way to swipe and see who he matches with.”

Derek groaned. Opening the app and placing it down onto the carpet.

“Right!” JJ said to start.

A match.

“Left?” Hotch said, it came out more like a question.

“Right,” Emily said. Another match.

Left, right, left, right. New message from a recent match, left, right, right, right, right. Derek looked on in horror.

“Ok I think he’s had enough,” Emily said with a laugh.

“Derek it’s your turn,” Penelope said.

Derek sighs in relief.

“Uhhh, Pretty Boy,” he turned to Reid. Thinking for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”

“Smoked what? Cannabis, tobacco? Something else. Be specific.”

Emily’s jaw dropped.

“I dunno man,” Derek said, “I was talking about weed but go off.”

“I have.”

“How?” JJ said, “You’re like sixteen! I haven’t even smoked weed.”

“Me neither,” Penelope said, sounding outright disappointed.

“I believe it,” Hotch said. “He has a Juul.”

“Seventeen now,” Spencer said. “Kids in my first degree found it funny when I performed actions that they deemed mature for my young age.

“What?” Penelope said. “But you were sixteen last week.”

“It was my birthday on Wednesday,” he said.

“And we missed it?” JJ asked.

Emily decided not to inform them that her birthday had been a few weeks back as well.

“It’s no big deal,” Spencer said, “I don’t really do birthdays.”

“Well I do birthdays!” Penelope said, “and you’re getting one.”

Emily could see the gears turning in Penelope’s head.

“Wait you haven’t smoked weed?” Emily said. She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but hell, it was college.

“I’ve never been offered,” Penelope said with a shrug.

“You have a Juul, Spence?” JJ said.

He shrugged.

“Anyways,” Derek said with a laugh. “Reid it’s your turn to ask.”

And the game continued roughly the same for a few more rounds, with some truths, some dares, a lot of drinking and a fair amount of laughter.

Emily learned that JJ likes some angry rock music when she’s upset, that Penelope has committed several federal crimes, that Reid used to coach basketball in high school, that Derek has been posing nude for art classes on campus for extra cash, and that Hotch has never successfully completed a word search in his life.

The dares were limited, because frankly they were basically hiding out in a basement during what might actually be a tornado. Emily was dared to do an impression of Hotch, which wasn’t good and involved a lot of eyebrows and frowning. After, JJ was forced to leave her snapchat at Garcia’s mercy for the entire night. Other dares involved dancing, attempting gymnastics, and seeing whether or not Reid fit into the dryer. He did.

The game finally had played out when it was Hotch’s turn again to ask.

“JJ, what’s your greatest fear?” Hotch asked.

“Mr. Serious over here,” Derek said with a whistle.

“Probably the woods,” JJ replied.

“Why?” Spencer asked, tilting his head.

JJ grabbed a candle, holding it under her chin much like Reid did earlier.

“I used to be a camp counselor, when I was a teenager. In the woods up in Vermont.”

She leaned forward. Emily didn’t know she worked at a camp. It made sense. She pictured her in a camp t-shirt making a bracelet. It suited her.

“I had the night shift. I tucked the girls in, turned off the lights. The typical drill. Everything seemed fine; all the kids were asleep. You know, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Another dramatic pause, both Spencer and Derek had leaned in, invested in the story.

“Until I noticed there was some blood, on the hallway floor. So, I followed the blood trail out to the camp director’s cabin, walked up to his bed and he was just lying there, underneath his covers. Dead!”

Penelope gasped. The room was silent.

“Someone stabbed him. I ran out of there so fast, out the door, down the hall. I just remember it… being really dark. Once I got to the door, there was another counselor there. I guess she heard me scream.”

JJ set the candle down, looking at the flame flicker. This couldn’t be real, Emily thought, this had to be a joke.

“They caught the caretaker on his way to town, I guess he still had the knife on him.”

“Anyway, I guess that’s probably when I decided I didn’t like the woods.”

“You’re serious?!” Derek demanded.

“No!” JJ said with a laugh. “You bought that! I’m kidding!”

“So are you afraid of the woods?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” JJ said, “They’re spooky I don’t know.”

They all laughed at that.

Emily glanced at her phone; they had been down here for almost two hours. According to Penelope’s intermittent checks on the status of the extreme weather, most of the city was experiencing black outs, but there was no sign of an actual tornado. They were still supposed to take shelter for the next hour or so, just in case.

In this time, Emily was close to five drinks in, with only one left in the basement. A growing pile of empties had built up around them, and Hotch had pulled out a small bottle of whiskey in addition to his beer, passing it around the circle. Having recently turned 17, the group had officially decided to give Spencer a beer, which he nursed slowly, wincing at the bitter taste.

“Emily,” JJ turned to her and looked mischievous. “Truth or dare?”

She felt her heart flutter.

“Truth.”

“Hmmm…” JJ said, “Where was the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Emily found herself blushing at the memory.

“Oh god,” Emily buried her face in her hands. “IHOP parking lot.”

“What?”

Emily nodded, downing the last of her beer.

“No further questions,” she proclaimed as she opened her next drink.

“I think that should conclude Truth or Dare,” Penelope said, “It’s time for another sleepover classic, since some of you are sleepover virgins.”

She grabbed Derek’s water bottle, plopping it down onto the carpet and spun it.

“Spin the bottle!”

Emily went pale. What was Penelope doing? She stared into her drunk, not daring to look at anyone else.

“That doesn’t seem very sanitary,” Spencer said.

“Boo,” Penelope, “You’re no fun. It’s a classic! And we’re all friends, it’ll be fun. Hotch you spin first.”

He looked horrified, but took the bottle. There was no getting in the way of Penelope Garcia’s will.

“The rules are simply: kiss or you have to finish your drink?,” Penelope said, “Got it?

Hotch nodded, he spun the bottle. It went around the circle, once, twice, three times, then landed clearly on himself.

“How do I kiss myself?” he said, deadpan.

“Drink!” Emily told him. He downed his last beer.

Derek spun next, rubbing his hands together nervously as it went around and around. It landed on Penelope.

“Come here, chocolate thunder!”

Derek took his baseball cap off, turning it backwards. Penelope pulled his shirt towards her, tugging on him as their lips met. They both closed their eyes, she could hear JJ giggle at the sight.

