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teratosfavouritesnack · 2 months

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Hi can you do a part 2 of the ghost lover boy? Like Y/n is being repeatly being bratty and the ghost starts punishing her but of course she cant see him because he's invisible?

Hiii dear, thank you for your request and sorry for the late reply! I already had half an idea how to continue this story but I tried to mix it with your suggestion. Hopefully you like it 💜

ghost x afab!human - bratty behaviour (kinda), ghost creature doing ghost things, p in v, mirror sex, use of ghost hunting tools, it talks!!! :o

ORIGINAL POST <-

You were wrong. The ghost was no lover boy, just a prankster through and through.

You don’t know exactly how you expected the dynamic to evolve after the events of that day, but you certainly didn’t think it would change so drastically and… not really for the better.

Has this been its intention from the very start? To harass you, play with you and your emotions until you surrendered and offered yourself to it , only to then take it all away? Has it only been having some fun with you and did not in fact care about you at all?

You wish you had an explanation for its sudden disappearance, but you don’t. And you’re so upset about it. So upset that you can’t find peace in your own four walls, because everything makes you think of it and all its stupid pranks. So upset, you can’t even find pleasure in touching yourself anymore because you can’t fuck your cunt the same way its fingers have, you can’t recapture that tingly, almost electricity-charged pressure you felt inside you when it pounded your hole with its hand, no matter how much you attempt to.

You’re losing your mind. It can't just give you a taste of something so delicious and addicting and then take it away a second later! It’s not fair! You need to catch its attention again, try however you can. You exasperate the things that always induced it to harass you; unashamedly bending over the furniture and waiting for it to grind against you, pushing your ass in the air as much as humanly possible whenever you’re doing the laundry, spending a longer time in the shower box hoping it would join you, walking naked around the house more times than not to give it easy access to every inch of you… You do anything to get it to touch you again but nothing seems to work. It’s as if it has completely vanished, as if it’s gone for good from your house. But somehow, you know it ’s still there. You can feel it. Watching you. Maybe laughing at you, at how desperate you look and act. It ’s mocking you, you’re sure.

Resentment merges with desperation, pushing you to buy some of those fancy gadgets paranormal investigators use on their hunts. You place sensors throughout the house and always carry a spirit box on you. You’ll catch its invisible and elusive ass one day or another, you’re sure! To what end? You don't truly know. You didn't think things through. Perhaps you just want to take a win over the ghost, instead. Annoy it, as it has done to you. But as the days pass, the sensors don’t pick up any signal, the spirit box is dead silent and you feel bluer than ever. All is calm...

Until it isn’t.

You invite people over, something you learnt in the past the ghost does not like in the slightest. But the ghost isn't around anymore, is it? You have no reason to be concerned about what it likes or not.

Except you have, because it is still here. Hiding so well from all your stupid tools. Pissed off by their presence, yet even more by the strangers you allowed inside its home. Especially that one fool who seems to orbit around you like a moth to a flame. It hasn't been this displeased in ages, and it can't keep itself hidden any longer. It needs to reclaim its possessions.

The sensors go off all at once, causing everyone to jump in their seats. You told your friends about your haunted house before, but no one believed you; now they all do as the lights go crazy and all kinds of trash is thrown in their faces, forcing everyone to rush to the exit.

Everyone except you.

You’re shocked… but also delighted. You secretly wished something like this might happen. You hoped that disregarding its desires would lead to retaliation. And when you feel that familiar thrilling touch on you again, oh you are ecstatic! Its grasp is a little rougher this time, as it grabs you around the waist and drags you all the way to your bedroom. All the way in front of your large mirror, where you watch your clothes come undone, ripped by unseen fretting hands. Where you can see one of your legs pulled off the ground and your hole stretched open by... nothing. It's mind-boggling to feel so stuffed while being unable to gaze upon the thing that makes your sensitive walls throb so desperately. When it starts to move, you realize it is the ghost who's inside you, with its cock swallowed to the hilt by your cunt. The sensation is unbelievable, so blissful, and unlike anything you've ever experienced before. You don't have any words to describe it. And even if you did, you'd forget all of them. Your mind goes blank when you feel its hand seize your jaw and turn your head downward, forcing you to stare at your hole spreading open and shrinking again as it pushes its length all the way into and then out of you in slow but deep thrusts.

Is this a punishment? Is this a reward? Is this a way to claim you as its own? To make you realize that it is in charge.That it can toy with you anytime it wants, and you have no say in the matter. Whatever does this mean... You do not care. You only care about the pleasure rising in your lower belly, the heat pervading your entire body, the exquisite pressure you feel in your womb as its cock finds that precious spot deep inside you, with one arm wrapped possessively around your waist and the other keeping your leg up.

You’re so out of it, so lost in seeking your release that your ears almost bypass the robotic beep coming from your pants, sprawled at your feet. However, the disembodied voice that follows reverberates through your entire being, instantly pushing you over the edge with a muted scream.

"Pretty. . . . Cunt. . . . All. . . . Mine. . . . . Taking. . . . Me. . . . So. . . . .Well. . . . . Made. . . . For. . . . Me."

You hope it will never leave you again, but if it does... Well, now you know how to make it come out again.

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me

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newtthetranswriter · 4 months

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Could I request Gojo x male reader where the reader is a ballet dancer who is a part of the Zenin clan but ran away when they were in high school and Gojo doesn't see him again till adulthood and Gojo falls in love all over again and reader never stopped being in love and they reconnect

Dancing with Curses

Word Count: 3822

Paring: Satoru Gojo x male Zenin Reader

Warning: talks of Gojo’s past arc, the Zenin clan is trash, Canon typical violence, possibly ooc Gojo, let me know if I missed anything

A/n: Hello again, I truly did enjoy writing all of your requests. They gave me just enough information to feel free with creating the story but still having a base to work off of. Anyway I hope you enjoy and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

Y/n Zenin may have been lucky enough to be born with a decent cursed technique but the fact that he had made it clear he was not interested in following the tradition of being a sorcerer, made it so he was looked down upon by the whole clan. For years he tried to fight the system but as the time for high school approached, Y/n was forced to make a choice. He decided that he would follow his family's wishes for just long enough to get enough money to escape the world he grew up in. For him going to Jujutsu High was just a stepping stone to reach his goal, he never expected to add another item to the list of things his family hated him for.

As previously mentioned, Y/n just wanted to save enough money to escape from the world of Jujutsu, he never planned to catch the eyes of Satoru Gojo. Apparently Gojo had been enamored with how graceful Y/n was with his technique and how he was able to mix Jujutsu with ballet seamlessly. Y/n on the other hand had felt Gojo’s eyes on him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the beauty in the user of the six eyes. But Y/n knew that if he let himself fall or grow attached he would be further trapped in this dark world. So Y/n put his emotions in a box and distanced himself.

Finally after almost three years of dealing with the chaos and horrors of the world Y/n left. Having one of his underclassmen die in the line of duty, followed by one of his classmates turning against them, Y/n was done. He couldn’t handle the thought of spending anymore time watching people die for no reason, or seeing people who were once all about protecting turning to murder. So he gathered his belongings and left in the middle of the night. Leaving the world of Jujutsu behind, almost completely.

Being an outcast from a young age Y/n knew the signs of the Zenins pushing kids out of the inner circle. And even if it was still early and there were a few years left for her technique to develop, Y/n had a gut feeling Maki would need someone on her side. So before he completely wrote off the Zenin clan, he wrote Maki a letter. The girl was barely 4 but was able to understand the simple contents of the letter. Y/n had simply explained that he was always there for her if she needed anything and asked her to not share the existence of the letter with anyone. He also left his new phone number, telling her to call if she ever needed anything. After leaving the letter with his young cousin he left.

When it became clear to the Zenin clan as a whole that Y/n had up and ran away, they decided to act like he never existed. Writing his disappearance off as a blessing to not have to deal with him ever again. While most of the Jujutsu world moved on from the sudden loss, Satoru was unable to follow their lead. He spent the better part of five years looking for him. Unfortunately for him, Y/n did not want to be found and managed to hide himself well. Satoru eventually gave up.

Fast forward eleven years, and Y/n had put very little thought into the world he left behind. He took his freedom and did what he wanted. He became a professional dancer, letting his worries wash away. It was a relief to not think about death and curses everyday. But alas all good things come to an end at some point.

After a particularly tiring performance Y/n felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Seeing that the id indicated it was the one person he kept in touch with, he answered. “Hey, Maki what’s up? Is everything ok?” He asked, concerned. Even though Maki was only four when she got the letter from Y/n she respected his wishes and managed to keep it secret all these years. The reason Y/n became concerned was that when Maki got a phone they agreed she would only call if something was seriously wrong, otherwise she would text monthly just to check in.

The calm teen’s response nearly startled the man. “I know you said you would never return to Jujutsu High, but we need all the help we can get.” Maki explained, there was a hint of worry in her voice and Y/n knew that something was seriously wrong if Maki was asking him to come back. Before Y/n could ask for more information, Maki continued. “Some crazy guy declared war on Jujutsu Society and even though we have Gojo on our side everyone seems worried. There has been an influx of Sorcerers on campus and even Gojo seems concerned. I normally wouldn’t ask for you to come back but if Gojo is worried wouldn’t that mean having all hands on deck be the best course of action.”

Y/n took a moment to think about what Maki had told him. If someone declared war on Jujutsu Society then no big deal, curse users are stupid. But if said person had Gojo worried about it then there was only one person who could be leading this fight. Knowing that fact led Y/n to make a choice he never thought he would. “If it’s bad enough for Gojo to be worried, then having as many sorcerers as possible is a good idea. I’ll be there in the morning.” He knew he would likely regret going back to his old life but he knew the reality, it’s almost impossible to leave the Jujutsu world and stay gone.

“Thank you, I know you hate all of this but I’m sure you’ll be able to leave again when everything is done.” With that Y/n said a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. If he was really going to be returning to Jujutsu Society, he knew there was a very slim chance of ever getting out again, that is if he even managed to survive the impending war.

The next day as he promised Maki, he made his way to Tokyo. When he reached the path leading to the hidden highschool, he paused. Debating actually entering the barrier that protected the school and alerting everyone of his presence or just turning around and telling Maki he couldn’t help out. But before he could chicken out and run away again, he felt the presence of familiar cursed energy. Looking up at the stairs that would seal his fate of being part of this fight stood the one person he hoped he could avoid, Satoru Gojo.

It was clear that Gojo had changed since Y/n last saw him, having swapped out his usual dark sunglasses for white badges wrapped around his eyes, his hair was also longer and stood up with makeshift blindfold in place. Seeing the white haired male sent feelings Y/n had long suppressed bubbling to the surface.

It wasn’t any better for the Strongest Sorcerer. He couldn’t believe his eyes, even if he knew that his cursed technique is never wrong, his heart had a hard time believing that the Y/n Zenin was standing in front of him. Gojo had so many questions, like why did he run away, why didn’t he say anything, and most of all why is he back. Snapping out of his thoughts, Gojo moved down the stairs quickly, taking two at a time with ease thanks to his long legs.

“What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than he intended, but with recent events and the bubbling of long forgotten feelings, Gojo couldn’t help it.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Y/n took in the tall man in front of him. “Well hello to you, Gojo. For the record I’m only here because Maki said that someone declared war and it had even you worried. And knowing you only one person could make you worried about a silly threat. So here I am, isn’t better to have extra hands on bored than facing Geto with fewer people.” Y/n answered, accidentally letting it slip that Maki had been able to contact him all this time. “Now that I’m here, would you mind telling me what exactly Geto is planning.”

Ignoring the request for information about the situation, Gojo focused more on the mention of his student. “Since when has Maki been able to contact you, she was like four when you left. Why would she call you for help?” When Y/n had left after the worry of what happened had passed, Gojo had been angry, and now that anger was showing itself all over again.

“Yes Gojo, Maki was four when I left. But you forget I was also raised in the hell scape that is the Zenin house. I also know what it looks like when those douchebags start making a child an outcast. When I left I gave her my phone number and told her if she needed me she could call. And you would never guess what happened. She saw that her teacher was worried over some psychopath declaring war on the people she cares about and called someone she trusts to ask for help. I’m not here for anyone but her.” Y/n clarified, and it was clear from his tone that he truly meant it. He was only coming back to the world of curses to help his young cousin. Not giving Gojo a chance to respond, Y/n brushed past him heading up the steps into the base of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

Gojo was left stunned by his own stupidity. The only guy he can remember ever truly having feelings for was right in front of him, and instead of expressing his joy of seeing him again he stuck his foot in his mouth. Watching after Y/n as he left, Gojo began thinking of ways to apologize for what just happened and ways to hopefully convince Y/n to stay even after they beat Geto.

On December 24th, Y/n opted to stay at Jujutsu High with Maki and Yuta as a line of defense just in case. Afterall he wasn’t technically a member of Jujutsu Society so it’s not like the Higher ups could actually tell him what to do. He also had a bad feeling about them sending everyone except a couple Assistant supervisors to the front lines. If Geto had asked Yuta to join his cause wouldn’t that mean he had an interest in the boy. So when the veil was lowered over the school, Y/n jumped into action.

