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anjelicawrites · 6 months

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The one looking out for you

Paring: dark!Michael Gavey x fem!reader Synopsis: fill for this ask: “Hii can I request a dark Michael gavey x fem reader smut where they're coworkers and reader don't really know Michael because he works in IT and they only pass each other here and there but Michael is obsess with reader and one day he overhears reader telling a coworker that she's ovulating but her fiancé (who's been cheating on her without her knowledge) is out of town and they've been trying for a baby. Michael digs up dirt on her fiance and leaks the info anonymously and then he "coincidently" finds her crying and kinda drunk and he "comforts" reader”. Warnings: NONCON (reader is drunk while having sex), rape, rape drugs, stalking, obsession, sexist language, fatphobia, pictures and videos taken without reader’s consent, vomiting, alcohol usage, reader being drunk, p in v sex, chocking, titty sucking, fingering, creampie, baby trapping, breeding kink, lactation kink, talk of reader reduced to a basement wife, talk of pregnancy sex. A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, she/her pronouns used.

Michael knows how special you are, how gentle you heart is; he sees you in all the ways other people don’t. Some might call his behavior obsessive, stalkerish even, but the world doesn’t understand that, when you finally find your person, you need to take all the necessary steps to keep that person safe. Take today, for example. You had worked overtime, your team leader needing your expertise for the latest company project, and are going home just now, after 9 pm on a cold winter night. You should wait for the bus, or hail a cab, but you’re too tired to wait and just want to go home thus cutting through the city park. Michael knows because he’s following the GPS of your phone, to make sure nothing happens to you, and is using the speakers of your phone to hear what’s happening around you and call the cops if someone tries to approach you.

He shouldn’t have cloned your phone, he knows it’s frowned upon, but you pull shit like this: how is he supposed to keep you safe? You are too gentle, too trusting of the world and in need of a protector, someone who will really look after you, not like your useless fiancé, who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, nor he loves you, otherwise he wouldn’t be having an affair with the girl living in the next door apartment. The discovery had been casual, the Trojan he used to clone your phone had infected your fiancé’s as well and Michael had been the unwilling witness to his sexual escapades with that whore. He had been so disgusted by the way the asshole talked about you, that he would have disconnected from the phone, if he wasn’t digging for dirt on him.

Michael knows he’s invisible, he’s always been: no friends, no girlfriend, only him and his brilliant mind; when he was younger he had suffered because no one acknowledged him, now he understands he has a superpower that helps him navigate corporate life, absorbing all the relevant information, without anyone realizing what he’s doing.

You greet him whenever you stumble upon him in the corridors, still grateful he solved a computer issue you had the day of a big presentation, the reason why he’s met you in the first place and every gentle smile you direct his way, adds fuel to the fire of his obsession. He’s racked his own brains for days, after that first fateful encounter, wondering how he could start a conversation with you, cloning your phone had been the only way he thought he could find something you two had in common. It saved him a gaffe, when he saw all the photos with your fiancé, and gave him so much insight inside your brain, to understand you were the woman for him; of course you are far more creative that he’ll ever be, your soul gentler than his, but you are smart and being so different will only add to you two’s relationship, once he’s gotten rid of your boyfriend.

Michael is working on the new firewall, hidden in his own basement office. He’s thankful that the other IT people are misanthropes as he is and don’t mind that he’s working with his headphones on, on the contrary, everyone is wearing headgear to focus better on their task, the difference being, he’s listening to you. Your day is slow, with the big project finished, you and your team can kick back a bit, have a chat while ironing the last wrinkles.

Michael has been listening while you were chatting with that stupid cow, Marissa, about the last movie you’ve watched at that theater that shows mostly old black and white flicks; Michael has managed to garner quite the knowledge about old time Hollywood and Cinecittà and has discovered a fondness for old Hammer movies himself, even though the movies he prefers the most star you while you’re pleasuring yourself (something you’re doing quite frequently, since the asshole doesn’t seem to be that interested in you anymore), the theater? Your webcam and your apartment.

His focuses his attention when you go to have a coffee with your ‘work wife’ Jenny; through your phone he hears that you two are going downstairs, to the cafeteria of the building: one day you and him will do the same, pick a place to call your own, just to have a break. You have only bought your phone with you, it’s easy for him to listen to the inane chat, even though the cafeteria is packed; he’s not truly focusing on the conversation, just to the sound of your lovely voice as you wait for your coffee (espresso, a splash of oat milk and half sugar) and your favorite pastry (pain au chocolat, vegan); it’s when the asshole’s name drops that he stops working and focus only on you.

“You know we’ve been trying truly hard, at least we used to.” You say with a defeated tone he doesn’t like. “Then we stopped for his big project, I understand that he couldn’t follow that and my hormonal cycle.”

Michael grits his teeth; he’s been looking out for you for the better part of the year, before? He wasn’t your guardian angel and it had been difficult for him to put together the pieces, since you don’t use that many apps to store your personal life and information.

“Wait.” Jenny stops you. “Wasn’t he the one who wanted to start trying again?” “Yes.” From your tone only Michael can imagine you pinching the bridge of your nose. “He’s been repeating me to check my ovulation, write everything down or use those pregnancy like sticks, and what does he do the weekend I am at my peak? Leaves for work!”

Michael has to clench his fists when he understands what you and Jenny are talking about: children. You and the asshole having a baby!

Michael has to leave his small office and storms to the bathroom where he can pace around like a caged beast: that son of a bitch wants to knock you up, while he’s having an affair with the whore next door?

Calm, he tells himself, you need to stay calm and focused.

“What kind of trip is that?” He hears Jenny ask. “Work. His firm is trying to promote a new kind of prosthesis during this orthopedics conference; he has to be there.” “Why can’t you go with him? Take the weekend off? You wouldn’t be the only partner to go, I think”. “There have been some issues.” Your voice lowers conspiratorially. “Some of his colleagues had gone with their mistresses, on firm expenses and now all family members are banned from going.” “Hmm.” Jenny doesn’t seem too convinced. “Are you sure he wants to truly try?

Michael hears you sigh and wished he was there, not in this stupid bathroom!

“We are more distant. I keep telling myself that we had to both work on big projects at the same time, that we were forced to focus on work more than we would have liked and that, after the storm, things would go back to normal.”

Michael hears you sniff and the soft sound of Jenny’s hand on yours.

“What’s your gut feeling, love?” She asks, with a quiet voice. “That is not a storm and that he’s asked to try for a baby again because he doesn’t know how to handle all of this.” “Perhaps him going away for the weekend isn’t such a bad thing.”

Michael likes Jenny, she’s smart, calls IT only when she has a real issue and treats all of them like they are people, not the weird nerds hiding in the basement; he reckons Jenny is a bit of a nerd as well, based on the Star Trek knickknacks on her desk. Yes, when you and him are together, she’s one of the friends he’ll advise you to stick with: you’ll have to drop many of them, too stupid for you, and for him, but not Jenny, she can stay.

Michael hides in one of the stalls and opens the secret app on his phone where he keeps all your photos and videos. Some are racy, you pleasuring yourself using your favorite dildo and clit sucker, your sobs of pleasure going straight to his cock every time, but that’s not what he is looking for as his thumb swipes through all the pics he has, until he’s found the one he loves the most: you on the sofa, dressed in an oversized jumper, as you read your book. You look homely, the picture of what he wants your lives to be: quiet and filled with each other’s presence, you two don’t need anyone else, Or perhaps...

His mind goes back to the conversation he’s just heard. Michael doesn’t truly care for children but for you? He’ll give you a soccer team of babies if only you asked, fuck you full of his cum until he’s sure he’s bred you, only to fuck you some more once you’re full. His finger slides through the photos until he finds one of you in your bathing suit, just to imagine your tummy full of his child and your breast swollen with milk, begging to be sucked: yeah, the idea of knocking you up becomes more and more appealing as the minutes pass. He just needs to make sure the asshole doesn’t manage before he does.

Michael goes back to his cubicle with a lighter heart, now that he knows what the stakes are; he even whistles his favorite song as he orders a bouquet of the flowers you love (white callas and light pink lilies), to have them sent to your workstation: this has been his only outward way to express his feelings for you and today you need something nice to look at, after your heartfelt conversation with Jenny. As he focuses again on the firewall, Michael mentally pats himself on the back for having cloned the asshole's phone by mistake: you will have to know what is going on, it will hurt you, but he’s going to be there for you, unlike your fiancé.

Later that night, Michael is storing all he has on the asshole on the USB pen he’s bought on the way back to his small apartment; as one of the computers is working on the background, out of curiosity he checks if what the asshole has told you about the ban on partners going to conventions is true or not: if he’s lying, he’s going to add to the mountain of proofs he has, if not, well, it means that even him plays fair sometimes.

He stares at the desktop, before clicking on his browser icon: obviously is a picture of you, a selfie you’ve taken on holiday; you look so relaxed and happy, the shadows the straw hat you’re wearing paint on the skin of your cleavage are so elegant: he’s never met a woman who can be classy even when wearing a skimpy bikini. You are truly a Goddess among your kind, the best and the smartest, created just for him. He hopes you’ll let him snap racy pictures of you, once you two are together; nothing obscene or pornographic, just to celebrate your beauty and grace. Michael thinks he will be able to convince you, otherwise something in your water to make sure you’re pliant will make do.

You don’t want to be at this stupid office party. Yes, your last project was a success, all your colleagues want to celebrate, but you are in no mood, thanks to your cheating, asshole of a boyfriend.

You don’t know who sent you the USB pen, you’re not sure you’ll ever thank them for opening your eyes, but the truth is in front of you and you have no way to stop knowing what has been happening behind your back; given the chance, would you rather not have received the envelope and the USB? Nursing your umpteenth cocktail you’re not sure of the answer.

The envelope was white and lacked a return address, which was unusual but not overly so: the local Catholic Church leaves leaflets when Christmas and Easter are near, to promote the activities during these periods of time, never envelopes but you thought they were changing their strategies and opened it once you were home, alone as usual. The USB had surprised you, the printout of the reservation made of your fiancé and the girl next door, for the conference, propelled you to the bathroom, where you threw up your lunch and afternoon snack.

There was another message, smaller, that invited you to check the USB pen in your hand, if you wanted to know the truth; you stayed rooted on the spot for the longest time, torn between wanting to ignore everything, or let the bomb explode. Time passed, punctuated by the old clock in the kitchen, until you made up your mind, and choose the latter, you’re a daughter of Pandora after all, and plugged the USB in your computer: a barrage of text, photos and audio messages attacked you, you managed to go through a small percentage of them, before you had to run to the bathroom to throw up again, your stomach churning bile until you had nothing left to give. After this onslaught you cried with your knees tight against your chest, until you felt so tired you’d sleep on the cold bathroom floor, but you forced yourself to go back to the living room and went through all the proofs of your fiancé’s infidelity with the whore next door.

You didin’t know your personal guardian angel was listening to everything and looking using the smart TV you’ve bought last year. Michael’s heart hurt with your pain, he wished he was there to comfort you; if only you had waited for him, instead of being with the asshole, he wouldn’t have to make you go through all of this. It was your fault for not having faith that your true love was waiting for you: you’ll go through this cathartic experience and then be free to start your new life, the one Michael will tailor for you, and for himself.

With gritted teeth he watched the fight you have with the asshole, all the excuses he spewed, and then the insults against you, before he left slamming the door. He saw you angrily drink and cry until you passed out on the couch and he stayed up all night, watching you through the TV to make sure you were still breathing. It hurt him that you were hurt, but it was the price to pay for a better future.

You have been on autopilot for the rest of the week: went to work, where you used a mere fraction of your attention on the last details of the finished project, and then returned home to cry. You fiancé, better, former fiancé at this point, didn’t even try to patch things up with you, on Thursday, after you returned from work, all his stuff had disappeared and he hadn’t even left a note or sent you a message. You truly spiraled after that, called your best friend and wept on the phone for hours, until you head hurt; on a whim you had even thought about not going to work on Friday, but you couldn’t, not with the presentation of the bloody project and the celebration party afterwards. You decided to settle with finishing the alcohol at home and sent disparaging texts to your ex, who never answered them (little you knew that your own guardian angel had to do with that, and with the fact that he had disappeared with all his belongings; that was not something Michael thought you needed to worry your pretty head with).

You played your part on Friday, said your little spiel and shook hands on command, wore a fake smile for everyone to see, until you could hide in the conference room, nursing glasses after glasses of cheap alcohol, until you felt like enough time had passed to return home.

You’re sitting at the big desk, facing morosely the incredible view from such a high floor, with a glass and bottle you’ve taken from the open bar. You’re drunk, it's so easy to ignore the little voice in your head that’s telling you to stop, call a Uber and go home when your tummy is sloshing with alcohol. You’re so detached from your body that the door opening with a small creak doesn’t scare you.

“I thought nobody was here.”

You turn your head slowly and feel the strain of your eyes as they focus on the intruder. On first sight you don’t recognize him, then his name comes back to you Michael, one of the IT guys who solves all your technical issues. You’ve met him a couple of times, once when Marissa had some issued with her computer. You had felt bad for the guy, who had to come upstairs to simply turn the switch Marissa had swore was already on the right position. He had said something nasty about your colleague under his breath, ‘vapid cunt’, or something among those lines, as he was leaving. You didn’t approve of his language, but understood his frustration: he probably had to deal with stupid accidents like that all the time, his patience must have slipped; you had stopped him before he entered the lift and said you were sorry on your colleague’s behalf. You could have sworn his eyes had focused on you, behind his tick glasses, as if he was assessing you, judging you, but it was just a moment, then his blue eyes seemed to clear and you had repeated yourself that you have been consuming too much true crime, if such an innocuous man could cause weird thoughts in your head.

You had seen him around, he had saved your arse when your computer stopped working the day of a big presentation, tall and gangly, and always greeted him with a smile and a wave, which he would awkwardly respond to: he was one of the many people you knew, but weren’t truly friends with.

“Hi.” You try to sound sober. “Far from the madding crowd as well?”

Ok, you tell yourself, that’s not too bad.

Michael gently closes the door, you don’t see it but he locks it as well, before he walks towards you.

“Something like that.”

You stare at him, truly taking his appearance in for the first time. He’s awkward, standing the way he does a couple of chairs away from you, but not ugly: he should dress better and wear more stylish glasses, but he is handsome, in a nerd kind of way; his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, and he is tall, not imposing but with large shoulders.

“Come.” You say, patting the chair next to you. “Don’t stand where you are. Fancy a drink?”

Almost knocking a chair over, Michael walks where you are and stiffly sits.

“I think I am full for the night.” He answers, when you offer him your own glass. “Are you sure? I’d loathe to drink by myself.” “Sure.” He answers. “Uhm, congratulation with the project.” He adds.

You pour yourself a generous amount of alcohol and drink it down in one go.

“That? Child’s play.” “Still, a great amount of money coming this way.” “Yeah.” You’re suddenly more morose than before. “All I am good for.”

You sway on the chair and distantly feel Michael’s hands, his very large hands, grab you by your shoulders before you can fall.

“I’m fine Mickey boy.” You slur with your face dangerously close to his. “I’m nothing but trash worth kicking anyway!”

You shrug him off and try to keep an upright position.

“Don’t say that about yourself!”

Something in his tone forces your drunken mind to focus on him.

“What do you know?” You bare your teeth at him and he has to keep you upright again. “I’m with this guy for years, years! I turn down the position in the USA office for him! Lose weight! Learn how to cook like his sodden mama and what does he do? He fucks the next door neighbor, that fat cow! I have to starve myself and be shamed when I can’t be a bloody size 8 and he fucks her! Sends her dick picks! Talks shit about me!”

The same way rage had possessed you, it disappears, leaving you a shaking handful of nerves; before you even realize it, you fall against Michael and start crying, fat, inconsolable sobs against his ugly sweater.

Michael holds you tight, reveling in the fact that you are in his arms, never mind the reason: you’ve opened up your heart to him, you’re seeking him for consolation! Not Jenny, not your best friend, but him! Because you know, in your heart of hearts, that Michael is the one for you!

He knows he’s awkward as he caresses your back and tries to murmur soothing words against your hair, but it doesn’t matter, not when all his hard work has come into fruition!