“Was that the only reason we’re playing this?” Spencer asked, “So that you could kiss Morgan?”

“Maybe?” Penelope, “What’s it to you, boy-genius!”

He put his hands up in surrender, it was his turn.

He spun the bottle awkwardly, so that it rocked back and forth in addition to spinning. It went around once before landing on JJ.

Emily wasn’t sure what to think about that. On one hand, he was just a kid and the kiss wouldn't be anything, but on the other hand, Emily was jealous that she didn’t get a kiss.

“Come here, Spence!” JJ said, making a grabbing motion at the boy and laughing.

He leaned in with his eyes closed, Emily wouldn’t be surprised if he told them he hadn’t done even this before. JJ put a hand on his face, turned it gently, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Derek clapped him on the back and made a comment about it being ‘pretty boy’s first kiss,’ and Reid simply sat and blushed as he busied himself with drinking some of his beer.

Emily’s turn. She tried not to cross her fingers and pray for JJ, but it happened anyways. It landed on Derek. Emily sighed dramatically.

“Ewwww,” Emily mock protested.

“Come on, princess,” Derek jeered, “You know you want some of this!”

He lifted his t-shirt up and rubbed his hands down his abs.

“Put that away sir!” she covered her eyes.

“Oh come here,” she said, leaning in. They kissed on the lips with a loud ‘mwah!’ noise.

“That was cute,” Hotch commented.

Emily fake gagged, while Morgan tried to wipe her red lipstick off him.

Last was JJ in the circle. She spun it casually. Emily tried to read her facial expression, wondering if JJ, too, wanted it to land on Emily.

See, Emily was starting to believe that JJ liked her back. She was single, and for all Emily knew, she was straight, but the more Emily got to know her, she got queer vibes. She played soccer! Her nails were short and-

Emily couldn’t think of any other things that moment, as she was currently freaking out about the spin the bottle situation that was presently unfolding.

The moment in the bathroom, Emily thought, that was something! The way she looked at Emily… she was sure that she felt JJ’s eyes on her linger.

The bottle landed on Emily. They had to kiss. It was part of the game.

Holy shit.

Penelope squealed and Emily could feel the entire room's eyes on her, except JJ whose eyes were on the ground.

Emily could hear her heartbeat. She desperately wanted to kiss JJ but did she want to under these circumstances? For a dare?

JJ looked at her. Blue eyes staring into brown. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She found herself leaning forward, only slightly. JJ did the same. Her lips parted, her eyes hungry.

Emily shifted forward, she sat with her legs tucked under her, bracing herself with her arms. JJ was cross legged, her arms free to grab at her face. JJ’s hands tugged her forward.

Their lips met.

It was uncertain, chaste, soft. Then, JJ’s hands pulled her closer. They were pressed together, heads tilting so that their noses didn’t bump.

Jennifer Jareau was kissing her. They were kissing!

Emily’s brain short circuited. JJ filled her senses; the blonde’s vanilla perfume and soft lips and the taste of alcohol on her tongue.

Oh god, her tongue.

Emily did not want it to end. Their mouths opened and their tongues slid against each other, feeling so perfect and sending Emily’s blood racing away from her face and noticeably south.

JJ was incredibly hot and Emily desperately wanted to do more than kiss her. Or kiss her like this forever. Her ams were caressing her cheek and tangled in Emily’s hair, pulling her closer.

The lights flickered on; they had power, again. JJ pulled away from her, sharply.

Emily sat back, sitting up straight. The room was luckily too distracted by the lights to notice how out of breath Emily was. Or that they probably shouldn’t have passionately made out on a dare.

JJ wouldn’t meet her eye, but Emily could see her own lipstick on the other girl’s lips. Emily blinked at the bright light, started by the sudden return of the electricity after she had become accustomed to the dim light of the candle.

“What impressive timing,” Spencer murmured.

Taking the lights as a good sign, Penelope checked on the emergency alert. It was over and they were safe to go back upstairs. She found out that a few downed trees were the cause of the outage and there was never an actual tornado. No one was hurt but there was a bit of property damage throughout the city.

Without the atmosphere of the candle light, and the likelihood of a RA doing a check of the building, they decided that that was the end of their party. They gathered up their empties, and blew out the candles.

As they finished up cleaning, all making sure not to leave any trace of their illicit affairs, Emily tried to quell her racing heart and blushing face, completely unable to look anyone in the eye.

The door opened, their RA was there. Erin Strauss. She was a hardass.

“What are you all doing down here?” she demanded.

They all stood, stock still, jaws dropped, smelling of alcohol and clutching clinking tote bags.

“Erin,” Emily said, trying to sound as sober as possible despite the five plus drinks in her system, “We were simply following the directions on the emergency alert.”

“Yes! It said to seek shelter from the storm and the basement seemed the best for that,” Penelope said.

“Uhuh,” Erin said, “What’s in the bag?”

The bag clinked.

“Oh just some garbage,” Emily said, lying through her teeth. “We had some snacks.”

“Sure,” Erin said, not believing them.

Emily tried not to sway, but did not feel steady on her feet. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or her recent kiss with JJ.

For a second, Emily was sure that their RA would bust their asses, but the girl simply sighed and told them to go to bed, muttering about how dealing with non-existent tornadoes wasn't part of her job.

The six of them scurried upstairs, all freaked out about their near-miss with a write-up.

Reid disappeared up to his room, then JJ and Penelope walked down the hall to their’s. Emily slipped into Derek’s avoiding Erin Strauss’ watchful eye, helping Derek steady a very drunk Hotch.

Hotch, who had probably had a little too much of that whiskey, stumbled into Derek’s room and decided to sleep on the floor. Emily placed a water bottle next to him, and placed him in recovery position, glad for the distraction from the blush that refused to leave her face or the lingering taste of JJ on her lips.

She walked slowly down the hall back to her own room, the events of that evening playing back in her mind. She threw herself onto her bed, dazed by her situation.

Emily fell asleep with vampire make up still on her face that night.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #gravelyhumerus cm college au #prentiss x jj #jemily cm #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fic #my post #my writing #this is such a chaotic chapter!!!#enjoy!!!!