He knew he didn’t stand much chance against a special grade like Geto, but he couldn’t just let the lunatic kill a young sorcerer. Y/n’s technique had only earned him the status of Grade 1 back in highschool, but that was eleven years ago and this would be his first fight since he left. He could only hope he still had the strength to hold off the Curse User long enough for help to arrive.

His own fight with Geto didn’t last long before a new contender entered the courtyard where the two adults were exchanging blows. Having also noticed the veil, Maki opted to join the fight. So now it was two on one, the two Zenin outcasts vs. the special grade Suguru Geto. The cousins were able to hold off Geto for about thirty minutes before Geto got the upper hand. The younger of the two had been severely injured, having likely multiple broken bones and severe cuts leaving her half conscious in a pool of her own blood. The older of the two was not much better off. Y/n had sustained a few broken ribs, one of which he wouldn’t be surprised to find out if it was digging into his lung as it was becoming difficult to breathe. But he was still able to stand and so he was still able to fight.

There was a brief moment that allowed Y/n to catch his breath, and that was when Geto paused, announcing a hole was made in the barrier. He seemed confident enough that whoever it was would be too slow and he could beat Y/n and take Yuta before they arrived. Y/n took in a few deep breaths, sensing the cursed energy of two people approaching fast. Seeing that Geto wasn’t reacting to it, Y/n waited until the wall exploded next to the long haired man before striking again.

Unfortunately even with the added help of Panda and Toge, they were still unable to beat him. When they turned their backs on Geto to check on Maki, the curse user took the chance to take out the oldest of the group. Striking Y/n in the back with curse, Geto managed to force the broken rib that was already threatening to puncture one of his lungs right through said lung. The force of the blow knocked what little air Y/n had in his chest out, and now with the loss of function in one of his lungs it was nearly impossible for Y/n to catch his breath. The two first years who were still able to fight tried to fight back but were unsuccessful.

Y/n fought to stay awake and even tried to warn Yuta who had appeared on the scene to run away, but alas with barely any oxygen getting into his body, he could barely make a sound. He was fading in and out of consciousness and couldn’t help but wish for Shoko to be there to heal his wounds. Slowly suffocating was really fucking painfull. The last thing he remembered before blacking out completely was Yuta using Rika to move the four injured sorcerers to safety and applying his own reversed curse technique to them. As the world faded Y/n silently thanked Gojo for not executing the young special grade.

Unlike the other three who woke up soon after Yuta beat Geto, Y/n was still unconscious three days later. While Yuta had been able to heal the majority of the injuries y/n had sustained, it seemed Shoko was needed for some of the more intense ones. When word got to Gojo that Y/n was injured and that even after Shoko had been able to treat his wounds was still asleep, Gojo was worried. He spent as much time as he could spare sitting by his bed in the infirmary.

Gojo spent the time thinking. Debating on how to thank Y/n for risking his life for the young sorcerers and trying to decide if it would be a good time to tell him he loved him. Yeah Gojo had officially decided that he loved Y/n Zenin, it wasn’t just a school crush. Having spent eleven years apart and suddenly seeing him again reminded him of everything he loved about Y/n. Even though he admitted to himself that he loved him, he couldn’t help but think that maybe telling him would be a curse to the man who clearly just wanted to escape the world of Jujutsu.

Caught up in his own reminiscing, he failed to notice that Y/n had started to wake up. He only noticed when he heard the quiet groan from next to him. Looking over he could see Y/n squinting his eyes at the light from the open window, and trying to take in his surroundings while still laying flat on the bed. Gojo quickly stood up, closing the blinds to darken the room, and then moved to help Y/n sit up. “Here let me help you sit up.” He said, causing Y/n to look at him bewildered. “I know I was rude the last time we talked but I was worried when they said you still didn’t wake up after both Yuta and Shoko used rct on you.” Gojo explained quickly.

Taking a moment to process the words said to him, Y/n looked around the room. Seeing a glass of water on the bed side table, he quickly took a drink before speaking. “How long have I been asleep? And what happened to the kids, is everyone okay?” He wasn’t that worried about himself, his main concern was whether or not the young sorcerers had made it out of the battle alive.

“Everyone is fine. Well, everyone on our side, that is, the kids are all okay. They’re taking a few days to relax before getting back to training. As for how long you were asleep for, well it's been about three days.” Gojo informed him. “And before you ask, Geto won’t be a problem anymore.” His tone of voice shifted from glad to something lingering with sadness.

Picking up on the change of tone Y/n understood what he was implying. “I’m sorry for your loss, I know you were really close before everything. But it’s great to hear that the kids are okay.” He said truthfully. Taking a moment to think of what to say next, one thing popped into his mind and he couldn’t shake it. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you have some important mission that only the Strongest can deal with?” Y/n asked, trying to switch the subject.

Having spent three days thinking over and planning for how to speak his mind didn’t prepare him for what he was going to say. “Um, I just wanted to express my thanks for you risking your life to protect the first years. If you hadn’t decided to show up or stay behind while we all went to the front line, who knows what would have happened to those four. I mean sure Panda probably would have been ok, but the others might not have been so lucky.” Gojo thanked him.

Y/n nodded along, but that didn’t fully answer his question. Gojo was there when he woke up, if he just wanted to say thank you then he could have done it after someone else told him Y/n was awake. “I think they would have been just fine. Maki is a strong fighter and Toge has a great understanding of his technique. And Yuta has a surprisingly great understanding of cursed energy for someone who just learned about curses a few months ago. But the strength of your students aside, Why are you here? And don’t say it’s just to say thank you. You were here when I woke up, if you just wanted to thank me then you could have gone about your day and then thanked me when someone told you I was awake.” He confronted the white haired male.

Gojo scratched the back of his head trying to decide if he should say he just happened to stop by to check on him right before he woke, or if he should tell Y/n the truth. Realizing he had been quiet for too long and that if he did lie Shoko would probably rat him out either way, he came to the conclusion that honesty was the best policy. “Well, I’ve kinda been here the whole time. Like I said before I was really worried when Shoko told me you hadn’t woken up after being treated. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He explained. Watching as Y/n’s face shifted from confusion to shock, Gojo couldn’t stop himself from talking more. “And I know this is probably a terrible time to bring this up, especially with how I reacted when you showed up the other day. But I really care about you Y/n. When you left back in highschool, I thought something terrible happened to you and I searched for you for years. I eventually figured that if you went through the struggle of leaving with out a trace there was probably a reason and so I stopped looking. But the worry turned to hurt and anger and I guess seeing you suddenly and hearing that you only came back for Maki’s sake, made that anger bubble up again. I understand you left for a reason and you probably want to leave as soon as possible after all this life is hell for anyone. But I do want you to know that you mean a lot to me.” This was the first time Y/n had seen or heard of Gojo letting his emotions out in such a clear way. Gojo was always calm and only really expressed deep emotions when fighting or teaching, so having him say all of that really shocked Y/n.

Y/n took a few moments to process everything Gojo said, before making the second life changing decision of the month. “While I left because this life is taxing and full of hardship, I don’t know if I can abandon it again. I wouldn’t mind sticking around and helping teach the next generation of sorcerers.” Y/n explained. “This isn’t a permanent situation though and I will have some requirements that need to be accepted before I commit to it. After all, I can't leave the ones I care about to fight alone if I’m able to lend a helping hand.” he finished making his intentions to at least stick around for a short while clear.

Even though Gojo was happy to hear that Y/n was going to stick around, he was confused by the wording of the last sentence. “Wait you said ‘the ones’ you care about, I thought you came back for Maki.” He couldn’t help but ask.

Y/n just laughed before responding. “You’re right I did come back for Maki. But there are more people here that I care about than just her. Now I may have just woken up from a three day nap, but I’m exhausted so if you don’t mind I’m going back to sleep.” With that Y/n layed back down rolling to face away from the tall sorcerer.

“Who else do you care about here? I’m confused.” Gojo really wanted answers.

Y/n responded even though he was half asleep. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out Satoru.” And with that Gojo was left as the only one awake in the room.

He sat in silence processing what he had been told. And when he registered that y/n had not called him Gojo but used his first name for the first time, he couldn’t hide his smile. Deciding to let Y/n rest in peace he left to inform everyone about Y/n’s decision to consider staying at Jujutsu high for a while.

#x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #jjk x male reader #x male reader #newt writes #Newt's 2024 pride event

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emeritusemeritus · 7 months

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Haunted [Eddie Munson X Reader]

Title: Haunted.

Pairing: Eddie MunsonxReader {Acquaintances to lovers?}

Timeline: Set around S4 (no vecna)

Summary: Eddie sees his dream girl once day at the record store, but will he ever be able to find her again?

Warnings: Minor swearing, Eddie’s a little clueless and a little dismissive for a while. A bit of sexism and mentions of stereotypes. Brief mentions of drugs (it’s Eddie). ‘Un-named freak’ is called Ritchie in this story. Use of y/n. POV changes towards the end. Not Beta read nor spellchecked.

Word count: 3.4K

Eddie Munson had always considered himself particularly unlucky in life, wether it be the family he was born in to, the hand he'd be dealt in life or the way he was so often misunderstood by every outsider. But he'd never considered himself cursed, nor haunted; at least not until the 8th of March, 1896.

It was a Saturday, as boring an uneventful as they come, a little drizzly but mild and completely, mind numbingly boring. He'd done a deal earlier that morning and had decided to spend a little of his fresh earnings, hoping the record store would have something new to catch his eye. The Vault was an old independent record store downtown that had suffered greatly during the Starcourt Mall's rule, with RadioShack and Sam Goody's drawing in most of the younger crowds that left business scarce but the older generation, collectors and music fans that favoured minority categories or alternative sounds always found a home at the Vault, such as Eddie Munson. He'd been waiting a week for the Vault to receive a shipment of the new Metallica album Master of Puppets, though Rob the owner had assured him it would be in by Saturday, nearly five days late after the release. Eddie's hands were itching to get hold of a copy after being pumped by the debut album of King Diamond only a month before, but he was more than ready for something new.

He'd planned to meet Gareth at the store downtown and was waiting out by his van, stood leaning against the hood to smoke a joint when he spotted something entirely unheard of for Hawkins.

A girl, dressed in black high waisted pants that were ripped at the knees and a band shirt that looked eerily familiar to him. It was a Judas Priest 'Defenders of the faith' shirt, identifiable by the distinctive red and blue album logo on the front of the shirt, along with the white priest logo on her chest. She had a chain attached to her belt and chunky black boots just incase the shirt wasn't impactful enough.

She was beautiful, her hair flowing down her back with shaggy bangs and some shit around her eyes Eddie didn't understand that made them look sexy as hell. He was floored, frozen and almost drooling as he watched her walk across the sidewalk towards the record store. He cursed Gareth for being late, making a mental note to put his character in mortal peril during his next campaign and felt himself almost drifting across the road to get a chance to talk to her, but stopped himself at the last minute. He thought of how he could 'accidentally' bump into her, no doubt around the metal/ hard rock section of the record store and strike up a conversation but he couldn't think of a single way to make it seem authentic, or to talk about.

He swore out loud when he saw her walk out only a few minutes later with a smile on her face that he was certain would be etched into his memory forever. He was certain he'd never seen her before, a hot chick that was into metal in Hawkins? No way.

If he wasn't already head over heels for the mystery girl already, he was smitten as soon as she pulled away, the distinctive sounds of Metallica blasting through her speakers, the speedy trash metal echoing through her black car and out into the streets of Hawkins getting quieter and quieter as she drives away.

From that moment, he looked everywhere for her at school, around Hawkins but he could never spot her.

"Gotta shoot, got business," he says, standing suddenly and closing his metal 'lunch box' with a reasoning clunk. He hot tails it out of the school cafeteria and begins making his way across the lot, down his regular route towards the tree line when a noise stops him.

Master of Puppets.

He'd know that riff anywhere, he'd been trying to learn it for days now after finally getting a copy from Rob at the vault. His head shoots up like a meerkat on a hill, scrutinising the cars and the bodies littered about the lot to catch a glimpse of you but he's too late. He sees your black car pulling out the lot and onto the dirt road between the schools and drops his head in defeat. How could he have missed you? He'd spent days searching for you, keeping his eyes focused on the people around him, looking for any sign of you. He'd visited family video more times than he ever had in the past incase you'd decided to venture out there, even asking Buckey and Harrington in a round about way wether he'd seen 'the new chick in town'. He'd downplayed it obviously, he wasn't about to start competing with Harrington so he just mentioned you in passing, not mentioning your appearance at all. They'd seen nothing.

Then Henderson barrelled in one day about this new girl he'd been talking to, apparently she was super cool, asked him about his shirt, d&d and had completely outed herself as a nerd, quoting Star Wars back to him. Eddie had felt hope rise up in his chest but his interest quickly faded when Henderson described the girl wearing a pink and white dress with a white long sleeved shirt underneath, definitely not the girl Eddie had been looking for.

It was a game of cat and mouse, though Eddie was definitely losing the game.

Eddie was perplexed, distracted; even more so than usual. So when a figure appeared beside him at the end of Click's Friday morning history class, during which he'd spent the entire time staring off into the distance through the window and not writing a single note, not even pulling out a scrap of paper nor a pen, he jumped out of his skin at the sudden interaction.