“I’m so sorry.” He hears from the general direction of his chest. “I don’t know what happened.” “That’s fine.” He answers, his arms still caging you. “Truly Michael, I don’t know what possessed me.”

When you finally manage to lift your head from his chest, you stare into his eyes, now dark pools your drunken brain can’t read.

Michael loses himself in your beautiful face and in the pain still marring your features: you need consolation and not the kind that words offer. He hadn’t planned all of this when he had followed you in the conference room, but you are in his arms, needy and sad and his cock is rock hard. You are causing all of this, he tells himself, because you need this and him. And he can’t say no to you.

His big hand sneaks into your hair to pull you closer to him; in your drunken state you don’t realize what’s happening, if not when his lips crash on yours, uncoordinated and dry. You try to push him away, to beg him to stop, but he uses your parted lips to slip his tongue in to deepen the kiss, his free hand grabs your hips and he pulls you on the table, slotting himself between your parted legs, his erection shocking you. When he starts kissing your neck, you try to push him away again, too drunk and weak to manage and he grabs your wrist in his big hand, to push you against the cold glass of the table; his free hand slips under your skirt and his fingers sneak under your panties.

“If you don’t want me, why are you so wet?”

He towers over you, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses and you can’t help but sob again: your drunken brain can’t find an adequate response, your body on fire after such a long time without another person’s touch.

Your body arches when his fingers slip inside your cunt, warm and wet, to fuck your hole hard and fast: he’s seen you masturbate so many times he knows how you like it, how you want his thumb on your clit, how to curl them to find your G spot and bully it, while you trash and cry, your muscles impossibly tight around him. He knows the sounds you’re making, those high pitched sobs that mean you’re close.

“Nooo…” You moan when his fingers leave your body.

Michael’s stare his cold and burns you at the same time, you have to hide your face because you can’t stand it deep into your soul; roughly he forces you to look at him.

“Look at me when I fuck you.” His palm cups your cunt cruelly. “You don’t get to come if you stop staring at me.”

Your drunken mind wants to come, wants an orgasm to take the pain away, it doesn’t matter who gives it to you, as long as your heart stops hurting. Then you will forget all about it.

A scared sound escapes your mouth when his big cock is revealed to you: you’ve never had anything so tick inside of you, you’re scared. Michael seems to revel in the fear he sees in your eyes, he can feel his erection grow with it, the knowledge that you’re finally at his mercy fueling his desire: you’re going to take all of him and be grateful that his seed will grow inside your belly, he’s going to give you all the time to adjust, but he’s coming inside of you and you with him.

Impatient he pulls your shirt and bra out of the way to free your beautiful breasts and he jacks himself faster at the sight of your tits. He bats your hands away when you try to cover yourself and curls one hand around a breast, until you cry out in pain.

“You’re all mine to see.” The vise on your breast is so tight he’s going to leave imprints. “Say it!”

You’re drunk and petrified, you don’t understand where this violence comes from, you just want to come and be done with all of this.

“I’m… I’m all yours to see.” You manage to say with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “It wasn’t so hard.” Michael’s hand travels from your abused tit to your cheek to dry the tears already there. “I want to make you feel good, but you have to behave. Will you be my good girl?”

If you weren’t this drunk you’d fight him off you, scream bloody murder until someone comes to your rescue, but you’re drunk and desperately need all the human connection that you can scrape. You’d never sleep with Michael, not in a million years, but you’re not in your right mind and you just slump against the cool glass, incapable of stopping him.

Michael’s bulbous head nudges your wet entrance, slowly he slides in and groans at how wet you are; he hasn’t had many partners but no cunt has felt as perfect as yours, the ripple of your muscles as your body desperately tries to adjust to his size makes his blood boil, your pained moans and keens spur him on and his pushes become faster and faster, the more your cunt opens up for him. Desperate you try to relax, the pain of his intrusion mixes with pleasure, your drunken mind is confused, your body arches when he bottoms out and your eyes roll in their sockets: you’ve never been so full in your entire life.

Michael has to stop once he is sitting fully inside of you, your hole strangles his cock in ways no other cunt has ever managed, your nipples are erect with the pleasure he’s giving you and you’re making those small sounds that have him want to fuck you hard and fast, but he’s promised you pleasure, and he is no liar. Your tearful eyes are on him as he bends his back to envelope one nipple in his mouth to suck, gently, the other is getting pinched by his long fingers; slowly the pleasure mounts over the pain you’ve been feeling, your drunken body responds to his ministration and you moan, eyes on his as he switches between nipples with satisfied groans, your hips even lift to invite him to move, and he follows your movements, picking up speed when he feels your muscles give up to his ownership of your body.

You moan and keen when he picks up speed and he pulls your legs over his arms to fold you and fuck you faster, your wet cut squelches with every push, his cockhead bullies your G spot mercilessly and you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much and not enough. Michael bends against your body again and kisses you, tongue proprietary in your mouth he snuffs your scream when you come, your cunt so tight around his cock that he follows, copious in your hungry hole, and keeps fucking you, his erection still at full mast, fueled by your desperate sounds of overstimulation: he’s dreamed about this for too long to stop now.

You try to beg, to scream, but his hand around your throat cuts off your desperate prayers, your scratch his wrist and he simply fucks you harder, grinds against your poor clit tighter and your legs kick against his back, spurring him on: he knows you like it hard and even if you don’t? It’s what you’re getting now.

With a groan he pulls out and turns you face first on the table, fast he enters you again and grabs your tits to use your body as leverage to fuck your hole savagely, his hold the only reason your body is still up, your hands try to grab uselessly at the glass, his heavy balls slap against you and pleasure burns through you, painful it courses through your body and you squirm with it, tears falling from your eyes as his cock rapes your hole deeper and deeper, until he comes, panting your insides again, triggering your own orgasm.

You pant, the cold of the table nice against your over heated skin. Distantly you feel Michael’s lips on your nape, he’s leaving small kisses and nibbles on the soft skin, when you try to move you moan, your cunt curling around his still erect cock.

“Michael, please.” You beg, so sore already. “If you didn’t want me, why is your cunt strangling my cock?” He whispers cruelly in your ear.

Michael can’t believe his body can still be in need of yours, but he’s not going to say no, not when your cunt is massaging his erection so deliciously. Fast he removes his cock and plugs your cunt closed with his fingers, he can’t risk his seed to go to waste, not when he’s trying to knock you up; one handed he turns you on your back again and enters your hole with a groan: he’s found his home and he’s not going to leave it.

“Please Michael.” You sob. “I’m so sore!”

He cups your cheek and kisses you again. You submit to his ownership, afraid of triggering his rage; distantly a part of your brain is screaming that you don’t want this, that you should fight him, but you don’t have the strength to, not when you just want to forget your ex for a while ans are so scared of his rage: you will feel dirty afterwards and will drunk yourself in a stupor to forget, but that’s problems for future you, now you can't do anything else, you just want the pain to stop.

“I was too forceful, was I?” Michael caresses your body, already getting used to the feel of your skin under his. “I’ll go slow this time, love. Give me your last one and we’ll stop.”

For now, he thinks. He’s not done with marking all your holes as his.

“Don’t hurt me.” You sob, small and pathetic. “Never.”

His hips move slowly against yours, long and deep pushes that you feel everywhere in your body. His hands are at your breasts again, massaging them in tandem with his pushes inside of you; you squirm, your muscles sore with the abuse he’s subjected you to, your clit inflamed with the way he grinds against it, still sparks of pleasure explode in your muddled brain, your cunt clenches around him, pulling him in tighter and tighter, that he can’t help but grind against you, the image of the ring of his come and yours around his base and the squelch of your hungry hole spurring him on. He’s not going to last long and you’re coming with him again, sucking all your seed inside of you, until it takes. He’s going to fuck you through your pregnancy as well, his hips grind faster when he imagines the added pressure of your full belly and your tits, leaking milk he’s going to be all the happier to suck.

“No Michael please!” You beg when he starts fingering your clit. “Be my good girl.” He groans, punishing you with hard thrusts. “You’re going to come and drain my cock dry, or I’m not going to stop until you do.”

Your body arches at his words, the part of your mind that’s still coherent reels at the realization that he’s been fucking you bareback, your cunt clenches at the thought, tighter and tighter as he fucks your deeper and faster, until you come with a pained sob and he follows you, emptying his balls fully inside of you.

He stays rooted inside of you, willing his seed to take as your muscles massage his soft cock to the point of overstimulation; you’re a mess of tears and ruined make up under him, still too shook after so many orgasms, and he uses your fragility to enact the last part of his plan.

He grabs the glass and bottle still intact after your coupling and fishes for the small packet of drugs he’s bought on less than savory websites (the wonders of the deep web, if one knows where to look) and dissolves one capsule in the remaining alcohol. Gently he raises your head and forces you to drink everything: you need to be pliant for this part, he can’t risk you acting silly if you two meet some coworkers on the way out.

Once you’ve drunk everything, he stays inside of you, just enjoying your body as the drug takes effect, only then he’s going to dress you and help you back to your apartment, where he’s going to fuck you for the whole weekend. Hopefully his purchase will not be needed, but if you misbehave he’ll have to give some more of it, he needs you to be pliant, ready to follow his breeding project. As you stare at him with glassy eyes, Michael decides he’s going to drug you anyway and once the effects drain off your system, hopefully you’ll buy his story, that you two went on a weekend binge of alcohol and sex. If things will go as he’s planned, come Sunday you’ll be embarrassed and he will buy you breakfast and ask you out on a proper date, if you start complaining, then he has to use plan B, the one he had devised when he had found out you had a fiancé. You don’t know it, but if you are going to be a silly goose, he’s going to hide you away in the small farm out in the country he’s bought under a false name (he is a man who needs little to survive and has managed to put away a big sum easily), until he can break you and remake you into his perfect little wife. He will have to lock you in the basement for a time and use the fake posts he’s prepared in advance to justify you disappearing from your life, but he’s positive that’s not going to be needed: you are his other half, after all.

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x y/n

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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

Text

Tough Love [Final Sequence #2]

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Soft!Yandere!Titus x fem!Reader

WORDS: 658.

WARNINGS: p in v sexual intercourse, mentions of spanking, dom!Titus, power kink/dubcon, swearing, manipulation, cum play, plugging, creampie, period sex, breeding kink.

A/N - I had went overboard the first time for @chompchompluke 's request, so here is the final part :) hope you all enjoy xoxox here is part 1 !!!

However, from time to time, his concerns would surface and fear would struck a chord with him... The brutal fear of losing you.

He would catch your fleeting glimpses towards the front door, and this would inevitably trigger the unfavourable side in him.

Not a single word would be exchanged, nor would he show any acknowledgment that he took to notice your temptation. Only that he would send you off to do some random task, to divert your attention away.

It was only when night had befallen, and you both sought the company of your bed, that he would have his way with you, indulging in all his dark, sensual fantasies.

Despite the trust and new found freedom Titus had granted you, there was still an obvious power play.

You did not dare to disobey his orders, especially when his tone grew deeper and stern. His pupils dilated as his black orbs swallowed those endearing, ocean blue eyes. A more unfamiliar and menacing look about him would exude and you knew better than to taunt him.

"After everything that I have done for you, all that I have provided you, you want to leave me, huh? You think you can just walk out that front fucking door, and I'd stand aside and let you? You think I don't notice you staring at that door, hm?"

Titus was a believer in rewards, although that also meant he was a firm advocate for punishment when necessary. Your punishment for any signs of rebellion against him, was far greater than any rewards reaped.

Whether he would spank your ass raw, slapping your bare cunt with his thick, rigid cock stretching your walls beyond comfort, as he would pump his mass deep and sloppily inside. He was desperate to stuff you so full of him, until you were practically full to the brim, your slick, tender folds would be oozing with his seed. He needed to know that you were tainted, tainted by his undoing.

He even would taunt in plugging you up, which he ultimately had convinced himself to do. Whether that be, fucking you himself and cumming inside, only to shove a vibrator in, as he made you squirm and moan relentlessly to his will.

His hands would often linger over your body, especially your bloated stomach, his touch grazing over your sensitive skin, as he envisioned you swollen with his babe growing inside. That was his ultimate dream, and he knew the day would come from his efforts.

Whenever you began to mensturate, he would take complete control and care: seeing you in agony pained him, keeping you at bed rest, as he attended to you himself.

"If baby wants the pain to go away, she can always ask Daddy Titus to make her feel better, hmm? Even a little blood won't stop me, princess."

It took him a while to grow accustomed to the sensation of fucking you whilst you were on your periods [making sure not to make so much of a mess, although he can't help it].

The warm feeling of your blood pooling and coating over his throbbing cock, and how unyielding the tension between your thighs felt, even though the concoction of blood and cum, made it far more easier for him to pummel into your cunt, overrode the cramps, and you felt cured.

"Maybe if I get you all nice and pregnant, you won't have to go through all this, yeah? Wouldn't that be the sweetest, you growing my babe inside?"

Eventually, you knew the day would come when Titus finally got what he had dreamt of, which was a family. Being honest with yourself, you were keen on it happening soon, and felt your body taking him so well already.

Overtime, he continued to trust you more, making himself vulnerable to you.

Life was a decadence with Titus, and you had now long forgotten the girl you were before he snatched you.

TGC-verse Taglist - @chompchompluke @melinskis @connorsui @rhaenattargaryen @sofiyathecunt @fan-goddess @x-prettyboy-x

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

#titus #tom glynn carney #TGC #titus imagines #titus imagine #titus fanfic #titus fanfiction #regulars

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snekdood · 4 months

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While this is obviously not universal, I sometimes think that a lot of the hateful behavior we see from supposed activists could be greatly reduced if they weren't just jumping into the most grandiose movements and "fights against the man" right off the bat.

I had a similar thing back when Trump was elected and we suffered through his presidency; I was incredibly angry and wanted some sense of comfort, and thus went to a website where there were other people like me where we could rage and be angry against Trump.

But the big problem I came to realize overtime was that this didn't really help my anger at all in the long term; I was just feeling burnt out, and arguably just as helpless and powerless as before, on top of also still being pretty angry. So I had to narrow my focus down immensely; I ended up focusing all my focus on one specific set of bills that I would oppose.

And truthfully the experience was really humbling, because even as relatively minor as my contribution was in the grand scheme of things, it still took an immense amount of work, research, and understanding the nuances of the situation to be able to achieve anything. You basically can't rush things, or expect grandiose glory and be praised as a hero when you're doing something that's necessary, but hard and easily overlooked. And overtime I had to shift my focus from merely hating the bills to actually standing for something, standing for the people who would get hurt by those bills instead of using the fight for my anger.

We're STILL fighting against those particular sets of bills to this day, years after I narrowed things down, but having that knowledge to some degree kinda made me much more cautious about bigger, more grandiose things like Free Palestine and the like.