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celebritytgcaptions · 3 years

Text

I Need To Talk About These Requests (11/12/21)

Hi lovelies! As always if you don’t see me publicly addressing your request it means I AM going to write it. :)

Anonymous said:

Hello I was the one who asked for the martha may whovier caption saw you said it was a no cause of the nose prosthetics and I totally get it but actually martha (Christine Baranski) didnt wear any nose she just looked normal and shes in enough single shots where its just her i even looked it up to check just thought id let you know if your answer is still no I understand thanks anyway

Sorry anon. It’s not as pronounced but there is SOMETHING going on with her nose in that movie & it just gives me the heebie jeebies. :(

Anonymous said:

This might be a bit obscure but if youve seen the movie undercover brother or if you know the actresses Denise Richards & Aunjanue Ellis theres a scene where they sexy fight in the shower could you do a caption for that please?

I’m answering this one because anon might think I wouldn’t do it but just so you know, I AM going to do this request. I haven’t seen Undercover Brother in full but I’ve seen clips with Denise Richards because I love her & so I have seen this scene. So yep, I’ll do this! :D

I couldn’t find a GIF of them together so here’s 2 separate GIFs. Also, ew I didn’t know Dave Chappelle is in this movie.

Anonymous said:

Hey can you do one of a guy that gets pranked by some bullies where they dress him up like a girl yaknow the glue the permanent makeup and stuff then he has to go in for picture day. And he gets a full page spread of him in the year book (college yearbook of course)

So I did write this but I tweaked it a little bit because I saw an opportunity to make it holiday themed. It’s still a college boi who gets pranked by some bullies, dressed like a girl, & ends up in the yearbook though, so I hope that’s alright.

Anonymous said:

Could you make a caption where several boys are forced into a tea party. thanks for all your hard work.

So I WILL write this caption I just wanted to give you a heads up that there will be a caption in early December called, “A Tea Party,” but it’s NOT the caption you requested (it’s not boys forced into a tea party). Just a heads up.

Anonymous said:

Hi can you do katheryn hahn from wandavision where shes looking at the camera all surprised while holding a sheet if love the look and can you make it about a guy being surprised by his GF when she takes a pic of him all femmed up please and thank you youre the best

I couldn’t find a pic where she’s holding a sheet but everything else, the surprised look & looking directly at the camera, I can do!

Anonymous:

You didn’t come off as a dick, Can you do more captions with Olivia Holt but use the names Corey and Carissa please?

Yes I can! Thank you for asking. :)

Anonymous said:

Hi! I was woundering if u could please make a cap of a guy who got dressed up as a woman from his girlfriend and she put a command collar on him to be girly. Using Jenna Ortega as the celeb. Please and thank you :)

So because Jenna Oretga is so young I go to her Instagram to make sure all pics I use of her are 18+. I can’t find any pics of her in a choker or necklace that would make a good command collar BUT I’ll still do the cap just with something else controlling the character. Hope that’s alright.

Anonymous said:

I was wondering if you could do a caption with Hayley Atwell, in which a secret agent turns into a girl for an undercover mission, but what he doesn't know is that the mission wasn't really that, and was more of a plan to feminize him so he wouldn't be a problem anymore. Also, i saw a image of Hayley in a red dress from the series "conviction" which i think it would look great, sorry if it's too long, it's my first request and got a little bit carried on :)

You seemed kinda nervous in this request so I just wanted to say no need for sorry! As long as a request fits in a single message you are totally ok! I can write this up, but it’ll probably be released sometime after Christmas (but still in December). Probably on or around Dec. 27th. Hope that’s alright!

#Requests #Not a Caption

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (part 6)

A/N: this part contains season 7 spoilers!!

tw: cursing, regular criminal minds stuff

wordcount: 3.3k

masterlist:

He squatted down to look inside of the box, deciding not to worry about the surprise being ruined. He knows the ending, it’s already spoiled, so why not see what he has in store?

He took a mental note of each item, cataloging them in the extensive library that is his brain. For some of the items he immediately knew what they meant, for others he would have to read. He realized the bottom of the box was dirty, dusty even. When he picked up the debris, he realized they were pieces of dried flower petals that had been crushed to smithereens when he knocked the box over. He held the delicate pieces in his hands, barely even breathing, so he wouldn’t destroy them more than he already had. He sighed and tried to put the petals back together like a puzzle, but it was missing far too many pieces. Pieces that he was responsible for losing. Tears welled up in his eyes and he put the pieces on his bedside table.

He was angry now. In all his grieving since the breakup, he hadn’t been angry yet. He did the rest of the five stages, just in the wrong order. He started out with denial, telling himself it was all a dream. If he could just wake up then you would be right there, arms open, ready to accept him, comfort him, love him. Then came the bargaining, countless nights on your doorstep banging on the door begging you to let him in and just talk. You never answered. Then the depression, which lasted longer than he expected. He was still a shell of a person on most days, just moving through the motions, not feeling much of anything at all. In the few weeks prior he had grown to accept defeat, accept that this was over and done. Acceptance is always the hardest bit, especially for him. Spencer Reid doesn’t lose. But he always seemed to forget that love isn’t a game to be played; you were not a prize to be won. Love is hard work and sweat and tears and yelling and kissing and laughing and comfort. Love isn’t a game.

But then your stupid box came, causing him lose all the progress he had made.

Now, he was finally angry. He was angry at himself more than you, but he was still so angry with you. He knew he had mentally checked out of your relationship before the end, but that was because he just needed a break. Everything had changed so much so fast that he just needed to go sort himself out before jumping back into you. But you wouldn’t give him the time. You didn’t need space, you needed him; and he wouldn’t give himself to you. Neither of you would give the other what they desperately needed, so you ended it. He may have blamed himself for your relationship’s demise but he blamed you for leaving. He hated that you could just walk away from him, just like everyone else did. He hated that you could walk away from your family like that. How could you leave Derek behind? Rossi? Hotch? JJ? Garcia? How could you be so selfish?

“How could you!?” He wailed, as if you were there to hear him. Hot, angry tears ran down his face.

Spencer was seething, pacing wildly up and down in his room, pulling at his hair in a desperate attempt to feel any release. Eventually he talked himself down, but immediately following anger is depression. That damn Kubler-Ross Change curve. That familiar hollow feeling filled up his chest. He was numb again, and immediately regretted all the thoughts he had about you.

He was just hurt, in so many different ways at once and he had no idea what to do with it. Handling his emotions isn’t exactly his strong suit.