"Hi, you're Eddie right?" The girl says a little shyly, drawing his attention away from the window, though he hardly looks up at the new customer.

"£20 for a half ounce bag, I don't sell single joints right now," he says absently and quietly, reaching down for his lunchbox, "Picnic bench out in the clearing at lunch."

"Oh, no, I wasn't," she begins to say, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You know what, never mind."

He watches as the girl walks away, reaching for her backpack and shoving in the notebook she was holding. His eyes follow her as she pushes her backpack over one shoulder and walks out of the class without sparing him a final look.

He stews on the stranger interaction until lunch when he gets distracted by the guys arguing over the new girl Henderson had mentioned earlier than week.

"She came right out and quoted A New Hope like it was nothing, I'm telling you she's a secret nerd,"Jeff says, picking at his lunch.

"Like how?" Mike says, half paying attention.

"I asked her how she liked it in Hawkins and where she was from before and she said, and I quote, 'Mos Eisley space port but worse'".

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious," Dustin mimics, doing his best Obi-Wan impression, earning a snort from Gareth and a rare smile from Ritchie.

"I'm telling you, she's a total nerd," Jeff smirks, taking a bite of his cafeteria pizza.

"A hot nerd," Gareth adds, earning a nod from Jeff and Ritchie.

"You know she asked me about D&D, maybe we could invite her along for a taster, Eddie?" Dustin says, each of them turning to their leader who was barely paying attention.

"Eddie?" Gareth repeats, finally getting through to Eddie.

"Huh? Oh yeah whatever," Eddie says, clearly having not paid any attention to the conversation happening around him. The group look at each other with various levels of concerned expressions and confusion, wondering where the stood on inviting the new girl.

Dustin, never one to follow the rules, decides to step up and invite the new girl anyway, taking a giant leap that Eddie had technically agreed to it. He catches her between classes and invites her to tonight's campaign, telling her that she wouldn't be able to actually play until she was formally enrolled and created a character sheet but she could watch. To his relief, she agreed with a warm smile and eager nod, making his own smile beam across his face.

"Drama room after school, don't be late, he hates that!"

"Who's this?" Eddie says, when Dustin, Lucas and new girl walk in, spotting the intruder from his place in the throne. It was the same girl from class that had walked up to him without a reason.

"Y/n," Dustin answers casually, walking away and taking his regular seat. "You said she could sit in."

"Did I? Henderson?" Eddie's tone is clipped and his eyes pierce Dustin in a harsh way, not that he notices.

"It's okay, I can go," she says awkwardly from her spot, feeling the weight of rejection settling in. Everyone else had been so friendly but Eddie seemed to want nothing to do with her.

"Nah stay," Eddie says, finally looking in her direction and acknowledging her as a person. She smiles briefly and nods, though it's somewhat forced, still feeling painfully awkward to be where she clearly wasn't wanted. "You sitting down? Just don't interrupt and no questions for now."

"Ok, be straight with me," Eddie says at the end of the session, having told her to stick around afterwards until it was just the two of them. He'd caught sight of her multiple times during the game when she would cheer along with the guys, looked tense in the pets where he lingered for tension and had followed the brief rules he'd laid down dutifully, causing no issues at all. "What's a girl like you want to do with D&D?"

"Girl like me?" She challenges, her right eyebrow raised at the implications of his words.

"Yanno," he says, throwing the last of the equipment into his cardboard box he used to lug the stuff back and forth, "you don't seem the type to be into D&D." He thought of record store girl once again, she would definitely be into d&d, or at least he could convince her to be.

She catches him looking at her cream coloured sweater and blue jeans, his eyes clearly looking at her outfit as to make a point.

"So what, you think there's an angle here? A regular girl can't have an interest in something that isn't Madonna or nail polish? You really have such a low opinion of women?"

"No," he says quickly, turning around to face her as he senses her clipped tone, only to be met with a smirk tugging at the side of her lips and eyebrow still raised. She was goading him.

"Just saying, it's a little unheard of," he says, much more meekly now. He watches as she simply shrugs, offering nothing back.

"I like what I like and I'm not gonna change that for anyone," she says with another shrug, unknowingly earning a multitude of respect from Eddie as he watches her speak. She really was pretty. "Just because I don't think Tom Cruise is the hottest man on the planet and Bananarama didn't change my life doesn't mean I'm not normal, and because I like D&D and shitty horror films I'm not girly enough for society's dumb labels."

She watches as Eddie's smirk forms on his face slowly, his hand extending towards her, "welcome to Hellfire."

It's Wednesday afternoon and the bell has just rang signalling the end of the school day when Eddie waits out by his van, smoking a cigarette and waiting for y/n. They were drawing up her character sheet that night ready for her induction to the club during the next campaign, though she'd have to sit the current one out as they were already more than halfway through. Eddie had nipped back to his trailer to pick up a few of his manuals and spare sheets ready for them to draw up her character and she'd offered for them to go to her house after school to work on it.

Eddie discovered that she was actually pretty cool, as she's started sitting with them at lunch and opening up to the conversations around her. She'd spouted an incredible knowledge of Star Wars a couple of times and had even interjected when Jeff had misspoken about something from The fellowship of the ring, blowing Eddie's mind. He hadn't really looked at her until that night at Hellfire but ever since he'd found himself unable to look away. She was gorgeous, even in her little pink sweaters and fashionable dresses. Though he felt conflicted because as much as he liked y/n, he couldn't stop thinking about the girl at the record store, his dream woman.

"Hey, sorry I'm late, couldn't get away from Robin," she said with a smile, appearing in front of the van by Eddie's side.

"Sure you're good with us going to yours? Your mom won't like totally freak out?" Eddie says with a smirk, crushing his cigarette under his sneakers. The girl huffs out a laugh, ignoring Eddie's claims and pulls open the passenger door before climbing in, wordlessly telling him it would be fine.

"Dad? You home?" She shouts as they walk through the door to her home, having ignored Eddie's compromise of parking a little back from her house, knowing the usual protocol. She's ignored him entirely and told him to park on the drive before flashing him a smile and climbing out.

There's no reply from within the house and Eddie relaxes slightly, glad he wouldn't have to face a set of disgruntled parents that inevitably thought he was corrupting their sweet daughter, pink skirt and all.

"You want a drink?" She asks, guiding him into the kitchen. "Coke, beer, Mountain Dew? Oh crap I left my shit upstairs, you wanna do it there?"

Seeing Eddie's slightly startled look, she burst out laughing, realising what she'd said. "I meant the character sheets Munson."

"Oh yeah, yeah," he says, slightly tapping his foot and letting out a laugh that sounds inauthentic even to his own ears. He didn't know what was happening to him. Sure she was pretty, more than pretty but being alone with her like this made him almost painfully nervous.

"Gonna stand there all night?" She quips, noticing him stood exactly where she'd left him after making her way to the stairs. He suddenly catches on and follows her, nervously clutching his cold can of coke and ascending the plain white staircase, mentally cursing himself to get a grip.

He hadn't been in a girls bedroom before, he felt a little weird about it. Would it be cute and flowery? Stuffies and dolls littering the place? His room was a self-proclaimed disaster with more clutter than he could deal with, messy and a little dingy, but it did the job.

"Holy fuck," he says as he steps into the room, following you absently through the wooden doorway as your room comes into view.

Posters of various bands line the walls, ticket stubs and little trinkets dotted around, noticing guitar picks tacked onto the wall near the stubs. There's an honest to god ramskull on the wall above the bed and your vinyl and tape collection is seriously impressive. There's a Jaws poster one side and a similarly impressive book collection near a wooden desk near where you stood. There's a black acoustic guitar on a stand near your closet and an array of black shirts on a shelf nearby.

But then he spots it, a Judas Priest shirt thrown over the chair near the desk- the defenders of the faith shirt that he'd seen his dream woman wearing outside the vault. His eyes flick up to a Judas priest poster on the wall, a creased and slightly ratted up poster that illustrates the show as Madison Square Garden , June 18th 1984- the same one as what was on your shirt.

"You're hot girl?" Eddie turns around, mouth agape and wide eyes roaming across your body.

"What?" You say completely confused at his reaction, thinking nothing of it as you stepped over to your desk to gather the mock character sheets you'd been working on to show him.

"You were at the Vault last week? You got Master of Puppets?" He says frantically, stepping towards you.

"You've been stalking me?" You say curiously, watching him have a mini freak out.

"That was you? But you had ripped jeans and the boots," he rambles, unable to piece the parts together of his own mental puzzle.

Suddenly, you laugh and realise what's happening. You walk over to your closet and pull open the doors, noticing Eddie was watching your every move.

"These?" You ask, pulling out your black Doc Martens, the platform style you'd been wearing when you visited the record store.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Eddie says, staring at the boots that had been imprinted into his mind since he'd seen you last time as he falls back to sit on your bed. "But."

"The clothes?" You say with a smile, understanding why he was so confused. He nods gently, looking around the room still with a moderate sense of confusion, before his eyes fall to you again. You smile and take a seat beside him on the bed, trying not to confuse him more.

"When we moved from New York, mom thought it would be best if I tried to blend in, said that small towns like these don't accept people like us very much. Dad gets away with it because of his job but even my mom started fancying her self up a little more, putting on a show I guess so the small town folk wouldn't gossip," you explain. "So she went out and bought these monstrosities," you say gesturing to the cream coloured sweater you wore. "Only thing is that it's Indiana and it's hot as balls, which sucks when you can't show your arms."

"Wh-." Eddie begins to question but you already anticipate this and begin to pull off your sweater, thankful you were wearing a black tank top underneath.

Eddie's mouth falls open even wider, his eyes bulging as he looks upon your revealed skin, seeing the tattoos that litter your arms, intricate designs and art flowing across your body.

"That explain it?" You say with a gentle laugh. His face is a picture and you wished that you could have taken a photo to keep the memory forever. You reach up to your hair and pull away the clips holding in your bangs and pull down your scrunchie, throwing it across the room before tussling your hair to fall back in place.

It really was you, his dream girl.

"That day, in Click's class," he says, piecing more of the puzzle together.

"I wanted to ask you about Hellfire," you reply, looking up from under your lashes at him, now that his face had returned to normal and mouth no longer agape.

"I was a dick," he says guiltily, his brows pulling together slightly.

"Eh," you shrug, "you weren't to know."

"I judged you like an idiot, when all this time you've been right here under my nose."

He leans in slowly, and you follow his direction until your lips are touching. It’s soft and sweet and absolutely perfect as you feel his soft lips against yours, a playfulness and a shyness to the kiss.

It falls silent for a few moments after you pull apart with shy smiles, but it's not uncomfortable in any way.

"You really saw Priest in '84?" He asks, looking between the shirt and the poster on the wall. You laugh, throwing yourself on the bed to get comfy, pleased that he was feeling more comfortable now as he follows you down to lie beside you on the bed, character sheets forgotten beside you.

"Yeah at the Garden, you know they got banned for life after the show? It was crazy, everyone was ripping up the seats! Very metal."

“Very metal.”

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson taglist #eddie munson masterlist #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson #Hellfire club

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the-marshals-wife · 5 months

Text

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into a tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #ocean master x reader #orm imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #patrick wilson #aquaman imagine #orm fanfic #aquaman fanfic #my writing #strangers like me from tarzan is 100% orm-coded and i couldn't resist using it for the title #aquaman

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souliebird · 7 months

Text

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there.

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast.

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it.

Coffee. Bagel. Orange.

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN.

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out.

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home.

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot.

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen.��

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body.

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you.

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face.

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.”

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about.

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things.

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about.

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep.

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today.

But you don't want to.

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel.

You just don't want to.

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't.

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in.

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness.

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent.

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong.

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you.

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again.

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings.

You just are.

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness.

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again.

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns.

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food.

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change.

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up.

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk.

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text.

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight.

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain.

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way.

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.”

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour.

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly.

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit.

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention.

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything.

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.”

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you.

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself.

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice.

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat.

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear.

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste.

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him.

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this.

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs.

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time.

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him.

You need him.

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.”

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours.

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together.

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's.

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead.

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you.

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone.

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter.

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt.

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.”

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.”

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.”

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like.

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up.

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him.

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this.

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil.

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise.

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.”

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow.

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale.

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky.

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what.

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you.

You are of no interest to anyone.

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen?

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it.

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed.

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing.

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it.

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another.

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.”

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die.

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper.

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed.

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.”

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded.

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you.

Nothing to ever hurt you.

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up.

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again.

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of.

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust.

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that.

You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you.

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips.

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you.

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now.

You just need Him.

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows.

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in.

He's covered you in his blood.

You're coated with him.

