#They watch from above / you always know who they are / their eyes are vacant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortheloveofleon · 7 months

Note

So, what if reader as spider person do smth WRONG like bad wrong, miguel got pissed (an understatement) and they run from miguel, they manage to hide from miguel for a good while but miguel eventually catch them, some fight happens and miguel has had enough he broke some bones and made sure the other spider person also couldn't do anything (the venom thing). The rest is up to you!

WICKED GAMES

⊱ Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Spider!Reader

⊱ Summary: You decided to test Miguel’s limits and took something that didn’t belong to you. So, what’s the obvious response when the most terrifying Spiderman finds out? You hide. Unfortunately for you, Miguel enjoys the “seek” part a bit too much.

⊱ Contents: 18+, Yandere!Miguel, Dark Content, Scary? Content, Jealousy, Dub-Con, Non-Con, Dom!Miguel, Hate-Fucking, Face Slapping, Orgasm (M+F), Primal Kink, Biting, Creampie, Choking, Man-Handling, Hair Pulling.

Heavy footsteps fall to the concrete with each stride you take, lunging forward in a panicked haste. Soft breaths tremble in your lungs. The tightness in your chest grows and grows as you head further through streets.

Iridescent lights flicker above your head, and the smell of metal is making your eyes glass over. Even whilst slinking through these dingy streets and crooked alleys, you still haven’t entirely made out where you actually are.

And it’s all your fault.

Is it that bad you wanted to be treated like an adult?

You’re a grown woman. A Spider.

But Miguel refused to see you as such, always keeping an eye on you “just in case.”

You were sick of feeling like glass, and you were determined to prove yourself, so you made a wrong decision that just felt so right at the time;

You stole a portal watch from his lab.

Your naïve belief of thinking Miguel wouldn’t find out only made matters worse, and made him fucking livid when he did.

Thanks to a tip from Hobie back at Headquarters, you’ve managed to get a head start. So here you are, jumping from universe to universe, world to world, trying to escape the consequences.

After what seems like hours of running, you’ve arrived in some sort of warehouse, dead and silent. Dripping pipes and crunching glass are the only sounds accompanying your heaving breaths.

But just when you thought you’re safe, a sudden whirring noise rings through the air, echoing around you.

There’s a hovering gash, pulsing and glowing, omitting a flurry of blue particles. A burst of sparks, red and orange, rip open this cosmic, hexagonal wound to reveal a vacuum of time and space.

You make out a burly shape slipping out of it.

The portal leaves as quickly as it came, disappearing in a flash of light. A masked figure stands on the deserted warehouse floor, unmoving.

Using your webs, you pull yourself up to the beams of the roof, hiding and looking down.

You already know who it is.

Pulling the navy mask from his face, wavy hair ruffled and eyes dark, Miguel looks around the seemingly vacant room — you’re nowhere to be seen.

“I know you’re in here,” he drawls out, voice heavy. “It’ll be a lot quicker for me, and easier on you, if you just come out now.”

You say nothing, waiting with bated breath.

So does he.

He clicks his tongue, eyes rolling in irritation.

“Fucking…fine!” the brunette tuts, teeth gnashing together, chest heaving as he sighs. “You want to play a little hide-and-seek? Be my guest.”

Right now, you’re barely paying attention to his rambling; your gaze remains locked on a chance of escape.

Embedded in a wall across the room, is a vent.

You might get to it. If you’re quick enough.

Doing your best to stay quiet, perched on the balls on your feet, you slink across the metal beam, using only the webs of your palms to move with haste.

Shuddery breaths slip through your lips as you pull yourself closer to freedom.

“Oh, I forgot to mention one thing,” Miguel‘s voice echoes out from somewhere down below.

But, stupidly, you pause.

You take the chance to peek down, and the sight makes your heart fall — Miguel is stood by a light switch, one sharp finger resting against the button.

He’s looking straight at you, eyes crinkled in a humourless smile.

“We’re playing by my rules.”

And suddenly, the room flickers into a sea of black.

You manage to bury your scream somewhere between your chest and throat. One hand remains slapped over your mouth, tears pouring silently. You cling to the rafter, pressing your whole body down, swallowing wordless pleas.

Cold metal grunts beneath your nails. The sounds of creaking and shuffling echo around you, calling out in the dark.

Then, it’s eerily silent.

Hallowed breaths shake from your ribs. Your throat burns, and you blink rapidly, trying to find some sense of direction in this surrounding inky abyss.

But it’s no use; you need to get out here now.

You muster up the courage to drop to the floor, perching on the balls of your feet. Droplets of water splash around you, and force back a squeal, fists clenched, adrenaline rushing.

You swivel around, waiting for the reach of a clawed hand.

Still, nothing.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel’s fighting back to urge to pounce on you right now, forcing his hand away from his crotch. But the look of pure anguish on your face has his cock harder than ever.

You’re pivoting on your feet every second, trying to make out where he can be.

It’s like he’s everywhere.

“Y’know, I had to force LYLA to show me your location on the Quantum Map?” his voice travels.

Gasping, you turn, swinging at the dark. White, hot thrill pulses through veins, pulsing through your body, tempting you with a high you can’t find anywhere else.

“Threatened to dismantle her software,” Miguel chuckles. You can hear the smirk in his tone. “It was funny, you should’ve heard her beg.”

“See?” you breathe out, head swivelling. “Even your personal AI knows you’re a fucking psycho,”

“That’s a pretty ballsy thing to say for someone who’s scared of me,” the dark calls out. The sound of deep laughter chimes around.

You swallow hard, blinking — it’s not a secret.

You are scared of him.

A majority of people, in the Spider Society or not, are scared of Miguel. He’s used to the looks of agitation, the fleeting glances, the scurrying.

But for some reason, he takes great pride knowing he can make you twitch.

“Do I scare you?” he whispers, humming your name. He sounds so close, words brushing your ear.

Behind you, a heavy claw reaches out of the dark, running gently up your spine — a warning.

The movement has you rushing forward, scrambling away, hiccuping out a scream.

You start to run, panicked.

Where to, you don’t know, but you’re running, fast and blindly.

Shoes hitting the floor with each step, you stumble and drag yourself forward, staggering through this maze of black, feeling the walls for any sign of exit.

Miguel follows your movements, waiting for his moment to strike, hard and true.

He watches the way you pull the mask from your face, breathing heavily in frustration, nimble hands tugging at the bolted doors and windows.

He smiles, seeing the panic settle in on your features when you realise you’ve run out of web fluid, leaving you stranded on this warehouse floor.

Suddenly, he hears nails scratching the concrete. He watches on as you grope the floor blindly, feeling out for something.

“No,” you whisper to yourself. “S-shit, fucking shit!”

Then, it clicks. Finally, the last domino has fallen.

Miguel grins in the shadows, eyes resting on the puddle by his feet. A soft glow shimmers against the water, revealing something digital and sunken.

You’ve dropped your portal watch.

How could you have lost it? It was just on your wrist. How could have been so careless, so stupid? Now, you’re trapped.

No longer relying on your silence, you begin to kick hard at the chained doors, grunting and groaning as the iron jangles.

Right now, you don’t have the time to fucking critique yourself, you need to leave.

“Fucking. Open!” you breathe out, booting at the metal. The head of the lock begins to bend, the doors shaking under the weight of your blow.

But just as hope begins to beam, a sudden crackling thud booms above you.

You turn.

The end of the warehouse is flooded in light, fluorescents humming. As you peer down, a tall figure crouches, and stands, facing you.

Miguel’s grinning hard, fangs and claws on show.

Your stare, eyes wide, and begin to kick harder at the door.

Bang.

The second light follows, illuminating the ground with a musky yellow. That figure in the distance grows closer and closer.

You can hear his feet pounding against the floor.

Bang.

Just as the third light shines down, the door shatters out, and a scream crawls up from your throat.

Miguel lunges at you, fangs bared, tackling you to the ground.

Heavy hands wrap around your throat, crumpling your shrieks to mere cries as the pair of you topple.

You’re cursing, kicking, flailing as much as you could, pummelling at his chest, arms, anything you can reach.

The larger man has settled himself between your legs, pinning you to the floor.

“C’mon, tú zorra, keep hitting me,” he grunts, goading you with a grin. “Fucking see what happens.”

In the tussle, you manage to punch him hard in his ribs, releasing an audible crack.

Miguel sucks in a breath, cold through the teeth as his brows . His jaw is set, tense and square. Rich brown eyes growing ever darker.

Before you can even think, a fist locked in the tresses of your hair, yanking hard. Pain burns at your scalp as Miguel tugs your head to the side, exposing the flesh of your neck.

A flash of teeth, a shining wink of a blood-tinged fang. Then he bites down.

Hard.

The world blurs for a quick second.

You feel flesh tear, and the smell of hot, wet metal fills the air. Miguel is almost growling against you. Canines shift beneath your skin.

Something, warm and sticky, is dripping down your neck. The room feels so clammy all of a sudden.

Vision softening, everything is a wave of colours and sounds. You can barely slur out your confusion as Miguel’s hands run along the shape of you, ghosting your clothed cunt.

“Y’wanna act like a bitch, huh?” Miguel hisses — you feel fabric tearing, pulling against your skin. Goosebumps decorate your body as you lay half naked on the ground.

“Looks like I’ve gotta remind who fucking owns you.”

Two fingers push against your mouth, and you’re too weak to fight against them. Saliva escapes from the corners of your lips and covers your chin as Miguel’s digits press against your tongue.

He tastes like blood and salt.

Your eyes flutter shut as you moan around his fingers, blinking out tears.

“You pathetic little slut,” Miguel’s huffing out a laugh, grasping your face, thrusting his middle and forefinger back and forth, grinning as you choke.

Miguel feels your fingers careening against the stiff muscle of his forearm creeping along his shoulders to find home in his hair, ready to pull again.

He jolts, moving quick to pin them against the floor with one heavy hand— despite the Rapture flowing through your bloodstream right now, he wasn’t dumb to let you even attempt to get a hold on him.

He tears his fingers from your mouth, slamming his lips to yours, tongue pushing past your teeth.

You couldn’t even find the strength to fight back right now — all you can feel is him. His body on you, hands groping, his mouth melding against yours.

Miguel finds your futile efforts quite cute. But your struggling isn’t helping you at all, and it’s only turning him on.

He’s grinning against your skin, pressing soft kisses against your jaw, down your neck. The sudden switch has you tense, wary, like a deer in headlights.

“Turn over.” The sentence wasn’t a request, but a demand.

One that he wasn’t patient enough to wait for.

Within a second, he’s got you flipped over, face pressed against the cold flood, arms pinned behind your back. Your bare ass sticks up in the air, and Miguel strikes the skin hard.

Choked pleas fall from your lips, but that doesn’t stop him. One, two, three more times you feel the roughness of his palms against your ass.

Your skin is singing in pain, every nerve set aflame at each swat.

“Ngh, God! I’m sorry! ” you squeal out, “I’m sorry!”

Miguel’s jaw is set once more, eyes steely as he stares straight at your glistening cunt.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” he breathes out, each word dripping in ridicule. A rough finger presses against the hot wetness building between your legs, sticky and sweet.

“No, you’re not. Not yet.”

A loud cry escapes you as Miguel plunges his cock, swollen and hard, deep in the sweltering heat of your cunt. Sharp pain throbs within you for a brief second, pulsing between your leg.

Fangs bared, Miguel groans at your grip. “Fucking hell.”

Tears drip down your face, darkening the concrete as each drop falls with every surge of his hips, the fat of your behind smashing against his abdomen.

“Oh, my G-God,” you stutter out sacrilege, nails biting in your palms. “Fuck, Miguel.”

As much as you want to hate this, hate him, you can’t control how your body feels. Your hips appear to have a mind of their own, pushing back in his grip. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each move, walls hugging his length with a tightness he’s never felt before.

There’s a sweltering mix of pain and pleasure, sweetness and salt, swirling inside of you as he’s hitting every goddam spot. Right now, you’re in limbo, on edge, just waiting for that one moment to push you into bliss.

And Miguel knows it. He can feel it. Smell it. Taste it, practically.

Yet, he’s seething.

How dare you enjoy yourself after making go to all this trouble? How do you have the fucking gall to find joy in this?

Heavy grunts escaping through his gritted teeth as his stray hand releases abandon your clasped wrists, only to grip at the back of your neck and push your face further into the ground.

“Dumb. Little. Slut,” he spits, emphasising on each word with a further thrust of his cock, drilling faster, harder, in the hot, wet mess of your cunt. “‘Course y’fuckin’ enjoying this. Never known a girl more hungry f’dick than you.”