More than anything he missed you. The letters only brought back up all the feelings he had worked so hard to repress. He needed you, more than he ever did, so he turned to the one place he could find you.

“Congratulations Spence! You have made it ⅓ of the way through the letters. ⅓ of the way through our relationship. So it only makes sense that this is about our one year anniversary.

We take a time jump on this one. So direct your attention to the green velvet jewelry box and the dried flower. I kept a few flowers from every bouquet you ever got me and dried them, so I could have them forever. Remember how I had so many flowers tied up with string hanging in our bedroom? They were all from you. Throwing flowers away always made me sad, especially when you bought them because you always took such care in choosing them. Every bouquet had a meaning. I never knew about flower symbolism until I met you. This magnolia is from my favorite bouquet you ever got me, the ones for our first anniversary,”

His heart sank. The flower was your favorite, and there it was in shreds on his nightstand. He destroyed it, not on purpose, but he still destroyed it. He ran his hands through his brown hair, cursing himself for ruining yet another thing. Lately, he always seemed to be doing that.

“So let’s start with some context. Everything was going perfectly. The universe was finally on our side. Emily came back from the dead, which was a shocking but very welcome surprise. I needed her, needed my best friend. And she came at just the right time. She was different, but still our Em. JJ was back as a profiler now, which made us all very happy, you in particular. The gang was finally back together and we felt unstoppable, invincible. Hell, we even got questioned by a Senate Committee and still kept our jobs. Things got back to normal, or whatever can be considered ‘normal’ for us. It’s a very loose definition of the word. We had officially been together a year and it was without a doubt the happiest year of my life. We never fought, all our days were filled with work and loving each other. We spent all our time together, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best thing. We got a little codependent. But it worked. We worked.

I’m still sorry for how that day went. You planned it to be perfect, and I messed it up.

The flowers and necklace were the gifts that you planned to give me at your place after we got dinner at that fancy Italian restaurant downtown that I had been dying to eat at. You told me it took a lot to get the reservations, but you managed to snag a table for us, because you called three months in advance. It was the sweetest gesture. I mean that. No guy ever put that much effort into something for me. I was so excited; I went out and bought a dress for the occasion and everything. It was going to be the best night. We were going to hit the first milestone of many. There were only 3. I thought there would be infinite anniversaries for us, Spence, but we only had 3. And I’m sorry I ruined the first one.

Work happened. More specifically, Hotch sent me and Rossi to interview a prisoner at North Branch in Maryland. I originally refused, telling them all about our date. Hotch and Rossi both assured me we would be back in time for the reservations.

“Why me? Why can’t you bring Emily? Or Derek? This is the ONE night I need!” I had complained.

“Your skills are what we need for this one. It’ll be quick Y/N, I promise,” Hotch said. I rolled my eyes, not to be disrespectful but so he knew I wasn’t happy.

“Fine, but if you make me stand up Spencer Reid on our anniversary you’ll be a very sorry man.”

They both just laughed and I was whisked away on the jet to Maryland. The whole way there I was nervous and fidgeting. I barely spoke to Rossi on the flight, and I’m have the biggest mouth of anyone! I just didn’t want to ruin that night. You were so excited. I hate disappointing you. You were so nice about my having to work though. When I told you I had to go, you texted me and told me it was okay, a flight from DC to Baltimore is 34 minutes. We’d barely hit altitude before we had to come down, and that you were so excited to see me. I promised you that I’d make it, I’d even be early.

I think that’s the only promise to you I ever broke.

The guy we interviewed was a real weirdo, like a little weirder than the usual unsubs. He was on Death Row, scheduled to be executed in a week. His thing was killing women and then scalping them to make wigs.

Real nasty.

We got there earlier than expected, around noon. We interviewed him for a while, taking a lot of breaks to breathe. He even gave Rossi the heebie-jeebies and Rossi invented interviewing serial killers. Just as we were about done, around four, something happened. A riot in the courtyard. Of course. They locked down the prison. Thankfully we were not stuck in the room with the psycho, like you were with Hotch that time. They still wouldn’t let us leave. It’s not like we didn’t ask. We did. We did the whole “we’re FBI agents. Don’t make me call the director” thing. The warden just said sorry, no can do, tough shit. So Rossi and I were trapped in a hyper-max that was rioting, and the clock was ticking and ticking and my chances of making this date were fading away.

To say I was pissed was an understatement. Rossi knew I was furious. He was there when Hotch said ‘It’ll be quick Y/N, promise,” and he knows how I bite heads off when I’m mad. He’s a smart man, so he did the smart thing and didn’t talk. I tried to call you, text you, everything, but my stupid phone had no reception in that stupid concrete box.

They let us out at 5, combine the 34 minute flight with commuting to and from the air strips and taking into account 5 pm rush hour traffic? I know you can tell me exactly how long it would’ve taken me to get to the restaurant. But even I knew it was too damn long.

And the traffic really outdid itself that day! I didn’t think a ten minute drive could ever be a half hour long, but it was. As we sat I got more and more antsy and tried calling you. Straight to voicemail. I did that probably 15 times, but nothing. Your phone died. Most people would assume that you charge your phone all the time, but it’s the opposite. The thing rarely is above 30% and I used to remind you to charge it all the time. It was always sort of endearing, just another thing to love about your quirky self. That night it was just infuriating.

When we landed it was already past 6:30. I changed in the bathroom at Quantico and drove as fast as I could to the restaurant. I definitely broke some laws that day.

When I got there I didn’t see you, so I asked the hostess about the reservation. She gave me a sad look and told me you waited forty-five minutes for me. You even ordered my favorite wine for the table. And I missed it.”

Spencer recalled sitting there at the table, fidgeting with his thumbs and barely sitting still. Every time the door swung open and it wasn’t you he lost more and more hope. His phone had died because he was bad at charging it. You were the one to always remind him to plug it in before bed. He couldn’t even call you to see if you were okay, or call Rossi, or Hotch. He couldn’t do anything except sit there and eat the free bread and oil that were on the table. He knew there would be a good reason why you missed the date, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. At 6:45 he gave up and paid for the wine he barely even drank and left, everyone sending him sympathetic looks as he walked out. It was no longer perfect, and that’s all he wanted. One perfect night with you, and you couldn’t even give him that.