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #gently places this down

252 notes · View notes

tkaulitzlvr · 1 year

Note

Hiii luv !! Could you do an imagine where Tom is flirting with a girl, and the reader gets angry and there’s lots of angst and she is petty and the story end with yk 😭

JEALOUS - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: after tom flirts with a girl right in front of you, you display your anger towards him. eventually, he has to make it up to you, but you don’t make it easy for him.

content: angst & smut

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope u enjoy!! and there’s no cliffhanger this time so you guys can’t yell at me for a part 2, this took FOREVER😭

i watch from a few metres away as she playfully hits his shoulder, batting her eyelashes at him, my body seething with rage. a flirtatious smile tugs on his lips whilst he signs her autograph, her hand rested on his upper arm, cleavage basically spilling out of her small crop top, so tight that every curve is on show, my eyes narrowing as i silently observe the encounter, tom not doing anything to stop it. in fact, he seems to be enjoying himself.

the incoherent screams of horny teenage girls sound throughout the street, their outstretched hands reaching out past the barriers which hold them in place, tom and his band mates rushing to sign anything shoved in their faces - paper, CDs, posters, photographs: some even bold enough to pull their t-shirts down slightly, pushing their chests outwards and waving a marker in the boys’ faces, squealing in disbelief once the ink marks their skin, an autograph signed by their biggest fantasy himself now spread across their front.

yet i am able to drown out the noise, focusing in on tom and this girl, just about ready to rip the blonde extensions from her head, losing any remnant of cool once she reaches into the pocket of her low rise jeans, pulling out a small slip of paper and handing it to tom, winking suggestively at him. i decide that i have seen enough, storming over to him from the tour bus that i had been leaning on, reaching him just as she is leaning in to whisper something in his ear. snatching the small piece of paper from his hand, i scrunch it up into a small ball, pushing it flat against the girl’s chest as she scoffs, a sarcastic smile on my face.

“we’re done with autographs now, goodbye!” i state, my voice high-pitched and angry. i don’t wait for a response, shooting tom an angry glare, roughly grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the tour bus, hundreds of girls that he hadn’t yet gotten to screaming his name desperately.

“woah, what the fuck? are you good?” he shouts over the crowd from behind me. i refuse to turn around, pulling him up the stairs and slumping on one of the seats, tom standing in front of me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“sorry did i interrupt your little moment there? did i get in the way of you both? i am sorry, it’s not like i’m your fucking girlfriend or anything!” i scoff, my voice raising as i yell in his face, my chest heaving up and down once i finish.

“what?” he blurts out, his mouth falling open in complete shock, as if he hadn’t just been caught flirting with someone else, and i had made up the entire thing.

“are you fucking serious? you let her have her hands all over you, eye-fucking her, and if that wasn’t enough, you took her god damn number! the fuck do you mean ‘what’?” i shout, pushing him backwards forcefully, a small groan leaving his lips as he stumbles backwards.

“hey, hey, can you calm down? i do that-”

“calm down? fucking calm down? wow tom, you’ve really outdone yourself this time! you flirt with some bitch right in front of me, in front of everyone, and you want me to calm down? get fucked, fucking asshole!” my voice falls to a whisper as i continue pushing him, digging my fingers into his chest as the tears fall down my cheeks, tom taking each hit.

“i didn’t want to be rude, i always take their numbers, they just end up in the trash! you’re acting like i kissed her in front of you!” he yells, his own voice raising now as he towers over me, straightening his shirt and standing upright after i take a few steps away from him.

“what and that makes it okay? that you didn’t kiss her? that you planned to throw her number in the trash? wow, thank you! so fucking kind of you! such a gentleman. really, what an amazing boyfriend you are, i’ll put it on a fucking cake or something, since that’s all you want to hear, about how perfect you are!” i shake my head, scoffing in complete disbelief of how he can’t understand where he went wrong, feeling completely humiliated.

“i don’t know what you want me to say. i can’t fucking win.” he says, his voice much quieter now as his fingers massage his forehead, a tired sigh leaving his lips.

“i don’t know, maybe sorry? do you know how fucking embarrassing it is to be in a public relationship, and your boyfriend decides to flirt with someone else right in front of you, in front of a giant fucking crowd? do you realise how ridiculous that makes me look? of course you don’t! all you care about is you and your shitty image, and what people think about you. ‘cause that’s all that matters, right? and you don’t even see how you’ve done something wrong, you selfish bastard!” i shout, venom laced in my words, my hands balled into fists as they continue to hit his chest, looking to let my anger out in any way that i can.

salty tears cascade down my cheeks as my punches become pathetic and weak, the sound of my sobs taking over. tom grabs my hands gently, attempting to pull me into a hug, his hands stroking my hair. for a second, i almost melt into it, my anger momentarily fading away as he holds me, planting soft kisses on my forehead, whispering small ‘i’m so sorry’s against it. but i roughly pull back, tom’s eyes narrowing in confusion.

“no. you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to hug me and expect me to forgive you. it doesn’t work like that anymore. it shouldn’t take me getting like this.” i trail off, referring to my distraught state - tears cascading down my face, eyes bloodshot, face red, entire body trembling in pure rage. “for you to apologise. i’m tired of this tom, i’m sick and tired of you acting like this. you can’t keep flirting with other people when you have a girlfriend. if you want to break up just fucking say it-”

“what, are you insane? of course i don’t want to break up.” he quickly says, cutting me off.

“sure fucking seems like it. now fuck off and go flirt with some other bitch out there or something, seems like you’re pretty good at it, and i’m sure there’s a line of them already waiting.” i mutter through gritted teeth, looking at him one last time before turning around and walking to the back of the bus, closing the door of our shared bedroom and locking it behind me.

a string of muffled curses can be heard through the door, followed by a few loud bangs as tom’s fists collide with the table. my sobs soon stop, replaced by nothing but pure anger, this settling within the pit of my stomach as i stay locked in the bedroom, listening to the high-pitched screams of the fans still outside, not knowing whether tom has left the tour bus and, in the moment, i no longer care, tired of scolding him for something he clearly doesn’t see an issue with.

༻❦༺

his eyes burn into me from across the bus, the rest of the band discussing something to do with their next show in berlin - this where we are headed from paris. i am sandwiched between bill and gustav, georg sat on the other side of the bus beside tom. neither me or tom are listening to the conversation, too focused on each other, staying silent as i shoot him a nasty glare, not wanting to speak to him after what happened earlier. we hadn’t said a word since i had stormed into the bedroom, staying in there until the rest of the band came back, announcing that we were hitting the road once again.

i had emerged from the bedroom, tom quickly turning in my direction, coming towards me to speak, yet i turned away, walking straight past him, not interested in whatever it was he had to say.

and since that moment, his gaze hadn’t left me, his eyes remaining fixed on my own, filled with a strange mix of anger and regret. he stayed quiet, though, not daring to speak to me, probably knowing deep down that i would just shut him down again. i had always been stubborn, and right now, i stick to that trait, proving that i wouldn’t speak to him unless he actually tried to make an effort, and right now, he was failing miserably.

“we’re gonna head to bed. we’ve had a long day, come on babe.” he announces, looking at me when he says the last part, holding his hand out for me to take, a hint of desperation in his eyes. my jaw clenches in annoyance at the way he speaks for me, making the unshared decision for me, completely aware that i am far too angry to comply. the pet name rolls off his tongue, only fuelling my anger as he says it so nonchalantly, knowing that he is in no position to call me that right now.

“i’m fine here.” i state bitterly, my eyes fixed on the table opposite, refusing to look at him.

i hear him groan loudly, everyone quickly stopping their conversation to look at the pair of us, their eyes flickering to me and tom repeatedly as they sense the tension between us, the entire atmosphere soon becoming awkward. tom still holds his hand out, hoping that i will take it, yet i remain still, my eyes fixed on my lap.

“fucks sake.” he mutters, shaking his head and bringing his hand back to rest at his side, storming through the bus and to our bedroom, closing the door with a rough slam.

we all stay silent, my head turning to look out of the window as i try to act casual, not wanting to create a scene - i had been humiliated enough today. but, everyone else clearly has questions, confused by the clear friction between tom and i, the two of us usually attached at the hip. if it wasn’t for the argument, we would probably be making out on one of the couches, the band becoming used to our PDA. so it is fair to say that they are all shocked, staring at me with raised eyebrows, almost ushering me to speak.

“don’t look at me like that.” i groan, sinking downwards into the couch and covering my face with my hands.

“you and tom don’t act like that everyday.” bill laughs, turning to face me with a slight smile on his face. “what did he do this time?”

“i caught the bastard flirting with some girl, back when you were all signing autographs.” i sigh, my voice low as i avoid tom being able to hear me, feeling the irritation come flooding back to me as if the incident had just happened.

a small gasp escapes bill’s mouth as he covers it with his hands, georg and gustav raising their eyebrows in shock. i smile in satisfaction, glad that i have gotten everyone else to be mad at tom, before sitting up in my seat, ready to pour out my frustration, the wound still fresh.

“and that’s not even the worst fucking part!” i laugh, shaking my head and watching the look of confusion on bill’s face as he wonders how his brother could have possibly made this situation any worse. he nods his head, signalling for me to continue.

“the girl held out a piece of paper with her number on, and he fucking took it!” my voice is raised now, no longer caring if tom can hear me or not.

“oh my god.” bill gasps, shaking his head in utter shock, georg and gustav shooting each other a few awkward glances as i shake my head, gritting my teeth.

“i swear once i see him, i’ll slap the shit out of him! sometimes he’s the biggest asshole i’ve ever met, it’s humiliating to call him my brother.” bill scoffs, his face pasted with a mix of frustration and disbelief, a small smile on his face. his voice is loud, tom definitely able to hear every word.

“and he couldn’t seem to understand why i was so fucking angry with him! i swear he’s such a dick sometimes, like why does he have to be so hot? i swear the most attractive boys are the biggest assholes.” i groan, throwing my head backwards as bill chuckles beside me.

“keep ignoring him.” bill shrugs, a playful smirk tugging on his lips. “it’ll drive him crazy. look how frustrated he is now, he won’t be able to last much longer. the two of you fuck like rabbits.”

i shove him to the side as he continues laughing, my face turning a light shade of red. though he phrases it in an embarrassing way, bill is right. tom is horny literally 24/7. i didn’t think that it was possible for a boy to be so obsessed with sex, until i met tom. at least five times a day, probably more, he needs me, quickies extremely common in our relationship. it had been hours since we had spoke, and he was bound to be craving something, even if he knows i am angry at him, my chances of agreeing next to zero.

“anyways.” bill begins, clearing his throat and standing up. “i’m gonna go to bed, i’m exhausted. i hope you lovebirds resolve it and, if you do, please, at least try to be quiet.”

georg chuckles beside me, quickly closing his mouth once i send him a glare, before turning to face bill once again.

“yeah thanks for that bill, goodnight.” i sigh, giving him a quick hug as georg and gustav follow, leaving me alone in the main area of the bus.

the bus is silent, besides from the low hum of the engine as we travel on the highway, nowhere near our destination yet. much to my frustration, i cannot ignore how tired i am becoming, knowing that i will have to go to bed and face tom, something that i have been avoiding for hours now. i stand up slowly, trudging towards the bedroom, complete silence on the other side.

my hand clutches the door handle, pulling it gently and forcing it open. the room is dark, my eyes squinting to make out tom’s body sprawled across the bed. he is still, yet i can tell by his breathing patterns that he isn’t asleep. i walk over to my suitcase, pulling out a t-shirt and some panties, taking my clothes off and putting them on. i turn back around, noticing that tom has shuffled over to his side of the bed, making room for me. my feet trudge over towards it, silently climbing in, my back facing him as i move to the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible.

the tension between us both is almost palpable, the air cold and thick as it carries thousands of words left unsaid, the atmosphere strangely awkward. i hated it, wishing that tom wouldn’t have flirted with that girl, knowing that if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation. no matter how much i long for things to be okay between us, i stay silent, refusing to make the first move, reluctant to let him get away with this.

“you still mad at me?” tom mumbles from behind me, his voice low and groggy.

i ignore him, rolling my eyes and closing them, trying to fall asleep, not wanting to waste my breath answering such a stupid question. the bed creaks as he turns around, his body now facing my back. i stay still, turned away from him as he tries to get closer, inching towards me.

“you’re being really stubborn you know.” he whispers, much closer to me than he was when he first spoke.

“and you’re being a dick.” i shoot back, my tone cold and unforgiving.

“i know i messed up. but come on schatz, you know that i only want you. she was just a fan, she didn’t mean anything.” he replies, thinking that that is a good enough excuse.

i tut in response, questioning how he can even be serious right now, so oblivious to his mistakes. “looked like it. cause i take people’s numbers who mean nothing to me.”

“her number would’ve ended up in the trash, just like the rest of them.” he repeats, his voice still soft despite my reluctance to accept his apology.

“you still took it tom.” i state, his excuse not good enough for me as i am unable to forget the way he looked at her, actively engaging in whatever she thought she was doing. “you let her touch you, and you were smiling about it. that’s not fair.”

“i was trying to be nice. you know how many girls i see everyday, hm?” he asks, staying quiet as he waits for my answer. i remain silent, my back still facing him. “a lot. hundreds probably. they’re all screaming my name, they’d probably sleep with me in a heartbeat.”

“if you’re trying to make me feel better you’re doing a pretty tragic job.” i snap, failing to understand where he is going with this, the only outcome of his words right now is making me feel insecure, knowing that my boyfriend could leave me at any second, for a girl ten times prettier than i am.