You could only hiccup out small pleas as the taller man berates you with scorching insults, accompanied with a mocking laugh that melts into a moan.

Miguel wants to last longer - truly, he does. Nothing is more a sight for sore eyes than the pleading, whimpering mess you are.

But the sounds you’re making and the feeling of your walls tightening in on him, pulls him closer and closer to release quick than he intends.

He can’t help himself.

“Take it, hah, you…fuck…mi corazón.”

You whimper, eyes slinking shut as you breathe out a choked, “A-anything for you.”

With those last three brazen words, Miguel gives one final thrust, leaning over you to bite down on the curve of your neck as he comes — you’re both seeing stars.

It feels like you’re melting, from the inside out.

You can barely comprehend anything but these ebbing waves of sweet pleasure humming from between your twitching legs as you come, your plumped lips caught between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood.

Miguel’s rolling his hips in time with yours, panting, whimpering in your ear as he rides out this high for as long as he can, whispering sweet nothings and broken promises against your body.

You can feel this white mess sticking to your thighs, smeared against your abdomen, dripping with small plinks onto the cold concrete.

Miguel presses open-mouthed kisses down your back, running his tongue over the indents his fangs left in your skin.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” A hand returns to the nape of your neck, clutching at your hair.

A familiar wave of dread washes over you.

“Just wait till we get back to the lab.”

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hunnylagoon · 3 months

Text

Take Me to War

PT2 Metaphor

Streamer! Ellie Williams x reader

Where do I pour my love if you take away my pen and paper?

Premise: You are starting to like your annoyingly loud neighbour more than you want to admit.

PT1 Here!

Warnings: Raunchy humour

The gym was busy on this particular day, I absentmindedly judged others for being at the gym at noon on a Saturday like they should have been doing something more interesting with their time until I realized I was at the gym at noon on a Saturday with no other plans for the rest of the day "And she's hot?" Abby asks me while she effortlessly benches something around 170 and I do nothing more than lean on the wall behind her.

"She's hot," I answer, scrolling through her feed on Instagram like the weird little stalker I was. I hadn't gone full FBI, just looked her up and possibly watched some of her videos "It's kind of cool that I have an internet celebrity living next to me."

"Define cool," Abby props the bar back onto the saddles of the machine and sits up, taking a chug from her water bottle.

"She is cool," I defend "It's not that weird Minecraft roleplay that your grimy cousins watch, it's just like video games and vlogs, that kind of stuff."

Abby looks back at me, sweat drips from her blonde hairline and rests above her brow "How is that even a career?"

I shrug in response "Sponsorships and donations and shit."

"Why do people throw so much money at streamers?"

"Parasocial relationships, I wrote an article about it last year which you said you read."

She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "You were writing a lot of articles, hard to keep up with."

"Define a lot," I mock Abby's words. I glance at a guy in between the rows of gleaming machines, their metallic frames reflecting the obnoxious glow overhead. He had been using the leg press upside down, his neck hunched over into an almost horrifying posture, his shoulders pressing against the top plate. It might've been the most normal thing I've seen in New York.

"So are you going to ask her out?"

I wrinkle my nose, thinking about it "I met her last week, I just don't think I know her that well." Within the past week that I've met her, I've been crawling out to the fire escape every morning just so her drowsy eyes could peer into my vacant skull and in recent months I had given up on dating, like a spider, I devoured my own heart.

"That's kind of the point of dating," She lays back down on the bench press "Getting to know each other."

"I think I'm too busy to date," I tuck my phone into my pocket, crossing my arms while I watch Abby. I wasn't entirely sure that I was too busy to date but I tended to consume myself entirely and make everything far more complicated than it needed to be. I still perform autopsies on conversations I've had years ago, clinging to every word like I need them to survive.

"Why don't you wanna be happy?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows "You're always getting in your own way, is it a tortured poet type of thing?"

My breath hitches in my throat. How I hate when she's right. The last serious relationship I had was in college and even then I had sabotaged myself, I didn't know where it came from other than a nagging feeling that I wasn't deserving of the love that had been offered up to me on a shining silver platter. "I do I'm-

"Just not ready?" Abby cuts me off, finishing my sentence so perfectly as if it had been words on a script for some boring play about a woman who hates her life and won't do anything about it.

"Yeah," I say, my voice is quiet, she's got me in a box here.

"If you're not ready to date, you might as well be friends with her," She puts the bar back onto the saddles but this time, stands up after completing her reps. "You need to get out and it seems like you get along well."

"I guess," I say and Abby raises an eyebrow "No, you're right, I need to dig myself out of the grave I've dug for myself." What added to my overly apathetic mood was the season, I was so sick of February. It felt like winter had forced mold to grow on my bones to way me down onto the dirty city pavement where careless New Yorkers would gladly stomp over my body.

"How's it going with the family?" Abby is writing something down in her notes which I assume is her number of sets and reps.

"Nothing new," I answer.

She peers at me over her phone, digging for a more solid answer "Are you still sending your parents money?"

"Yes-

"Why?" Her arms dropped to her side, her phone still in one hand "You shouldn't have to play caretaker for two people who don't care about you," As true as it was, it didn't hurt any less to hear it out of my best friend's mouth.

"It's easier said than done, those are my parents," I'm almost overtaken by a delicate drowsiness from the thoughts of leaving behind the one connection I had to my small-town life. My parents were so careless that I would run around barefoot on the road with the neighbour's kids for hours, narrowly dodging cars that flew past us like it had been a game; everything was a game back then, when I came home to my father's drunkenness, I could hide away in the treehouse and read Harry Potter until the screaming came to a stop.

I was bonded to them like I was to the stray cats who raised me. There was no getting rid of them, we ricocheted between hatred and love like the game of catch I never got to play.

"I'm sorry," She says though I know it is ingenuine "I shouldn't get in between your family."

Abby didn't know them the same way I did. All she knew was the bloodiness of the relationship that I had cried into her arms, she didn't know how kind the wolves were after they tore me apart. The way my father would cheer for me the loudest at my soccer games and how my mother baked for me after a fight, wasn't the apology that I yearned for but the one that was shoved down my throat.

I dug through my brain to search for a way to change the topic "I saw Owen at the market yesterday and he said he wanted you to call him."

"You're fucking kidding."

My deadline had passed with no issue and I was finally blessing myself with a day where I wasn't chained to my desk. I could finally let my poor bloodshot eyes rest and for once I didn't have to drown them in eyedrops.

I was freshly out of the shower when I heard a knock at my door, Margot yelling at me to answer it. I slipped into a matching pyjama set that Abby gave me on my birthday, hurrying as fast as I could to the door. Margot's consistent screaming did nothing to aid this.

Ellie was the last person I expected to see on the other side of the door but there she was. I couldn't help the smile that cracked onto my face "Am I the one being loud now?"

She grins at me "No-it's just that my chat has been begging for you to come back all week and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to do a stream with me?"

I looked down at what I was wearing and suddenly felt like the scrouge, all I was missing was a nightcap and a taper candle. "Can I change first?"

"Go ahead but I think this is one of your best looks."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow "You have poor judgement since you've never seen me in anything other than pyjamas."

"We should probably fix that then."

"I guess we should." I smile. I decided against changing, it wasn't like I was going out, just heading to my friend's apartment that was three feet away.

"Say as much or as little as you want," She opens the door to let me in "I owe you big time," Ellie says this like I don't want excuses to spend time for her. Like I haven't been freezing my ass off every day just to talk to her when she watches the city wake up as she prepares to rest her head.

Ellie's apartment is more lively than the last time I visited, she's adapted some plants that are already beginning to wilt "Have these been getting any sunlight?"

She furrows her eyebrows "No? They're fake."

"Ellie," I stifle a laugh "I'm like ninety percent sure that fake plants don't wilt."

"Nuh-uh," She walks toward one just rubs its wilting leaf between her thumb and index, it begins to crumble in her hand and she sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "I guess they are real," Ellie pokes a finger into the bone dry soil and wipes the dirt onto her pants "How much do you know about plants?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess more than you."

She nods "Sounds about right," Ellie walks over to her sink to fill a Game of Thrones mug with water before circling back to water her plants "Drink up little buddies."

"looks like you need some sunlight too," I watch her attempt to revive the dying plants and

"Yeah," She keeps hyper-focused on the plants but she cracks a small grin, I could've sworn her smile burnt down the library of Alexandria "I think I'm turning into a vampire."

"The sparkly kind?"

Ellie shakes her head as she stands back up to put the mug on the kitchen island "Like the guy from Sesame Street."

I wrinkle my nose "Yeah, you're looking kind of purple."

"Damn, I was worried you would notice," She smiles again as she opens the door to her office, the purple LED lights are still running but the overhead light is turned on and washes away the colour.

The second I step into the room, Ellie rushes ahead of me and almost jumps to grab the folding chair. She sits herself down and pats her fancy gaming chair for me to sit in it. "Guys, she came!"

I stare at her, eyes wide, jaw slack. "Ellie."

"What?"

"Do you hear yourself?"

She takes a minute to think about it before nodding her head, I could see the exact moment it clicked "No, I hear it," She addresses the camera "Not like that guys but I don't know what she did with her day, not our business though."

Ellie looks at me like she's waiting for approval of her chosen words. After a moment's reflection, I answer dryly "Thanks."

"Sorry for taking so long, I had to water some plants," She watches the chat bar scroll by, squinting before she leans back in her chair, hand running through her hair "No, that's not code for sex."

"Could be," I shrug.

"They wanna know what your name is."

"Top secret."

"Okay," She reads some more comments from the chat "Can you tell them what you do for work?"

"I'm a ghostwriter," I say, giving a little thumbs up. I saw myself in the monitor and wanted to throw my hands at myself for being so awkward.

"Spooky," Ellie smiles "She writes about people instead of interacting with them, that's why she's socially inept." She reaches for her soundboard and presses a button, sounding a prerecorded effect of a crowd cheering and laughing.

"She's never had a girl in her apartment, that's why she can't flirt." I counter as she throws her hands up, I can tell she's about to retort with something before I cut her off "So what were you doing before you kidnapped me?"

"Guys, I didn't kidnap her, she willingly walked in here without the use of excessive force and I have had many a girl in this apartment," Ellie tells the chat before clicking something on her screen "So, they send in videos and we have to not laugh, which isn't hard because they aren't very funny."

"You're not funny either but they watch you," I tease, Ellie fights a smile trying to uphold our image of back and-forth pocking and prodding at one another.

"Laugh three times and you're out."

"Of the apartment?"

"No, you just laugh three times and you lose."

"What do I get if I don't lose?"

"Fuck, I dunno," She furrows her eyebrows, searching the room for something. Her eyes land on a small silver tin, she snatches it up into the palm of her pale hand and sits back down "You get my dill dough."

"I'm sorry!?" My head snaps to look at her "Are you sure you aren't a cam girl?"

"No," She pauses "No, I mean no it's not what you think, yes," Ellie backtracks again "I mean I am sure I'm not a cam girl, not that that I'm not sure I'm not a cam girl, because I'm not," She looks like she's sure of what she said like it made perfect sense "Not a cam girl."

"You're not-not a cam girl?" I ask, pointing out the double negative "So you are a cam girl?"

"No," Ellie runs a hand down her face "Can you guys please tell her that I'm not a cam girl?"

Dcknb4llz:She's a cam girl

Nataliadepressed:I just subbed to her only fans!

Mclovin_fury26:She just wants to show you her dill dough 😕

Yayayalorde:I wish she was a cam girl

The3nd_isn3ar:Ellie pls stop joking about it and become a cam girl already 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Ewmarryme:hahaha Ellie ur so funny now get serious and make an onlyfans

"Anyways," Ellie ignores the chat as they clearly aren't helping her case "This is my dill dough," She shows me the small tin she picked up, there's a picture of a pickle on the front. Over the translucent lid, it surely enough says 'Dill Dough! pickle scented'. It was just green silly putty with an oddly incredulous name.

"I weirdly want that," I answer.

"If you win, it's yours." She tucks it away into the pocket of her sweatpants "Mods, let's get this moving."

We sit through about fifteen minutes of videos; mainly people getting hurt, occasionally one of some type of animal. Nothing funny enough to make either of us laugh except for one of a man falling through a glass table which gets a little chuckle out of Ellie who denies it.

Another video began playing, it was Ellie in this exact spot, screaming during a game of Fortnite. It looks like it's from the first time she showed me her odd job choice. In the distance, you can hear a knock on the door and this is when I'm sure it's from the day I had been thinking of. Ellie pulls her headphones off and looks at her camera "Shit, I think that's my hot neighbour again."