“So I drove to your place and knocked on the door. I was so nervous, feeling equal amounts of excitement and dread. I knocked on the door and you opened it. I smiled and went in for the hug and you blocked it. Cue our first fight.

“I’m so sorry love, at the prison they locked us in and we couldn’t leave and then there was traffic and I’m so so sorry,” I said. You just wouldn’t look at me. You just stared at the gift bag on your couch.

“Spencer? Hello? I’m so sorry. I know how much effort you put into today and I–“

“Do you know how embarrassing that is?” You said. You looked upset, brows furrowed and hands waving wildly.

“I sat there for almost an hour alone, the waitress even offered me dessert on the house because I got stood up. I kept telling them you’d be there, but I had to give up. You stood me up on our anniversary Y/N.”

I felt like a kid getting scolded by their favorite teacher.

“I tried to call you,” I mumbled, “There was no service in the prison so when we were on our way back to the jet I tried, but it went straight to voicemail.”

You just groaned and ran your hands through your hair. You had taken off your suit jacket and tie and they were thrown on the couch.

“You shouldn’t have gone! You knew what today meant to me and still went!”

“I tried! I asked Hotch if someone else could do it and he said no! And YOU said it was okay!”

Our voices were loud now, I half expected your neighbor to bang on the door and tell us off.

“Of course I did! I couldn’t tell you not to do your job. The job always comes first! I just wish you told me so I didn’t look like an idiot!”

“‘Job always comes first’” I mocked, you looked at me in a way you never looked at me. It was the look you only used on unsubs. Jaw clenched, eyes fiery, more pissed than I had ever seen you. “I TRIED to tell you! Maybe if you ever charged your damn phone you would’ve gotten my texts! My fourteen phone calls! Maybe you would’ve gotten the texts and calls I had Rossi send because I thought it was my phone that was broken!”

You moved to sit on the couch, me standing in front of you. Tears were stinging my eyes, I’ve always been an angry crier. I softened before talking next.

“Spence, Love, look at me.”

And you did. Your brown eyes looked sad, all the rage and fire behind them was gone.

“I’m sorry, what can I do?”

I sat next to you and put my head on your shoulder. You leaned your head on top of mine. Such a small gesture, but so romantic at the same time.

“I just wanted today to be special,” you croaked.

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve called the restaurant or something. I could’ve found a better plan.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry too, Y/N.”

You wrapped me up in a much needed hug and kissed my cheek. We sat like that for a while.

“Well this isn’t how I wanted tonight to go but,” You said and reached behind you.

I sighed, “I didn’t get you anything, we said no gifts.”

You smirked and handed me a bouquet of flowers and a bag, “They’re magnolias.”

“They’re beautiful,” I said, and I shoved my face in them to smell.

“Magnolias are considered one of the first flowering plants. Fossil remains show they have been around for 100 million years. They symbolize longevity and perseverance. Men historically gifted women magnolias as an appreciation of their beauty, essentially saying ‘you are worthy of a beautiful magnolia.’ But more recently the idea of a steel magnolia, a strong southern wom—“

I cut you off with a kiss, “I love them. Stop rambling.”

You blushed and motioned for me to open the bag. It held a small, green velvet jewelry box. Inside was a vintage locket, gold with little blue stones and beautiful etching. I gasped when I saw it. I opened it up and it was empty.

“I wanted you to pick what goes in it, Y/N.”

I held it delicately in my hands; the chain was so thin, “It’s perfect.”

You grinned practically ear to ear, those dimples coming out full force. I asked you to clasp it for me and it hung just below the base of my neck.

I wore the locket daily. The gold started to tarnish and chip, but I still wore it. I only took it off to shower and sleep. On one side of the oval I put a picture of you, the one from the fourth of July when I painted the kids’ faces at Rossi’s party. I painted a flag on your cheek. You laughed as the brush tickled your skin. You smiled wide in that picture. I love that picture. It’s still in there. It hurts to look at.

I can’t wear it anymore. I thought long and hard about keeping it. It was a part of me for two years. It kept you close to my heart always, no matter where we were. I thought maybe I could change the picture out, or just leave it in a box to collect dust. Both options feel wrong, so instead I’m giving it back to you, along with the magnolia that has long since dried up. Much like our feelings for each other.

I don’t care what you do with any of these things. I don’t even know what to do with them, with any of this. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings, Spence. I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know how to do this without you. You always know. So do with these what you see fit. I trust you.”

Spencer put the paper down and held the box in his hands and opened it. He remembered picking it out and thinking how wonderfully the blue and gold would contrast your skin tone. He remembered clasping it around your neck a thousand times because your fingers just couldn’t seem to do it. He remembered how you used to play with it when you got nervous. He remembered the rows of flowers you would hang on the wall. It just inspired him to keep buying you more and more. He loved those little things about you.

As you promised the picture of him was still inside. He stared at himself with a huge grin and a red, white, and blue cheek. He was so happy. He looked nothing like the man in that picture anymore. His hair was longer and shaggier now and he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled like that. Smiles like that were reserved for you.

He held the locket in his hands and stared out the window, admiring how the snow blanketed the street.

Then he heard something, a knock at his door.

He jumped up, part of him thought it would be you. Could it be? Has rainy Seattle already been too much for you?

A familiar voice from behind the door spoke, “Hey, it’s me.”

Part 7!

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings

@ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer #reid #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #reid x you

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manicdragondreamgirl · 3 years

Note

gimme 10, 27, 47, 58, and 69 for nemo and domino pls

Oekiiiii since you said please

10. how often do they lie? what situations cause them to be dishonest?

Domino lies very often, but not about important things outside of herself; the moment questions become focused around her, how she is doing, what she is doing, she definitely just has an instinct to lie and smooth things over. Otherwise, she is usually fairly keen to tell the truth, barring humorous situations like blaming Clifton for throwing a snowball at Rusty's head, etc. She also does try to avoid lying to children.

Nemo generally doesn't lie unless it's about how old they are oops

27. how do they mourn?

Domino has nothing to mourn thanks she's fine (she doesn't acknowledge the feelings, they pile up, she becomes despondent and sulky); if she was mourning properly, I think she would be quiet and reserved more than her usual, but she would take the time to mourn with appropriate things or tributes to whatever she is mourning.