Because really I think a lot of the people going into that movement are doing what I did with Trump, but whereas I was relatively safe because Trump was such an unambiguously evil man, and thus couldn't really cause that much damage (hopefully), the I/P situation is infinitely more complicated and far easier to indulge in our worst impulses and bigotries, and people are so fixated on finding something to blast their anger and powerlessness at that they're making a far costlier mistake as a result.

i dont feel like i have anything meaningful to add. you said it best

#asks #anonymous

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ghmctradelicenseinameerpet · 11 months

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GHMC Trade License vs. Shop Act License: Understanding the Differences for Pvt Ltd Company Registration in Hyderabad

Starting a private limited company in Hyderabad involves obtaining various licenses and registrations to ensure compliance with local regulations. Two essential licenses that business owners need to be aware of are the GHMC Trade License and the Shop Act License. While both licenses are crucial, there are key differences between them. In this article, we will explore and compare GHMC Trade License and Shop Act License to provide a better understanding for private limited company registration in Hyderabad. GHMC Trade License The GHMC Trade License is issued by the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation (GHMC) and is mandatory for businesses operating in Hyderabad. Here are some key features of the GHMC Trade License: 1. Scope of License: The GHMC Trade License covers a wide range of businesses, from manufacturing units to shops, restaurants, hotels, and service providers. It ensures that businesses adhere to the municipal corporation's rules and regulations. 2. Legal Compliance: Obtaining a GHMC Trade License ensures that your business operates within the legal framework established by the GHMC. Compliance with the license requirements helps avoid penalties, fines, or even closure of your business. 3. Public Health and Safety: The GHMC Trade License considers factors such as fire safety, health standards, waste disposal, and overall public safety. It ensures that businesses maintain a safe and healthy environment for employees and customers. Shop Act License The Shop Act License, also known as the Shops and Establishments Act License, is a legal requirement for entities operating commercial establishments. Here are some key aspects of the Shop Act License: 1. Scope of License: The Shop Act License applies specifically to commercial establishments such as shops, offices, hotels, restaurants, and establishments providing professional services. It ensures compliance with labor laws and working hour regulations. 2. Employee Welfare: The Shop Act License focuses on ensuring the welfare of employees. It covers aspects such as working hours, leave policies, overtime regulations, and facilities like clean water, ventilation, and restroom provisions. 3. Registration with Authorities: Businesses need to register under the Shops and Establishments Act and obtain the Shop Act License within 30 days of commencing operations. This license is obtained from the respective State Labor Department. Differences Between GHMC Trade License and Shop Act License Now let's highlight the key differences between GHMC Trade License and Shop Act License: 1. Scope: GHMC Trade License covers a broader range of businesses, including manufacturing units and service providers, while the Shop Act License specifically applies to commercial establishments. 2. Focus: GHMC Trade License emphasizes compliance with municipal corporation rules, public health, and safety standards, while the Shop Act License focuses on employee welfare, working hours, and labor regulations. 3. Issuing Authority: GHMC Trade License is issued by the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation, whereas the Shop Act License is issued by the State Labor Department. 4. Applicability: GHMC Trade License is applicable to businesses operating within the GHMC jurisdiction, while the Shop Act License is applicable to commercial establishments in the state of Telangana. Conclusion Understanding the differences between the GHMC Trade License and the Shop Act License is crucial for private limited company registration in Hyderabad. While the GHMC Trade License ensures overall compliance with municipal corporation rules and public safety, the Shop Act License primarily focuses on employee welfare and labor regulations. To operate legally and avoid any penalties, it is important to evaluate the specific requirements of your business and obtain the necessary licenses. Consulting with legal professionals can provide further guidance on obtaining these licenses and ensuring compliance with all relevant regulations, leading to a smooth and successful establishment of your private limited company in Hyderabad.

#ghmctradelicense

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ghmctradeliceneinkukatpally · 11 months

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GHMC Trade License vs. Shop Act License: Understanding the Differences for Pvt Ltd Company Registration in Hyderabad

#ghmctradelicense

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ghmctradelicenseinhyderabad · 11 months

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GHMC Trade License vs. Shop Act License: Understanding the Differences for Pvt Ltd Company Registration in Hyderabad

#ghmctradelicense

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terrynazon · 2 years

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Today's Planets and You! It's the Moon in Aquarius! The Aquarius Moon is friendly and inventive, connecting you to those who share interests, ex-lovers and mentors. #Aquarius, it's your day to put your best foot forward but in a serious and deliberate matter when necessary, a fun flirtatious matter at all other times. Sign up for my Horoscope App, Horoscopes by Terry Nazon on iTunes #Pisces your genius comes out when you can work alone, fix things and then show others what you did #Aries, you don't trust someone! Is it an ex, a friend or a co-worker, the feelings mutual others don't trust you either #Taurus you're in a great position to earn as much as you want if you can focus; your skills are needed #Gemini when things stop or slow down, find other things you can work on you'll be glad you did #Cancer, you simply ignore mishaps and people who are in a bad mood, it has no effect on you. You're too busy! #Leo someone steals your thunder or tries to when someone wants to do exactly what you had planned to do F copycats #Virgo your softer side can come out with the right person, it's time to stop trying so damn hard #Libra you have no need to tell everyone everything you're doing, It's on a need-to-know basis, but people know #Scorpio your mind is working overtime on how to get ahead, you are a creative dynamo, and it's time to be an original #Sagittarius, Happy Solar Return, sweep the past away and be in a state of bliss, Ignore negative types who act strange #Capricorn you're about to embark on something new, and it's a money-maker, Download info from the universe Read your extended Free Horoscope on my website. http://ow.ly/w8JE50LP6KN or click on the link in my Bio ♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♒♓ #sexstrology #horoscope #astrology #zodiac #zodiacsigns #horoscopes #tarot #astrologer #dailyHoroscopes #palmreading #numerology #dreaminterpretation #numerology #BestHoroscopes #zodiacsign #spirituality #TerryNazon https://www.instagram.com/p/Clg2Bkkrshp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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givemethatgold · 3 years

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate.

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods.

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game.

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang.

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband.

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it.

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable.

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile.

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov @trash-dino-5000 @reader-s-cantina @alberta-sunrise @pascal-rascal424 @bts17army @sarahjkl82-blog @grogusmum @radiowallet @vonschweetz @greeneyedblondie44 @diaryofkali @cassandras-nest @silverstarsandsuns @haapeaness @missstef23 @computeringturtle @julesorwhatever @keeper0fthestars @lackofhonor @metahigh @thirstworldproblemss @sergeantbannerbarnes @callsigncatfish @inaturenymph @agingerindenial @pedritobalmando @lord-of-restingbiface @marydjarin @sebbys-girl @apascalrascal @thisshipwillsail316 @bison-writes @absurdthirst @ubri812 @marydjarin @inaturenymph @hyperfixatingmenever @louderrthanthunderr @petersunderoos96 @dobbyjen

#Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Francisco Morales x you #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales x reader #Frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #Francisco catfish morales x you #francisco catfish morales x reader #fix'er upper

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say-al0e · 4 years

Text

Snow Day

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: It’s a snow day with Frankie that ends with him helping you get warmed up.

Warnings: P in v, unprotected; that’s about it.

Pairing: Frankie x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

The living room was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of an old movie you’d seen a million times playing in the background. The light from the television mingled with the soft glow of the fireplace and bathed the living room in a pleasant warmth. Soft snores sounded occasionally, rumbling in the chest of the man you loved, and the sound pulled a smile to your lips as you relaxed in his embrace.

It was barely seven, nowhere near time for bed, but Frankie had been working overtime to cover for a co-worker out with a particularly rough bout of the flu. Despite his exhaustion, Frankie had been insistent that you uphold your weekly tradition of a Friday night movie, though he agreed to stay home instead of actually venturing out to a movie theater.

The moment dinner was over, Frankie sprawled out on the couch. When you joined him, he tugged you against his chest before tugging the heated blanket he teased you for (but secretly enjoyed almost more than you did) over your intertwined bodies. He didn’t argue when you chose a movie you’d both seen too many times to count. He knew why you chose it but that didn’t stop him from attempting to fight his exhaustion for the first half hour.

However, while you fell into the movie, Frankie fell asleep.

Frankie had been fighting sleep since the moment he walked in the door so you weren’t surprised in the slightest when his hold on your waist grew lax and his breathing grew even. Any other time, you would’ve woken him up and teased him for falling asleep on you, however, this time you weren’t going to bother him. You knew that he was exhausted and, though he preferred spending time with you whenever you were both home from work, you knew that sleep was necessary.

As Frankie dozed, you divided your attention between the movie and your cell phone. You scrolled through social media, browsing the posts from friends and family that you missed, and paused whenever a familiar scene captured your attention. You tried to keep your laughter quiet but you knew that despite your best efforts, Frankie heard you. He’d gotten better over the years but he was still a much lighter sleeper than you.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as you attempted to keep quiet, however, a weather alert distracted you and caused you to forget why you’d been so quiet in the first place. You frowned at the winter weather warning and tapped the notification. According to your weather app, you were due for three inches of snow the next day.

You stared at it, a thoughtful frown on your lips, and murmured, “D’you think it’ll actually snow tomorrow?”

Frankie’s eyes drooped with exhaustion and he blinked as he turned his attention to the device in your hands. He glanced at the screen and smiled as he leaned in to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t know,” he hummed, his voice low and thick with sleep, as he reached around you to open the radar screen. “Looks like it’s headed for us but I don’t know if any’ll stick.”

Frankie’s answer was not the one you’d been hoping for and you pouted as you studied at the radar screen yourself. This was the third winter weather advisory you’d gotten and, so far, none of them had resulted in anything more than a handful of flurries. “They keep getting my hopes up,” you huffed as you locked your phone and tossed it onto the cushion beside you. “I was promised snow when we moved here, Francisco,” you teased, playfully pouting at Frankie as you turned to face him.

Frankie laughed at the pout on your lips as he wrapped his arms around you and tugged you tighter against his chest. He pulled the heated blanket a little higher to cover you both and leaned in to press a kiss to your shoulder, clad in one of his old sweatshirts. “I know, honey,” he soothed, though you could still hear the laughter in his voice. “One of the guys at work told me it doesn’t really start getting cold until February. But maybe the third time’s the charm, hm?”

You tilted your head to look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. “Doesn’t get cold? It’s twenty-eight degrees outside! How much fucking colder does it get?” Your question was slightly shrill and surprise laced your words. Frankie snorted at the way your eyes widened and squeezed your hip.

He fixed you with a look of exasperation as he shook his head. “You’re the one who picked this place,” he reminded you with a slight smile as he settled back against the cushion. “I thought you wanted somewhere cold.”

“Well, yeah,” you agreed, frowning as you shifted to wrap the blanket a little tighter around you, “but a tolerable cold. Not the Arctic Circle.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow at your question and looked to be barely concealing his laughter as he reminded you, “Alaska was on your list. Right near the top, if I remember right.”

You waved a hand dismissively and made a face as you pressed your cheek against his chest. “Shh. Don’t remind me of things I said when I was dreaming. I wanted to get as far from Florida as we could; logic be damned.”

“Of course, honey,” Frankie agreed readily, grinning as he leaned in to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “If it doesn’t snow, d’you want to go for a hike? We can stop at that cafe near the trailhead,” he offered as his hand moved to dip beneath the hem of the sweatshirt you wore.

You sighed at the feeling of Frankie’s fingers brushing against your skin as warmth spread through your body. “That sounds nice,” you agreed as you shifted closer to him and tilted your head just enough to look at him. “I wanna get one of those cinnamon buns. They’re the size of my head.”

Frankie tilted his head and looked at you, an eyebrow raised as his eyes raked over your face, and you blinked at him. Before you could ask what he was doing, he quipped, “I didn’t realize you had such a big head.” When your mouth dropped open and a surprised laugh escaped your lips, Frankie grinned at you.

“That was so uncalled for, Francisco,” you huffed, though your grin never faltered. “Sleep deprivation makes you mean. Hmph, let go of me,” you pouted as you pretended to begin pulling yourself from his grasp. “You can sleep on the couch alone.”

Frankie’s laughter rumbled in his chest at your weak attempt to pull away from him and tightened his hold on you as you shifted between his thighs. You rolled over to press your back against his chest and the hand beneath your sweatshirt gripped your hip. His fingers pressed into your skin, the rough digits sending shivers down your spine, as his other hand pressed just beneath your ribcage to keep you flush against his body. When you huffed and turned your head to pout at him, Frankie grinned and leaned in to press a kiss to your lips.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he hummed against your mouth, though he didn’t sound apologetic in the least. His eyes glinted as he watched you pout but he did a good job of stifling his laughter as he began pressing kisses along your jawline and across your cheeks. “I love you.”

You huffed once more as your hands gripped the blanket and Frankie took that as a sign to continue pressing kisses of faux apology down the column of your throat. “Mm,” you hummed, tilting your head just enough to see his eyes, “if you’re really sorry, you’ll make me hot chocolate tomorrow, hike or no hike.”

Frankie fixed you with a look of playful suspicion as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His fingers traced nonsensical patterns against your skin as he asked, “That’s why you wanted to move somewhere cold, isn’t it?”

“What can I say?” Your tone was teasing, playful and bright as you glanced at him, and Frankie struggled to hide his smile as you shrugged and continued, “I love you but your hot chocolate is the real love of my life.” When Frankie rolled his eyes, you grinned at him and moved your hand to his cheek. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing at the feeling of your palm pressed against his skin, and your smile softened as you gently scratched at the hair lining his jaw. “I love you.”

Frankie’s eyes cracked open at your declaration as he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to your palm. “I love you, too, honey.” He paused, glancing over at the clock on the wall with a yawn, before he offered a sheepish smile. “I know it’s early, but what d’you say we head to bed? I’m too fuckin’ old to spend the night on the couch.”

It was barely nine, still too early for bed, but you didn’t want to tease him as the look in his eyes struck you silent. He didn’t need to voice it aloud; you could tell just by looking at him that it was one of those nights. Frankie loved touch and kept you close even on the best of days but some nights, when his thoughts were too loud or his heart was too heavy, he needed you even closer. He attempted to cover it with a joke but you knew him well after nearly four years of dating. So, instead of teasing him, you nodded and gave him a soft smile.

“Sure,” you hummed as you gave his cheek one last stoke. “You put out the fire and I’ll make sure everything is locked up?”

Frankie nodded at your offer and pressed a final kiss to your shoulder before he released you from his grasp. When he let you go, you sat up and reached for the remote to turn off the television as Frankie turned off the heated blanket. He busied himself with the fireplace while you moved through the house, checking locks and making sure everything was powered down for the night. When you finished, you paused in the hallway and waited for Frankie.

After a moment, he crossed the room and took your hand before you both ventured to the bedroom.

Frankie stuck close to you as you went about your nightly routine. You brushed your teeth side by side, with Frankie bumping his hip against yours and grinning when you returned the gesture, and he watched with a soft smile as you went through your nightly skincare routine. When you finally climbed into bed, Frankie kept you close and tugged you against his chest once more. You half-expected him to try and fight his exhaustion even longer, however, in the end, his eyes closed the moment you were both settled into a comfortable position and soft snores began to fill the room.

Though you hadn’t been tired enough to fall asleep on the couch, you felt your own eyes growing heavy as you listened to Frankie’s even breathing. Lying in bed beside him, your head on his chest and your arm thrown over his waist, was the easiest way for you to fall asleep and you were out shortly after him.

Your deepest sleep was always by Frankie’s side and what felt like only minutes later, a gentle touch to your side and a quiet voice murmuring, “Wake up, honey,” pulled you from it. You groaned, annoyed at the interruption, and Frankie laughed. “I know, honey,” he soothed, “but trust me. Wake up.”

You huffed but found yourself listening to him and opening your eyes.

The bedroom, usually bathed in warm sunlight so early in the morning, was bathed in a cool blue light instead. You frowned and he grinned at the confusion that furrowed your brows. When you blinked, he gestured to the window. “Go take a look,” he ordered softly, a small smile on his lips as he propped himself up on an elbow facing the window.

You frowned at him but followed his order nonetheless and climbed out of bed. Despite the hoodie you still wore and the heat you knew Frankie upped at some point in the night, you shivered at the cool air hitting your skin as you padded to the window. You parted the curtain and peeked through the blinds, expecting to see the grass of your backyard. Instead, you saw a blanket of white coating the lawn. Snow, at least the three inches promised, covered everything and you gasped as you stared out the window.

Frost lined the edges of the window and snow piled on the ledge. The ground was completely covered and a bright smile lifted your lips as you turned back to Frankie. He breathed a soft laugh at the look on your face as he climbed out of bed himself.

Before you could ask if he would play in the snow with you, Frankie began padding across the floor to the closet. “You need to put on real clothes,” he reminded you playfully, eying the hoodie of his that you wore with little else covering your skin, “as much as I hate it.”

“If you help me build a snowman, I’ll wear as much or as little as you’d like when we get done,” you promised as you followed him to the closet in search of a jacket to pull over the sweatshirt as well as a pair of warm pants. Frankie raised an eyebrow at your offer and you winked at him as you took the puffy jacket of his he offered. “It snowed, Frankie! Real, honest to God snow that stuck!”

“I know, honey,” he hummed, still grinning as he rummaged through his stuff for the beanies he kept beneath a pile of hats. “If I’d known all it took was a little snow to make you this happy, we would’ve left Florida years ago.”

You both knew that wasn’t true - you’d only left Florida because you had to - but you didn’t dwell on that. Instead, you grinned and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek after he tugged the hat onto your head and fixed it over your ears. “Come on! I want to make a snowman before the snow gets all gross and dirty.”