I slap a hand over my mouth and turn to see Ellie who's looking disappointed at her chat, shaking her head at the camera. "Whoever sent that is fake as fuck."

"So you think I'm hot?"

"Pfft, no, dude, you're ugly as fuck," Ellie makes an overexaggerated confused face like she has no idea what I'm talking about "I was talking about my other neighbour."

Kaylnncourting:Ellie y r u fumbling so bad???????

Overdam00n:You guys were right for saying she doesn't get 🐱🐱🐱🐱

Sestwouth:bruh she's ruining it for herself

Connerstollit:WHY DID SHE SAY THAT

Cruel_summer:What is wrong with Ellie? Genuinely

F0gg4t:If El doesn't want her, I do

Aliinnnnnaaaaa:First girl she's ever met and she's ruining it

Randelwthehandle:Ugly as fuck??????? who says that 😭😭

Dcknb4llz:wow nice cover up Ellie

Marie_739:Bro Im gonna start calling the girls I like ugly as fuck

"Mr. Quigley?" I ask to which Ellie nods immediately "You think the eighty-seven-year-old veteran who is missing a foot and has swallowed four of his teeth is hot?"

"Yeah," She says, immediately regretting the hole she was digging herself into "I have a thing for older men."

"I don't think you have a thing for men at all, actually."

Her eyes go wide, Ellie opens her mouth to say something and she leans forward in her chair so fast that she falls out and smacks her head on the desk, folding over and onto the ground. I have the biggest smile on my face as I reach for her soundboard and press the cheering crowd effect. I'm laughing too hard to offer her help, clutching my stomach and keeling over so my head is out of frame. Ellie gets up, and puts herself back in the folding chair pointing at the camera "Do not clip that."

Almost seconds after she says that a video gets sent in of her smacking her head on the desk in slow motion while I burst out laughing and now I'm cackling even harder. You can even hear her yelp in slow motion and she sounds like the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park "You guys are way funnier than Ellie," I say, addressing whoever was watching the stream.

Another video pops on the screen right after the last one ends, it's Ellie again. She screams at something on her computer and you can hear me bang on the wall on the other side. Ellie goes quiet immediately going back to her game and muttering "She's so hot guys."

"I think my mods hate me," Ellie shakes her head.

"Thank you mods!" I smile at the camera.

A little clip of Ellie back at her desk pops up, she's wearing a Garfield shirt. This time she isn't playing anything, she just sits in front of the camera with that familiar lopsided smile "Guys, how do I trick my neighbour into going out with me?"

There's another video, it's a longer one with the caption 'Ellie Williams calling her neighbour hot compilation' Ellie's eyes go wide and she clicks off the video immediately, the camera goes to us full screen. "That's enough of that."

I pull my phone out and type in the caption of the unfinished video into YouTube, it comes up right away and I click on it. Ellie clicks around on her computer, unaware of my viewing until she hears her voice, echoing in low quality from my phone. She reaches for my phone but I pull it closer to myself.

I'm dead set on finishing the video until something on the other side of the door, catches my eye. It rushes past the small crack in the slightly ajar door and instinctively, I drop my phone with a slight jolt "What the fuck is that?"

Ellie takes this opportunity to snatch my phone and place it face down on the desk, out of my reach. "That's just Kitty." She pushes herself out of the folding chair and steps out of the room. She walks back in carrying what looks to be a mound of cotton balls, looking a little closer, I realize it's a rabbit. He looks more fluff than flesh.

"What the fuck," My mouth falls open in awe "Can I hold it?" She places him in my lap "He just walks around your apartment?"

She nods "He's litter trained so he just kinda hangs out."

I pet him, he's soft as a million feathers, and he looks like a mascot for a paper towel company "You are the only person I know that would name their bunny Kitty."

Ellie tries to wipe off the mass amounts of rabbit fur on her, it seems the more she tries to get it off, the more firmly it refuses to budge. "This is a good time to show you guys this new shirt that Dina ordered for me," Ellie stands up walking off camera. She has a couple of Amazon boxes stacked on her couch, she reaches into one of them and pulls out a T-shirt. Ellie turns towards the wall so her back is facing me, she pulls her hoodie off over her head.

All I can see is the back of her sports bra but I force my eyes to go wide "Guys, Ellie Williams has a tramp stamp that says cum dumpster," I lie and the chat goes wild and I grab my phone off her desk as she turns around in her Five Nights at Freddie's tee with a 'Seriously?' face. I take a picture of her with the flash on "I'll sell this rare image of Ellie for six hundred dollars on eBay."

Ellie walks back over to the desk with a stack of Amazon boxes "Every donation goes toward my tattoo removal," She jokes, digging around in the boxes. "I'm a little over your videos, you bunch of snitches so I think it's about time I finally open these up."

I look in the boxes too, leaning over slightly, being very careful of Kitty where he sits in my lap. I see something and pull it out to hand to Ellie "You should try this one."

"World's hottest gummy bear," She reads the package "Why is there only one? What if I want another?" Ellie yanks the gummy bear, squishing it between her fingers. It looks like Red-40 personified.

Melanie_felony:She's setting her up lmao

Dcknb4llz:Nobody say anything pls I rlly wanna see this

Elliewsidechick:YALL SHES TOO WHITE FOR THIS STOP

She eats the gummy bear in one bite. As she begins to chew it, she seems absolutely unfazed and partially confused about why it was labelled 'World's Hottest Gummy Bear' A moment later she begins to cough, balling her hand up into a fist and pounding on her chest. Ellie's little cough quickly turns into a deep wheeze.

Ellie lets out a scream, her face going red as she slams her hand onto her desk with watering eyes. I could see visible sweat on her face as she dry heaved, it only took thirty seconds until she sprinted out of the room.

"Oh my god," I watch her run out of the room while I give Kitty a little pet between his ears, he's so still I almost think he's taxidermy. "Guys, I think we killed her." You can hear her vaguely screaming and gagging from the kitchen "So what did everyone do today?"

Thelastgreatamericandynasty:wrote a fanfic about you and Ellie

Dcknb4llz:I got jumped at waffle house

"Yikes, sorry to hear that." I suck a breath through my teeth "Tell me what I should know about Ellie." Her name feels so right on my tongue.

Jesse_chang:She's a virgin

D4aughter_:OMG HI JESSE

A_birthday_card:The only s3x she's ever had was in Minecraft

Whathasshegot:She has a crush on you

Touching_theyouth:She's lactose intolerant

Dcknb4llz:She sold me ketamine in an ally

Gusty_queefqueen:She homophonic

Torxhmydreams2:Pretty sure that’s two words that have the same pronunciation but different meaning

Gusty_queefqueen:Bruh it means she doesn’t like gay people

Heytheredelilah7:She has a boyfriend

When Ellie comes back she's filled her Game of Thrones mug with milk and has a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese. She reads the chat "Can you guys be cool for once?"

"They're cooler than you."

"Very funny," Ellie eats a handful of mozzarella before she digs back in the boxes "What's next?" There's one box huge envelope that looks like it has a slip of cardboard in it. Ellie tears the corner open with her teeth and rips the rest of the top off with her hands. She pulls the content out of it, throwing the envelope over the computer for it to land on the ground. Just as suspected there was cardboard in it, not just a slip but it unfolded into a cardboard cut out of Ellie, she looked to be a younger teenager in it, giving an awkward little peace sign and showing her green braces off with a huge smile.

"Aww, you actually look cute in that."

She disregards me "Chat, interrogate Dina about this and report back."

"Dina?" I ask "Is that your girlfriend?"

"Nah," Ellie props up the cardboard cut-out and places it behind us, right in the middle to watch over us "She's my enemy as of right now."

"What did she do?"

"Send this shit," She eats some more mozzarella, holding the bag out to offer me some, to which I decline. Ellie shrugs it off and eats another handful, washing it down with a long chug of milk and putting it on the desk. She grabs a t-shirt, he eyes go wide and she pushes it against her chest so I can't see. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," I watch a smile spread across her face as she turns the shirt around to show me a graphic of her on it. In the picture, her face is close up to the camera covered in a white powder (presumably flour). "Oh, wow!" I feign shock.

"I know!" She holds it out toward me "It's yours, you deserve it."

"Wow," I draw the word out, taking the shirt from Ellie "This is really great, I was always hoping I would get a shirt of you covered in flour." Sarcasm drips from tone but I accept the gift regardless.

"I know!" Ellie grins brightly "You should put it on now."

"That's fine, I think I'll save it for our date," I tease.

She perks up just the slightest "Ooo, when's that?"

"The second this stream ends."

"On that note," Ellie looks at the camera "Thank you guys for hopping on tonight and thank you to my neighbour who came here without putting up a fuss," Ellie clicks around on the screen a little bit before addressing them again "Alright, go bug Dina now."

With that the stream comes to a close, the blinking light on the camera turns off, and Ellie and I are left alone with ourselves and Kitty.

“So,” Ellie thumps her foot up and down repeatedly like those anxious kids in high school. “Do you maybe wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

“I don’t drink coffee but I’ll pretend to so I have an excuse to hangout with you.”

A smile splits onto Ellie’s face “Phew, I hate coffee I just thought it was an adult way to ask you out.”

A/N: This is super short but I’ll make up for it in the next part, thanks for reading! We got some angst on the way 👀

Perm tag-list: @veeveeisgay @whenlostinthedarkness @gold-dustwomxn @ellslvr

Series tag-list: @diddiqueen @camillecrellin @fullmachinegirl @eveshyper @lmaoo-spiderman @camicocom1a @elliessweetheart @melanie-watermelon @lanafresitas

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rainydaymiscellaneous · 1 year

Note

I hate to ask again but I had and idea. Also the last one was so cute thank you. If you can can you please write a Kaz Brekker x reader where the reader is in love with this book but no one has read is so they have no one to talk to about it so Kaz reads it and starts a conversation about it with the reader and they get really happy and start ranting about it to him and he’s just happy to sit and listen to them and make comments from time to time

Dude, send me all the requests for our boy Kazzle Dazzle your ideas are so creative!

Book Club (Kaz x reader)

He needed an opening. Just one solid reason to actually talk to you. You had been in the Dregs for years now and Kaz was still struggling to even breathe around you. He had this crush on you that he refused to admit was there. Inej saw it, even dumbass Jesper saw it.

You'd assume that Kaz was mute if it hadn't been for your presence in the Dregs. You had been there for a long time but disappeared on a mission far off for three years. The room above Kaz had been vacant and then suddenly it had life. Kaz had no idea anyone even lived above him until you knocked on his door your first night back and asked him to join you for tea.

There you sat on a nice couch with a cup of chamomile. Kaz was perplexed by who you were and why the fuck you wanted to drink glorified leaves in water.

"Why am I here?" He asked.

"You tell me." You said, sipping from your cup. Kaz furrowed his brow.

"You asked me to have tea with you." He said, watching you with those daggers for eyes.

"You didn't have to say yes." You shrugged.

"I did."

"You did not." "I did." He said. "Okay then, why did you have to accept?" You asked. He sighed, looking at you with his gloved hands gripping his cane.

"Because I needed to know who was suddenly living in the room above me." He said. You rose a brow.

"You could've asked Inej to investigate." You said. He blinked.

"You know Inej?" He asked.

"I've been in the Dregs for three years, of course I know your main lot. Inej, Jesper, Nina, Wylan and that off-putting convict Mattias." You said.

Kaz was confused. How did you know so much but he was ignorant to you? How did he not know who you were?

"I'm a sharpshooter. I use that-" you pointed to a rifle on the mantle "rifle to kill whoever you want dead." You said.

"Why do I not know you?" Kaz asked.

"I was off in Shu Han for Haskell." You said. "For what?" Kaz asked.

"You do your business, I'll do mine." You said.

He liked that response. It meant you'd keep any secret that slipped through your ears. "I will work for you when you need me. Say the word, I will be there no questions asked unless one of ours is bleeding." You said.

"Why tea?" He asked. "We easily could've done this over something less detestable."

You chuckled. "You've not had the right tea then." You said with that smile.

That fucking smile. From that moment on Kaz was hooked. He couldn't help it. It was hard to not fall in love with someone like you. You were always there when he needed you, apparently you had taken some training on stealth from Inej, leaning to be one with the dark making you even more deadly.

But for the deadly persona that the streets simply knew as "the bullet", you were a gentle person. Kaz often noticed you with stray animals, seeing that kind smile. The one that made Kaz at a loss for words. You'd often make that same smile at Kaz when you'd pass him with a gentle "hi boss."