Nemo is a molotov of unspent grief and anger but I think their religious nature helps in some respects with this and they'd definitely just have some good hearty cries about things and also trying to take action, more than anything. I don't think Nemo can grieve in any way other than actively, by getting involved in something to get them moving through things.

47. when they meet someone, what is the first thing they notice?

Domino I think is very quick to notice how someone presents, not out of a sense of fashion but she's also I think gauging how they're taking care of their appearance, and how that factors into the rest of their body language, etc. She's also I think someone who is going to notice how someone is responding to her appearance and her presence and be hyper aware of that at all times, the way someone looks just factors into how she's planning to respond or behave in turn.

Nemo's depends on if they get some heebie-jeebies; otherwise, I think they tend to notice faces and expressions first! They're much less socially complicated than Domino in that they're confident and not trying to hide from the get-go in a conversation, lol.

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

Domino I think feels as if her role is to quietly hang back, play support in all facets of the job the party is on socially and literally, and do spells and dungeoneering as needed, since she is useful in those regards. In reality, I think she's definitely had her fair share of actually helping directly or being diplomatic where she normally would have preferred not to be, slash Rusty is a bad influence and she's definitely done illusion crimes for shenanigans more than she probably would originally have, so she's been forced to be more active in her role than she might personally feel is necessary.

Nemo thinks they're more of a fighter/warrior who can only swing a sword and doesn't do much else for the group, but in actuality Nemo fulfills a really fun paladin role where they are both able to out of combat provide social skill in the right scenarios (where Somnia, party druid, can't carry us) and provide a ton of support. I think even as an aside as the player, Nemo doesn't realize how much their channel divinity or little support spells matter, but the fact that they will choose to do acts like that over smiting when it's important speaks to me that they're more concerned about truly being there and protecting the party and the worlds from the threats they're fighting, not being the big deeps. Even if they are the big doomage.

69. how would they describe their party members?

Domino, about Clifton:

I suppose he is a...kindly gentleman. He's very passionate about his work...and his hobbies...and his religion...er...he's a nice lad, really, we just don't see eye to eye on the way the world works. Functions of being of different worlds and different lives. I do appreciate his efforts to do right by people, but...there is some nuance he might stand learning.

Domino, about Lady:

She is very clever and very brave, and she has been through a great deal and has come out of it with more curiosity than fear, which I find quite admirable. I worry about some of her current choices, but they are hers to make, and I would rather she have the power to choose. The part of mastering empathy will come in due time, with...some discussion, perhaps. And I am glad that she is my friend, though I am certain she will change her mind, when she does not need a familiar face...when she finally understands all the things I do not wish to say.

Domino, about Rusty:

Rusty and I have similar notions about how much others should be allowed in our business, though we are very different in every other respect. He may view his past as a blight on his future, but he has shown a great deal of compassion and honor in his actions where it counts the most. He could coddle me less, but Rusty is still a friend to me, and I can forgive the tendency to forget I am fully capable of caring for myself.

Nemo, about Gimmy:

Gimmy's like a brother to me, I guess. if I had to have a brother. Who I sometimes wanted to strangle for being such an uppity ass! He knows all these fancy words, but somehow he manages to eat his shoes plenty, though deep down he cares about people in his own weird way, and he cares about Somnia, and I think sometimes he even gives a damn about me. And he's lost, and I want to help him go home. Might even miss the bastard when he gets back where he belongs.

Nemo, about Somnia:

I wish I was half the person she thought I was, cause then maybe I'd really believe all the kind things she's told me. I'd do anything and then some for Somnia. I'd feel embarrassed calling her mom, but she's more of a mom to me than anyone's ever been. And I can't lose her. I can't fail her. Not her, not the person who sees someone where no one else has. Not the person who sees something good in everyone--even Gimmy. Somnia keeps us together. Somnia's home.

#ty for asking #sorry if these sukk i know i am lame #huntresswarlock #domino #nemo #dnd #ask meme #ask game

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bettifelon · 3 years

Text

The 13th

Day 13 Adelaide's wasn't for tourists. For one thing, it was too small, just a modest four-hundred square foot saloon with three booths, a few tables, and the bar. For another, it was quiet, never a horn player nor juke-box to cause a ruckus. And since it was on the outskirts of the French Quarter it stayed just how Robby liked it: empty. Empty meant he didn't have to worry about a thousand dirty mits touching everything. It was paradise, the tabletops and floor were never sticky, the lights were always low, and Pete the bartender was, well, a neatnik, just like Rob. Being at Adelaide's almost made him forget. Well, until Pete put a paper down on the table in front of Robby. Pete was just doing what he always did, he couldn't have known what it would mean to Rob. He held his breath, his eyes going to the date even though he told them not to. Friday, June 13th 1957, was there, bold as you please. Carefully Rob pushed the newspaper away. His mind whispered "twice more" so he gave it two more little scoots. He could still see the date, black and thick like tar. But if he pushed it three more times it would end up on the floor, and that might be worse than just being able to see Friday the 13th. "Doin' alright there, Robby?" Pete asked while pouring Rob's usual gin and tonic. "Evening, Pete, I'm alright. How are you?" "Fine and dandy," Pete said with a wink. He came around the bar holding Robby's cocktail. He held the glass on the bottom with a cocktail napkin between his skin and the drink. "Good to hear," Rob said relieved when the glass was on the table. Friday the 13th meant trouble. But Adelaide's was his safe place, it was close and clean and he could relax here. He didn't want to think of anything outside this place. But this day? History would almost certainly repeat itself. Maybe he shouldn't have come here. Maybe he should have gone to one of the jazz joints up on Bourbon Street. He wouldn't mind seeing one of those places go up in smoke. If he left now, he'd take his bad luck with him, he was sure. He checked his watch, 6:47, that wouldn't work. He had to wait three minutes. Just three minutes. He was simply giving himself the heebie-jeebies. He knew his thoughts were just thoughts. Just thoughts. "Kickin' the habit?" Pete asked, nodding at the paper sitting at the edge of the table. Lifting his glass to take a drink so he wouldn't have to say anything, Rob gave what he hoped was a friendly shake of the head. "Missing out," Pete said. "There's a story in there about some eggheads over in Bywater loosin' their lab to Betsy. Rumor is, they were doing some strange things with animals. Seems there's been a half dozen ungodly creatures set free in the hurricane. "Nonsense," Robby tried to laugh. "Oh, I don't know," Pete gave him a big smile. "Scientists like to play God these days. Seems God gave them a warning, set their experiments free." "Pete, you can't really believe that there are mad scientists!" Robby laughed, he hoped it sounded incredulous, not nervous. "Queerer things have happened," the bartender shrugged. Robby shook his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. In the back of his mind a thousand dark things were stirring. He could hear the scrape of claws the whisper of scales. "Sounds like nonsense," Rob repeated. The creatures in his head grew horns and fangs. Goosebumps lifted the hair on his arms. The 13th wouldn't touch his bar. He had to get out. He looked down at his watch. 6:52! Damn! He'd have to wait until seven now. He sucked down another pull of his drink. What if one of the escaped experiments found it's way to Adelaide's? Unlikely. He told himself. He just needed to relax. Needed to focus his thoughts elsewhere. He couldn't let the dark parts of his thoughts come to the forefront. Dr. Moore told him when they started, he needed to try to refocus. Valium may be a woman's drug, but it sure did help Rob. He stood and excused himself headed for the can. Mother's little helper was Robby's little helper too. Though he'd never let any of his