“Hey, wait,” he laughed, watching as you began heading for the door with bare feet. “Boots, honey. And, here,” he hummed as he handed you a pair of gloves that were far too big for your hands. “I know you still don’t have any.”

“I keep forgetting,” you defended as you reached around him to grab your boots from the shoe rack at the bottom of the closet. “I’ll get some next week, promise.” Frankie made a noise that sounded as if he didn’t believe you but said nothing further as he watched you tug on a pair of fluffy socks and your boots. When the laces were tightened, you shoved your hands into the gloves and wiggled your fingers. “If I make a shitty snowball, I’m blaming your gloves.”

“Sure,” he snorted as he laced his own boots before following you down the hall. “You know what they say about a carpenter who blames his tools,” he teased as you nearly ran through the house.

You glanced at him over your shoulder and stuck your tongue out at him but offered no reply as you rushed toward the backdoor. You heard him laugh and you grinned as you unlocked the door and threw it open. You paused, grinning at the sight, before you stepped outside.

You felt Frankie’s eyes on you as you bounded down the back steps and into the backyard. Snow covered every inch of the ground and your boots sank into it as you wandered around. Snow was still falling, light flakes landed on your coat and hit your cheeks as you grinned at the sight, and you were grateful that he woke you.

You knew that you looked silly with parted lips and wide eyes but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you stomped through the snow and giggled at the trail of footprints you left behind. Frankie leaned against the railing of the stairs and watched as you amused yourself, exploring the frozen world of your backyard, before you turned to him with a grin.

When you bent down, eyes still trained on him, his eyes narrowed. He slowly descended the stairs himself, his boots sinking into the snow beside your tracks, and he raised an eyebrow as he watched you begin gathering snow for a snowball.

“You really wanna do this, honey?” His tone was teasing and you saw a spark of mischief in his eyes he kneeled and began to gather snow for his own snowball. “You do remember that I was special ops, right?”

“Doesn’t mean shit, old man,” you teased, grinning brightly as you fumbled with the too-big gloves. “This is a snowball fight, not a mission. Show me what you got.”

You knew that Frankie wouldn’t throw the first snowball so you didn’t hesitate to toss yours directly at him. It hit him square in the chest, snow flying into his face, and he leveled you with a look that sent a small thrill down your spine. Before you could blink, he lobbed his own snowball at you. It hit you in the shoulder and you squealed as the snow splattered against your jacket and a few pieces of ice hit your face.

“Oh, this means war!”

Frankie laughed at your declaration and, for the first time in weeks, looked truly relaxed as he knelt and began gathering more snow. To his credit, he chased you around the backyard and lobbed snowballs - and took the ones you lobbed at him - with a bright grin and laughter. You knew that this wasn’t his first choice for a Saturday but he indulged you and your chest filled with warmth every time his laughter filled the backyard.

The snowball fight lasted for nearly twenty minutes. True to his training, Frankie used sneak attacks to his advantage and popped up in places you least expected him. Your shots were mostly to his back as he ran away or lobbed over your shoulder as you ran from him but it was the most fun you’d had in months.

You would’ve been content to run around for the rest of the day. Frankie, on the other hand, had a different idea. He hid behind the shed, waiting for you to round the corner, and when you got close enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest. When you playfully shouted your defeat, Frankie laughed. With his lips at your ear, he asked, “Ready to surrender?”

His scruff brushed your neck and you sighed as you tilted your head to give him better access to press a soft kiss to your throat. “Sure,” you agreed readily as you leaned into his embrace, “but only if you give me a kiss.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” he hummed, his lips brushing your neck as his hands gripped your waist, “but, just this once, I’ll allow it.” With that, Frankie loosened his hold on you just enough for you to turn and face him.

You smiled at the sight of him. His cheeks were pink with the cold and the exertion, his breath was released in puffs of vapor as it mingled with the freezing air, and snowflakes lined the pieces of his hair that stuck out from beneath his beanie. When you met his eyes, he matched your smile and reached out to adjust the hat you wore before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You sighed against his mouth, content to keep kissing him, and stepped in closer as he held you tight against his chest. You lingered, your mouth molding against his, and frowned when he pulled away from you after a moment. “I promise I’m not done with you,” he teased, grinning as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “But maybe we should head inside? I’ve survived this long without frostbite.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing but nodded and untangled yourself from him. He held your hand as best as he could with the gloves and smiled as he began guiding you back into the house. “Can we come back out later? When we’re both warm,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his as you continued to stomp through the snow with a grin.

“Sure,” Frankie nodded, a soft smile on his lips as he opened the backdoor for you. “We have to build a snowman,” he reminded you as he closed the door behind you both.

“How did I forget about a snowman?” When you pouted, Frankie shook his head but offered no reply as he knelt to the floor and gestured for you to give him your foot. You brought your hand to your chest and cooed at him. “You’re the sweetest,” you hummed as he tugged off your boots and placed them near the door before he stood and removed his own.

Frankie laughed at your compliment as he tugged off his gloves and tossed them onto the counter. When you copied his movement and tossed your own onto the counter, he reached out for your hand and pulled you back into his embrace. His lips found yours again and you sighed happily as you reached up and tugged the hat from his hair so you could tangle your fingers in the soft curls.

Frankie’s hands dipped beneath your sweatshirt and you shivered at the feeling of his cool fingers against your skin. Goosebumps covered your body and he hummed in apology as his lips moved against yours. As you carded your fingers through his hair, Frankie’s hands drifted higher and his thumbs brushed the skin just below your breasts.

He slowly began guiding you back, walking you toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, and you giggled against his lips as your back bumped into the wall. He grinned as he nipped at your bottom lip before he murmured a soft apology against your mouth. You paused every few steps to focus on the kiss, neither of you in much of a rush, and began peeling pieces of your layers off as you wandered down the hall.

You left a trail of winter clothing behind you. Your hat, both of your scarves, the large coats you both wore, your pants; the garments littered the hall and you knew that you’d share a laugh about it later. The only thing that mattered in the moment was Frankie’s mouth on yours and the feeling of his warmth as his body pressed against yours.

By the time you entered the bedroom, the pair of you were nearly bare and you pulled away from the kiss to tug your final layer up and over your head. When the hoodie was on the floor, you glanced at Frankie and laughed at the state of him. His hair stuck up at odd angles from your fingers running through it and. He was clad in his t-shirt, boxers, and a pair of thick socks.

He huffed playfully at your laughter but shucked the rest of his clothing as he watched you tug off your own socks and underwear. When you were both bare, he reached out for you once more and walked you back to the bed. You fell into the center and smiled at him as he joined you.

Frankie kissed you once more before he turned his attention to your neck. His facial hair brushed your skin and you hummed at the feeling as his hands explored your exposed skin. He paid your breasts special attention, his hands kneading the flesh as he pressed kisses along the column of your throat, and you trailed your fingers down his chest in search of him.

You felt his breathing stutter against your neck as your hand found his cock. You teased him slightly, your fingers ghosting along the shaft, before you reached up to tug his face away from your neck and made a show of dipping your hand between your thighs.

Frankie watched with lust blown eyes as your fingers brushed through your folds. You gathered own arousal and coated your fingers before you reached out for him again. When you wrapped your hand around his cock and used your slick to coat his length, Frankie groaned.

“Fuck,” he huffed as his head dropped back to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he warned, his words gruff as he shifted his hips into your grasp.

“Mm, I’m just trying to earn that hot chocolate you promised me,” you teased as his hand began trailing down your body.

Frankie made no effort to return your quip. Instead, his hand moved down your body and dipped between your thighs. You felt his breath fan across your neck as he released a shuddering sigh as his fingers swiped through your folds. “Always so wet for me,” he murmured, still sounding just as wonderstruck as he’d been the first time you slept together.

“Only for you,” you breathed, your words far more breathless than you intended as his fingers found your entrance.

Frankie’s breathing steadily grew more labored. His breath fanned across your neck as your hand worked his cock. He did his best to focus on you, his fingers working into you to open you up, and you shifted beneath him to gain more friction. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your clit and you keened as he nipped at your neck once more.

“Fuck me, please, Frankie,” you sighed, as your free hand moved back to his hair. “Wanna feel you inside.”

A shudder ran down Frankie’s spine at your plea and he nodded as he pulled his fingers from you. He gently nudged your hand away from his cock and used the arousal that coated his own fingers to slick his cock as he aligned himself with your entrance. He pulled away just enough to see your face and kept his eyes on your expression as he sank into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted in a quiet moan as your hand flew to his bicep. Frankie slowly filled you and when he was fully inside, stilled to give you a moment to adjust. He leaned in and pressed kisses along your jaw, his lips trailing over your heated skin, and you shifted at the feeling of him inside of you.

Every time Frankie was inside of you felt better than the last. He knew you well enough to know what you liked and made sure to give you what you desired as he hurtled you both over the cliff to release. You’d foregone condoms a year earlier and you couldn’t imagine returning to them with him as you savored the ability to feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he slowly began to move.

He captured your lips in a kiss that was a mess of teeth and tongue, a clash of lips against skin, and you breathed moans of his name against his mouth as he began to set a rhythm.

You gripped his bicep, your fingers digging into his skin, as he slipped his hand between your thighs and focused his attention on your clit. As you climbed higher and higher, more moans spilled past your lips. With each word of praise you shared, Frankie’s pace quickened and his thrusts grew deeper. You could feel him chasing his own high as you clenched around him, your orgasm washing over you and sending a shiver down your spine, and you begged him to let go as he continued to brush your clit.

With a few final thrusts, Frankie met his own end. His hips stuttered as he came and you moaned at the feeling of him filling you. He remained inside for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours as you both attempted to catch your breath, before he pulled out and moved to lay beside you.

The pair of you laid in silence for a moment, both of you attempting to return your heart rates to normal, before Frankie sat up. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before he reached for the pajama pants he’d worn to bed the night before.

You watched with a frown as he stood and tugged them on. “Where’re you going?” You asked, your lips forming a pout as you reached out for him.

“I promised you hot chocolate,” he reminded you with a grin as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You grinned at his answer and nodded as you shifted. You glanced at the sheets and hummed. “I’ll change the sheets while you make hot chocolate. Then we can spend the day in bed,” you bargained.

Frankie laughed at your response but nodded. “Sure, honey,” he agreed readily, “sounds like a plan.”

It wasn’t the hike you’d imagined but it was the perfect snow day. Though you only spent a fraction of your time outside, any excuse to cuddle in bed with Frankie was one you’d gladly take. And you could only hope for more snow days with Frankie to follow.

_________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: It snowed on Thursday and it’s supposed to snow again tonight. As a southerner, I am Not Used to this and I am freezing. My electric blanket is my bestie and I love it. But also I did play in the snow and I have never gotten out of bed as fast as I did Thursday morning. Like, I hopped out of bed and ran into my backyard and just stomped through the snow. 10/10, def recommend.

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#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #v's fics

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rfaromance · 4 years

Note

can i request....jaehee coming back home and being tired from work, and mc cuddling with her and helping her relax? 🥺

This is my first Jaehee piece, so I hope it’s okay! ;w; Give Jaehee a vacation ASAP.

Bells.

The soft, familiar chime echoed throughout the room, and MC’s head perked up at the sound of it.

“Let me turn that off really quickly,” she murmured, and she gently placed her knife down and patted her hands on her apron. “Let’s see… phone, phone…” MC strode over to the kitchen table, where a single smartphone sat humming that same jingling tune. “There we go.” A simple tap was all that was necessary to shut off the alarm, and as suddenly as it had started, the phone fell silent. “We can’t have her finding out about that alarm, after all.”

Perhaps setting an alarm to indicate the usual time when her girlfriend came home was… embarrassing.

However, if MC had to guess, Jaehee Kang was the type of person who would be impressed with her attention to detail and her dedication to her relationship. After all, as soon as she figured out the average time that Jaehee came home from work each day, she had coordinated her own schedule accordingly. Tonight, MC was determined to show her girlfriend her culinary progress. Last week she had spotted a particularly delicious recipe that she was certain they would both enjoy, and so today, she had shifted her own work hours so she could arrive home with enough time to prepare the meal.

Of course, judging from the fact that her alarm had already gone off, MC’s cooking speed was not quite up to par. “I have to hurry,” she murmured, and with a new sense of resolve, she dashed back into the kitchen to chop up vegetables. Jaehee would be arriving any minute now, after all.

~~~

One hour.

MC wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as she gazed down at her masterpiece. Warm, steamy rice; heart-shaped carrots and cucumbers; tantalizing tuna tartare; and rolled eggs covered in a heart-shaped ketchup smear. “Perfect!” Her chest swelled with pride at the sight of the meal, and she bit her lip in excitement as she imagined herself presenting her work to Jaehee. “That didn’t take too long,” she murmured, and relief washed over her. Jaehee wasn’t even home yet; she must have only taken… an additional ten minutes? Fifteen at most, if the subway was crowded?

When MC peeked at the clock, she felt all of her enthusiasm melt away and anxiety begin to creep into her heart. “An hour?!” she gasped. “I took that long?”

Note to self: add an extra hour to estimated cooking time.

More importantly, however… Jaehee still wasn’t home.

“It’ll be any moment now,” MC breathed, as she reached into the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of water. “Jumin must have had to talk to her after work, or something like that.”

She set the little kitchen table with two place settings, eagerly awaiting her girlfriend’s imminent arrival.

~~~

Two hours.

Two hours had passed since that alarm chirped.

Curiously, MC’s phone had been silent ever since then. Not a single call or text from Jaehee, or even Jumin. Yoosung must have been playing LOLOL or studying, Zen was probably at rehearsal, and Saeyoung…

Quite candidly, MC tried not to think too hard about what he might be doing at any given moment.

She sat on the couch, absentmindedly trying to read a book but finding her mind wandering too much to actually be able to focus on the words. Where was Jaehee? How was Jaehee? Was she safe?

A clattering of bells suddenly slapped her ears, and MC’s head jerked up and her gaze immediately locked onto her phone. However, the little smartphone remained silent and still. Curiously, MC’s eyes traveled towards the front door.

The sight that awaited her made her jump to her feet. The bells that hung on the doorknob rattled wildly as a familiar figure flung the door open. MC had specifically chosen her bell ringtone to mimic the sound of the bells on the front door; she had never heard those blissful bells sound so frantic, frenzied, and jarring.

One step. Two steps.

Jaehee stumbled over to the couch, raised her hand feebly to wave at MC, and then collapsed onto the plush surface.

“Jaehee!” MC cried, and she immediately dashed over to help ease Jaehee into a more comfortable position. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids, leaving her amber eyes frighteningly dull. Her soft brown bangs were scattered all over her face, sticking up in odd directions. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Finally sitting upright, Jaehee managed to nod and place a hand on MC’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this,” she murmured, and her embarrassment became evident as a deep pink flush spread onto her cheeks. “I promise I am fine.”

MC pouted and reached forward to brush Jaehee’s hair back into place. “You don’t look fine,” she stated flatly. She hated to be so blunt, but her girlfriend was the type of person who would prefer straightforward honesty… as long as she was considerate. “Have you eaten?”

Jaehee chuckled softly and shook her head pitifully. “I had… a glass of milk,” she murmured. “Mr. Chairman approved Mr. Han’s latest cat-based project, much to everyone’s surprise. And Mr. Han, ever practical, ever productive, ever business-minded and ever…” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper, as if she were worried about being overheard. “…heartless and robotic,” she continued, and a sly smile flickered onto her lips. How long had she been waiting, desperately, to say those words? “Sorry, I should not speak of Mr. Han that way. He is my boss, he is an RFA member, and he is your friend.”

MC gently lifted Jaehee’s hand from her shoulder and squeezed it tightly. “You can always speak your mind with me, Jaehee,” she assured her. “We’re equals. We’re each one half of a whole.” She leaned forward to plant a kiss on the young woman’s forehead. “And besides, since I am friends with Jumin, I know perfectly well how robotic he can be,” she added with a laugh. “I’m guessing he worked you way overtime, right? The nerve!”

Jumin’s assistant shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but the shadows in her eyes betrayed how exasperated she felt. “He wants to release a cat clothing line before winter settles in,” she explained. “So that people will buy more of his products to shield their cats from the cold. Plus, once Christmas comes, people will be spoiling their pets. All things considered, he is being very smart about this.”