Sure, technically Per Haskell was the "boss". You however knew damn well Kaz was the brains behind everything. You had become close with the other members of the Dregs, including Inej who called you a sister. She loved being around you. You gave good advice and that was probably why the rest of the group would flock to you.

So there you all were, your head in Jesper's lap as you read. Kaz had noticed your sudden interest in this, everytime he saw you, you had that book in hand now. Wylan looked over at you.

"Care to join the game?" He asked.

"I'm good." You said, turning the page.

"You've been reading that for two weeks now, come up for air." Inej said.

"I need to know if Alistair lives Inej, the prophecy is strongly implying he will die and I don't think Cousland can handle him dying." You muttered, reading.

"None of that made any sense." Nina said.

"It'll make sense if one of you would at least read it." You said.

"We're all too busy. Kaz keeps giving us stupid b&e's.(breaking and entering)" Jesper said.

"Not all of you are busy though. Wylan?" You said.

"Kaz has been training me for lockpicking." Wylan said.

"He take you to the financial district?" You asked, looking up.

"Once or twice." He shrugged.

"Course he did. Best place to practice." You said before going back to your book.

"Alright, who's in?" Jesper asked.

Inej noticed Kaz at the bar, occasionally looking over at you. "I'm out." She said.

Inej made her way to him and he cleared his throat, turning back to his drink. It looked like scotch but the smell... it wasn't scotch it was tea.

"Didn't you say that tea was just leaves in water that is hot?" Inej asked.

"I hadn't drank the right tea." Kaz said, looking at the glass with vacant eyes. Inej recognized the expression. Kaz was at war with himself, as usual.

He never handled his innermost feelings well, especially the ones that left him vulnerable. And what was more vulnerable than love? You were a plague to his mind, always there. When it wasn't your face that he was smiling internally at, it was your laugh. When it wasn't your laugh it was your smile and so on. He wanted so badly to talk to you like he once did over tea but he didn't think it was a good idea.

You were just so perfect in his eyes. So beautiful, so smart. If he tried to converse, he'd make an ass of himself. He needed an opening something fierce. Something to give him a reason to talk to you instead of "hey, your face is anestheticly pleasing to look at, which I do. Frequently. Without you knowing."

"You're staring at your glass mighty hard there." Inej said. Kaz looked up. "You should just talk to her." She said.

"It's not that easy." He muttered.

"I do it all the time." Inej said with an eyeroll.

"Because you are friends. You know her. I am not that lucky." He said.

"You do know her." Inej said.

"Not like that. I know her from afar. Where it's safe." He said, drinking the glass.

"Kaz, she's right there. Just talk to her." Inej said.

You got up, stretching with a yawn. "I'm heading out " You said to Inej.

"Kaz will go with you!" Inej volunteered.

If looks could kill, Inej would've been six feet under at that moment Kaz glared at her.

"Alright..?" You said confused. Kaz sighed looking at Inej and then you before standing up.

He walked out with you, noticing the dark clouds that hung in the sky. "Looks like it might rain" he said.

"Good reading weather." You said.

"You're usually reading nowadays." Kaz said.

"It's a nice escape from things when they get too intense." You shrugged.

"What is it that you're reading now?" He asked.

If you were a dog, your ears would've perked up. "It's amazing- it's about this girl who joins this legendary army and has to rebuild what was-... Sorry." You cleared your throat.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asked.

"Well apparently everyone thinks I talk too much about this book." You said.

"Who said that?"

"Well Nina." He'd kill her

"And Jesper." He'd shoot him with his own guns

"And Inej." Wait what?

"And pretty much anyone who asks me." You finished.

"Wow." Was all Kaz could muster for words.

You shrugged. "I wish they'd just listen to me and read the damn book." You said.

"Why do you think they haven't?" He asked.

"They're all busy. They have their own lives and I have mine. It's nothing personal, I know. But I just wish sometimes I could talk to someone about it and have them actually know what I'm talking about." You said walking.

Kaz then realized this was it. This was his perfect excuse to get closer. "What's the name of the book?" He asked curiously.

"Rise of the Grey Wardens. Why?" You asked.

"I figured I could read it." He shrugged.

Your eyes lit up and Kaz felt intense joy. He made you happy. He actually made you happy. He didn't mean to but he did and my god were you adorable to him when you were beaming. "Then I know where we should go!" You said walking ahead of him.

Instinctively he followed. "Where are we going?" He asked.

You looked back, a breeze blowing your hair in such a beautiful way as you turned to him. "My favorite place in Ketterdam."

He asked no more questions after that, just following you quietly through backstreets. Kaz watched you approach a side door to a building, knocking on it rhythmically. The door open, an older woman smiling at you.

"Weren't you just here a few days ago?" She asked.

"I brought a friend." You said with a smile, stepping back and motioning for Kaz to introduce himself. Kaz couldn't help but feel a little giddy of your use of 'friend'.

"I'm-"

"I know." She said. She didn't say it with disdain though, which shocked him. "You're the reason we're still open. Come on in Mister Brekker."

He didn't know what that meant but accepted the invitation, walking in. "Do you have another copy of 'Rise of the Grey Wardens'?" You asked.

"I do, why did you burn through your other copy?" She asked.

"Mister Brekker wishes to read." You said with a grin. Kaz's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. Bookshelves lined the walls both on the first and second floor of the building. There must've been thousands of books in front of Kaz.

"Here you are mister Brekker." The woman said.

"Thank you er..."

"Miriam." She said with a nod and a kind smile. She gave off the feeling of a doting grandmother with how fond she seemed of you. "Right! Y/n dear, I made some sugar biscuits if you'd like to try them" she said. You seemed to have found your way upstairs when you responded back with a

"Be right down!"

You returned with a new book in hand and Miriam grinned as Kaz took the book. "I see you've found the sequel." She said. You had the biggest grin.

"I had no clue it was a series." You admitted.

"The second one tends to be slow but it is vital for the third." She said, handing you a cookie.

You smiled, taking it. "Thank you. How much do I owe you?" You asked.

"Nothing. It's on the house." She declared.

"Miriam, if you ever wanted to apply for sainthood, I do believe you to be eligible." You said making her laugh.

"Thank the saints you didn't know me in my youth." She teased making you laugh. Kaz couldn't explain it. Usually smalltalk annoyed him but something about this was nice to him. You and Miriam seemed to have a tight bond.

"We should go, it does look like it'll rain." You said, peaking out a window. Kaz nodded but Miriam held her hand up before handing you and Kaz paper bags.

"For the road." She told the both of you. You gave her a kind smile before walking back to the door. "One moment Mister Brekker." She halted. Kaz turned around as Miriam motioned for him to lean forward for them to whisper. "Keep her safe, will you? There's not many a good person in Ketterdam but she's one of them." She said.

Kaz with possibly the sweetest look of adoration he could muster simply said "I will, Miss Miriam." Before he followed you out. The two of you began your trek back to the Slat. "How long have you known Miriam?" Kaz asked.

"Going on ten years now. Saved her cat from a town fire, she's been grateful since." You said, opening the paperbag and pulling a cookie out. Miriam gave you both cookies. Maybe Miriam was just a village grandma.

"Has any of the others met her?" He asked.

You shook your head. "You'd be the first I've shown to the Archive." You said.

"Why me?" Kaz asked as a crack of thunder sounded off.

"Because you asked me about what I read." You said before walking into the Slat.

Kaz winded up spending a good week reading that book. You were right, it was an amazing story. When he finished, he had that same urge that you did to discuss it.

All of the crows were back in the club, this time Kaz and you both playing a round of poker. Jesper hated this. You were way too good at poker and kept winning, hand after hand. You had a nice stack of chips. Inej seeing your smirk as you leaned back in your chair.

"I win again!" You said.

"Why is this so hard?" Wylan asked.

"Because Y/n is way too good at this." Jesper groaned, smacking his head on the table. Nina sighed.

"I need a drink. A very large one." She said.

"I've got my own little army of chips." You said, stacking them.

"You could rebuild the Cousland estate with your winnings." Kaz said, you looking up slightly shocked. "Course, I could always pull a Howe and, y'know. Knock it down." Kaz added.

You looked bewildered as Inej rose a brow.

"Kay, is it just me, or did none of that make sense?" Jesper asked.

"You just made a reference." You said.

"I did." Kaz nodded.

"You finished it."

"I did."

"And!?"

"You were right. The book is fantastic, I could not put it down." Kaz said.

Inej and Jesper exchanged a look.

"Fuck poker. We need to discuss the book NOW!" You said excitedly.

"Yes! Put me out of my misery!" Jesper said.

Kaz looked at him and then you. "Let's have tea." He suggest. Nina's eyes went wide as she realized what was happening before her, her looking at Inej who had a smile on her face.

"I'm grabbing my coat! Let's go!" You said getting up. Kaz followed you as you practically bounced out the door with excitement.

Nina gaped. "How long has he been in love with her!?" She asked as the door closed.

"Oh a while now, like since she got back." Wylan shrugged.

Jesper and Inej looked at Wylan as he moved your chips.

"You knew?" Inej asked.

"It'd take a blind man not to see."

You ended up back at the Slat, sitting cross legged on your sofa. You two must've discussed the book for hours, Kaz loving every moment of it as he heard you passionately talk about the story.

You sighed with a smile. "It's funny, I didn't think you liked me." You said, looking at your empty tea cup.

Kaz rose a brow. "Why did you think that?" He asked.

"You just seemed so... I dunno. Angry that I returned." You said.

"I wasn't."

"But you seemed it."

"I didn't know who you were. I was on my guard" he said. You rose a brow.

"You're not anymore?" You asked. Kaz bared a gentle expression that made your heart almost explode inside your chest.

"I'm not. You're one of the few I trust. The only I'd trust with my entire being." He said. Kaz didn't have faith in a lot of things. But he had faith in you and it showed. He looked at you. "Do you trust me?" He asked.

You gave him a look of pure adoration. "Of course." You said. You had spent your life reading books about the greatest romances of all time. You'd get lost in those stories of how the man always loved the girl but she didn't realize it until a pivotal moment.

"Kaz... you said you trusted me." You breathed. "Please. Please let my intuition be right." You thought to yourself as Kaz gave you a questioning look. "Do you... love me?"

Your question hung in the air for what felt like the longest minute of your life. Kaz definitely seemed caught way off his guard by the question, his eyes widening the second he realized what was happening.

This entire time he has been hoping for an opening to talk to you. A moment to truly get to know you. Well he got one. And he fell in love with every bit of you. He swallowed hard.

"Forget that I asked, I am so sorr-" "I do." He said.

You blinked. "What?"

"I love you." He said. Your jaw must've hit the floor. You knew how guarded this man was. You heard that any semblance of vulnerability was practically impossible from Kaz and yet here he was. Being the most vulnerable he could be with you.

You looked at him before getting up. He thought his words might've done something bad. Maybe you didn't want his love. Maybe he had misinterpreted everything, maybe he was a fool for thinking there was-

You kneeled in front of him. "Kaz, may... Uhm... May I touch you?" You asked. With hesitation he nodded as your hand gently held his cheek. The touch of humans was deeply unsettling to Kaz. That feeling brought him back to a place he never wanted to be in ever again and yet somehow...

Somehow your gentle touch made him feel safe. If it had been anyone else he'd probably be in the process of murdering the fool who touched him. But it was you. You were like an angel on earth to him.

"When I look at you, do you know what I see?" You asked softly.

"No." He muttered.

"I see someone else who's been through hell and came out on the other side." You held his hands, Kaz looking in your eyes. "We've suffered long enough and we deserve to be happy." You said softly.

Kaz had a momentary loss of control. He kissed you, you leaning into his touch. He pulled away with wide eyes. "I am so sorry-" "shut up and kiss me Brekker."

The next day you were at the crow club reading at the bar next to Inej. Jesper yawned. "It's a boring day. Wish Kaz would give us something to do. By this point I'll take a fucking b&e." He whined.

Kaz, as if he were summoned, walked through the doors of the crow club, sitting on your other side. For once, Inej watched you put your book down as you gave a gentle smile to Kaz. "Hello" you said.

The dead give away that something had changed was the fact that Kaz smiled. He actually smiled back at you. "Hello." He said softly.

Inej and Jesper swapped shocked looks. "Y/n, do you mind helping me with this? It's a rifle mod and I wanna make sure I've got the measurements right." Wylan asked. You looked over.

"Alright." You said walking off.

Jesper and Inej looked at Kaz who now had a drink in his hand. "What the hell happened last night!?" Jesper asked.

"Nothing important." Kaz shrugged.

"We just had tea."