“let me get to the point.” he sighs, gently placing his hand on my shoulder, applying a small amount of pressure and using it to turn me onto my back, allowing him to make eye contact with me. “what i’m saying is i have plenty of opportunities to find someone else. but i haven’t, you want to know why?”

my lack of response invites him to continue as he props himself up beside me, resting his head in his hands.

“they aren’t you. it doesn’t matter how many girls flirt with me, how many people give me their number, it won’t change how much i love you. i get that i messed up today, and i won’t take anyone’s number ever again.” he finishes, leaning in to kiss me.

i stop him, my hand meeting his chest, planted firmly against it. he tilts his head in confusion, most likely at the fact that i haven’t pushed him away completely, his face inches away from my own. rather i have stalled his movements, opening my mouth to speak.

“say it.” i order, still hesitant to believe him, wanting to hear him say the words. though my barriers have worn thin, knowing that it isn’t just me that enjoys tom’s high sex drive, aware that we would’ve fucked at least twice in the space of our argument, becoming sexually frustrated.

“say what?” he asks, attempting to dip his head downwards to kiss me once again. i shake my head, pushing his chest backwards once again.

“that you’re mine. say it, please.” i beg, desperate for his reassurance, unable to ignore the insecurity nagging in my mind once i saw him looking at her, questioning whether i am good enough for him.

“oh baby...” he starts, his voice sympathetic as he almost feels sorry for me, the guilt truly setting in, the realisation of how big of an impact his actions had hitting him quickly. “you know i’m yours, all yours, schatz.”

it is that simple act of reassurance that prompts me to let my walls down, tom wasting no time in connecting his lips with mine, the kiss sloppy and desperate, still filled with passion. his hands move to either side of my head, propping him up as he moves on top of me, his lips moving desperately against mine.

my arms wrap around his neck, moving him closer to me as he deepens the kiss, biting down on my lips gently as i let out a quiet moan, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth. his hands find the hem of my t-shirt, moving underneath the soft material as his fingers trace the skin of my back, tracing soft patterns as he lifts me upwards a little, holding me carefully whilst his lips work against mine.

“need you so bad baby.” he mumbles against my lips between kisses. “you gonna let me fuck you, yeah?”

i nod vigorously in response, humming lowly, cupping his face and continuing to kiss him. he smiles against my lips, happy with my lack of refusal, his hands gradually inching upwards, dragging my shirt from my frame at an agonisingly slow pace, his fingers running over the skin, my body shivering at his touch.

he pulls back for a second, only to lift my shirt over my head, smirking once he realises that i am wearing no bra, my upper half completely on show.

“all mine, yeah?” he groans, cupping my boobs in his hands, his fingers running over my nipples and squeezing them a little, a low whine escaping from my lips. “only i can touch these, right beautiful?”

just as much as i want to hear him say that he is mine, knowing that i belong to him brings me just as much satisfaction, wanting him to take my body, every inch of it, and claim it as his own. i hum in response, lost in the way his hands toy with my breasts, soon replaced by his mouth as his lips run over them, biting, sucking, anything that he can do to draw noise out of me.

“that’s it baby. let me hear those pretty sounds.” he coos, applying more pressure with his mouth as my hands reach for his head, pushing it downwards a little, encouraging him to carry on.

the coldness of his lip ring stings the skin, the sensation along with his teeth nibbling providing a dangerously addictive mix of pain and pleasure, though i cannot help but long for more, the way my hands clutch onto him, my quick and desperate breaths showing him what i really want.

“please…” i whine, reaching downwards to fiddle with the waistband of his boxers, these the only thing in my way, his body already bare as he usually sleeps in only his underwear, this playing to my advantage right now.

“shhhh, patience my love. tell me what you want, use your words baby.” he ushers, his head coming upwards from my chest to peck my lips a few times, waiting for me to verbalise my needs, knowing that he won’t proceed until i do.

“need you inside me...please.” i whine out, my cheeks turning a light shade of pink, slightly embarrassed at my desperation, though it only seems to encourage tom more, a smile creeping across his lips.

“good girl, since you asked so nicely…” he trails off, tugging his boxers down, his dick springing upwards, hitting his lower abdomen. the sight itself is almost enough to make me cum on the spot, longing to feel his length moving in and out of me, desperate for him to ruin me in every way possible.

he returns to his position on tom of me, hooking the strings of my panties around his fingers, maintaining eye contact as he slowly rakes them downwards, letting them pool at my feet.

he takes his finger, running it slowly down my folds, collecting my wetness, my eyes falling shut at the feeling. “all this for me, hm?”

he smiles downwards at me, dipping his finger into my entrance a few times, watching the way my face twists in pleasure, unable to handle his teasing. he brings his finger upwards, now glistening with my wetness, opening his mouth and licking it clean, a low groan sounding from the back of his throat.

“taste so good schatz.” he mutters, removing his finger from his mouth, bringing it towards my own, slowly running it down my lips, coating them with his saliva, letting them spring back into place, my breathing quickening at his actions, way beyond desperate now - i need to feel him.

he senses this, taking his hand and moving my legs apart, getting between them, pumping his dick in his hands a few times, his mouth falling open. a quiet whine escapes his lips, this soon reciprocated once he positions himself at my entrance. my eyes close, squeezing shut when i feel his tip enter me, already stretching me out as i clench my walls, moaning at the feeling. my hands fly to his back, gripping harshly, nails digging into the skin a little, yet he didn’t seem to mind.

he continues to push into me, inaudible groans sounding from the back of his throat as he manages to keep his eyes open, studying my expression, watching my mouth fall open.

“doing so good baby…you can take it, fuck-” he grunts, continuing to slowly push his way into me, feeling the way my walls stretch out, struggling to become accustomed to his size. with one final thrust of his hips, he bottoms out as i hiss in a sickly mixture of pain and pleasure, feeling his tip hit that spot inside of me.

i open my eyes, tom’s face a few inches apart from my own, a proud smirk etched upon his lips. i nod my head, signalling for him to move, the pain soon subsiding. he wastes no time, pulling his hips backwards, his dick almost fully out of me, before slowly sliding it back inside.

“ohhhhh…” he groans out, throwing his head backwards, tongue swiping over his lips, his hands finding their way to my hips, squeezing the flesh. he uses them to snap his pelvis backwards, a small whine leaving my lips at the emptiness, yet the feeling is temporary once he moves back inside at a much faster pace.

once he senses that i am comfortable, he picks up a faster pace, his thrusts quick and sharp, hitting all the right spots inside of me. with a small change in angle, his tip drills against my g-spot, repeatedly hitting it as a chorus of loud moans spill from my lips, chest heaving up and down in pure pleasure. my nails continue to claw down his back, tom hissing at the feeling, yet he chuckles lowly, using the pain to encourage his movements, plunging into me deeper than before, so deep that i can almost feel him in my stomach.

my lips attach themself to his neck, biting harshly at the skin, sucking after for a moment, repeating the motion all over his neck, leaving small purple marks in place of my lips, running my tongue over them after.

“just like that, show them who i belong to.” he mutters, groaning lowly as my lips continue to work on his neck, hitting the sensitive spots that only i know, his body something that i can pleasure better than anyone else, aware of all the places that elicit sounds slightly louder than usual. i pull back, my lips stuttering against his neck once he circles his hips, discovering an entirely new angle as my head plunges into the pillow.

his eyes drift downwards, looking at where we are attached, proudly watching his dick move in and out of me. his hand grabs my face, forcing me to watch his cock move into me, emerging and disappearing at a fast pace, a sadistic smirk tugging on his lips once he notices my eyes roll back in pleasure. he squeezes my cheeks a little, returning my focus to where our bodies meet, watching in awe at the same time.

“you feel that baby, hm?” he asks, using his free hand to firmly press against my abdomen, further showing the outline of his cock moving in and out of me, so deep that it is visible in my stomach. “you see it? that’s all for you. all of it schatz, it’s all yours.”

i moan in response as he release his hold on my face, allowing me to throw it backwards, my eyes squeezing shut as the familiar knot begins to form in my stomach, my walls clenching around him. he grunts as i do so, taking my legs and wrapping them around his waist, drawing him even deeper into me as i can feel every part of him moving inside of me. i can no longer speak, unable to let him know that i am close, instead i squeeze his upper arms tightly, watching the way his muscles flex with each strong movement.

“i know baby, you’re doing so well. just hold on a little longer for me. can you do that?” he breathes out, speeding up his thrusts, chasing his own release as i nod my head, restraining myself from cumming, knowing that i won’t be able to last much longer.

he reaches downwards, his finger moving to rub slow circles on my clit, my mouth falling open as the pleasure becomes too much, my climax seconds away, tom knowing exactly what he is doing.

“don’t cum yet, hold it.” he says, removing his fingers from my clit, instead moving his head towards my boobs, planting rough, open mouthed kisses there, his tongue running over the skin soon after to soothe it.

“i- i can’t.” i breathe out, clenching against his dick to try stop myself from cumming, kissing his lips desperately, doing anything to stop myself. he kisses back, my moans muffled into the kiss. his thrusts start to become sloppy, choked moans sounding from his throat, signalling that he has reached his climax.

“fuck- cum for me. let go baby.” he demands as my orgasm washes over me, vision fading as i grip the sheets, my knuckles turning white. his own release soon follows, spurts of his hot cum shooting into me, his hips snapping against me as he fucks it into me, his head falling backwards, a string of curses leaving his mouth, his dick twitching as he continues to work through his release.

small whimpers fall from his lips, his name a mantra as i moan it over and over again, his dick still moving in and out of me at a slow pace, riding out our highs as he whispers words of praise, his hands running up and down my sides. he stops his movements, his body falling on top of me, his dick remaining inside of me.

he cups my cheeks, slowly capturing my lips in a soft kiss, moving his lips tiredly against mine. he pulls away, his breath fanning against my face, remaining inches away from mine as he slowly pulls out, a low groan leaving his lips. i whine at the emptiness, longing to feel him inside me again.

his hands run through my hair, fingers untangling any knots within it as we lay silently, our heavy breathing all to be heard throughout the room. he kisses my shoulder repeatedly, my eyes slowly falling shut.

“you did so well baby, fuck. so good for me.” he praises, his voice low and lethargic. “meine liebe, only mine.

i smile lazily at his words, humming in response, my body too tired to form proper words as i soon drift off to sleep, any insecurities that i had now long gone, fading away as tom holds me, his eyes closing seconds later.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #kaulitz #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz angst #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz

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yesimwriting · 1 month

Text

Without Faith

a/n giggling and kicking my feet rn btw, this is meant to be a set up for something longer! lmk if you're interested in part 2 :)

Summary: After a news story that was only meant to be an internship assignment spirals into a crime story that earns national attention, you feel conflicted enough about your involvement to join a criminal psychology class despite being a journalism major. Despite your good intentions, the universe seems to have it out for you considering your slightly older professor is extremely attractive and the only person that seems to understand what you're going through.

Warnings/info: age gap (reader is of consenting age tho!!), future student-professor relationship, slow burn, slight changes to how college works for the sake of plot, a surprising amount of lore (i got carried away), me writing for a character for a first time on here so be kind 😭

----

It's not often one finds their enemy crumpled up and lying helplessly next to an overflowing garbage can. It's even rarer to see that and still feel the bitter sting of defeat.

"He didn't text me back, which is weird because when I ran into him on Friday--" Carlie, who might know you better than you know yourself, pauses.

You turn your head away from the trash in an attempt to abandon the newspaper as completely as the person who had thrown it away. "You saw James last week? You didn't tell me."

She watches you for a moment, her eyebrows pulling together in a way that tells you she won't accept your lie just because you're offering her an opportunity to re-dissect her most recent interaction with her latest target. "You know I did."

Carlie shifts her weigh from one foot to the other, her eyes drifting towards the ground. "It's there because it's old--it's over."

It's over. The words crack themselves against your skull. More than a sentence, more than a promise. The only consolation the state's attorney could offer grieving families. The sound ringing in your ears as a mother gave into her agony, a choked sob ripping its way out of her throat.

It's over--the catalyst that sent the mother to you in a parking lot illuminated by stale, synthetic lighting. They're the reason for her confession, that in some off-kilter way she thought the verdict would make her feel better.

It's over--the syllables that accompany the sound of the needle leaving Josh Robinson's lifeless body. Killed by the justice system or the media?

"You didn't do anything wrong." Carlie's voice is careful in its unflinchingness. "He was a serial killer. You--you wrote the truth."

And while this awareness has bound itself to your bones, it is rarely enough to make you forget what you did wrong. Journalists are impartial, they don't--they're supposed to understand, they're supposed to be careful. You took it a step further.

"I know."

You don't need to look up to know that you haven't convinced her. However, you must have sounded okay enough for Carlie to accept moving on. "And you're doing more than anyone else would do to make your true crime even better."

It's an exaggeration. Journalists have done a lot more for their careers than request to join a class that belongs to a department unrelated to their degree. But Carlie seems so happy to be able to compliment you, you decide to go with a less sentimental correction, "Not true crime."

"I know, journalism." She sighs, but continues to walk forward in a way that feels oddly optimistic. Maybe even relieved. "Make sure you point out the difference to the professor. I'm sure he'll love that."