MC frowned and gave Jaehee’s hand another squeeze. “He’s a brilliant businessman but a bumbling boss.” She grabbed her girlfriend’s other hand and tugged on her arms, trying to lift her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you some—oh!”

Jaehee let out a sharp cry of pain and collapsed back onto the couch, startling MC. She quickly dropped her girlfriend’s hands and took a step back, trembling slightly. “Did I hurt you?” she gasped. “Did I pull too hard? Oh, no…”

Before the flustered young woman could fly into a panic, Jaehee raised her hand to stop her. “My shoulders are just a bit sore,” she explained. “A good night’s sleep will help me. Assuming Mr. Han doesn’t call me or email me…” she added, and a flicker of fear fluttered in her eyes.

“No. I’ll pick up if he calls,” MC insisted. “And you know what? I’m banning any mention of Jumin for the rest of the night.” She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin up high. “I declare that you, Jaehee Kang, are the star of the evening!”

She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she expected, but a blank look definitely was not at the top of the list. “S-star?” Jaehee echoed. “Me?”

MC nodded definitively. “Yes,” she declared, and her tone suggested that there was no room for argument. “Jaehee, let me give you a massage,” she went on, shifting gears now. Her voice fell to a low murmur, and she plopped down on the couch beside her so she could reach Jaehee’s back. “Before we get you to the kitchen, we need to relieve some of this tension.” She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them up, then gently placed them onto the tops of Jaehee’s shoulders. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” she whispered, blowing directly into Jaehee’s ear.

Her girlfriend turned to glare at her, and MC whistled innocently before turning back to the task at hand. Flustering Jaehee was a little too easy… and a little too fun.

The overworked assistant grew silent, however, as soon as MC began to rub her fingers into her exhausted, tight muscles. “God, Jaehee, how do you even move?” MC muttered. “There are more knots in your shoulders than in a shoelace factory.”

“Shouldn’t the shoelaces be free of knots?” Jaehee pointed out.

MC blushed and just continued to rub, massaging Jaehee’s shoulders by moving her fingers in small circles.

“C-could you move closer to my neck?” Jaehee asked timidly. With a simple nod, MC began to dance her fingers across Jaehee’s back, until finally she was able to dig her thumbs into the top of the young woman’s trapezius muscle.

“So stiff,” MC muttered, and she began to massage and pinch with extra vivacity.

“I think I feel better though,” Jaehee informed her. “I can stand now. Would you… give me a hand?”

MC shook her head defiantly. “Nope. I’m bringing your dinner over here,” she insisted. “And I’ll go grab ‘The Jalapeno Topping Was Quite Spicy’ for us to watch while you eat.”