#kaz x y/n #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker #grishaverse #six of crows

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Wherever You Are

Sequel to Come Out, Come Out

Warnings: noncon and violent elements. Warnings are not exhaustive. Please curate your reading accordingly.

Summary: Steve comes home.

As always, please, please, please, send me your thoughts and feedback, horny and otherwise! Love you all so much 💗

A sudden vertigo overcomes you, sweeping you out of your static sleep. You blink away the shroud of drowsiness and greet the man above you with a vacant stare. Your breath hitches as you turn fully onto your back to face Steve.

“We doing this again?” He stands straight and crosses his thick arms over his bulging chest, “the hiding?”

“Sorry, Captain,” you push yourself up, bending your legs in front of you as you keep your heels on the blanket below you, half of it trailing behind you under the bed.

“I don’t like you sleeping under there. You know that.”

“I do, sir, but…” You bat your lashes and pout. You can’t tell him who you are truly hiding from. “I don’t like sleeping alone in the bed.”

He tilts his head and the stony edge leaves his jaw. He nods and bends over you, gripping you around your sides as he lifts you to your feet. He steadies you before him before he lets you go, fingertips brushing up your nightgown.

There’s a cut above his cheek and smear of dry blood down his stubbled throat that trails onto his dark collar. There’s a rent in the fabric across his chest, another deep along his torso, that one reddened and tattered. He cradles your chin as you eyes drift down to his wounds and he forces you to look at him.

“Starshine, I’m alright,” he assures you as his thumb caresses your cheek, “go get the kit.”

“Yes, Captain,” you touch his hand gently, angling your head up as he leans in. You give him a kiss, breathing in the scent of blood and sweat. You part and give a meek smile before you spin on your heel.

You flit off to find the silver chest stored under the bathroom counter. You hear him just through the doorway as he starts to strip away his layers. The clink of buckles and rustle of fabric underlines the silence.

As you return to the bedroom, he sits on the bench of your vanity. The one he proudly reminds you he built himself. He still wears his grimy boots and stained pants, the dark blue fabric dusted with some unknown soot.

He sighs as he pushes his head back and stretches his neck. He winces as you see how it tugs at the shallow slice along his abdomen. His firm muscles draw taut and his broad chest rises and falls. Along his left peck, a purpled welt stretches up to his shoulder but the skin remains unbroken.

He sets his head straight and watches your approach. You lay out the kit and flip the top open. You flick away the last of your fatigue with a flutter of your eyelashes. You take out the alcohol first and set to cleaning the cut along his stomach first.

“It’s going to sting,” you warn, just as you do every time, even though you know he barely feels it.

“Worth it,” he purrs as he brushes your hip, welcoming you closer as you set to work.

When you finish with the bloody slice, placing a bandage neatly over it, you move on to his hands. You only just notice his split knuckles. He gives you each in turn, letting you clean them and wrap a few fingers.

You finish with a dab of witch hazel over his bruises. He watches you intently. You’re overly aware of his attention as his hands wander along the silky fabric of your nightgown. As you tidy up, he lifts the hem and leans around to get a glimpse of your ass. He gives a tiny spank before he sits back, resting his elbows on the edge of your vanity as he looks you up and down.

“Good girl,” he praises, pushing his legs wide.

“Captain,” you eke out as you close up the kit and dump the peel wrappers and cotton balls in the small bin beside the vanity.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long, starshine,” he says, “as much for myself as you, you know?”

“I know, Captain,” you face him again.

He nods curtly, wordless order. You walk around his knee and stand before him, just in the vee of his legs. He pats his thigh, his eyes slipping down to the gesture and back up again. You sit obediently on his leg as he brings an arm forward, setting his hand against the small of your back.

“You missed me,” he slides his other elbow off the vanity and sits straight, reaching to your hand and dragging it up over your lap.

“Yes, Captain.”

He lifts your hand and places it against his jaw, guiding it along the thick trim of his beard. He leans into your touch and lets you go reluctantly. You keep your fingers moving, petting him as he hums in delight.

“Give Captain a kiss,” his voice grinds like gravel.

You lean in and press your lips to his. It’s easier now. Before, everything you did was so mechanical but you know better now. It only makes him mad when he sees your reluctance.

His tongue pokes out, gliding along your lips. You let him in, angling your head as he invades your mouth. His hand creeps up your back and he braces the back of your head. He locks you in a hungry kiss, snarling as if he might devour you whole.

When he pulls away, you’re breathless and dizzy. His eyes are dark pits you could fall into. His hand falls to the back of your neck as his other dances along the edge of your nightgown. He gives a small tug as his eyes drift down your body.

“Stand up,” he orders.

You stand.

He leads you without a word. Turning you to face him and knocking apart your feet with his boot. He draws you closer until you stand over his leg. He slips his hands beneath your nightgown, raising it above your pelvis as he frames your hips. He forces you down to straddle his thick thigh, a small gasp escaping you as you wince. You’re still tender…

“I missed you, baby girl,” he lets a hand fall down to your ass, the other keeping a firm hold on your hip, “I want to feel how much you missed me.”

He rocks you once. Pull your pelvis forward then urging it back. The friction of your cunt on his thigh sparks a thrill that ripples down your thighs. You nearly squeal as the sensation reminds you of the rawness nestled between your legs. You repeat the motion. Mimic how he moved you. You tilt against his thigh, another babble trickling from your lips.

You trail your other hand up his arm, watching how the tendons in his arm react, bicep rounding as you grasp his shoulder.

His hand clamps around your hips as the other brushes down to knead the tender flesh of your thigh. You let out a willowy breath as he leans in and hovers his lips before yours. You kiss him, heeding another mute order. You have to know how to read his body as much as his words.

You roll your hips, grinding against him as your fingers graze along his beard. You push your hand back to twine into the tails of his hair. His need melts into you as the pressure blooms beneath you. You squeak and moan, a mixture of pleasure and pain.

You ride him without restraint. The bench creaks below his weight and yours. He groans into your mouth as your tongues meet in desperation. Your legs quiver and burn as you chase your release. It’s close yet so far away.

Gasp and pull your mouth from his, puffing wildly as lifts his chin and lets out a gritty growl. You dip your head down and kiss his neck, nipping at him as you clutch the strands of his hair and dig your nails into the firm muscles of his shoulder.

“That’s it, I can almost feel it, baby girl, hmm, you gonna cum for your captain?”

“Mmhmm,” you purr as you ply frantic pecks along his throat, “yes… cap… tain.”

You rut spastically as the swell of fire roars through you. You quake as the slickness between your leg smears along your cunt and onto his pant leg. Your pleasure spills over as it spreads to the creases of your thighs.

You slow, little by little, shame coursing anew in your veins as your orgasm recedes. You still and lift your head, wavering just slightly as you look Steve in the eyes. You drag your hand down to his chest.

“You came, didn’t you, starshine?” He asks with a taunting smirk.

“Yes, Captain, I did,” you answer and turn your face down in embarrassment.

His fingertips tickle along your thigh and up to your ass. He feels along your nightgown, almost curiously and follows the curve of your chest up to the base of the strap. He glides the thin string down your shoulder, then the other.

He pulls down the top of your nightie and fondles your chest with his large hand. Your nipple react at once and goosebumps rise across your skin. You tremble and look down to watch him grope you.

“You’re… sensitive.”

“Captain,” you breathe cluelessly.

“Were you a good girl?”

“Good?”

“You didn’t touch yourself, did you?” He pinches your nipple and you yelp.

“No, Captain, never,” you whimper.

“No?” He tweaks the other and you squeeze his arm, “so why are you so… tender?”

“Captain?” Your eyes round, “I swear, I didn’t–”

“Hmmm,” his hum undercuts your protest and he clucks and he smirks, “Buck did say you were a good girl. Maybe he was a bad boy, huh?”

You gape at him. He’s mocking you. He knows why. He knows everything. You look up to the corner where the lens is. He sees it all.

“He won’t have to be bad if you don’t hide from him,” he bounces your tit in his hand, “you know he likes to play games.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And you know I don’t like it when you make me look bad,” he flicks your nipple with his fingernail and you yelp as you cover it with your hand, “when you act like you have no discipline.”

“I didn’t– I was scared, Steve– Captain,” you panic and pull your hand away from your chest to press to his, “please, Captain, I was only afraid.”

He growls as his throat bobs. Thoughts storm in his eyes as they bore into you. He grasps the bunched fabric of your nightgown and rips it all the way to your waist.

“You will behave this time,” he sneers, “won’t you, starshine?”

“Yes, Captain.” This time?

“Go put something pretty on,” he grips your hips and slides you down his thigh, “he’ll be here soon.”

You don’t argue. You stand and let the nightgown fall to your feet. His eyes rove up and down and he gives a noise of approval.

“Or maybe, you should stay like that, baby girl,” he taunts, “you’ve never look more delicious than you do right now.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #sequel #mcu #marvel #captain america

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scythesms · 2 months

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The sound of innocent bickering from the two youngest Ambroise children echoed throughout the overgrown yard, amusing the attentive ears of Edmund, who maintained a watchful eye over the playful children. Cecily sat beside her father and observed him in thoughtful silence with a gaze both curious and contemplative.

Though she’d never been one to shy away from expression, Cecily often found her thoughts speaking louder than her words. She possessed a meticulous nature, in which she preferred carefully weaving her words into coherent thoughts before they were vocalized—a trait notably distinct from her unrestrained siblings. Eugene, driven by an impulsive desire to articulate every mean thought, seemed driven by a need to release his critical opinions from his mind as swiftly as they entered. Josiah, on the other hand, remained indifferent to how others perceived him, prioritizing his own understanding above all else—an attribute that irked those around him, particularly his reluctance to repeat or rephrase. Once spoken, his words stood no chance of being altered or corrected—something Elaine had picked up on. “Think before you speak, Elaine,” Cecily said at least twice a day in response to improper sentences like, “When I’m old, I’ll do a bakery and plant pies” and unreasonable questions that follow such as, “Why can’t I plant pies?”.

Similar to improper conversational etiquette, Cecily held a very low tolerance for stuttering and mumbling. It was like chalk grating a pristine slate to her ears. At her young age, she knew she preferred momentary silence in thought as opposed to stutters from faltering lips and vacant minds. And so she sat, dedicating time to piece her thoughts and curiosities together into a narrative that reflected her intentions precisely.

“Father,” she began, “may I ask you something?”

Edmund, attuned to the gravity of her tone, turned his complete attention to his daughter. Carefully, he said, “You can ask me anything.”

"I was thinking about your lady friend," she confessed. "How did you come to know her?"

Though he had anticipated this very question—wondering which one of his eldest children would broach the subject first—he resented it just as much. There’d been a time early on in his reconnection with Imogene where he had considered sitting his children down, offering them insight into her presence in his life, and disclosing his entire history with her. Yet, he had balked at the notion, second guessing the necessity of such a conversation. If she were merely a friend and there were no further intentions, then perhaps there was no need for an "explanation"... or so he had attempted to convince himself.

“I knew her when I was a young boy… just before meeting your mother. Imogene was… a part of my past.”

He chose his words carefully. Cecily appreciated that, but it wasn’t enough. She pressed, “Did you love her? Imogene?”

Edmund’s shoulders sagged as he released a sigh before admitting honestly, “Yes, I did.”

He always thought discussing his past with Imogene to his children would stump him, and he’d be a sputtering lying fool. Yet, in that moment, he felt no such indulgence. The admission flowed with an unexpected ease—almost relieving.

A thoughtful pause lingered between them before Cecily ventured further, her voice barely above a whisper, "Did you love her more than my mother?"

He stared ahead. “No.” His response was swift and concrete. “Rosalyn—your mother… holds a place in my heart no one can surpass.”

Cecily was relentless. “Do you still love Imogene?”

“No.” It sounded so simple.

“Could you love her again?”

He returned his attention to his daughter—her wide eyes void of resentment or detest. “Cecily–”

“I don’t think Mother would be upset with you for loving her again. She would want you to be happy.”

Exhaling softly, Edmund carefully watched Cecily—a reflection of her mother in both demeanor and insight. “I am happy,” he expressed while looking at her side profile, her gaze now fixed ahead. “I’m happy. You four make me happy.”

She shrugged. “You could be happier.”

Cecily had no intention of shoving her father into the arms of any woman, but she wasn’t blind. She’d observed their interactions keenly—a bit foolish if she were to admit. She simply couldn’t imagine someone making her stutter and blush the way her father and Imogene did when in each other's presence. She knew she needed to make it clear to her father that if he decided not to pursue a relationship with the woman, it’d be his sole decision and not one influenced by herself and her siblings… (Addressing Eugene's bitterness would be a concern for another time, should it arise).