buddies know. He'd become an expert at dry swallowing a few pills without anyone being the wiser. With a few pills in his system, he might just make it through the rest of this cursed day! After all, he'd made it this far! Not a single lick of bad luck had bothered him all day. Maybe Dr. Moore was right, maybe Friday the 13th was nothing but a false perception of luck. "X doesn't always mark the spot," he reminded himself. He shook his head. He was standing in front of the basin the water was running, but Rob wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there. The Valium was doing it's work. Yacking to himself in the men's room mirror? Yes sir, it was time to finish up his cocktail and head home. Before fear of the 13th took hold of him again. After he washed his hands, of course. Robby prepared himself for the sight of a kitchen fire. Then told himself that was not likely. He'd have heard the fire bell. So then, he pushed the door open and... Zippo. Nothing. There was no bear-hog hybrid, no Goatman or Sasquatch escaped from the mad scientists, no fire, or flood or blood. Everything was fine. His fear was unfounded. And a little hysterical, though he hated to admit it. Adelaide's was still quiet and empty and perfectly clean. Pete was behind the bar, just waiting for someone to come though the door and order their usual. They were all usuals at Adelaide's. Robby sighed, the tight feeling in his chest that lingered, even after Robby's little helper, eased. But it only lasted a moment. Just one moment, before the door crashed open and a nightmare charged inside. It made a noise that could have been a car horn or the wild bark of a coyote! It was unlike anything Rob had ever seen, massive barrel chest like that of a bull, but it's hind quarters sloped down ending in a bottle brush tail. Horns sprang from the head of a massive dog-like creature. It's fangs snapped the air before it's black eyes found Robby. When it saw him, the creature's jaws fell open and drool spilled out onto the pristine floor. Rob couldn't help but think, "there goes the neighborhood." Just before the creature charged at him.

#daily writing challenge #dailywrites #writer #creativewriters #writerscommunity

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stevenuniversetanzanite · 4 years

Text

Fallen Angel (Venable X reader) Part 1

This story is part of a series that will extend over two, maybe three of SP characters. They will be named different things (if it's a different character and I will finish one's plot before I post the other, probably) but will all be linked together. None will be chronological but I will be easier to follow, if not I'll tell you right upfront.

It’s a short chapter.

Summary/idea: Two strangers come to 'save' the occupants of outpost 3. Neither are what they seem.

(The reader is purposely all over the place)

Warnings: N/A

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 (Will add as I go)

"Honestly, I'm trying not to think about it at all. I'm more interested in whoever Venable is hiding in her office."

The purples muttered amongst themselves while waiting to be served their nutrition cubes.

A man with long strawberry blonde hair walked into the room, the outpost members guessed he was in his late twenties. Following the stranger was a woman an inch shorter. The man was attractive, with a well-defined jaw and piercing blue eyes. The male attracted members of the outpost could already see themselves swooning over him. The woman, or what they assume is a woman, she appeared far younger than her counterpart, was by no means unattractive but she bordered the lined of cute than what would be seen as societally attractive. She wore a long black skirt that hid her shoes, a black shoulder and black corset that barely allowed the white blouse underneath to peek through. She didn't wear the same face of intimidation as the man she was with.

The man addressed the crowd of greys and purples, "My name is Langdon, and this is my associate Y/N L/N." He gestured to you. You smiled widely and waved at the purples. They looked at you confused. "We represent The Cooperative."

“I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth…” Michael started his long speel about why the two of you were there, yadda yadda, it’s all boring to you, you couldn’t wait for the more interesting stuff to start. As he talked you took your time to study this outpost’s residents. You didn’t think twice about half of them, none of them catching your interest.

“We will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” He must be up to telling them about his process of selection, ‘The Interview’. We both knew that’s bullshit, the whole thing was, you can’t learn everything you need from their word of mouth, that’s stupid, people lie, you know.

"You don't have to sit for questioning. The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

"I volunteer to go first." The man had guts, that or he was stupid. By the quick study of him… stupid, definitely stupid.

"And so you shall," Michael said.

"I look forward to meeting each and every one of you."

"What about y/n? Is she going to be in the interviews too?” Emily asked. “You said you'd be doing the interviews. What about her?"

"We can't get all the information we need from word of mouth," You deadpanned, staring directly at her. She tensed up, her eyes fixed on yours. Everyone felt uneasy. “How are we meant to know how you get on with others, or how adaptable you are simply by interviewing you?”

“We could give examples?” She was unsure of her answer.

“Who’s meant to back them up? I can’t call your boss or whoever you use as your referee, they’re dead. Do I look like a psychic?”

“No.”

There was silence for a minute before you cracked up, “Just kidding, the interviews bore me. You should have seen your face. Did you see her face, Mickey?” Michael groaned. You were immature at the best of times and the worst. He told you a million times to not call him Mickey or whatever nickname you came up with at the time. You were here for business, you needed to be professional.

“Y/N-”

“OW~ NUTRITION CUBE,” you screaked out dashing over to the table and grabbing one of the purples plates as well as their fork. “I haven’t eaten since ‘92. I had this disgusting pheasant- at least I think it was a pheasant, it could’ve been beef.”