“P-please pick any other one but that!” Jaehee pleaded, and MC giggled as she snuggled up beside her girlfriend to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“Okay, okay,” she murmured, and she nuzzled her nose against Jaehee’s (hopefully more relaxed) neck. “But only if you let me sit like this for just a minute longer.”

~~~

“… please move, MC.”

MC shook her head and spread her arms out wide, blocking her girlfriend from entering the bedroom door. “No! I’m telling you, hot water will help your muscles to heal!”

Jaehee sighed and rubbed the back of her neck subconsciously. “Your massage helped me immensely,” she tried to reassure her. “I just want to sleep now.”

“Please?” MC pleaded, now clasping her hands together. “When’s the last time you took a soak in a hot, steamy bathtub?”

Jaehee tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Probably not since I was a child. I prefer showers.”

MC could feel her eye begin to twitch. While Jaehee was eating dinner, she had dashed off to the bathroom to prepare a surprise for the exhausted businesswoman. If Jaehee went directly to bed…

‘My hard work will go to waste!’

“When’s the last time you took a shower, then?” MC pressed. “With how busy you’ve been?”

Jaehee opened her mouth to respond, but then her eyes grew wide and her face grew pale. “I… will go take a shower now,” she mumbled, conceding defeat. She turned around and headed towards the bathroom door.

“I’ll fluff your pillows for you!” MC called out after her, and she turned around to turn the doorknob that led to the bedroom. She could picture the scene in her head already: candles on the counter, a bath full of hot water, soapy bubbles coating the surface of the tub, and the soft lullaby of Zen’s musical album reverberating around the room. Surely, nothing could make her happier and more relaxed—

MC squeaked as a firm hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“You…” Jaehee began, breathing down her neck and into her ear. “You… did all of this for me?”

MC didn’t even bother to turn around. “Of course. I love you, Jaehee.”

She didn’t have to see Jaehee’s face to know that she was blushing furiously right now.

“Do you…” Jaehee began, and the tremble in her voice was admittedly concerning. Did she do something wrong? Should she have chosen different candles? Was Jaehee not fond of lavender bubble bath?

“…care to join me?”

Now that would definitely help Jaehee relax.

#jaehee kang #mystic #mysmes #mysme #mc x jaehee #fanfiction #mm fanfic

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antoine-roquentin · 4 years

Link

The clear subtext of the last half-decade of political upheaval has been rising impatience with how difficult it has become to enjoy things once considered the basics of life. Young people leave school saddled in debt, consider themselves lucky if they get health insurance, and are usually so far from being able to imagine owning their own homes or having real professional security that marriage or children seem like absurd, unattainable luxuries.

For older people further along in life, the logistical challenges of mere living have become so outrageous that many have committed to Dickensian work regimes, only to discover that in America, even working overtime costs money. You take a second job to pay for the child care necessitated by the first, and the little ancillary costs that seemed not so serious once — from DMV fees to getting a stove repaired to parking — now trigger a pucker factor just to consider. That’s without even taking into account all the various near-automatically bankrupting endgames built into the American experience that most people try as much as possible not to think about: serious illness, an elderly relative forced into care, divorce, surprise legal problems, etc.

The fact that a year ago, anyone thought it made sense to tell the millions of people forced daily to navigate all this stupidity that they needed to focus on a labyrinthine political controversy in Ukraine — and to blast them for deficits of “sobriety and clarity” when they didn’t — told you everything you needed to know about the cluelessness of the people who run this country.

Then the pandemic happened.

No conspiracy theories are necessary to point out that all of the institutions Americans were in the process of rejecting just a year ago have since increased their power and influence. Be it opportunism or coincidence, the international emergency has written a dramatic heel turn into our history.

A sweeping Fed-based rescue program resulted in enormous booms in asset values, allowing America’s wealthiest to increase their net worth by nearly a trillion dollars since the start of the pandemic (in mid-summer, American billionaires were collectively earning $42 billion per week). The disease pummeled people who actually had to travel to work, while empowering conglomerates like Amazon, which tripled its profits in the third quarter alone. Most of our lives are online now, an ironic reward to intelligence services that went unpunished after illegal surveillance programs were disclosed in the Obama years.

After all that upheaval, the White House is about to be re-occupied by a political fossil from the eighties, surrounded by a zombie cabinet of Iraq War supporters, drone assassination proponents, corporate lawyers, lobbyists, and neoliberal economists, coming from places like Amazon, DuPont, and Raytheon (the Pentagon appointment of the current Henry Kissinger Chair from the Center from Strategic and International Studies was a nice homage to the unchangingly vile character of America’s royal court). How bad any of this is in comparison with the chaotic presidency of Donald Trump is arguable, but it surely represents the triumph of Sameness, a powerful reminder that in America, you ultimately can’t beat City Hall. Or can you?

The news in recent years often reads like accounts of America before the Sixties upheavals. That was also a time when long-held myths were rapidly losing force and people were beginning to question the palette of life choices celebrated in places like the Book of the Month Club and Life magazine. Men wondered why they were being sent around the world to kill poor people, only to come home to what Paul Goodman described as a “style of life dictated by Personnel… to work to pay installments on a useless refrigerator.”

Women had it worse, consigned to tend house and give themselves nightly as a reward for men who’d completed their “covenant of murder” in places like Vietnam. Spirituality in much of Jim Crow America was a superficial weekly injunction to conformity at archaic churches and temples, while our real religion, consumerism, became a constant devotional exercise, bolstered by a thousand dazzling commercials for products that people began to realize fulfilled every conceivable need, but the most important.

We’re in such a similar place, and though America’s political leaders learned a great deal from those times — the list of absurd Woke Headlines run here a few days ago chronicles the extremely clever effort to commoditize and sell the desire for political action that had no permissible outlet in the sixties — the reality is, if you keep giving people nothing but crappy choices, they’ll eventually write their own story, even if they can’t do it through voting.

Americans are tired. The rancorous politics they’ve been sold as bread-and-circus diversions are tiring, not laughing is tiring, having too much work and too little money is tiring, being stuck inside now is tiring, even being sexually frustrated is tiring (look at the stats on that one sometime, if you want insight into why so many Americans seemed a tad touchy in recent years). The most exhausting part is the mandate to take it all seriously. Unfortunately for America’s leaders, that’s the easiest part to change, which is why 2021 feels like such a good candidate to be the year things finally begin turning in a happier direction.

Distortions on CNN or in the New York Times drive people crazy, but that’s only because they remember trusting those sources. They’ll forget soon and learn to walk right past mass media blather as if it were just amusingly terrible wallpaper, the way Soviets eventually did with Pravda and Izvestia. Student debt is crushing and college is an overpriced scam, but a reckoning of sorts is coming when people stop being ashamed of vocational school. Facebook and Instagram turbocharged the impact of fear-based “ring around the collar”-style marketing, but what happens when the pandemic recedes and going offline is possible again? Throwing off worries about likes and rediscovering real-life interaction feels destined to become a fashionable dissident statement, in the same way tuning in, turning on, and “dropping out” was an obvious response to the stultifying conformity of the fifties.

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pixieposts · 4 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 26

AO3

Today’s prompt was “recovery” so this is a little companion piece to yesterday’s prompt. I got all my medical info from healthline and mayoclinic. This will be the very last prompt I fill! I’ve already written 27 and 28, so I’ll have finished with exactly 7 days to spare (it’s the 23rd right now). I hope you enjoy!

Specific TW’s

Brief descriptions of injuries

MotherHen!Fjord

Beau and Yasha arrived at the hospital around noon to pick them up. Fjord had called that morning, explaining the situation and worrying that the truck would be too hard for Caleb to get into. The door flew open, and Caleb winced at the sound.

“Beau, concussion remember?” Fjord glared

“Shit- right sorry man”

She walked over, a sheepish look on her face as she stopped to take in the scene. Fjord knew what she was seeing, because he saw it too. Caleb covered in bandages and bruises, Caleb in a cast, in a hospital, with tubes all around him. Caleb hurt. He caught her eye and grimaced sympathetically; it would be hard for her. A large hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see Yasha smiling tentatively at him.

“We brought clothes”

“Danke Yasha, Beauregard, that was very thoughtful of you”

“No naked ginger butts in the van”

“Such a wonderful sister, your concern is touching”

“I don’t want your ass touching the seats is all”

Fjord rolled his eyes and stood, leaning forward to hit the buzzer for the nurse's station.

The next hour was a blur of activity while the nurse got Caleb unhooked from his machines, Fjord walked him (probably too slowly) to the bathroom to help him change from the hospital gown to the clothes Beau had brought. She had made excellent choices, soft worn sweatpants and a loose fitted t-shirt (one of Fjords, if the way it hung off Caleb’s shoulder was an indication) and a zippered hoodie. Fjord tried not to wince at the sheer amount of bruising that covered Caleb’s skin, but his expression betrayed him. Caleb reached for him as Fjord went to open the door, tugging lightly to get him close before pressing his forehead to Fjord’s shoulder. Fjord held him as gently as he could, feeling the way Caleb’s hands shook where they gripped his shirt. The nurse had given him a rundown off all the necessary caretaking instructions, along with a few printouts with the same information. Beau took Fjords keys and parking lot ticket, offering to drive the truck back to their apartment so he could sit in the van with Caleb.

Getting Caleb into the apartment took much longer than usual, mostly because Fjord refused to let him walk faster than absolutely necessary. Yasha walked in ahead of them, unlocking the door and scooping up a very grumpy Frumpkin. She went ahead, turning on as few lights as she could. Fjord got Caleb settled in his favourite armchair before taping the care instructions to the fridge.

No strenuous activity, limit screens, no driving... Sleep upright at first, icepack for pain, pain meds....

Did they have pain meds? He couldn’t remember the last time they had bought any. He checked the bathroom, pulling out a mostly empty bottle and shaking two loose. Grabbing a glass of water he made his way back to the living room. Yasha had settled herself on the floor cushion Molly had bought them the year before, and Frumpkin was purring in Caleb’s lap. Fjord held out the meds and Caleb sighed.

“You heard the nurse, take them every four hours on the dot unless you want the pain to catch up to you”

Caleb took the meds, swallowing them with the cold water and handed the glass back.

“Beau’s grabbing meds, she wants to know if you want burgers?”

Yasha and Beau left around dinner, keeping an eye on Caleb while Fjord made all the necessary phone calls to Caduceus and Vandran. Caleb wouldn’t be working until his concussion was at least mostly gone, and Fjord knew he wouldn’t work until Caleb could be left alone again. He was suddenly far more thankful for all the horrible overtime shifts he had been working.

The first two weeks were the worst.

Caleb struggled with the effects of the concussion most, the fogginess in his mind was something he wasn't used to. He was forgetful and unbalanced to the point of Fjord insisting on helping him every time he had to walk more than a few steps. It didn’t help that he couldn’t watch TV without an instant headache or read without getting nauseous. Fjord tried to make things as easy as he could, but Caleb was irritable and frustrated by it all. He couldn’t even take a shower without at least leaving the door open in case he got the spins.

“I hate this Fjord, I hate it”

“I know love, it’s got to be frustrating, but-”

“But nothing, this is the worst. I just want to read or sleep normally! Is that so much to ask?”

Fjord just sighed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder gently and pressing a kiss to his temple. The helpless feeling was something he was rapidly getting used to.

The snappish behaviour continued, only getting worse as time went on. It got to a point that Fjord just stopped talking, as anything he said seemed to set Caleb off. He didn’t blame him of course, Caleb was used to being independent, he was used to working and reading and writing... he couldn’t do any of that. And if he took it out on Fjord well... Fjord was still battling the guilt of leaving him in the hospital by himself all night. It was worse when the nightmares started, Caleb would wake sweating and shaking and absolutely refuse to let Fjord near him. Fjords own nightmares he kept to himself.

Things started to look up as Caleb’s concussion symptoms lessened and he was able to do more on his own, but Fjord still hovered. He tried to hide it as well as he could, but the image of Caleb in the hospital, of the black and purple bruising that had covered his skin... well, that sort of thing is hard to forget.

Four weeks had passed, and Caleb had been given the okay to sleep lying down again, and they were finally getting the cast off his arm. The doctor had been very pleased with the progress his ribs were making as well. They lay in bed the night the cast came off, Caleb lifted his arm up into the air and flexed his fingers.

“Must feel nice”

“It feels... lighter” he sat up, turning to looked at Fjord and chewing his lip “Fjord...”

Fjord sighed, sitting up and pulling Caleb close, he knew that face.

“Whatever you’re about to apologize for, don’t”

“But-”

“Nope” Fjord popped the P before pressing a kiss to Calebs cheek “nothing to apologize for”

“I was awful to you; you were just trying to help”

“You were frustrated and had a literal brain injury Cay. I can’t imagine how... how shitty that must be, and I’m the one who should be apologizing anyway”

“If this is about the phone thing again-”

“You were alone in there, after getting in a massive accident”

It was Caleb’s turn to sigh as Fjord settled them back in bed and Caleb pressed in as close as he could to Fjords side. It was hard not to just roll over and hold him properly, but his ribs still had healing to do and Fjord would be damned before he messed them up.

The next morning while Fjord was making breakfast, Caleb walked into the kitchen looking excited.

“What’s up?”

“Turn around”

Fjord set the pan onto a cool burner and turned, raising an eyebrow curiously as Caleb stepped in close. Caleb slid his arms around Fjord’s waist, holding tight as Fjord wrapped his around the smaller mans shoulders. He rested his cheek against the top of Caleb’s head, taking a deep breath as the comfort of having him close washed over him.

“I realized I didn’t do this yesterday” Calebs voice was muffled against his shirt “I wanted to, because I couldn’t before and... gods it feels so nice”

“I missed it too”

They stood like that, just holding each other, until the toasted buzzed and pulled them back to reality.

The day of Calebs six-week checkup arrived in a buzz of excitement. If the x-rays came back clean, Caleb could go back to his life. Fjord knew he was desperate to get back to work. The concussion was nearly gone from what they could tell, he had been able to read without feeling sick for nearly a week now and the bathroom light was no longer the enemy. If his ribs were healed to a point that the doctors were no longer concerned...

Fjord sat in the waiting room while Caleb was in the x-ray, drinking the horrible hospital coffee and wishing for some of Cad’s tea. The nurse who had been on duty the night of Caleb’s accident came out to get him, smiling encouragingly. He was led down the hall to one of the small consultation rooms, the nurse opened the door and Fjord stepped in. He barely had enough to register the X-rays up on the light screen before Caleb had thrown his arms around Fjord's neck, knocking the air out of him. He caught Caleb instinctively, wrapping his arms around his chest and steadying them both with a laugh.

“Good news I guess?”

He looked over Calebs head to the doctor, who was smiling indulgently as he nodded.

“All clear, his ribs look good as new. Just keep an eye on any lingering concussion symptoms and hopefully we won’t see you any time soon”

“Thanks doc, really”

Fjord managed to steer Caleb out of the room, shuffling them so that he was tucked under Fjord's arm as they walked. They got to the parking lot and Caleb pulled him to a stop before he could open the truck. Fjord turned, and Caleb wrapped himself around him again. Fjord chuckled, burying his nose in the long ginger hair and reveling in the simple pleasure of holding him tight.

“It feels good to have proper grip on you again”

Fjord kissed the top of his head, giving him a squeeze.

“Damn right it does”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday26 #recovery #brief description of injury #MotherHen!Fjord

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ofmythsandmadness · 5 years

Text

i need a favour - five.

PART FIVE - dinner and a show - or in which, two dumbasses both struggling with the same emotional dilemma force themselves to continue their silly little game without acknowledging what’s really going on in their minds (or something like that). WORD COUNT - 4716. A/N - It’s been so long, I’m really sorry. I had zero inspiration for this chapter and struggled to even write 200 words...and then just sort of spent two+ weeks writing little by little until this happened. It’s not great, but it’s...it’s a thing. Just as reference - the relationship between the two sisters (as portrayed in the chapter) is tense and broken from unnamed past experiences. basically to sum it up, they were close as kids, but they didn’t have great parents, and both were just depending on each other. but then the older sister left y/n alone with them when she turned 18 and basically turned against her, becoming totally independent and renouncing her old life - including y/n. while the two are trying to have a relationship now (really just forced by her sister), it’s strained and not at all the same. and her sister really’s just a dick, it’s not entirely her fault but she’s a dick. so that’s that, on that. and that makes no sense...but it’s too early for me to make sense. enjoy.x

THANK GOD FOR HER SISTER’S WINE CELLAR.

Sure, she had mocked her silently plenty-a-time for it, believing it truly a waste of aesthetic space considering how little her sister drank - but Y/N was really singing its praises that night. Quite possibly, the best thing her sister had ever done.

“He’ll be here,” she promised, wincing as the red liquid slipped down her throat. “He’s just running late at work.”

That was complete bullshit. Really, she had no clue where the guy was - all she had gotten from Diego that day was a call two hours before heading over, a rushed conversation telling her he might be late and that she should go there on her own. Reassuring. But she could not explain to her sister that, no matter what the woman knew about the two of them.

Weren’t couples dinners supposed to be light-hearted, not, ‘my fake-boyfriend might be doing something super dangerous and stupid and I will have no clue until the hospital calls me because I’m still his emergency contact, even after bitchin’ and bitchin’ at him to change it’? She was not totally sure, but had a feeling that was not a good thing to mention over drinks with her way-too-eager-to-judge sister.

“He’s still coming, right?” the woman asked, a twinkle in her eye. “I mean, this isn’t just a joke on me, you do have a boyfriend?”

“Don’t be funny. He’s coming.”

“Good. I’m glad. And I mean that - I was worried about you, for a little bit.”

Y/N frowned. “Mm. Worried?”

“Sure,” her sister shrugged. Her tone was light-hearted, but there was a hint of malice behind it - because there always had to be, with her. “It’s been a while since the last guy...and I was just you know, worried that you just made the guy up to shut me up. Which is why I insisted on this little meeting happening sooner than later, so you couldn’t just pretend a guy up.”

She was not one for dramatics, but she was really close to throwing a glass, at that. Sure, her love life had been a tried and troubled tale, but it was not as bad as the woman made it out to be. Just because she did not run everyone past her sister, does not mean they did not exist. And okay, sure, they all turned out to be dicks and liars, but that did not mean -

Y/N sighed, letting her shoulders slump down and give up a little bit of the weight resting on them. Letting herself get riled up too early would be her downfall. So instead, she pretended to find it funny, letting a mirthless laugh slip through gritted teeth. “Yeah. Guess so. But uh...Diego’s good.”

“Mm. Well, I’m glad.” Her sister downed another sip of her water (she had referenced several times that she could not have alcohol - even though Y/N knew that, dammit). “How long have you two been actually together?”

“Um...couple we-months. Maybe two months.” That might be the wrong number. Shit. “Not too long.”

“Really? It always seemed like you two were, you know…” she gestured lamely with her hands, “you weren’t - you know - on the low?”

Y/N was about ready to chase Diego down herself, from pure irritation. “No.”

“No?”

“Just friends,” she shot back. “Like I told you, the relationship part’s a very new thing.”

Just before her sister could ask one more time something sort of totally invasive that made Y/N question her every decision, the doorbell rang. It seemed just maybe, her mumbled prayers (or veiled threats) for Diego to finally show his face, had been greeted by a miracle.

Y/N sprang to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, but-”

“-right back,” she repeated, already turning and walk-running to the foyer. Her eagerness for some relief had quickly beaten out her annoyance for him being so late, and she found herself smoothing her top, biting back a grin that was not yet deserved of him. She carefully swung the door open, catching the man on the other side mid-knock.

“You’re late.”

Diego shrugged, looking slightly sheepish as he offered up his hand full of...flowers?

Not what she had been expecting.

“Got held up. Would you believe it was just for these?”

“Uh...no - but why do you have them?”

“Knew I’d be late,” he explained, brushing past and into the home. His eyes left hers to trace the room, taking in the bright decor and sounds of laughter in the back. She could practically see the anxiety building behind his dark eyes, but he easily covered it with a short chuckle. “But, explaining to your sister what I was actually doing didn’t seem right. Flowers were an easy out.”

Y/N ignored the humourous adlib, seizing upon his other words, instead. “What exactly were you doing? Are you alright?”

“I’m good. Trust me,” he added, seeing the look on her face. He bared his teeth in a smile that more resembled a grimace.” You should see the other guys.”

“Dumbass,” she grumbled, even through a half-smile. She traced her hands over his face and upper torso, prodding to see if there was any pain - only to be swatted away seconds later. “Are you hurt?”

Diego just shrugged. “M’fine.”

“Diego-”