While she lacked deep perception of her mother, her memories painted a portrait of a woman akin to an angel. Cecily couldn’t imagine her mother being resentful of her father for seeking love after years spent in mourning.

Edmund, who prided himself on believing he possessed a more intimate understanding of Rosalyn than perhaps anyone else in the world, acknowledged that his daughter's insights held truth in more ways than one.

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#1916 #Ambroise Legacy #1910s #decades challenge #sims historical #sims decades challenge #ts4 historical #ts4 challenge #ts4 decades challenge #black simblr #sims stories #AL #Edmund Ambroise #Cecily Ambroise

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superblysubpar · 4 months

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We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain | mentions of drugs | "illusions" to smut

3k words

Steve always thought he’d meet the love of his life, his soul mate, at a bar.

Which sounds kind of lame now maybe? It’s just that the movies make it feel like this magical moment - you know, the couple sees each other, the music swells, the lights change - it’s undeniable.

But that’s not happening for Steve Harrington it seems, definitely not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

So here he is, just breaking up with another girl in another random Chicago bar.

His thumb pulls at the damp paper label, his brows furrowed over hazel eyes girls tend to like to look into deeply from time to time - or so he’s been told.

“It’s just not working.”

The words taste more bitter than the beer on his tongue because for Steve, that’s quite the opposite of how he feels a relationship should be described. Your relationship shouldn’t feel like a job. It should be easy. It should feel right. It should just work for lack of a better term.

When there’s no response from the other side of the table he finally glances up from the shredded label to find her typing on her phone, reaching for her wine glass and nodding.

“Brenda?”

The blonde finally lifts her eyes from the device, smiling under vacant eyes.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Steve sighs deeply. He rubs at his temple as he nods.

“Yeah, yeah I did. I don’t…I don’t think we should…do this anymore?”

Silence.

She’s typing on her phone again.

“Brenda?” He blinks at her incredulously before leaning across the table, closer, as he lowers his voice, “Brenda, I’m breaking up with you.”

She snaps her gum, slides her phone into her purse and starts to slide out of the booth.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen, I didn’t even know we were dating? We haven’t even slept together and I didn’t think we were, like, an inclusive thing, you know?”

“You mean exclusive?”

She’s already walking out the door. As Steve watches her go with a disbelieving stare, he sees one of the TVs suspended over the bar has the Cubs game on now.

Well at least tonight isn’t a total bust.

“Hey man, ‘nother beer?” The bartender who brought him his first one asks from where he’s collecting empty dishes at a nearby table.

“Um,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, squinting at the tabletop before he sighs. “Sure, thanks.”

The bartender leaves and Steve rests his chin on his fist, watching the game but not really seeing it.

He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. Is it all just normal? To be this hopeless, to be this unhappy with life, to be this lonely. There has to be someone out there for him right?

His phone buzzes loudly on the table, stealing him from his spiral only for the dread he was barely allowing himself to dip into, swallow him whole and drown him.

The contact ‘Dad’ displays with no photo for what feels like forever until it finally stops and the screen goes dark.

Steve is still staring down at it when a large basket of breadsticks slides under his nose and a cold beer right behind it.

He glances up and the bartender is taking his empty bottle, smiling in a sort of laid back way that makes Steve envious of his clearly relaxed state and demeanor.

“On the house. You look pretty down about that blonde.”

“Oh,” Steve sits up, clearing his throat. He feels the warmth under his cheeks as he shakes his head, “No, um, she’s…yeah, I’m not missing her. Just lost in thought I guess. Thank you…” Steve trails off, looking for a name tag.

“Argyle, man,” the bartender slaps his hand out and grabs Steve’s.

Steve points to the ceiling, smiling. “Like the name of the bar?”

“One and the same my dude. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Steve keeps his eyes on the game until he can’t resist the scent of butter and cheese and he grabs one of the breadsticks. He practically moans when he takes the first bite, and his eyes flutter open when he hears a laugh float across the quiet room.

He swallows around the way too hot to have taken that big of a bite of bread as he sees you. You’re the only girl at the bar, head thrown back in a laugh he swears sounds like a favorite song as Argyle pours more red wine in your glass. There’s pizza in your hand and you’re gesturing to the baseball game.

He might already be in love with you.

And that’s before he watches you devour more than one piece of the pizza you’re eating alone and watching the baseball game like you actually care about it.

Steve clicks his phone unlocked, ignoring the text from his father, and types one to Robin instead.

Steve: Do you believe in soul mates?

It takes less than a minute for her to respond.

Robin: Steve, I’m sorry, but I cannot do this. Brenda is NOT your soul mate Steve: we just broke up Robin: oh thank god Robin: I mean, I am so sorry, what can I do? Ice cream? Steve: no, listen… Steve: there’s this girl here Robin: no Steve: I haven’t even told you the best part Robin: let me guess, you think you love her already? Steve: if you’re gonna be a brat about it, I will not tell you that she’s watching the Cubs game right now Robin: wow? Steve: Robs, she’s ACTUALLY watching it Robin: Yeah, and? Do you even know her name yet, Dingus? Have you spoken to her? Dude, I love you, but you can’t keep doing this Steve: what’s a good pick up line?

Steve takes a swig of his beer and chokes around it when Robin responds.

Robin: I might not be a pro player, but when it comes to you, I won't stop until I’ve reached all the bases Steve: absolutely not Robin: I think I glove you Robin: my dugout, or yours? Robin: I’m an umpire. Can I have your number so I can make the call? Steve: I hate you Robin: why don’t you just go with “Hi.” idiot Robin: also, why are there SO many baseball pick up lines on google? And what do they mean? Wtf is a pinch hitter?

Steve rolls his eyes at his screen, locking it closed as he slides out of the booth. He approaches the bar slowly, deciding that Robin is right, he should take it slow, he always does this.

And maybe he’ll go with the umpire line.

But when he’s right behind your shoulder, so close he can smell your perfume that makes him want to fall inside the bottle, he sees your pizza.

And it has fucking olives on it.

“Shit.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he clearly did, and when you turn to face him, he sort of forgets how to breathe.

You’re clearly taking him in just like he is you, and when he sees your mouth drop open a little as your eyes meet each other, he feels like someone is playing a prank on him.

Because the bar lights dim and the lyrics of As Time Goes By plays loudly.

And Steve knows, logically, that this is all because it’s the time of night where bars dim their lights and that the song is from the other TV playing Casablanca. He knows this.

And yet…

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Steve kisses your temple as he leans around you and grabs a breadstick on the bar despite your protest. He groans around the bread as you turn to smile at him.

“I swear, Argyle puts drugs in these.”

He sighs, pushing more into his mouth as he blinks at you, nodding his agreement. Steve’s eyes roam over the little black dress you have on, stopping appreciatively on the lace neckline that dips nicely and not so innocently. His fist comes up over his mouth, clearing his throat around the bite he shoves into his cheek so he can talk.

“You look nice.”

“What, this old thing?” You spin on the stool, shrugging your shoulders with a smile.

“Did you have something going on at work today?” He asks, brows furrowing and at first you think he’s joking, but then he cocks his head, ripping at more of the breadstick.

“Um, no, I-”

“Hey,” Steve waves for Argyle’s attention before he turns to you, apologetic, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, do you care if we get the pizza to go? I’m beat from today, and I just need to get into something that isn’t this tie and eat that pizza and pass out.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You smile, sure it’s not quite meeting your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice because he’s already relaying the message to Argyle who looks at you curiously, then Steve, then you again before nodding.

“Sure, man, I’ll box it up right now, it just got out of the oven.”

He walks away and Steve looks at you curiously, “That was weird, right?”

Except it wasn’t, because Argyle and you must see all the couples literally making out over their pizza, or snuggled up on the same side of booths and pressing their noses into cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into ears. Argyle and you must know that today is Valentine’s Day and Steve…doesn’t?

You quickly hop off the stool, grab your thick winter coat and shrug it on, pretending not to notice, “No? It’s busy, maybe he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Steve trails off, looking around until he lands back on you buttoning your coat, then down at your feet when he smiles. “Hey, you’re wearing the heels I bought you.”

A hum leaves your pursed lips as you roll your eyes. “Well, they’re really nice and they’re not doing anyone any good hanging out in my closet collecting dust on their red soles.”

Steve leans in and kisses you, quickly and subtly before he whispers, “It’s okay to admit you like the fancy things I buy you…speaking of…” He grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

He hands you his debit card, before he nods outside, “I’m gonna go run and pull the car up so you don’t have to walk in those all the way to where I finally found parking.”

“Steve, I can-” He’s already waving it off and kissing your cheek, disappearing out the door he barely just walked through.

You slump against the bar and pull out your phone, looking around at the packed place with a sour feeling in your stomach.

Normally, you hate this day. It’s overpriced consumerism at its finest. It's a sickening zoo of PDA everywhere you look, and places like here that normally are your peaceful, quiet spots, are packed.

But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were sort of looking forward to the day this year. Because, in all honesty, you’ve never really had someone you’ve wanted to celebrate with or someone who cared to do so until now.

Until Steve.

Which is what leads you to pull out your phone, open a text to Robin, decide absolutely not because she’d just text him and then he’d feel awful and instead you call Eddie who answers on the first ring.

“What.”

You go to bite at your lower lip at the sound of his curt greeting and think better of it, what with the lipstick you put on for tonight and all.

“Are you busy?”

Eddie sighs, dramatically, and you hear the distinct sound of a can crushing. “Yeah, I’m fucking the love of my life after we just had a candle lit dinner for two.”

As you look at the window, waiting to see Steve’s car, your eyes roll. Argyle hands you the pizza box with a smile and your voice lowers.

“Steve’s a…has he…does he like Valentine’s Day?”

Eddie snorts as he slurps a sip of a fresh beer into the receiver, “What kind of question is that. Of course Steve likes Valentine’s Day. It’s his shit. One year he took a girl out to like this whole big, fancy dinner and ice skating. Presents, flowers, the whole thing. He even gets Robin flowers and a card every year. He’s always been like that. Got everyone in middle school like the really nice candy and cards. Superheroes and name brand shit.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence on the other end for what feels like forever and you hear his sharp inhale as the car pulls up.

“I gotta go,” you start to hang up but then think better of it and hiss into the phone, “Don’t say anything to him or Robin or Nancy or I will kill you.”

“But-” You click off the phone before he can say another word and head out the door where Steve is already jogging around the front of his car and opening your door for you.

The glaring reality of your situation hits you as Steve closes the door.

Steve didn’t forget Valentine’s Day, he just doesn’t want to celebrate it with you.

You try to shake off the mood, to smile and nod as he talks the whole way to his apartment about the new job, because you are really proud of him and you love hearing how excited he is for this new work he’s doing. And really, isn’t being alone with him, eating pizza, in comfy clothes, a perfect night with him because anything you do with him is perfect?

It’s just hard to shake the fact that it’s a known fact he’s gone above and beyond for everyone else on this holiday, but not for you.

Steve grows quiet as you walk inside the apartment building, thumb swiping over your knuckles back and forth gently until you untangle your fingers so he can unlock his door.

The heels are kicked off and your coat hung as Steve slides the pizza onto the island, turning towards his bar. “I got that wine you really liked, do you want a glass of that with it, or…” he trails off waiting for you to respond.

You nod and head towards his room, but his arm snakes around your waist, tugging you to a stop so you can see his eyes when he ducks his head to catch your gaze. Steve speaks softly, worried, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you smile and he frowns and you kiss the corner of his lips, “Sorry, I just had a long day too, I guess. Lady things. Heels hurting, whatever-”

“The heels hurt?” He looks genuinely concerned, and goes to reach for his phone, “I’ll get you a different size, they shouldn’t hurt-”

“No, no, no, I meant like…” you kiss him again, feeling something in your chest ache.

Steve is wonderful, wanting to buy you new shoes because your feet hurt and here you are sulking because what? He didn’t get you overpriced bad chocolates?

He kisses you back, hand cupping your jaw until you’re sighing and pulling away.

“The shoes don’t hurt my feet. I don’t know why I said that. They’re perfect and the wine sounds great. I’m gonna change quick, okay?”

He nods, but he’s still frowning as you turn into his bedroom. You literally shake out your arms as you enter his closet, like you’re trying to rid your body of the bratty feeling as you roll your head from side to side, the tense feeling in your neck making you feel nauseous and guilty.

You pad over to the tall dresser, pulling at the top drawer that’s slowly becoming yours as your phone rings, loudly, in the other room.