“Those are two different kinds of meat.”

“One’s a bird.”

“Good for it, it’s hard to be a bird. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Everyone looked at you as if you were insane. You didn’t mind. You hopped on the table and started eating.

“I don’t know if I want to be accepted any more,” Coco said watching you scoff down the meal you stole. “We don’t have to be like her to get in, do we?”

“No,” Michael answered.

“What’s wrong with me?” You covered your mouth so you could talk. You had some manners.

“How about we get set up for the first interview while they have their meal?” Michael asked.

“Alright,” you placed down your back from where you stole it from. You hopped off the table looking back briefly to wave goodbye. “Hey, you ate your meal fast.” You said pointing to the meal you ate a second ago.

“She’s kidding right?” Andre asked. The others shrugged.

“Y/N!”

“One Second.”

The interview was long and tedious. You had to find ways to pass the countless hours you had been in the underground bunker. The others didn't treat you with respect, they tried to use you to guarantees themselves a spot in the Sanctuary.

Little did they know how little say you had in the 'picking'. You were allowed to pick one person (which you hadn’t found yet) as compensation for all your help guiding Satan's boy. It wasn't the first time you had run into the devil reincarnated, his son or a possessed human. Satan, though powerful, could never be down here in his true form, he'd be too recognisable even with some form of perception filter. It's like trying to hide when you have a chip tracking you, utterly useless.

You'd heard whispers about this outposts leader, things that intrigued you. It was as clear as day that she liked neither of you, but that didn't stop you from gawking at her.

You chilled in the music room as the others had their daily social hour. You sipped down the drink one of the greys gave you. You eyed every person, once again analysing everyone in the room. Some you hadn’t noticed in your time here. Still didn’t make them interesting. You’d be surprised if any of these people are kept alive.

“So what’s the deal with the same song on loop?” You asked the group. They looked at you like you were stupid. The Morning After by Maureen McGovern played on repeat the whole time you were there, you tempted to change in but you assumed it was some sort of sick joke on the occupants, its a hopeful song the first time you heard it. It could give them the wrong idea.

“What do you mean?” One said. You couldn’t care less about their names. “That had to be in some sort of your plan right?”

“Nope. Must be one of the things your leader added. Ms V, was it?”

“Added?”

“Like your colour systems, most places had it so the more work you did the more benefits you’d get. That being said they had slaves too. Depends on the base I guess. Also, a lot of them have more people.”

“They were killed off.”

You leant forward and directly stared at the man, Timothy maybe. “Tell me more about that?” You tilted your head, finding sudden interest in murders happening in these walls. “Were they infected?” All your goofiness the remaining occupants knew to be a character trait for was tossed in the trash. None of them could piece you together. Maybe you were just crazy?

“One was, allegedly, they may have fed him to us.”

You turned your head to Andre, “Your boyfriend right, how sick is that? How could they do something like that?” You clutched your armchairs arm, digging your black claws into the wood.

“How did you know-” Timothy asked.

“-it was his boyfriend?” Your head snapped back to Timothy. “His body language and the fact he looked utterly depressed when you mentioned it.” You eased back into your chair. “And the others? What caused their murders?”

“Rule-breaking.”

“Mainly procreation.”

“At the end of the world are you not allowed to procreate? Are you trying to kill humanity?” They caught on quick that was another one of their rules they implemented in the outpost. Most started complaining about that. You took this as your time to meet this Venable more formally.

You knocked on her office door. “Who is it?” she bellowed.

“Y/N,” you announced confidently.

“Ms L/N, come in.” She didn’t bother getting up to let you in, she doubted you would be long. Micheal was the one she could hold a sophisticated conversation (not to say that she wanted to), she presumed you were just some kooky eye candy he’d brought along. You had done very little work- at least from what she could tell- you’ve only pestered the residence and used up precious resources- not to mention the constant staring. No matter where she was she always felt you watching her. It was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

You opened the door, it squicked. That caught your attention, you rocked it back and forth a couple times before. “This door needs to be fixed, it ruins the threatening mood you try to build up. I mean this isn’t a haunted house after all-” Haunted boarding school maybe but not a house.

“Ms L/N, what are you doing in my office?” She peered up from her work. You hadn’t noticed them before but she was wearing glasses. They were nice, you liked them on her. From her profile, you knew she used to wear them but you assumed she got lasik. They must have been reading glasses all along, you’d worn glasses for a bit back in your ‘younger days’, different reasoning behind it, you weren’t exactly yourself back then but that’s a story for another time.

“I’ll send someone to fix that later.” You realised she asked you a question, “Uh~ right, you weren’t at the gathering.”

“I’m busy working, someone has to keep this place together.”

“And I admire your work, I really do-” You began.

“But?” She focused all her attention on you, closing the file she was looking at as you approached.

“When was the last time you took a break? Had some fun?” You splayed yourself out on the chair in front of her desk.

“I have fun-” She didn’t see how this was relevant. Why was she answering you? She didn’t have to answer to anyone.

“I bet you do, torturing the residence. I had to stop myself from laughing when I heard about your little incident with Stu. So clever, I would never have thought of something like that. But have you ever thought about your wants? Needs? Desires?”

“What are-”

“Come on V.”

“-It’s Ms Venable to you.”

“Kinky.”

“I beg your pardon?” She stiffened. She was five seconds away from slapping you not that you would have minded.

“My point is you can have anyone here and yet you remain the stubborn mule you always been.” You said. “I read your file, you're a right old bastard, but anyone would have to be if you worked with those cokeheads.”

“Get out of my office,” she snarled.

“Alright, alright. I guess you don’t want to know the juicy gossip about that Langdon bloke.”

“Wait-” You turn to face her. She didn’t want to say it, “You can stay.” She didn’t have a choice, something was up with that man.

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe another time. Bring that bottle of red you hid from the others and two glasses- if you don’t have any a bowl will do, it's the end of the world, who’s to judge?” You left the woman baffled. You wanted her to ask you to stay and then you leave. Was this a game of chase to you? The door squeaked close behind you. “I’ll send someone over to fix that far yah now!”

Who the hell did she let into the outpost?

Link to next chapter

#venable x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhelmina venable x reader #wilhelmina x reader

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