“-if we stay here workin’ out the details, your sister’s going to come around the corner thinking we’re bumpin’ uglies right on her weird doormat,” he hissed, once more pulling her hands from him. “If that’s what you want to go with, sure, but...”

She felt her face grow hot and inwardly cringed. Her head ducked down, an attempt to disguise any redness in her cheeks and she gestured forward. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

He just grinned and poked a calloused finger at her reddened cheeks, mumbling a ‘cute’ before making a beeline forward. Y/N was left open-mouthed in the hall. But with no time to consider yet another odd remark, she pushed ahead too, forcing herself to smile at the pair. One, already looking so much more uncomfortable than the other.

“Isn’t that sweet?” Y/N simpered, swallowing the bile brought up at the stupid, fake words. “I mean, you’ve known this idiot for years n’ years and yet he still shows up with flowers and all that.”

Diego shuffled back and threw an arm around her shoulders. He looked towards her, but strangely not really at her; like he was somewhere else completely. “Aren’t flowers a necessity for meeting a girl’s family?”

“Maybe if it was with her uptight parents,” her sister butted in, smiling like she was the goddamn Cheshire Cat, “but you know what? I’ll take these gratefully, necessary or not. They’re beautiful, Diego.”

Y/N smiled a little more at that. A little bit more genuinely. There was something nice, seeing two people she truly cared about interacting. Sure, her sister had known Diego for ages, after meeting him one night, post shitty fight - and post climbing through her window, blood dripping from almost every part of his body. But apart from brief interactions when one or the other was not in the right state of mind (booze or injuries or otherwise) they really did not exist in one another’s worlds. And sure, her sister was mostly a malicious, passive-aggressive asshole who somehow had grown up to be a copy of her mother even after hating her for most of her childhood, and probably was going to call Y/N later and make up so much shit on Diego. Just to be a dick.

And sure, this was all fake. But it was a little fun, pretending like she was actually taking a real boyfriend back to meet someone.

Maybe she needed to drink a little more, because that fantasy needed to drown. A-S-A-P.

“...wanted to be here,” floated through her thoughts. Y/N shook her head and drew herself back to reality, where her sister was discussing - what was she discussing? “But you know, guy’s been working overtime to cushion out the accounts. He’s eyeing a Christmas vacation, you know?”

Right. Andy, her husband. Her actual husband who genuinely loved her - and what was she supposed to do there? Shit. Right.

She forced herself to nod. “That’s sweet. Where are you two looking?”

The woman shrugged and looked back down to the pot she was stirring. “No clue yet. Somewhere warm, though. I don’t want to deal with the snow, and-” she paused to pat her protruding belly, “-I know mini me doesn’t either.”

Diego laughed at that. A fake laugh, sure, but it was pleasantly well executed. Maybe Allison’s acting abilities had rubbed off on her brother.

“When are you due?”

“February! But it’ll probably be early. Both his mama and aunt were, so…”

“Yeah?”

Her sister nodded eagerly. “Y/N a little earlier than me, though funnily enough, that’s the only thing she’s not been late to? I mean, you probably know that though. How criminally late your girlfriend is to everything?”

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N grumbled back. “But I’m not that bad.”

She stole a carrot and sank back against the counter, that time a little bit apart from Diego. His arms, now freed from resting around her shoulder, folded across his broad chest. “You just don’t understand. Sometimes, you gotta take a couple more minutes to be this much better than your annoying git of a sister.” Half a joke, half bitter sentiment bottled up and thrown back at her sister’s simpering smile.

“Really?” the woman scoffed. She shuffled away from the pots, ready to pour the thick stew into the bowls. “Please. You’re just jealous that I got all this way before you. And that it took you five more years n’ me to meet a guy that’ll actually put up with you, eh?”

Okay, so that stung a little bit more. Mostly because it was a little too true - even if she did not know it. Y/N forced a chuckle, still, because it was supposed to be funny. “It’s more me putting up with him than vice versa, I’ll have you know.”

“Hey,” Diego admonished. His voice shook a little, but only the littlest bit, a tremor only she could probably sense. “I’m a dream.”

“Sure you are, sweetheart.” She did not miss the flash of surprise at the pet name, feeling a sense of pride for catching him off guard. “Do you know how many shirts of mine he’s ruined because he’s just thrown everything in with his bloody shit?”

“Hey, be grateful he does laundry!” Her sister groaned. “I mean, Andy’s a dream, I love him to bits, but…”

And just like that, things were okay. Her sister was eager to talk about her own relationship, her life in general - and both Diego and Y/N were more than okay to let the focus remain on her. The less questions about them, the better. They could eat in some sort of peace, and pretend to care a little bit more about her workplace politics than they did. And unlike at the Hargreeves place, Y/N did not have to worry about planting an emergency smooch on her ‘boyfriend’ in order to save face.

But of course, things could not be that simple. Just as she had been hoping for an easy visit in and out, the woman’s eyes widened and she seemed to remember who was joining her for dinner. That this was not just a normal get-together where she could talk an ear off a ‘friend’ and kick them out an hour later.

“Sorry for talking so much,” her sister gushed, resting her spoon in the now empty bowl. “I swear, I haven’t shut up at all. I’m such a rude host.”

Y/N scoffed. “Please, it’s fine. It’s nice to hear what’s going on in your life.”

“Well, sure, but this is when I’m supposed to be grilling Diego and making sure he knows not to hurt you, ask all about your future plans, embarrass you - yada, yada, yada. I totally forgot - it just felt natural, you know? But whoopsie, on my part.”

Y/N and Diego shared a look of minor distress.

“But really,” her sister continued, oblivious to the tension growing, “I’m not that worried about him. Or you two. I knew you two were gonna have a thing from the start. Felt like it was just waiting for it to happen, you know?”

She laughed quietly, a little bitter. “Funny. Everyone seems to say that.”

“Do they really?”

She nodded again. “You’d be surprised. I-I mean, I was. Didn’t think that we were so, um...so obvious.” Obvious? More like out of a Hallmark Christmas special, from the way everyone gasped when they were told the two were not together. Really made a girl question-

“-well, probably ‘cause it’s true,” her sister shrugged, unknowingly interrupting yet another of Y/N’s inner monologues. She waved her piece of bread between the couple sitting across from her. “I mean, the way you two look at each other? I got to a point where I thought you two were already together, that I’d get a postcard from Vegas saying y’all eloped or something.”

“I wish,” Diego mumbled. But it was louder than he seemed to expect - at least, that was what his face said when both women looked his way. He swallowed and stammered for an answer. “I-I just m-m-m-mean, I had a thing for her for too long to count. If only I could have gotten a grip sooner.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her hand finding his arm, squeezing lightly. “I should’a done the same. No sweat.” She looked his way, trying to make herself smile like those Hallmark movie women did. Her next words were softer, raspier as she struggled to get them out. “Guess we’re both just idiots...yeah?”

It was fake. Of course. There was nothing between them, no cheesy romance building that would lead them to a couple thousand fairytale moments afterwards. She knew that, he knew that - there was nothing between them, aside from mutual anxieties about screwing up their pretend relationship.

But the look he gave her, did not feel so fake. It was a little strange and a little too strong, like something in the way she said that made his heart twist like it did her own. His dark eyes trained on hers, slipping from them for a second to - did he look down, or was she just messing with her own mind?

“You two are seriously, so adorable. I swear to god, it’s disgusting and I love this so much.” Her sister, oblivious to anything happening in front of her, continued on. “You actually like her, yeah?”

“Yeah. Course.”

She nodded. “Good. Cause you know, not everyone can be as lucky as I have been..and somehow, my sister manages to attract the worst guys. Always after the same thing, then once they really know her, they scram.”

Y/N bit her tongue, holding back any retorts that might slip out. She knew what she meant to say, but it really didn’t work. And putting up with her insinuating that she just couldn’t get a guy to actually like her...while she was talking to a current guy? It was to be expected, sadly, but that did not mean it did not hurt.

“But you know what, Diego, I think you’re okay. I mean, you’ve stayed this long, right?” Her sister cackled - yes, cackled - at her own joke, while both Diego and Y/N sat in silence. “Ha - right?”

Y/N downed her second glass of wine and wished she could sink into the floor.

THE SECOND THEY WERE OUT OF HER SISTER’S house, and at a safe enough distance from it, Y/N finally let out the frustrated groan she had been holding back all night. She whirled away from Diego, catching just a glimpse of his confused expression before she let her facade be shattered.

“I regret ever, ever even suggesting we do this. You know what? I regret all of this. Lord - what was I thinking?”

A soft chuckle left his lips, quiet compared to aggravated shouts. “Was it that bad?”

“That bad?” She retorted. “Diego, that was like if Allison, Five and Luther all combined their DNA and created some super-being who then smoked a whole boatload of crack and decided to live in Suburbia and feed only on bragging and passive agressive remarks.”

“Mm. Might be an exaggeration.”

“I - barely but - come on, you didn’t see how bad she was?”

Diego shrugged and headed over to where he parked his car, her following suit after his silent gesture. “Maybe a bit.”

Y/N sank into the passenger seat with a snort. “She might as well thrown your stupid knives at you a thousand times over -- or - or something stupid like that. The shit she said? Good lord, I would have thought she was the second coming of your dad.”

“Y/N-”

“-I mean, she basically told me to my face that I wasn’t deserving of you of anyone? And that you were just gonna up and drop my ass soon enough. And then, insinuated to you that you should get ready, like I was a goddamn timebomb just waiting to go off! Like she knows me through and through - she doesn’t know jack shit about me. Nothing! That woman only cares about one thing, and that’s herself. Ever since she could leave home, she lost the ability to think of me as anything than a piece of work that she was burdened to guide. And anything something happens to her, she gloats about it. Her stupid job, her stupid husband and their stupid Christmas vacation - everything is so fucking stupid and amazing and I’m just a piece of fucking stupid shit!”

She did not mean to grow so heated, and had not even realised things were so bad, until her voice cracked at the end and she felt hot tears build in her eyes. Y/N gulped in air and scrubbed at her cheeks, brushing away any tear that slipped out. She did not even dare to look Diego’s way, suddenly ashamed at her childish outburst.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know - sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

She laughed bitterly, still biting back the angry tears. “No, it’s not. You just put up with me and her all night, and then I have to come and whine like this - I’m so-”

“-hey, a’right, stop there. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do-” she paused to sniffle and lifted her head so she could watch his face, “-what?”

He sighed, suddenly looking very out of his element. And she could understand why; sure, the two of them had been through a lot, but it was unlike either of them to break down in tears in their car, bitching about their family - further than just their surface actions. Normally, it was pushed down or masked by bad jokes, they’d drink too much and ignore their familial issues because mentioning them were too painful. Only sometimes did they face the pain - and honestly, Y/N could not remember a time she had truly broken down over her sister with him.

“Can we just get out of here, please?” She tried a tearful smile. “Escape this suburbian nightmare, ‘fore I lose my dinner in your car?”

He just nodded and revved the car engine, a strange look in his eye as he turned away. It looked as though he wanted to say something, even going so far as to open his mouth twice and look back her way - but nothing came out. They both just sat in silence then, driving forward aimlessly through the pretty neighbourhoods. Though neither really saw any of it; both were too lost in their thoughts to take in the sights.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Y/N finally mumbled, softer than anything else she had said before. She avoided Diego’s sharp gaze. “Like, I know I’m just gonna leave her place upset, but yet I keep going and letting myself be dragged through the dirt. Eve-even before you came, she was ragging on me. Maybe worse, I dunno. Just shit about how different we are, about how old I’ve gotten, and then just all these little malicious comments that makes her sound so much better than I am. I mean,” she choked, trying her best to hold back the emotions but failing, “she’s right, sure. I’m not like her at all. I live in a dump of an apartment, I’ve got no friends and my ‘boyfriend’ isn’t even really my boyfriend at all. Just a fellow loser I entrapped, got ourselves stuck together.”

“Y/N…”

“Right. You’re not a loser, sorry.” She snorted to herself, looking down at her trembling hands. “I’m the loser. Yeah? A sorry little loser, who you’re now fake-stuck with.”

She dared not look up. She did not want to see his face, to take in the pity, half-baked sympathy radiating through that he couldn’t express. That would probably just make things worse - it stung enough, admitting this out loud. She sounded like a whiny teenager all over again - and she really didn’t want to think about that just then, it was easier to pretend like this was all in her head, scrunch her eyes tightly shut and just let the car drive down the dark streets.

“If you’re a loser, than I’m a...a thousand times worse.”

She dared to open one eye, squinting his way. “Huh?”

“I-I - you’re - d-don’t let what she says g-g-get to you,” he stammered out. His voice was hoarse, low, hushed like someone else was listening in. “I mean, shit. Look what you’ve done for yourself.”

Y/N bit her lip and let both eyes open, but said nothing. Just sat in silence and waited for him to say more.

Which, he did, just a moment later. “You’ve got a good job you worked for. You work y-y-y-your ass off f-f-f-or everyone around you.”

“Not true, I-”

“-and you p-p-p-put up with my bullshit all the time. For nothin’ but the goodness of your heart.”

She scoffed a little at that, but she was smiling still, softly into the darkness. “Not true. You normally bring some sort of monetary gift back.”

“Sure. But a coupl’a pizzas and beers is nothing to what you do for me.”

“What does it matter? We’re friends, friends do stuff like for each other - what are you getting at here?”

He did not look her way. His eyes remained trained forward, frozen as they stared through the glass window, but she could tell they were not totally focused. All his energy was being poured into his words, forcing them to come out the way he wanted even through his evident emotional issue. He was holding something back, but what? She could not say for the life of her.

“D-don’t let yourself get d-d-dragged by her shit,” he finally said. His right hand left the steering wheel and hovered before falling awkwardly against his leg. “I did that to myself too long. Let the stupid numbers define who I was, just ‘cause a lunatic decided to give ourselves them so we h-h-hated each other. B-but you know who stopped me from letting it t-t-t-tear me up?”

She could barely breathe.

“You.” Only then did his eyes leave and meet her own, pausing as they bored into her glassy gaze before flitting away. “And maybe I can’t make the same speeches you can, b-but I’m not gonna let you think you’re not as fucking great as you are. You got that, Y/N?”

“Diego…”

“You’re maybe the greatest person I know,” he said, gruffer that time, “and sure that’s not much to say...but I do mean that.”

And Y/N, Y/N had no clue what to say to that. She stared his way, watching his stone face shift with the shadows, but no words left her lips. She could only watch in silent shock, unsure where this was all coming from - or how to respond to such sweet words. He had never said anything like that to her before, leaving compliments to five word-or-less mutters, and she would throw a joke back just so things didn’t get weird. That was what their friendship was. Don’t let shit leave surface level, else they might just drown in all the unspoken emotions lurking underneath.

But this was different. This was raw, and from his heart, confessions that she couldn’t just up and ignore. What she was supposed to make of it, she didn’t know, but she was certain it wasn’t just nothing. Diego didn’t say all that for nothing.

“Thanks,” she finally said, silently cursing herself for the trembling voice. “Means a lot.”

He grunted. “Sure.”

“No, I mean that...dude.” In an act of half adrenaline, half why-the-fuck-not, she reached out and tentatively touched his free hand. She ignored the shock that flinched through his body and grasped it tightly in her own. “I...I don’t know, I’m not good at accepting compliments.”

“It’s chill.”

“But, but,” she repeated, squeezing a little tighter, “I appreciate it. I needed that. You know? Sort of, okay, someone thinks something of you, but it’s okay cause I’ve got someone I actually l-care about in my corner. So...uh, I don’t know anything about boxing, I’m trying to make a reference but it isn’t working?”

She could just barely see a smirk creep across his mouth, and she in turn grinned at that, feeling a bit better then. His hand moved in hers, finally holding her own back. She almost drew away then, but still held tight - for reasons she could quite place. But she knew she didn’t want to let it go, let him go, and so she let her fingers intertwined with his, and let her back hit the seat once more.

Soon enough, they were on her street, then pulling up in front of her dimly-lit apartment lobby. Only then did Y/N shift again, slipping off her seatbelt and preparing to exit. Her hand, however, did not leave his just yet.

She glanced his way and bobbed her head towards the building. “You wanna come up?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

He nodded, smiling softly. She rarely saw that from him, the sweet grin he only let slip to certain people - but god, did it suit his face. Absent-mindedly, she made a note to remember how much she liked that smile on him.

“I have to get back, Al’ll kill me if I don’t close up properly tonight.”

“Okay. Well...uh, feel free to stop by, if you need to.” Her words hung between them, hesitant, unsure. Her hand slipped from his and she leant down to pick up her bag. “Thanks, Diego.”

Y/N’s hand found the door handle and she twisted away, gaze now far away from his own. She was just about to leave, when-

His hand found her arm and she turned immediately. Without hesitation, they both rushed forward and lips met lips, hitting one another sloppily before moving into better position, pressing hard and fast as though the world was ending and these were their last moments. She felt, almost distantly, as his hands met her face and tilted it up, just so he could reach it a bit better, taste her lips a little more against his. She found herself dropping her bags and reaching up too, threading her hands around his neck so she could hold him closer. They moved slightly awkwardly, but despite the tight space the embrace was still frantic and unhindered by the car. If anything, it only added to the close quarters, forcing the pair to pull even nearer to the other to feel the right amount of warmth from the other.

And then, just like that--

--it was over.

Both pulling away. Both wearing mirrored looks of shock. One sinking back into his seat, the other frantically searching for the passenger door handle and stumbling out. Both struggling to comprehend just what the fuck happened even as they ran away from the other, one slamming their brakes and the other forcing her legs to run like they never had before. Neither one stopped until their were both inside, pressed against their doors with hands tracing at their lips, lips that had been just so easily slotted against the others. Both left staring off hazily into the distance, unsure what that kiss meant - for them, and their future ‘together’.

TAG LIST - @asexualmarauder @thatshellfiredean @the-bird-suit @rangotangomango @fandomsandmore394 @thatkidofwarandpeace @antoouu @soul-of-a-traveller @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @artsyle @asuperconfusedgirl @fic-cheesecake (let me know if you want to be added, or if I missed you)

#i need a favour series #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves series #diego hargreeves au

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gredandforge01 · 5 years

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Bucky Barnes: Kidnapped [pt.1]

Part 1 | Part 2

PLOT: You are kidnapped by none other then the Winter Soldier himself by HYDRA's orders but as a snow storm comes through, you have to bunk with the James Buchanan Barnes for 2 weeks. In that time, you develop feelings for one another.

•••

You make your way down the stairs, throwing your hair up in a quick messy bun before journeying through your living room to get to your kitchen. The sunlight comes through the tinted curtains and splays out across the island counter as you grab a coffee mug and start to brew the coffee that your brain is yearning you to take immediately.

As you wait for the coffee, you go over to your sofa and grab the blanket off it before folding it and placing it neatly back on the teal material. You smile for some unknown reason and make your way back over to the kitchen, pouring yourself the hot coffee into the mug.

You pad your way over to your veranda and open the glass sliding down, stepping outside and onto the wooden planks beneath you. Breathing in the fresh air, you look around at the tall trees covered in snow that surrounded your house. To the left of your veranda, there was an outdoor sofa with a single chair and some lushes winter plants that you make a mental note to remember to water later on. On the right, was the outdoor dining table and chairs that you make your way over to.

Grabbing the book you left on there, you set yourself down on the chair and begin to read.

You were currently on a vacation from your day job, a SHIELD agent. You had injured your leg and arm in an accident involving the new arising issue to America (well, returning issue), and that is HYDRA. Fury said you could take as much time off as necessary to ensure you were healthy again to do your job.

As a result, he let you use the vacation house deep in the woods, far from everywhere and he knew you'd be safe there if the issue continues to rise overtime. You weren't complaining, of course, you get a huge two story (basement and attic included) house, four master bedrooms with medium sized en suites, a study room, two sunrooms, large open plan lounge, dining and kitchen along with a big gym room. Overall, you could injure yourself everyday if it ended up like this.

Once you finish your coffee and book, you get up and make your way over to the kitchen again to wash your dishes and put the dry ones away.

Finishing up, you turn and something moves in the corner of your eye, you frown and turn your head, instinctively moving towards it. You step outside again but see that it's only the plant moving around in the cold wind.

Sighing, you move back around again but you get knocked to the ground. You gasp as you land in the snow, before getting up as fast as you could. A man jumps from the railing and towards you and your eyes widen, only then do you realise you have nothing to defend yourself with. You silently curse and start to move towards the back door to get inside and lock it but the man grabs you by the hair and pulls you back into the snow.