“Steve, can you grab that? It’s in my coat pocket. It’s probably just Eddie, I hung up on him earlier…” you trail off as you remember what else is in the coat pocket and you race back out to the kitchen, sweats and one of Steve’s shirts in your hands.

Your tights covered feet skid to a stop in his kitchen at the sight of what Steve holds in his hand.

His tie is gone, white dress shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the white tank top underneath with a small glimpse of his chest hair peeking out the top of it. His hair is sticking every which way, like he ran both hands through it several times in less than the minute you’ve been a part.

And in his fingers dangles a gold chain, his gold chain, with a little ‘S’ hanging from it.

“Steve, I-”

He looks up at you and his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes look a little glassy and he clears his throat as he holds it up higher. The ‘S’ spins with the movement, catching the light and sparkling as his voice breaks a little when he asks, “What’s this?”

Your eyes close as you groan and drop the items. The heels of your palms into your eyes as you shake your head. The words tumble out of you, unable to be contained any longer.

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I just…I thought…I figured you’re a guy who, like, would eat this holiday shit up, and I don’t know, your chain just…I don’t know. I stole it and I brought it to a jeweler and got the ‘S’ for it and I know it’s technically a gift for me, but I just thought you’d like it if I wore it but it’s fine, I can return it or we can just…I don’t know, I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, now standing just in front of you. He tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face before his fingers tuck under your jaw so you have to look at him. “You got me this for Valentine’s Day?”

The words of the holiday must make your face aching to be nonchalant twitch or shift or something because Steve leans down and presses his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed you were very much not the kind of girl who would eat this holiday shit up,” he laughs at the parrot of your words as your lips twitch. “I thought you’d hate the fancy dinners and the flowers and chocolate, and just want today to be…normal?”

Your shoulders shrug as you step closer, letting your hands tug at his shirt collar. “I do…normally.”

Steve’s nose traces up yours and back down as he hums, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks, “Yeah? What changed?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment Harrington?” You whisper, heart stuttering in your chest as his lips catch your bottom one and linger, his breath exhaling against your skin warm as he laughs.

“I wouldn’t complain if I got one,” his lips skim up your jaw, kissing just below your ear before he asks, “Can I put it on you?”

Something inside of your stomach flutters as you nod and spin for him. Steve’s nose follows your ear, down your neck as his hands reach around with the necklace. The cold metal hits your skin, your toes curl and legs press together as his fingertips skate across your collarbones with the ends of the chain, until they’re clasping it closed.

You spin slowly, bodies refusing to stop touching each other as Steve swallows loudly and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His eyes remain on the necklace as you tilt your head back to look up at him.

Steve’s hand reaches up, fingertips gently brushing down the chain until they’re on the ‘S’ where he pauses, his adams apple bobbing as the apartment grows warmer from the heat of his stare.

He leans forward, and before you can even naturally follow, he tugs, lightly, on the ‘S’, making your brain buzz and something spark up your spine as the distance between you closes.

Steve makes a sort of choked noise from the back of his throat, pupils blown wide when he finally looks into your eyes.

Your lips hover over his mouth, whispering around their smirk, “Pizza’s getting cold.”

Steve groans as you slip out of his arms, spinning towards the food only to be caught around the waist by his arms. He practically drags you to his bedroom, growling, “Fuck the pizza,” around your laughter.

You’re not sure what you were hoping for, really, with the gift, for your first Valentine’s day together.

But watching Steve Harrington’s eyes practically roll back in his head with you grinding on top of him, his hands pressed to the mattress with fingers entangled in yours, as the chain and little gold ‘S’ hits his chin is pretty fucking great.

Oh, and him coming with no warning when you kiss the pair of freckles on his neck and whisper, “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” was pretty cool too.

#we'll call it love #it had to be you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series

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leezlelatch · 8 months

Text

Terzo x GN! Reader

A very kind person pointed out that I had a gendered term in here and I apologize if it took anyone out of the story. It has been fixed!

~6,200 words, contains diner shenanigans, dancing, and sad to happy Terzo. You spend your evenings writing at the old diner in town, looking for your next great story idea. And then Terzo Emeritus walks through the door.

The neon diner sign of rocket red and electric blue illuminates the small parking lot and the few cars strung about haphazardly in their spots. Next to the dumpster in the back, a young couple attempts to get a few heated touches in before the back door swings open, sending them running while the whistling cook pours a bucket of grease into the grassy patch nearby. The few patrons inside sit on different ends of a diner that hasn’t changed a wink since it was erected, although the same couldn’t be said for the diehards who have been coming since their kids were kids or since they were kids. The lone waitress on duty pours another cup of coffee for an overworked cop, while a businessman in a booth runs a hand through his well-oiled hair, his eyes vacant while he comes up with another excuse for his wife as to why the paycheck is short again this week.

You make eye contact with a young boy sitting at a table with his sister and parents. He smiles at you, and your lips curve in a genuine one yourself. There’s a diversity here. That’s the reason you keep coming back, although the cheeseburgers certainly make their own argument. You make a silly face at the boy and wink, his smile broadening as he giggles before turning back to the chicken nuggets his mother is trying very hard to get him to eat. You take a breath and rub your fingers against your palms before turning back to your laptop, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you regard the blank document.

Writing is so damn difficult, and honestly, you wonder how James Patterson gets away with publishing a hundred books a year. At this point, we all know it isn’t him writing. No, the real writers are out here, plugging away in old diners and trying not to go insane. At this point, you don’t even know where the plot is going, and you regret not making an outline. But you need ideas for outlines and you’re fresh out of them.

“I should just go back to writing fanfiction,” you mumble, resting your chin on your hand while sighing in frustration.

The dainty ring of the old bell above the door draws your attention to the front, and you watch with interest as the newest addition to this motley crew enters. You’ve never seen him before. In the weeks that you’ve made this place your writing home, you’ve gotten to know most of its patrons. They’re typical small town people with problems, just like you have problems, but they’re the type of people who always have a good morning on the tip of their tongue and call you honey. But this guy. Boy, did he break the mold.

He’s older, maybe above 50, close to 60. The wrinkles around his eyes and forehead are cut deep, and it draws your writer’s curiosity to wonder if they’re from laughter or pain. His face is set in a neutral expression as his eyes scan the diner, and you feel yourself inching forward in your seat, squinting a little.

Am I seeing right? you think, watching as the man moves toward the counter. His left eye looks strange, milky from where you’re sitting, and you immediately conclude that he must be blind in one eye.

You quickly look away and down at your table, your eyes a little wide. Judging much? you scold yourself. Jesus, get a grip. You’re not that damn bored.

Despite your internal reproach, your eyes flicker back up to watch the man as he takes off his jacket and lays it over one arm, politely waiting for the waitress to turn around as she refills the coffee pot. He’s wearing a dark purple button-up, sleeves rolled up to expose dainty wrists and forearms covered in dark hair. He’s that dark and debonair type, his hair that kind of black that’s almost unnatural, probably dyed. His bangs fall into his face, a long-fingered hand coming up to brush it away from his eyes. Your eyebrows raise as the errant lock of hair settles in a perfect wave with its brethren, unmoving. So the handsome older stranger has perfect hair, entirely unsurprising and very much appreciated.

You quickly glance down at your laptop when his eyes sweep across the room, likely looking for a place to sit, and you’re faced with your blinking cursor once more. Ignore the most interesting person you’ve seen walk in here in weeks, and write your damn story.

“Hello, how are you doing?” His accented voice floats across the diner.

Fuck it.

You watch him greet the waitress with a smile, his arm not holding the jacket coming up to rest on the counter as he casually leans, crossing one foot over the other. Penny, the poor woman caught in the clutches of that peculiar stare, flounders like a fish for several seconds before asking what she could get him. You try to peg his accent as he asks for black coffee with a squeeze of lemon, but all you can think about is how lovely the words sound coming out of those full lips. At this point, you begin to wonder if you’re in heat.

“You sure you don’t want cream, honey?” Penny asks him, pouring his coffee in one of those chipped porcelain mugs.

“No, thank you. I am lactose intolerant,” the man chuckles lightly and presses a hand to his stomach. “It will come back like a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Penny frowns.

“Eh, to haunt me. Stomach troubles. This is what I get for trying English phrases, no?”

“Oh. Right,” Penny laughs a little uncomfortably and slides his coffee across the counter. “That’ll be a dollar fifty.”

The man slides a twenty across the counter and smiles pleasantly at her with a quiet, lilted, “Keep the change, per favore.”

He turns and makes his way to a table about two away from yours, and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a small notebook, moleskin, and leaves the jacket draped over the empty chair beside him before taking a seat. Your eyes peer over the top of your laptop, watching as he warms his hands on his cup for a moment, just staring into the mug with an unreadable expression. There is something sad about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Honestly, you shouldn’t be trying. It’s rude. You’re rude. And the poor man probably just wants to enjoy a cup of joe before going home for the night.

As he lifts the mug to his lips, his eyes catch yours. His left eye isn’t milky, the iris is entirely white, pupil like a pinprick. God, you just wanna fling your laptop across the room. You are so goddamn nosy, and look what happened. Embarrassed, and thoroughly blushing, you look away for a moment before compelled, you return his odd gaze. He smiles at you and tips his mug in greeting before taking that first sip which prompts a satisfied sigh to escape that perfect mouth and you want to die.

You start to type on your keyboard, nonsensical stuff to make it look like you’re working and not obsessing, but all you can manage to write is, “I am as thirsty for this old man as he is for his cup of coffee.” Oh my god, delete that now. What is wrong with you?

I’m never leaving my apartment again, you think. I’m not doing it. He’s been in here for 10 minutes and I am acting like a looney toon.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, you take a big bite of your nearly cold cheeseburger like a feral animal before cracking your knuckles, determined to get back to your story. You begin to write a descriptive opening for the scene, and as the story progresses, seemingly slipping from your brain to your fingers to the document on the screen, you decide that it’s going to be a romance. Perhaps entirely inspired by the man a few tables away from you, but hey! That’s the reason you come here. It’s paying off.

Your eyes unwittingly fall on the man once more, and he’s hunched over the little notebook, a pencil in his hand as he writes. His lips move, silently reading along with each stroke of his pencil, and he more than once has to brush that bang away from his forehead, causing a smile to light your face. Not so perfect hair after all. Ah well, who are you kidding? Even the messy bang is its own perfection.

His fingers rise to his face and he pauses for a moment as if he’s remembering something before shaking his head a little with a barely perceptible smile and scratching his nose. He heaves a sigh and looks about the diner again, his eyes falling on the sign that claims the diner sells Pepsi fresh. You watch his eyebrows turn in, deepening the wrinkles which pucker above the bridge of his nose, giving him an angry look which coupled with his white eye could make anyone shiver in intimidation.

The family sitting nearby finish their meal and stand up, the kids talking exuberantly as they put their jackets on. The little boy runs ahead of his parents and nearly trips, the man on instinct half-standing, his chair scraping across the linoleum as he makes a small lunge toward the boy in order to prevent his falling. The kid rights himself without help, and looks at the stranger with a nervous, wide-eyed stare.

“It is alright, little one. I fall very often,” the man says with a soft smile, making a show of nearly tripping and falling back into his seat with an “oof!” The little boy starts to giggle, and you feel your own cheeks heat as you watch them interact. It’s so incredibly sweet, and the way the man’s eyes shine as he nods the family out the door makes you wonder if he has his own children at home. Likely grown. But the lack of a ring on his finger says otherwise, although…that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

Your stranger turns back to his notebook and picks up his pencil, taking another sip of his coffee with his free hand. When he presses the lead to the page, it snaps. He stares down at the broken piece for several seconds before his hand curls into a fist, and it looks as if he may throw the pencil across the room in the very same way you considered throwing your laptop. His expression changes, no longer soft and sweet as it was with the boy, or politely curious. It crumbles as if he was just given bad news, his mouth cutting a severe line. That bang falls into his face, and he doesn’t bother to push it away, letting it hang limp in front of his eyes that are hollow, vacant.

And then he looks up. And it’s gone. He looks only minorly inconvenienced, his gaze once more falling on you. He leans across the table slightly, an arm reaching across the expanse as he attempts to catch your eyes which are hyper focused on your laptop. You are the master of being inconspicuous, for sure.

“Excuse me? May I bother you for a moment?” Such a basic question, and yet his accent caresses each word with a musical quality.

“Hi, yes?” You inquire, finally meeting his gaze. If there ever was a moment to ‘audibly swallow’ as so many fanfictions describe, it would be now.