You roll your eyes at her sarcasm, but follow her lead anyway. You've already perfected the elevator pitch you're planning to present to Dr. Spencer Reid. A brief but genuine description of the importance of ethical journalism, especially when it comes to writing about serial killers.

You're well practiced and far from worried about winning him over. Academic authority figures have always taken well to you...it also doesn't hurt that you spent all night googling him just to be safe.

"Actually," she begins, pulling open the door to the psychology building, "I bet there's no room for original material in the interaction that you've already imagined, planned, and mentally rehearsed."

You scoff as you step past the door's threshold. "No," the word is dismissive and entirely unconvincing. You instinctually move past it. "Go talk to your advisor about your thesis, I'll meet with Dr. Reid, and then we can order food or something."

The reminder of her own meeting seems to kill the mood, her smile morphing into something more focused. Carlie lets out a small breath. "Right. We got this." And with one final assuring nod, Carlie turns towards the stairwell.

----

The thought is a dull ache that wedges itself into your chest before you can bring yourself to knock against the door. It'll follow you forever.

When you step into the room, Dr. Reid will inevitably ask why you want to join his class. And then you'll have to answer.

You exhale as you extend your arm, knuckles rapping against the wooden surface before overthinking can hurt you any further. After a brief silence, you hear a slightly muffled, "Come in."

You reach for the brass handle, pulling the door open before stepping past the doorway's threshold.

The office is comfortable, a large desk and two plush chairs manage to share the space without seeming cramped. There's a pencil holder and several stacks of papers on the desk's surface. If one ignores the degrees--and the age of the recipient when he received them--on the walls, the office seems normal. Almost suspiciously so. There's even a partially wilted plant sitting on the windowsill.

After taking in the room, you let your attention fall to the individual behind the desk. He's--he--while you've read enough about Dr. Reid to already respect him, and are fully aware that he is far from your peer, you're also now looking at him.

Last night, you did stumble onto a few pictures of him that forced you to reluctantly make a mental note of the fact that he's aesthetically pleasing, but those occasionally blurry snapshots did him and his sharp features little justice.

"Hello," the word is an instinct, slipping past your lips before you're ready to speak.

"Hi," his response is as sudden and lacking in context as your own--a fact that immediately eases you.

Dr. Reid shifts, back straightening against his seat. "You're here for your appointment." You barely have the chance to nod in confirmation before he's continuing, "Come in, take a seat."

In all honesty, you're more glad for the direction than the excuse to sit. You enter his office fully, approaching the plush chair in front of his desk. You sit down, lips parting before you're ready to speak. All structured thoughts have abandoned you.

"Hi." You realize your mistake immediately. You blink, a sound between a self deprecating laugh and a sigh escaping you. "I already said that."

If Dr. Reid thinks anything of your mistake, he gives no indication of it. His expression remains steady, with the exception of the corner of his mouth briefly tugging itself upwards.

Your hands come together on your lap, one of your nails pressing into the nail bed of the thumb on your opposite hand before forcing yourself to relax. You've read enough about his work with the FBI to know that he's so adept at analyzing behavior, you don't need to make it easy for him by giving into obvious signs of nervousness.

"Like I mentioned in my email, I'm interested in joining your class even though it's not an elective and in an entirely different department than my degree." This part is easy, a perfunctory explanation of what he already knows. "However, there is enough overlap that my advisor is supportive of the idea and has already signed off on it."

He shifts again, his pointer finger tapping against the surface of his desk. "Right, she mentioned that, but she didn't mention why."

Okay. This is the part that matters. "I'm a journalism major, and I've recently completed an internship with The Washing Sun." In an act of total self betrayal, you study his expression for any hint of recognition. Finding absolutely none makes it easier to breathe. "And spending time in such an active, journalistic environment has made me fully aware of the way that morals and personal views can complicate ethics."

You pause, pressing your lips together. "I'd like the opportunity to learn about certain behaviors in order to develop a perspective separate from my own.

Though still politely neutral, something behind Dr. Reid's eyes implies an uncertainty that has the rest of your pitch jamming itself down your throat. Whatever's changed doesn't feel like disbelief, and you're far from worried about being accused of lying. You were careful to comb through your mess of emotions before you had even pitched the idea to your advisor--you do feel those things, they're just not the only things you feel.

How delusional had you been to assume the same answers that hid their vagueness behind a heavy layer of altruism that worked on Mrs. Carol would work on a FBI profiler?

"I um--" The sound of your own voice surprises you. "I know what it's like to write something when you can't feel anything for the person everyone's already rooting against, and I'd like to not feel that again." Another glimmer of honesty, barer than your curated story, but still not exactly everything.

Dr. Reid is quiet for a moment, studying you with an openness that should make your skin crawl. "What did it feel like?"

The question throws you. Friends, family, strangers--they've all asked you things about the case, about your article, about hundreds of other things so barely connected you couldn't fathom an answer. No one has ever asked you about that feeling.

"Uh..." You're not even sure you have an answer. "Weird." Your blankness feels like such a cop out, you feel the need to try again. What did it feel like? A hybrid beast made of a festering not-quite-guilt, an over awareness of your every action, all held together by an uneasy pride...that only served to further aggravate the not guilt. "Like I was doing something right and wrong, with no way of knowing what it was more of."

You squeeze your hands together, allowing yourself to focus on the action instead of him. "I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make much sense."

When you finally lift your head, Dr. Reid is already looking at you. A moment passes, the somberness of his features growing heavier in the silence. Maybe he's looking at something past you. "It does."

The affirmation is a small, fragile thing, so faint and far away it almost feels like an intrusion to have heard it. Some selfish part of you latches onto that, his unexpected understanding a lifeline you can't let go of.

You almost thank him before realizing that you have no idea what you'd be thanking him for. "I'm glad," you settle on, fingers carefully coming apart on your lap. "The writing thing's no good if I don't make sense."

The attempt at humor seems to pull him back from wherever he had gone. "Then you have nothing to worry about." He doesn't exactly smile, but there's something easy about the way he's looking at you. "I'll approve your enrollment request."

Relief floods through you immediately. "Really?"

"Maybe it'll help you feel less...weird." From him, your too plain adjective feels a lot more fitting.

You nod once, the motion quick and polite. "Hopefully." The beat of silence that follows comes closer to kinship than anything you've ever felt in someone's office. You're also fully aware of the fact that you've gotten what you came for and that Dr. Reid is likely a very busy man. "I shouldn't take up anymore of your time."

His fingers tap against his desk. "Right. I'll see you in class."

You smile as you stand. "See you then."

The walk towards the door is a lot less intimidating now. Still, once you reach it, you can't bring yourself to immediately reach for the handle. You pause, letting out a breath before turning around. "Dr. Reid?"

He looks up, nodding once in a way that's meant to prompt you. Maybe it's overkill, but it feels necessary and it's too late to back out now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He doesn't look away from you after responding.

There's nothing left to expect, there are no words or anything else meant to be said. That's not enough to stop some unknown feeling from wedging itself between your ribs, urging you to something, to say anything that might come close to offering him the same kind of understanding he's given you.

"I hope you find a less weird, too."

He doesn't respond, but something about the look behind his eyes and his slight nod makes you feel okay about leaving him.

----

There are few ideologies that have clung to him, and even fewer that have managed to bind themselves to some integral part of his being that exists beneath his skin.

The pursuit of knowledge is one of the few constants Spencer Reid allows himself to rely on, one of the only things he allows himself to consider a saving grace. However, circumstance has prevented his views on the subject from skewing. The irony of the fact that some things are better left unknown is not lost on him.

For example, the girl that walked into his office and immediately saw through him, is better left a mystery. He'd see her in class, he'd answer her questions, he'd grade her work and offer her necessary feedback--but he will not know her.

It's a mantra, a promise that he repeats in his head again and again as his attention falls to the desktop in front of him. He attempts to grasp onto this lack of knowledge, to transform it into a tangible entity to keep him from typing your name into the search engine.

----

a/n spencer entering his garcia era while googling reader 💻🧑‍💻

anyways in ur interested in part 2 or would like to be tagged let me know!!

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

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sassylovermongerbear · 2 months

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Polites is one of my favourite characters of Epic, even if he barely is in it, cause he is such a genuine kind soul and loyal friend. He is a free spirit that see the good in the world even after years of war and he is trying to help Odysseus to relax and enjoy life after the war. He is his best friend and he does his best to make him happy.

He is so kindhearted that even in death he's still trying to tell his best friend to see the good in the world. In the underworld saga we hear him sing open arms even if it's in a sadder way than the upbeat version in the first saga. All while the rest of his men trash him and blames him for their death when his only fault was to give his name to the Cyclops.

Meanwhile the man that actually betrayed them all, including his captain that he dare called his brother, get to go blame free ? And then keep betraying them over and over, telling Odysseus to leave them behind on Circe's island and opening the bag with the storm cause he was greedy and wanted to get his hand on the supposed treasure. He didn't believe in Odysseus, not once, only listening to him when he got them out of the shit Eurylochus put them in. Even in the cave with the Cyclops Odysseus clearly had a plan but Eurylochus kept punching to ran away when Odysseus proved many time, especially during the war, that he was smart and could get them to win.

And I think Odysseus knew that. He knew that the only person he could actually trust was Polites and he tried to honour his memory by trusting others, by revealing his name to the Cyclops and letting them live. Because that's what Polites would have done, he would have spared the Cyclops. It was his way of remembering him. He tried to go keep an open mind all along but things just never works out cause while he trust his crew, they don't trust him back.

That's why in the underworld saga seeing Polites and his mom hit the hardest cause, while his other crew members blames him for their death, wrongfully so, he is already eaten by guilt, but those 2 don't blame him at all. Sure they are sad but they don't blame him. Which make it worst for him cause he realised that those person that believed in him completely still do even in death, but they are dead and that's the only time he'll be able to see thel again befire he dies himself and he cant even stop to talk to thel properly. Plus his mom being here just show him how long it actually has been since he left which feel far more than it actually been for him in that instant. Yet she still loves him and doesn't blame him, while the 599 other men he brought in war, he lead them and didn't let a single one of them die for 10 years, blames him for their death when he always did his very best to get everyone home safely.

Out of all the 600 men under his command only one was truly loyal to him even in death. Odysseus realised that in the underworld and I think that's what pushed him to turn into a "monster" and putting himself first after this because everyone blames him for everything when he just wanted to get home with all his soldiers.

Polites is my favourite characters cause even if he doesn't stay in the story for long his impact goes far beyond. At least in my opinion, that's just my interpretation of it

#greek mythology #epic the musical #epic the ocean saga #epic the underworld saga #epic the thunder saga #epic the troy saga #epic the circe saga #odysseus #polites #eurylochus #we hate Eurylochus #polites is too good for this world

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beatrixstonehill2 · 4 months

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"All right, guys, I hope you all come to the stream in four hours! Aren't you all soooo excited to see such a big, soft pair of breasts like mine get completely destroyed? Judging by all the DMs I get from men practically begging me to get them chopped off and livestream it, I'd say a lot of you. I know, some of you would far rather me continue taking breast growth drugs and get these puppies so massive I need a wheelbarrow to get around. And that would be fun, but it's so much naughtier to ruin something so perfect......

Well, the actual reason is simpler! I'm a personal trainer, and work with lots of different clients from all walks of life. I met a really cute surgeon who was enamored with my breasts as all my other clients. He asked to touch them, grope them, I began offering to let him suck them as a reward for meeting his goals, as I did with most of my male clients. I swear half the time our gym looked less like a gym and more like some adult breastfeeding lounge. All of us girls with breasts as huge as mine or bigger, smothering our male clients with our giant breasts, enthusiastically letting them drink our milk as we jerk off their cocks. A nice job well done for completing their routines.....

This guy was different, he marveled at my tits in a different way. His mouth watered, but not the way I'm used to. He pulled away from my breast one day and confessed that he fantasized about chopping off my boobs. His cock got so hard in my hand I thought it would erupt right then and there. He said he only became a surgeon to convince huge-breasted girls they needed their tits chopped off, usually tricking them or lying to them, making up a story about lumps or tumors or family history necessitating a rather graphic double mastectomy, always streamed live to his Instagram.

I watched his content and never in my life have I masturbated with so much raw energy. I felt as desperate as all the gym dudes I breastfed and jerked off. Dozens and dozens of beautiful girls with breasts my size, sometimes bigger, sometimes quite smaller, all awake. They watched curiously as he administered a paralyzing drug that made it so they couldn't move. Though some of the girls were outright paralyzed from the shoulders down for the surgery, usually at the behest of their husband or boyfriend. The surgeon would use a creative variety of ways to remove the girls' big gorgeous boobs, sometimes being casual and simply dismantling them with a few scalpels and other surgical tools, with the help of his pretty assistant, a cheery blonde who was often extremely pregnant. Boy, I wonder who kept her so enormously pregnant? What a mystery.....