He straddles your waist, "get off me!" You yell. Only then do you see his features, he wore mainly black leather, covering his body and straps around his waist that held two knifes and a gun. He wore a mask, concealing his face.

He goes to punch you but you block with with your injured left arm and cry out as his fist comes in contact with it. He grabs your arm and pins it down before raising his other hand that shines dully into your eyes. You notice it was metal and before he could hit you with that, you manage to twist around so you were straddling him.

His left arm comes up around your throat and you find it hard to breath as he was cutting off your oxygen. He throws you off him and you groan as you hit your head hard on the wooden floorboards. In front of you, you see the blurry figure of the man moving towards you but the darkness creeping in the corners of your eyes makes you unable to move.

He bends down and picks you up bridal style and you fall unconscious in his arms.

×××

Shivering, you open your eyes and am met with nothing but a back of a chair and the freezing temperature. Fright overcomes you and you sat up quickly, knocking your head on the railing beside you.

"Where are you taking me?" You ask, hoarsely to the man in the front who was driving. You recognized him as your kidnapper.

He doesn't say anything but continues to drive and you look around at your surroundings. You were in a van by the looks of it and your hands and feet were restrained in ropes, which were wrapped around the railing beside your head so you couldn't escape.

Over the course of working with SHIELD, you had been scared of nothing, but this made you shake. The man who was practically a foot taller than you, had a death look in his eyes, his stance was terrifying and to top it all off, he had a metal arm which could possibly crush you at any given time.

"P- please, just let me go. I don't know what you want from me, I know nothing of what SHIELD is doing. I injured myself and so have nothing to do with this. Please, just let me go." At the end, your voice was shaky, your eyes quickly filled with tears at the thought of dying at the hands of this maniac.

Just the thought of never being able to see your friends again made you feel uneasy, the thought of never seeing your family again made you sob. You didn't want to die, you were only young and helping the world change for the better, but instead the world came back and bit you... hard. What did you do to deserve this?

The man's eyes looked at you through the mirror and the intense glare he gave you made your eyes advert to the floor of the van. "Please... don't kill me." You whisper, ever so quietly but the man heard you and pulled over on the side of the road.

Fear quickly engulfed you as he jumped out of the van and around to the back.

He swung the door open with force and you shriek, moving back and trying to squish yourself closer to the back of the front seat; almost wishing you would vanish through it. "Please, please don't hurt me! I'll do anything! Please!" You were screaming and tears ran down your cold cheeks.

He got in the back of the van and grabbed both of your hands, getting his knife out.

You were kicking, trying to get him off you. "Stop! Please, I'll do anything for you! Please don't hurt me! No, stop!" You continued to scream, your throat becoming sore.

You sobbed, closing your eyes and turning your head away from him, not wanting him to see the SHIELD agent so terrified of dying. That's what you signed up for when joining SHIELD.

The pain never came but instead, you felt the rope around your hands being cut off. You turned to him wide eyes, watching him intently as he started to cut the rope around your wrists.

When he finished that, he started on your ankles and before he knew it, he had cut you free. Only then do you realise that he was straddling your waist, his face close to yours. He stared at you for a long while.

As much as you wished, you couldn't stop your hands coming up to his mask and gently pulling the object away from his face. You were terribly surprised that he looked gorgeous under it.

But what amazed you the most is that he didn't flinch from your touch and you cup his jaw softly in your hands. In that moment, you knew that he wasn't really like this, there was something behind his eyes that expressed that.

He then pulled away quickly and his eyes went back to the hard look, the one that frightened you before and he left the back of the van.

You breathed out, not knowing what overcame you in that short moment but you felt positive about it.

You knew that he wasn't actually this murderer or otherwise he would have killed you by now. You knew he was something more than that, someone who was good and you made it your mission to fulfill that quest.

×××

The drive didn't exactly go how he originally planned. The snowfall had increased and a storm was starting to take place. He couldn't drive anymore has the snow become too high on the ground and so found an abandoned building off to the side of the road.

You hadn't talked since that awkward encounter and you were slightly glad. He didn't look so deadly anymore but more confused with himself, always stealing glances at you through the mirror before looking back at the road again.

Currently, you were being held by the back of your neck as the man walked you both into the deserted building.

As nightfall came over, you were shivering violently as the the cold wind of the snow storm came through the cracked windows in the small cottage.

The man, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. He was laying across from you, on his side with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, trying to fall asleep. You could tell you were annoying him by the small crease between his eyebrows everytime you shivered or moved.

You were getting frustrated with the cold and rolled so you were facing away from him, curling up into a tight ball to try and keep whatever warmth you had left, but it was no used. You started to cry quietly from your frustrations, having enough of this weather.

Suddenly, you felt a heavy arm wrap around your middle and bring you closer to the man behind you. You visually tense as he rests his head between your shoulder blades.

To say you weren't comfortable would be an understatement, because you were. What came out next was something that made you surprised, "sleep." It was quiet and hoarse but you heard him say it. One word, but it was something.

You didn't say anything back as you closed your eyes and slowly relaxed in his arms. His warmth spread across your body like a virus and you felt content laying there.

Slowly, you felt yourself drift off into sleep and you smiled slightly. Maybe being here with him, stuck in a snowstorm with nowhere to go for at least 1 week wouldn't be as terrible as you thought.

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makeuptips- · 5 years

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A Smart Guide to Primers: What to Use and Why

Perfect base makeup often involves a consistent skin tone and smooth finish. Layered between your moisturiser and foundation, primer is designed to do this by ‘filling in’ your skin’s pores to reduce the build up of oil and to create a more even surface on which foundation can sit. Primers are also frequented for their ability to ‘lock’ foundation in place, so you’re less likely to experience transfer throughout the day. You’ll notice they can come with other perks, such as a tint to mask discolouration, illuminating particles for a lasting glow, and nutrients to simultaneously heal and protect the skin’s external and internal layers.

Carol Mackie, Senior Global Artist for MAC says that while all skin types will benefit from primer use, oilier skin types in particular “are more prone to make up wearing off more quickly so a primer will prolong the wear of foundation.” The same goes for hotter climates, where primers are key to ensuring your foundation won’t slide with sweat.

TIP: Ensure sunscreen is applied underneath your primer and thoroughly absorbed – safety first!

Consider primer application prior to your foundation much like stretching ahead of a jog – skipping step one usually means problems for step two. Wearing a primer will allow your foundation to work to its full potential, however choosing any primer off the shelf could be remiss. When cooking, mixing oil with water simply doesn’t work. The liquids are different in build and remain separate even when spun together. The same principle can be seen for oil and water-based cosmetics. While hard to measure definitively, your safest bet is to marry like-for-like base products for the most even, long-lasting foundation finish.

TIP: Primer needn’t be applied across the whole face, says Mackie. For those with combination skin types, best apply primer along the oiliest areas of the face only, avoiding dry spots where primer isn’t necessary.

Make Up For Ever boasts a range of primers that can be layered, depending on your desired end result. The brand’s Makeup For Ever Step 1 Mattifying Primer is numbered one of eleven in this range, and is best worn alone as it doesn’t contain silicones. Instead, it contains silica that is a naturally occurring property that, like its synthetic sister silicone, is able to absorb moisture.

Other primer products that fit this bill include Too Faced’s Hangover Primer a lightweight primer that feels divine on the skin, MAC’s Prep + Prime Natural Radiance that contains illuminating vitamins E and C, and cruelty-free brand BECCA’s First Light Priming Filter. For a totally silicone and toxin-free option, try little-known brand Vapour Organic Beauty’s Status Soft Focus Skin Perfecting Primer, which is ideal for those keen on exploring an all-natural, water-based solution.

TIP: “Apply with a brush rather than your fingertips to avoid any natural oils in your fingers, and the brush will allow primer to glide on evenly!” Mackie suggests.

The same is often said for silicone-based products that act similarly to oils in that they are both stagnant. In other words, silicones and oils alike won’t penetrate the skin like water, but rather rest in our pores to create an even slate on which a foundation can sit and latch onto. These products work best for those with mature skin because such additives provide an exceptionally plump finish younger skins don’t need. Dimethicone, for example, is commonly used and acts as a conditioning solution for the skin, delivering a velvety, smooth finish while retaining water.

For the perfect everyday primer which hydrates the skin, helps foundation glide on smoothly, and increases wear (and works with a variety of different foundation formulas) you can’t go past Marc Jacobs’ Beauty Under(Cover) Perfecting Coconut Face Primer. Its smooth, lightweight, water-based formula works for all skintypes and won’t aggravate sensitive skin.

Smashbox PhotoFinish Foundation Primer and BareMinerals’ Prime Time Original Foundation Primer are transparent gels that glide on and leave an invisible, powdery-matte veil. La Mer’s The Hydrating Illuminator does a beautiful job at delivering to its name. Work it overtime as a cream highlighter on top of your foundation, too. Hourglass Mineral Veil Primer is a fantastic all-rounder primer that truly doesn’t budge and will fill you with confidence on a night out of dancing, it’s especially great for ultra oily skin!

Sisley has an exceptional track record of delivering effective skin and makeup products. The verdict is no different when it comes to their Sisley Instant Correct Color Correcting Primer. As one of two shades available, Just Lavender offsets dull pale skin and red undertones, while simultaneously softening fine lines. For a fraction of the cost, Rimmel’s Insta CC Primers are also worth a try and like Sisley’s, its liquid is creamy and blendable, unlike the thick, pigmented colour-correctors we’ve trialed in the past.

Napoleon Perdis’ Auto Pilot Brightening Skin Primer, housed in a distinguishable pink tube, is also a decent all-rounder that soaks into skin leaving a dewy, hydrated playing field on which to apply your foundation of choice. We found it worked well under a variety of foundation types. If a two-in-one primer-foundation product excites you, have a go of Dermalogica’s Skinperfect Primer SPF 30. It’s been a beauty cabinet staple for years, and works wonders on minimal make-up days. You’ll reap the benefits of a broad-spectrum protectant, long-lasting tint, and airbrushed finish in one.

TIP: Post-application, allow your primer to sit and soak into the skin before adding your foundation; a good 60 seconds should do the trick.

Shop This Post:

Makeup For Ever Step 1 Mattifying Primer

Too Faced’s Hangover Primer

MAC’s Prep + Prime Natural Radiance

BECCA’s First Light Priming Filter

Vapour Organic Beauty’s Status Soft Focus Skin Perfecting Primer

Marc Jacobs’ Beauty Under(Cover) Perfecting Coconut Face Primer

Smashbox PhotoFinish Foundation Primer

BareMinerals’ Prime Time Original Foundation Primer

La Mer’s The Hydrating Illuminator

Hourglass Mineral Veil Primer

Sisley Instant Correct Color Correcting Primer

Rimmel’s Insta CC Primers

Napoleon Perdis’ Auto Pilot Brightening Skin Primer

Dermalogica’s Skinperfect Primer SPF 30

Story by: Hannah Gay

Photography by: Evangeline Sarney

#makeup #primer #hannahg #expert #interviews #experts #interview #hourglass #rimmellondon #smashbox #marc jacobs #mac #mac cosmetics #too faced #becca #becca cosmetics #sisley #la mer #makeup forever

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years

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When you fall like a statue

Here’s some fun and fluff with Peter, Cap and a worried Irondad, based on this prompt:

Fighting off the latest alien invasion followed by an attack by Doom Bots was bad enough on the Avengers without two of their main players passing out for no apparent reason AKA when Cap and Spidey go 36 hours without eating while having overly heightened metabolisms.

Thank you to my beta @whumphoarder for putting so much effort into this fic!

“I need a cheeseburger,” Tony announces the moment Steve opens the door of the temporary shelter. “A big, greasy cheeseburger, two litres of coffee, and a few months of vacation on the Virgin Islands.”

“Then you've come to the wrong place,” Steve replies in a tired voice while following Tony back inside. “The bots destroyed our food storage. Even the granola bars melted.” The supersoldier grins a little, but his face is gray from exhaustion. He looks even worse than Tony feels.

“You good there, old man?”

“Yeah, just…” Steve raises his arms in a gesture of defeat, indicating the destruction around them of what was once the parking lot of an amusement park.

The Doom Bots did their job thoroughly. Being outnumbered as they were, the team was forced to spread out, so Tony took the kid with him to hunt down the Bots at the other end of the district. It didn’t help that the bots chose to enter just after the Avengers had successfully defeated an invasion of relatively dumb but highly explosive frog-like beings from outer space.

Tony stayed behind to supervise the clean-up while Steve did the same at the other end of town. That was more than a day ago, Tony realises with sudden clarity. No wonder Cap looked tired.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, eyeing the scratches and dents in the Iron Man armour.

Tony is reeling from exertion, every single joint aching. His right wrist is swollen to twice its normal size and there are more scratches and bruises on him than he wants to count (although Friday had counted them, much to his dismay). But truth is, he has seen much worse fights, and 36 hours without sleep is far from his personal record.

“Always, always,” he replies reassuringly.

Tony enters the shelter, just to stop dead upon seeing a familiar figure dressed in a red-and-blue spandex suit.

The eyes of Peter’s mask go wide upon seeing Tony. “Oh, shit,” he mumbles.

Tony feels his face go tight. “What on earth are you doing here?” he demands.

“Uhm…” The mask retreats, revealing a clearly exhausted Peter looking sheepishly back at his mentor.

“He helped with the clean-up,” Steve intervenes. “Without him, I’d still be stuck in a heap of rubble, trying to excavate a police car.”

“I sent him home to sleep yesterday.”

“He told me that you had asked him to come here!”

“And you didn’t bother to check with me?” Tony exclaims angrily. “You know we do have radios now, right? Modern communication, Cap, we’re not in the goddamn 1930s anymore!”

He knows that it isn’t technically Steve's fault that Peter snuck back to the battlefield, but Tony’s worry and frustration are reaching a breaking point. And Captain Almighty had always been a good target to let off some steam.

“How was I to know he wasn’t supposed to be here? Honestly, I was glad for any help I could get -it didn’t occur to me I’d have to double-check!” Steve protests.

“Uhm...I’m really, really sorry, but, could we maybe argue about this later?” Peter asks in a small voice. “Um, I'm not...feeling so great.”

Tony spins around. The boy is visibly swaying on his feet, colour draining rapidly from his face.

“Shit.” Tony is at his side in a few steps, grabbing him by the shoulders and guiding him down to sit on the ground. “Just what we need right now. What's wrong? Where did you get hit?”

“Please don't be mad at me,” Peter whispers, blinking rapidly with unfocused eyes. He actually looks a little bit scared, which only increases Tony’s concern.

“That’s gonna be decided later,” Tony declares. “But I definitely will be if you don't tell me what's going on.”

“I...haven’t eaten anything...for a while, I think.” Peter starts listing to one side, his eyes drooping.

Tony curses quietly. He keeps Peter upright with one arm and waves at Steve with the other. “Check the back room for food,” he orders. “Bruce always keeps emergency supplies in his locker.”

“Hmm,” Steve replies, his voice strangely off.

Peter’s eyes have drifted shut. “Hey, stay awake with me, kid,” Tony urges, tapping on the boy’s cheek. “Spangles?” he calls to the back room, “You found anything?”

The only reply is a loud thump.

“What on earth…” Tony says under his breath.

“Sir, it appears that Captain Rogers has lost consciousness,” FRIDAY’s voice informs him from his suit. Even she sounds beat. “It appears that he is suffering from hypoglycemia, similar to Mr. Parker.”

“How is this my life?” Tony mutters. “Call medical, I need a babysitter.”

“Already done, sir. Let me also inform you that the first aid kit located under the chair to your right contains glucose tablets.”

“At least that’s something,” Tony mumbles, reaching for the kit. He spies a half-empty bottle of Coke on the ground and reaches for it gratefully.

“Hey, kid. Open up.” He nudges the bottle against Peter’s lips. It takes a few attempts until the boy focuses on Tony with a low moan.

“Don't wanna…don’t feel good,” Peter slurs.

“Yeah, nausea is normal at this point. But that wasn’t a question. Drink.” He lets Peter take a few sips before pushing one of the glucose tabs into his mouth.

Peter swallows, then gulps, his sweaty face contorting in obvious discomfort.“'M gonna be sick,” he manages.

“Okay, hold on,” Tony sighs. He locates a plastic bag in the mess inside the shelter and holds it open under Peter’s chin. The kid takes a few shallow breaths before retching weakly. He brings up a mouthful of foul-smelling liquid.

“Ugh…” Peter moans. He coughs a few more times, spraying watery bile over the bag and both of their suits.

“It's okay. You'll be okay, kid,” Tony reassures. “I know you’re feeling sick, but you need to keep trying to drink something.” He offers the bottle again.

“'M not done yet.” Peter bends over the bag and heaves drily. A trickle of bile runs into the receptacle.

“There's nothing left in you,” Tony assures. “You're just nauseous because your blood sugar is tanking.”

“Hmm. Oww.” Peter wipes his mouth with a shaky hand and slumps back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Don't you pass out on me,” Tony commands, his tone tinged with worry. He doesn't want to leave Peter, but he knows that he has to look after Steve at some point.

“Hold on, okay?” He picks back up the bottle of Coke and presses it into Peter's hand, making sure the boy is conscious. “Keep sipping, slowly.”

Peter gives a tiny nod, his eyes following Tony’s movements sluggishly. Tony makes sure that his protegè is stable in the corner and won't hit anything in case he does pass out, then goes to rouse the supersoldier.

Steve is out cold, but at least he only fell against a leather chair and didn’t hit his head on anything hard. It’s tempting to just let him lie there and focus on the kid until the med team arrives, but Tony knows that the longer his enhanced metabolism stays without food, the more danger he is in.

When a few attempts of calling his name and lightly shaking his shoulder don’t yield any results, Tony goes for the proverbial cold water approach, splashing handfuls of it onto the supersoldier’s face. Upon the third attempt, Steve rouses with a moan.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Uff,” Steve groans, squinting. “I did something embarrassing, didn’t I?”

“Yup,” Tony confirms, popping the p. “I didn’t even know it was possible for you to pass out. Wish I had it on film.”

He quickly strides over to Bruce’s locker and blows it open it with a small blast from his gauntlet that makes Steve flinch. Not strictly necessary, but Tony’s definitely at the end of his patience for today and blowing things up feels like an appropriate reaction. In the locker, he finds a yoga mat, a yo-yo, and a walkman (seriously, Bruce?), a couple of organic lemonades, and three equally healthy energy bars. Bingo.

Tony helps Steve sit up enough so that he can swallow some of the drink. He pushes it away after the second sip, clearly nauseous.

“Don’t you dare puke on my suit,” Tony warns.

“What, only the kid’s allowed to do that?” Steve chuckles weakly, nodding at the stains of bile on Tony’s armour. He takes a few deep breaths before trying another sip. “How long was I out?”

“Couple of minutes. Medics are on their way.”

“Is Peter okay?” Steve asks, clearly guilty.

“Well…lucky for him, someone was there to look after him instead of making him work harder.” Tony’s anger is slowly ebbing away, but he doesn’t regret when it comes out a little cross.

“Sorry,” Steve offers genuinely. He tries to sit up, but Tony pushes him back down, wincing when he jostles his injured arm in the process.

“You stay put until we get medical assistance. Not gonna wake you up again.”

He drops one of the energy bars into Steve’s lap and then returns to check on Peter. The boy is still pale as a ghost and seems to have sort of melted into his corner, but at least he has finished the soft drink and is looking a bit more alert than he was before.

“Hey, you back with me?” Tony inquires, letting himself fall down on the floor in a not exactly elegant manner.

The kid hums in agreement. “How’s Captain Rogers?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“Still alive, unfortunately.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Steve calls out from the back room. Peter laughs lightly.

Tony opens one of the energy bars and breaks off a piece to offer to the kid. “So, care to explain why you disobeyed my direct order - suggestion - and came here?”

“I was gonna go home, but then I realised that May would be working overtime at the hospital because of the attack, and I lost my key somewhere in the battle, and then I thought I’d be more useful helping with the clean-up than sitting in front of my own door-”

“You’re telling me that Spider-Man needs a key to get into his own apartment?”

“Maybe?” Peter blinks up at him, all innocence and puppy eyes.

“Don’t think for a minute that you’re getting away with that. We’re gonna have a talk, once you stop looking like you’re gonna faint any minute and I am out of danger of dying from a heart attack.” Tony clutches one hand to his chest dramatically. “Friday, when are the medics coming?”

“ETA four minutes and 30 seconds, sir.”

“Okay.” Tony should probably check on Steve, but his muscles vehemently protest any attempt to get up again. Instead, he shifts his position so that he is leaning against the wall next to Peter. The boy lets his head sink onto Tony’s metal-clad shoulder with a yawn.

“Do you know what?” he mumbles. “Today I pulled Captain America out of a rubble pile…Wish I could tell that to my classmates.”

That, finally, makes Tony grin.

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#badthingshappenbingo #forgetting to eat #irondad #spiderson #tony stark #steve rogers #peter parker #hurt peter #fanfic #sickfic #worried tony #vomiting #emeto #fainting #Marvel #MCU

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