Other times, the surgeon would use absurd methods like placing the girls' tits on a cutting board and just chopping them off with a weapon like an axe or sword. You couldn't say the guy wasn't passionate. After watching more of his 'surgery' videos than I care to admit, I called him sweating, rubbing my cunt despite having just orgasmed about fifteen times in the last three or four hours. I was coated in my juices. I was exhausted, almost ready to pass out. I told him I wanted him to destroy my breasts as soon as possible. But on one condition..... I wanted him to crush my tits. Flatten them, so the fat bursts out the sides, making a total mess. He seemed to love this idea. Now I'm sitting here in my work uniform. His personal trainer, coming in to take some punishment of my own for a change. Call it payback for pushing him so hard at the gym, or a reward for doing so well. Either way, I can't wait for millions to tune in and watch my gorgeous, fat titties get crushed like pancakes! Then maybe I'll have the surgeon take a few pics of me with my empty, saggy tits as a new profile picture..... Maybe I'll try to jiggle them and put on a show for you? While they're still numb..... then what's left will be sliced off and tossed in the trash, where my fat, oversized cow tits truly belong! ❤️"

#breast reduction kink #breast removal kink #breast destruction #body modification kink #dark kinks #dark fantasy #extreme kinks

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chaifootsteps · 2 months

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hb could have actually worked Stolas in to the 'Blitz needs to believe people can love him so he won't die alone' plot without it being so disgusting and yucky

OK so hear me out - everything plays out the same up to Ozzie's

then in s2-4 instead of doing The Circus and making Stolas the main character, we stay with Blitz. if S1 was about who he's hurt in the past s2 is the point at which he begins trying to mend fences, but actively instead of the writers just forcing him to do it because he realized in Ozzie's he doesn't like how things are now

have the 'crashed Moxxie's anniversary' actually pay off with M&M being frostier than usual and Blitz being afraid he's about to lose them too. have Loona be annoyed when Blitz is overbearing when she's trying to make new friendships and accidentally sabotaging them with his over-protectiveness

have it be a story of Blitz simultaenously trying to make it up to people from the past (not all of whom forgive him) while he's trying to avoid repeating the same mistakes in the present with his new family

have the circus accident be more directly his fault - maybe he's practicing a stunt to win his father's love and causes the fire that way, even though he obviously didn't mean to

and have him begin to be emotionally vulnerable in small ways and he feels it pay off when others respond in kind instead of mocking or hating him like he fears. Trash 'Oops' as an episode but keep the emotional beat of Fizz forgiving him being the turning point for Blitz forgiving himself a bit, too, because Fizz's forgiveness is the thing he's secretly longed for during the entire show (next to Barbie's, who should also get vastly more screentime). have arcs to handle each of the main cast and flesh out IMP first and foremost

then as he begins to heal and treat people better, return to the Ozzie's plotline. have it be a thread throughout s2 of following Blitz's perspective of the fallout, not Stolas'. Show how confused he is by what Stolas is doing and why he's so happy to avoid him for those months off. have him make small comments to the people in his life about how deeply unhappy Stolas makes him and have them actually notice, because Blitz hated himself so much before he just rationalized what was being done to him as something he deserved

have the full moon argument play out as-is, but instead of what happens during apology tour, have Blitz think what he needs to do is apologize to Stolas to complete his character growth and love someone. Except make it clear to the audience that he has nagging doubts about all this - especially when Stolas pulls the 'I can't believe you didn't ditch taking your daughter to the doctor's office to come save me despite sending your employees to help because I fundamentally don't value your family or your time' card

And then right when it looks like he's about to cave and give Stolas what he wants - he doesn't.

He tells Stolas now he's learnt to love himself and he has people in his life again who've proven to him that he can be cherished and his worst self won't be rejected so long as he puts the work in to make things right when he screws up. He tells Stolas he used to think the owl was the closest thing to real love he could ever have - feeling used, abused and degraded. But he knows better than that now and he isn't about to let a pompous self absorbed royal bully him into being the perfect consort he wants. He goes further than that, even, telling Stolas he was bought to be his friend and pitied him from the start - and even now he wouldn't trade places with him even if he could

Because Blitz has rebuilt his life by looking in the mirror, holding himself to task and trying to be better. Meanwhile Stolas - who has had every advantage Blitz hadn't and could have chosen every step to do things differently - has actively pushed away both Via and Blitz with his 'never my fault, promise to do differently while getting worse all the time' behavior

Then Blitz walks out of his life for good, because now he has regained a sense of self worth he can see that he deserves better than the "love" Stolas was offering

and the one person he does apologize to, besides Barbie/Fizz/Moxxie/Verosika/etc? Striker. He apologizes for calling him a supremacist (still happens in this rewrite but as a sign of how hard Blitz is trying not to think that Striker has a point about Stolas) and that he isn't interested in fighting with him any longer

And Striker just responds with a smile, because he knows it means what he hoped all along would happen, has happened. Blitz is finally free from Stolas - and when he's ready he can move on to a love who respects him instead of just wanting to use him

I want this. If we can't have this in canon because Viv is Viv, I'm glad we have it here and now.

#Anonymous #image reply #viv stuff #stolitz critical

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hungermakesmonsters · 9 months

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Twelve

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : R-ish

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains vague allusions to physical abuse/abusive past relationship. Some sex mentions. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~3.2k

A/N : This is set about a week after the last chapter. It's mostly angst and a little bit more about readers past. Billy kinda fucks up in this one.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It felt strange to long for someone you hardly knew, to miss having him close when you’d only been intimate for a couple of weeks. But, without Billy, you felt a strange sort of loneliness that should have terrified you, the sort of yearning you’d completely given up on before you’d let him force his way into your life.

Days had continued to tick by with nothing but text messages and phone calls passing between you, leaving you longing to feel his arms around you again. You tried everything to push the feelings away; reading, catching up with old TV shows, anything that didn’t make you think of him.

But, the moment he told you that he’d be working from home and that you could stay over, you agreed, biking across Manhattan as soon as you finished your day.

He was waiting for you the moment the elevator doors slid open, kissing you and tugging off your clothes as he pressed you back against the wall. He fucked you like it had been six years and not six days since you’d last seen him, leaving you a trembling mess and reminding you just what you’d been missing out on all week.

Eventually, once he managed to finally put you down and take his hands off you, you found yourself on his sofa, eating Chinese take out while he sat with his laptop and tried to get some work done. Now and then, he’d shoot you an apologetic look - obviously, it wasn’t how he’d wanted the evening to go, but you were perfectly happy where you were, enjoying the food and just being near him. You distracted yourself by trying to finish reading the trashy romance novel you’d brought on the Kindle app on your phone.

When you needed a drink, you stood, heading for the kitchen, trying not to disturb Billy. You didn’t think twice about leaving your phone on the sofa, unlocked and on the page you were in the middle of reading - your first mistake of the evening.

“Her fingers sizzled a path to my cock,” his words caught you by surprise, and so did the laugh that followed, “sweetheart, if you’d wanted something to read, I could’ve found you a much better book than this horny trash.”

You turned back to him, feigning indignation; “I’ll have you know that horny trash is the only thing that’s been getting me through the last few days.”

He put down his laptop on the coffee table and slowly got to his feet, your phone still in his hand.

“You think a smutty book is a good substitute for me?” His dark eyes fixed on you, looking at you like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. You stepped away from the kitchen, back towards him, waiting for him to clear the distance between you and take what he wanted. “Does this stuff really get you going? Does it get you wet?”

You bit your lower lip, trying to to stop your lips from pulling into a smirk, but it was impossible.

“Have you spent this whole week with your fingers between your legs reading this?” Billy asked, stepping closer still. You bit down on your lip even harder, your cheeks starting to heat, before you managed to shake your head. “No?”

“Not my fingers,” you admitted softly, “and it wasn’t the book I was thinking about...”

“Not your fingers?” Your head shook again and he took a step closer. You might as well have been naked with the way he was looking at you, his eyes burning with desire. “Then what were you using while you were thinking about me?”

“My vibrator,” not sure why admitting to owning a sex toy to someone like Billy felt so scandalous.

“Fuck, sweetheart, if I’d known you’d been missing me so much I would’ve spent the last hour inside you, reminding you why nothing but me is ever gonna satisfy your sweet little pussy,” his voice turned low, uncontrolled. “Guess I’m gonna have to make up for lost time now...”

Your eyes dropped, noticing the way his sweatpants were already starting to tent, relieved that the conversation was getting to him just as much as it was you.

“What about you?” You dare to ask.

“What about me?”

“How much did you miss me?”

“You mean did I jerk off thinking about you?” He asked and you nodded. “Every night with those red lace panties you gave me.”

You breath caught at the admission and the look on his face, and you found yourself trying to picture it. Staring, you silently willed him to clear the distance between you and give you both what you clearly wanted. But Billy didn’t move, he seemed more interested in the moment you were sharing and wanted to see how far he could push it.

“I get hard just thinking about you, sweetheart,” he continued to confess, “I can’t stop thinking about you on your knees, sucking my cock.”

You made a show of licking your lips, despite the embarrassment you were enjoying watching him slowly lose control. He wanted you to break first, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him. “Yeah? You liked that?”

“You know I did,” he all but growled, knowing what you were trying to do to him. “You liked it too, didn’t you? You were so fucking wet when I got you home...”

You nodded almost shyly. As much as you wanted to carry on, you weren’t like Billy, dirty talk didn’t come easily to you, but you still managed; “want me to do it again, right now?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I want you to get on your knees and -”

But then your phone started to ring in his hand and the game quickly came to an end. You watched as he looked at the screen, the smile vanishing from his lips.

“Who’s Sam?” He asked with an unexpected sharpness that caused your stomach to knot.

“Don’t answer it,” you begged quickly, suddenly. With your hand outstretched you moved towards him, needing him to give you your phone back. But Billy wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the name on the screen and the picture that went with it.

The ringing soon stopped, but Billy didn’t give your phone back. Instead he started swiping at the screen, obviously looking for something. Your stomach dropped, realising that your phone was still unlocked and he had access to everything on there.

“Billy, give me my phone back, it’s not -” you tried to talk around the lump that had lodged itself in your throat.

“Call me back,” he started to read from your phone, obviously scrolling through the dozens of unanswered text messages Sam had sent, “we need to talk. I love you but I’m sick of this shit. Don’t make me come get you. Talk to me. We had a deal.”

“It’s not what you think,” you tried again, reaching for your phone. Billy stepped back, keeping hold of your phone.

“And what do you think I think?” He asked, his tone enough to make you flinch. “‘cause I think forty-seven missed calls today, and fifty-two yesterday means someone really wants to talk to you.”

“It’s not like that -”

“Oh, isn’t it? So you get guys telling you that they love you all the time, calling you non-stop and begging you to talk to them?” It almost felt like he was mocking you, like he thought you were an idiot for even trying to convince that there was nothing going on.

“Billy, please, just listen to me...”

If he heard you, he didn’t seem to care. “Is this what does it for you? Is this why you finally said yes to me? Did I chase you enough, make you feel special? You just like the attention?”

“Stop it, just -” you raised your voice, desperate to make him listen, to make him hear you out.

“Is this what you want? You want me to lose my mind over you? Will you start ignoring my calls when you’re done with me?” Something almost frantic started to slip into his tone.

“No, Billy, I -”

It was clear to see that he was spiralling out of control, that the thought of you with another man made him lose his mind. And it hurt - it hurt that he wouldn’t listen to you, that he thought you’d do anything to hurt him like that.

“If I obsess over you enough, do I get my initials carved on your body somewhere? Will you let me pick where?”

You stepped backwards, an uncomfortable breath catching in your throat. It only took Billy a second to realise his mistake. There was no confusing the sudden look of terror on your face or the way that your whole body tensed as you started to back away from him. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, wide and afraid, your lungs burning as they struggled to draw breath.

Billy seemed frozen as the pieces fell into place and he finally understood; you hadn’t carved the S into your arm. Someone else had, against your will.

And, now, despite everything about him that made you feel safe, despite every time you’d told yourself that he wouldn’t hurt you, you were overcome with fear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t -” you flinched as he took a step, “- I didn’t mean that. I’d never -”

“Please stop,” you uttered quietly, voice breaking as you blinked back tears. You didn’t want to talk about it, not now, not ever.

“I didn’t know, you didn’t tell me - why didn’t you tell me?” A panicked anguish quickly filled his voice and, at any other time, you might have felt for him, but all you could do was continue to shrink away from him. “Tell me who did it - tell me, I’ll fucking kill him.”

The spike of anger in his voice did nothing to settle your frayed nerves. You knew it wasn’t aimed at you, but you had no doubt in that moment that Billy was capable of murder, and that he’d kill anyone who’d hurt you. But you didn’t want Billy involved, you didn’t want him to know about any of your scars or where they had come from.

“Was it this guy? This Sam?” He held up your phone, his knuckles turning white as he dared to step closer. Even though his anger wasn’t directed at you anymore, it still scared you.

You shook your head. “Sam’s my brother.”

Another secret spilled, another thing you hadn’t wanted him to know.

“You have a brother? I thought you said -”

You moved suddenly, before Billy could reach you - he was between you and the elevator, so leaving wasn’t an option, but you needed space, you needed to be able to breathe. He called your name and you heard him following after you as you ducked into his bedroom and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

The moment the door was shut, you sank to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I -” you could hear him on the other side of the door, but he didn’t rattle the handle, didn’t knock or try to get to you. From the broken tone of his voice, you knew that he was upset and, as much as you might have hated that at any other time, Billy’s upset was not your priority. “I’m a fucking idiot, I’m sorry. I - I never meant -”

You took a long breath, counting back from ten, trying to remember any of the coping mechanisms you’d worked on in therapy so many years ago. Despite the tears in the corners of your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to cry - you’d cried too many tears over the scars on your arms over the years and you weren’t going to shed any more. You were stronger than that, you’d spent years becoming stronger than that.

“Please, talk to me?”

You still didn’t answer. You couldn’t, it felt like you could hardly breathe.

He was pacing, you could hear it through the door. “I’d never hurt you - you know I’d never hurt you, right? I couldn’t, I -”

Still, you said nothing. A moment later there was a loud thud and you heard his footsteps moving away from the door and out of the bedroom.

As you sat, you tried to deconstruct everything that had happened, why it had upset you and whether it was reasonable to be upset about it; Billy going through your phone without permission (yeah, it was reasonable to be upset at that), him getting upset about Sam (yes and no, you probably could have handled that a little better), and the comment about that scar (yes but, again, he hadn’t known the full story).

But, the thing that worried you, the thing that had you panicked, was just how quickly it had escalated and how he hadn’t even tried to hear your side of things. Did you think that he could hurt you? No. But whether that was you being stupid and naive, you didn’t know. All you really knew was that something inside you felt safe with Billy, something inside you told you that he’d never hurt you, and perhaps that was the best place to start.

It took twenty minutes before you worked up the courage to stand and another five before you could bring yourself to open the bathroom door. Billy was nowhere to be seen but, to your surprise, he’d left your phone on the floor in front of the bathroom door.

You grabbed your bag from the foot of the bed and carried it with you, but you didn’t head for the elevator. You weren’t going to run away.

Billy was standing by the windows, looking out at the view, looking every bit as lost and alone as you felt.

“We - we should talk,” you said softly, just to draw his attention.

He turned, but he didn’t move towards you. He kept his distance, as if he didn’t trust himself anymore. When he caught sight of the bag in your hand, Billy let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding like he knew he’d already lost.

“I know you are.”

“I didn’t mean -”

“Yes you did, Billy.” It wasn’t your intention to hurt him but there was no missing the flicker of pain on his face. He’d been upset, but he’d meant every word that he’d said to you, and you needed him to acknowledge that. “But what hurts is that you saw those messages and just assumed that I’d do that to you.”

“I know, I shouldn’t’ve, I just...” you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to find the words, tried to find a way to explain something that you weren’t even sure he could explain. You were starting to think it was just how he was wired - but that didn’t mean you had to accept it. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“Which part? Because it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

“I don’t do this,” which didn’t make it any clearer, but the frustration in his voice was unmissable.

“There is no this, Billy. You didn’t want this to be a relationship. We’re just - I don’t know, us.”

“Yeah, just us.”

There was something in the way he said it that had your heart sinking and it took a moment for the penny to finally drop.

“You wanna fuck other women, is that it?” And suddenly it all seemed pointless. “Of course you do, why wouldn’t you? Why would I ever think you might settle for me?” Because, of course, a man like Billy wouldn’t settle for you, scars and all.

You started to move towards the elevator, telling yourself that, this time, it wasn’t running away; you’d tried to talk to him, tried to figure it out, and leaving was the only option that remained. As much as it hurt, you couldn’t stay knowing that he’d never be satisfied with you, and that he clearly didn’t feel a fraction of what you felt when you were with him. (It was your own fault, you shouldn’t have let yourself feel anything at all for a man like Billy, you’d known from the start that it would end badly.)

“Stop -” he suddenly started to move towards you, “- I don’t want to fuck anyone else, that’s not what I meant. And I’m not settling, you’re the only one I want.” He forced the words out in an angry and uncomfortable admission - he didn’t even manage to look like he believed it himself.

“I’d be flattered if you didn’t sound like it bothered you so fucking much.” You spat back, just as angry.

“Of course it bothers me. I don’t know how to not fuck this up. I don’t know how to not make you leave me.”

“My suggestion would be doing anything but this.” You reached the elevator doors, but you didn’t push the call button - you couldn’t bring yourself to end things, not while he was still talking.

“So, that’s it - we’re back to this?”

“Back to what?”

“You, pushing me away, not talking to me.”

“I can’t do this if you don’t trust me.” You told him.

“I’m trying, but you don’t trust me either, do you?”

You wanted to answer immediately, to tell him of course you trusted him, but it wasn’t that simple. He was right, you didn’t trust him, not completely - you didn’t trust anyone completely. You couldn't, you’d been hurt too many times before. And maybe Billy had been too.

“Why don’t you do this - why don’t you want a relationship?” You dared to ask and Billy looked away almost as if he was ashamed.

“Because everyone leaves eventually? Because what I can offer always stops being enough... I don’t know.” He sounded resigned to it, like there really was no other way that he saw things panning out.

“And you think that’d happen with us? That I’d just leave you?”

He looked at you for a second before letting his gaze drop again. “You’re doing it right now.”

“That isn’t fair. You know why I’m leaving.” You wanted to be firm, wanted him to know that you were leaving because of his actions, not because of who he was but, instead, the words came out quiet, soft.

Billy didn’t answer, he looked defeated, like he’d given up. He didn’t talk again until you’d hit the call button and the elevator doors slid open.

“So, we’re done then?”

Were you? You hesitated, hating how quickly everything had fallen apart - how easily you’d both let it fall apart. Maybe it was just how things were meant to be; maybe neither of you were capable of sustaining whatever this was. But -

“No - I don’t know,” was the most honest answer you could give. “I just - I need some time, Billy. Can you give me that?”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “A few days maybe?”

“Okay,” he shrugged in return, looking like he’d already given up.

By the time you’d stepped into the elevator and hit the button, he’d already turned away from you. Billy didn’t say a word as the doors shut and you left him all alone. Somehow, you managed not to break down and cry until you’d made it back across the city and into the comfort of your own bed.

Chapter Thirteen

A/N : Well... I originally wanted to try and time things so I could have nice chapters come out over the holidays, but then this happened. Sorry! It really wasn't my intention to end the year on a downer, but don't worry, the next part is pretty much finished and will be up the same time next week!!

Anyway, I hope you're all doing well and, as always I really do appreciate all the love you've shown this series!!!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it hasn't been working for some people so I've tried to remove and add people again to see if that help but, other than that, I think it's just tumblr being lame?)

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sheeple · 10 months

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Miracles don't exist | 30: Battle of the Astronomy Tower

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Dumbledore's death A/n: Another year complete. I'll be taking a break as usual from posting to finish the story. 24th of December will chapter 31 be posted. But before that time I've got a little extra content for y'all :)) [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Theodore is quick to send a spell flying towards the Death Eaters. But it's easily deflected by Bellatrix Lestrange. You try to get out of bed, grabbing your wand that lies on the bedside table. But your legs give out under you and you land painfully on your knees.

You crawl towards the closest wall and hoist yourself up, raising a shaking arm and ready to defend yourself and Theo. "What," huff, "do you", huff, "want?", you ask, out of breath.

You already know the how, but now the why. Why here with you? And not hunting down Dumbledore.

With a flick of the wrist, Fenrir Greyback comes stalking toward you, a sinister smirk on his face. You yelp and fire a disarming spell, but it bounces off of him.

Theo's quick to jump over the bed and stand in the way between you and the werewolf. He puts an arm in front of you, which you hold on for support.

"Isn't that just the cutest?" Bellatrix laughs cruelly, the other Death Eaters joining her. "The little fiancé is protecting her."

You wish you had more strength, you wish that you weren't so exhausted so you could stand up to her. But instead, your legs shake and the hold on your wand is weak. Even if you wanted to protect yourself and Theo, your spells would be weak.

"I won't ask again. What do you want?" You raise your chin.

She grins, walking towards you. She throws Theodore away with a flick of the wand against the wall and grabs your face, digging her filthy nails into your skin. The two of you stare in silence, daring the other one to look away.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Theo clambering up. You give in and look at him worried.

Bellatrix takes this as a victory and rips her hand away from your face. "Take them", she orders to Greyback.

The werewolf picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. You trash against his hold, but it's useless as your feet dangle off the ground and Greyback just marches on. A Death Eater holds Theodore at wand point and makes him drag his body off the floor.

You're disorientated as the group moves through the castle, upstairs and through doors. Until you finally feel the cold breeze of the night air and you're being put down.

Draco stands in front of Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower, his wand pointed towards the elder man.

"Well... look what we have here." Bellatrix halts the group, her eyes trained on the pair. She moves towards your cousin, whispering, "well done, Draco."

"Good evening, Bellatrix." Dumbledore seems unbothered like he has been expecting it. "I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to, Albus. But I'm afraid we're a bit on a tight schedule. Do it!", she hisses towards Draco, the boy's hand shaking.

You try to move forward, but Fenrir's hand wraps around your throat and holds you in place. You move your hand to the side, reaching out to see if you can grab Theo's hand. But he's too far away from you.

"He doesn't have the stomach, just like his father. Let me finish him in my own way", remarks someone to your right.

"No! The Dark Lord was clear, the boy must do it."

There is some creaking from down below you, and you glance at it. Your breath stops as you spot a reflection in a pair of glasses. Harry. The two of you make eye contact and you slowly shake your head, scared of what will happen.

Bellatrix storms towards Draco, leaning close to him. "This is your moment. Do it. Go on, Draco! Now!", she bellows, clearly getting impatient.

Draco quivers, his face morphed in anguish. The grip on his wand tightens and you swear he's going to do it. He's going to kill Dumbledore.

"No." Professor Snape appears from nowhere, making everybody turn towards him.

There is a moment of silence and shock until the headmaster breaks it. "Severus... please", he begs.

The former Potions Master raises his wand and fires off the killing curse. Avada Kedavra rings in your ears as a flash of green light hits Dumbledore. He flies off the railing and you scream. You launch out of the hold of the werewolf and rush towards the railing, watching how the man drops from high until his body hits the stones below.

You clutch a shaking hand over your mouth. Bile rises in your throat. A pair of hands snatches your shoulder and you get pulled towards the stairs. You watch how Bellatrix fires the Dark mark into the sky with a celebratory yell.

The Death Eaters move swiftly towards the exit of the castle, destroying everything in their path. Everything is a blur until you're outside and Hagrit's hut is in flames.

"Snape! He trusted you!" Harry comes barreling down the hill, wand in hand and fury in his eyes. He fires spells at the man, getting angrier every time Snape deflects them. Until he yells, "Sectumsempra!"

You let out a shriek, clutching your hands over your ears and crouching down. You brace for the impact, the pain. But it doesn't come. Instead, you're pulled to your feet and dragged towards somewhere.

You disappear in a flurry of dark robes and black smoke. Hands grip you and you get pulled in all different kinds of directions. It's hard to breathe. And even when you have stopped moving and you collapse on the ground, you're still out of breath.

The grass under you feels coarse. You know where they took you to. Malfoy Manor. To Voldemort.

A hand grips your bicep harshly before you get yanked off the ground and dragged into the house. You look up and study Snape. He has his never-breaking hard glare on his face, his eyes focussed on where is supposed to go and nothing else. They don't wander, don't linger.

He brings up stairs, and down endless hallways until he stops in front of familiar wooden doors. He knocks two times and waits a moment before opening one of the doors and pushing you inside.

You stumble, your legs still weak. You find your footing as you hold the back of a chair for support.

The Dark Lord stands in front of the fireplace, his back facing towards you. Nagini slithers around him, her head resting in his hands as he pets the snake.

You wait with bated breath for what will come.

Nagini slithers from the Dark Lord's hold towards you. She makes her way up your leg and restricts herself around your middle. "Hello, pretty", she hisses. If a snake had eyelids, she would have fluttered them at you.

You swallow with an uncomfortable smile on your lips, you reach out and run a hand over her scaly body. "Hello, Nagini", you answer back.

She lets out happy hisses. Nagini nestles herself against your body with no intention of letting go.

The Dark Lord is still facing the fire, his wand in his hands. "I assume the mission went successful?"

"Yes, Draco fulfilled his assignment. Dumbledore is dead." It feels weird to say it out loud. Everything happened so fast that you didn't even have a moment to realise what happened. Dumbledore is dead and Snape killed him. All the while Draco was supposed to do it.

The Dark Lord turns around, his snake-like eyes trained on you. You straighten your back, chest rising anxiously.

He reaches out and takes hold of your chin in an ice-cold hand, his long nails digging into your skin. He studies something on your face. "What did this?"

Confused, you frown. He pushes your face to the side so you're facing a mirror fastened on the wall next to the door. You take a step towards it and Nagini unfurls from you. A large and angry scar creeps from under your jaw towards the inner corner of your right eye. You trace it and hiss as it still hurts.

"I was... I was hit with the Sect- Sectumsempra curse... by Harry Potter", you admit, hanging your head low. Flashes of pain travel through your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut.

A presence behind you turns you around and you do not dare to look at him. "My Heir, I expect you from now on to attend every meeting and follow my every order. If you do so, I'll grant you your revenge."

You snap your head up, brows knitted together. "My revenge, Father?"

An unnerving smile grows on Voldemort's face. "On Harry Potter."

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