“Well, I must have a very strong grip because my pencil broke before I could get a single line on paper,” he says, holding up his broken pencil. “And as my brother would say, I do not have a brain, and forgot to bring another.”

He pauses for a moment to admire your amused smile at his words which bolsters his own. He gives a little shrug, “He also says to get out of my room and write, but I cannot do so without a pencil, sì? I end up bothering a lovely young person like yourself who have better things to do than entertain such an old chatterbox.”

“Is there a question in there?” You tease, arching a brow. You tilt your laptop screen down to better see him, and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan your face.

He puts his hands up and you take note of a signet ring on his right hand, but from this angle, you are unable to see the symbol adorning it. “What did I say, huh? I talk too much. My question is, do you have a pencil? Or a pen, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Are you a writer?” You ask, picking up your bag to rummage through for the pen you know is hiding at the bottom.

“Perhaps it is one of many things I do.”

“Perhaps?” You find the pen, and pull it out, scooting back from your chair.

“No, no, please don’t get up,” he says, slipping from his chair to approach you. You feel a rush in your chest as he comes to stand beside you, your head tilting up to meet his eyes, immediately entranced by the lovely shade of green in his right one.

“One would have to write to be a writer, no?” He continues, lightly taking the pen from your hand. His ring has the sigil of Lucifer carved into the face.

“Which is what you were doing, until your pencil broke,” you point out.

“It is more of a hobby than a profession.”

“A writer is a writer no matter if you do it day, night, or in between time spent staring into the void,” you say, your eyes returning to your half-closed laptop.

“Ah, I am familiar with the void,” the man chuckles softly.

“Hell?” You question, your gaze once more falling to his ring.

His handsome features turn confused for a moment, following your gaze before stretching out his fingers and making a small noise of acknowledgement. “Ah, my ring! Sì, sì,” he laughs again, turning his hand this way and that to admire the gold. “Do you believe Hell is a void?” He asks you then.

“I don’t believe Hell is particularly anything,” you return, watching as he pulls out the chair next to you, pausing for a moment to give you a questioning look before you nod, and he settles himself in.

“What if I told you Hell is a beautiful place?” The man asks.

“Are you preaching?”

“Preaching is one of the things that I do,” he shrugs.

“Usually one introduces themself before trying to convert another to their religion…or cult?” You smirk.

His eyebrows fly up into his hairline and his full bottom lip drops open. There’s a beat of a second before those fingers are once more running through his dark hair as he leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I am being not very nice,” he shakes his head. “You can call me…Terzo. And no, I am not trying to convert you. And no, it is not a cult.” He slaps his lips, waving his hand around like a conductor. “Okay, maybe it is a cult, but it is a good one!” He pauses. “Sometimes.” He pauses again. “It is trying to be.”

“Interesting,” you say slowly.

“I am bothering you,” Terzo mumbles, placing his hands on his thighs as he moves to stand. “Mi dispiace. Sorry. Sorry.”

“Hey!” You reach out a hand to touch his arm. As your fingers wrap around his wrist, the both of you freeze - you in your seat floundering like a fish and Terzo half-standing, the oddest expression on his face. You quickly let go with a small apology before saying, “I meant interesting as in actually interesting. I’m interested.” The last part comes out almost like a quiet plea.

Terzo nods slowly and sits back down, his knees cracking as he does. He gives you a weak smile as he reaches a hand down to rub at one absently. “Do not get old.”

“Are you Italian?” You question.

“What gave it away?” He teases, arching a bushy brow.

“Accent and interwoven Italian words aside, it was your name. Terzo means third, right?”

“Do you know Italiano, uh…okay, now you are the rude one not giving me your name, huh?” He smiles.

You laugh and hold up your hands, “You got me.” You provide your name, and Terzo lights up, tilting your pen still clutched in his hand toward his chin. “What’s that sneaky expression for?” You add.

“Names have power, don’t you know? You have given me a gift.” He wiggles his foot, tapping the pen against his chin.

“Are you going to take my name back with you to your non-cult cult?” You reach out to close your laptop the rest of the way, wholly invested in this conversation.

“Only if the owner comes with it.” He leans forward, a glint in his white eye.

“Ha! Knew it. You are trying to convert me.”

The both of you break into easy laughter, and you notice that Terzo’s smile has finally reached his eyes, so unlike the half-smile built into a blank face he provided Penny earlier, or the melancholy which overshadowed his playfulness with the little boy. His smile is crooked, wide, and his eyes wrinkle deeply at the corners. It’s sweet, and so very beautiful.

“You did not answer my question,” Terzo continues, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Do you know Italian?”

“Ah, no,” you laugh shyly. “I just know primo, secondo, and terzo mean first, second, and third. Among other random vocabulary.”

“Well, you just named three men of the Emeritus family.”

“Emeritus? Is that your last nam-…wait,” you arch a brow. “I named them?”

“Eh sì, my eldest brother Primo, then Secondo, and myself. My fratellino is Copia, he was spared the numerics,” Terzo shrugs amusedly.

You start to speak and then stop, looking down at the table, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you fight a smile.

“I realize it sounds ridiculous. Our father, as Copia likes to say, is a dickhead,” Terzo supplies.

“Okay, it’s funny,” you concede, grinning. “But it’s not…it’s not bad. Terzo is a very lovely name. I like it. After all, three is considered the perfect number. Full of magic.”

“I have been known to carry a few tricks up my sleeve,” Terzo says with a charming smile. “Do you believe in magic? In the alteration of space and time? Conjuration, for example.”

“I believe that there are things in this world that we don’t fully understand.”

“Ah! And Hell is so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. I guess if I had to believe in something, it would be what you said. That Hell is beautiful. I’d want it to be accepting of flaws. And mistakes. Lucifer was the original rebel, right? I don’t want to believe in a place of pain,” you say, unable to believe that you’re discussing the afterlife with this man, virtually a stranger. Really, you can’t believe you’re talking to him at all. Your night at the diner is certainly not the quiet, uneventful one you expected it to be.

Perhaps a new story began the moment Terzo Emeritus walked through that door.

“That is a Christian concept. And excuse me, fucking wrong. I know this, I am Papa,” Terzo delivers this line as if he’s done it a hundred times and believes it to be one hundred percent true.

“Papa?” The word comes out of your mouth as if he just announced himself as “big daddy” to the entire diner.

Terzo’s expression drops in an instant. The confidence he exuded moments before melts away, his fingers twitching and tapping against the table with a nervous air. He tries to smile, but it wobbles, becoming a strange half-frown. “Forget I said that,” he says. “Per favore, eh…please.”

“What are you trying to write?” You ask, gesturing toward his little notebook which still sits at his table, closed. Terzo gives you a small smile of thanks before getting up and collecting his things, returning to your table to sit and open his notebook to the page he was working at.

He wags a finger at you. “Big mistake inviting me to sit, now I won’t fuck off. Dispiace. I say fuck a lot. And shit.”

“Every writer needs a colorful vocabulary.”

“Ah, sì. And you are so intent on hiding yours, huh?” He makes a playful grab at your laptop. You almost shout in alarm, pulling it back, before looking apologetically around the diner. Penny squints at the both of you suspiciously. Terzo snickers beside you, his hand to his mouth.

“It’s not done,” you hiss quietly.

“You expect me to show you mine then, tch tch tch!,” Terzo shakes his head. “Have you ever heard of a little tit for tat, darling?” Terzo’s smile widens and he ducks his head to try and peer under your half-closed screen which you swiftly close with a click. He tilts his head, gazing at you from beneath long lashes. “Is it erotic?”

You give him a withering look, your cheeks flushing a pink that makes his eyebrows raise with a gentle smile that replaces his teasing smirk. He appears fascinated, his eyes scanning your features for several seconds. You have no words for the sudden change in his demeanor, and you look at him with equal quiet reverence. Something unknown passing between the two of you.

“I should not tease you,” he says then, his voice a few octaves lower. “I never show my writing to anyone, well…that is going to change soon.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, your gaze falling to his notebook where his messy cursive loops across the page, rendering you unable to read it from your position at the table.

“If you must know, curious thing, I am writing a song. I am a musician. A singer,” he says, bending his hand at the wrist which he flings to the side with a grandiose flair.

“Really?” The incredulity in your voice makes him frown at you, a bushy eyebrow arching.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“No! No, it’s not that. I just would think as a songwriter, you would sing or…like someone would have heard your work at some point. Why keep it a secret?”

“You are full of questions, volpino,” he says with a little smirk, tilting his head to regard you with amused eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you answer immediately, shying away from his gaze. “I guess I’m prying pretty hard. Tit for tat, right?”

“I never said your curiosity was unwelcome. Believe it or not, but I like to talk about myself,” he winks, and it makes you laugh. Terzo closes his eyes and hums a little.

“I’m writing romance. Which, I know. Not exactly original.”

“Che cosa?” His eyes open and he shakes his head. “Not original, pah! Some of the greatest works in the literary canon are romances, yeah?”

“I can hardly write like Jane Austen,” you scoff.

“Sì, but perhaps you are more like a Brontë. Ah no,” he snaps his fingers. “Mary Shelley.”

“Frankenstein isn’t a romance,” you say, laughing softly as he holds up both of his fingers, leaning forward in his chair.

“Then you are not reading it correctly,” he says, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment which momentarily distracts you. “Who do you believe is the true monster? Victor or the Creature?”

“Victor,” you answer immediately.

Terzo smiles and nods, gesturing at you with his hand. “Then it is a romance. Albeit, a tragic one.”

“The Creature wanted to be loved,” you say quietly, looking into Terzo’s eyes, and unintentionally focusing on the white one. “They saw him at face-value, not the soul who celebrated nature, who yearned for purpose, and was cast out by the man who was supposed to be his father.”

“Exactly,” Terzo whispers, nodding slightly. That heavy melancholy was back, settling over the lines of his face like a shadow which he hid behind a mask of easy smiles and witty banter. His Creature.

“Are you okay?” You finally ask, unable to hold yourself back when this mysterious and beautiful man looks so incredibly sad. If you were being honest with yourself, there is something about his melancholy that feels familiar to you, like a beast you are too afraid to poke.

Terzo merely smiles, and leans his head back to laugh a little, rubbing his hands together before picking up his notebook. “Sì! I am always okay. Always good. You asked me about my song, correct?” He enunciates the word, landing hard on the ‘T’. “It is called Zenith. I am not usually the songwriter of my eh…little group. This is a first. And I expect it will not go over well.”

“Go over well with whom?”

“Now you are asking the right questions, volpino. There are…individuals, hmm…authority figures in my organization. Let me rephrase that - there are individuals in my organization who think they have authority. They have to approve the song.”

“And you think they won’t?” You ask, suddenly feeling like you are hearing things that perhaps you shouldn’t be privy to. Secrets unraveling, another chapter of this mystery opening the more the man talks.

“Perhaps they do not like me very much,” Terzo says wryly, a dry smile on his lovely features.

“I don’t see how anyone could dislike you,” you say, that pink touching your cheeks again. Your words make Terzo chuckle quietly, and he rests his elbow on the table as he brings a thumb to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the tip of it as he looks at you with nearly hooded eyes.

“Do you like me?” He asks softly.

The old jukebox in the corner, its light flickering faintly, comes to life with a squeaking click as one of the worn tracks slides into place. It takes a moment for the speaker to push out the song, crackling before settling into a low static hum behind the vocals of none other than Frank Sinatra.

“I love this song,” Terzo says, looking pleasantly surprised as he stands and strides closer to the jukebox, placing his hands on the glass to peer closer at the inner workings of the old thing. You breathe a small sigh of relief, or is it disappointment, as you dodge his question.

“That thing turns on by itself all the time. Something inside must be busted,” you say, standing up to move beside him.

“Ah, not broken. Simply yearning to sing, sì?” He says, glancing over at you with an amused smile. “You know this song?”

“Frank Sinatra?”

“Molto bene, mio volpino.” Terzo takes a step back from the jukebox, a hand pressing against his chest as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes. “Over and over I keep going over the world we knew,” his voice floats effortlessly, soft and persuasive, in the space between you. “Days when you used to love me.”

You watch him sing with parted lips, your brow furrowing as you’re filled with awe, but also an ache deep in your chest. A yearning for the strange man you fear will disappear from your memory forever when you leave this diner. He opens his eyes and pins you with a stare, his smile very soft, but quirks in a way which whispers mischief. Terzo holds his hands out to you, fingers curled slightly as he tilts his head to the side. “Dance with me?” He says, his tone gently demanding. “With Papa now, sì?”

“That’s the second time you said that,” you note with a small grin, reaching out to place your hands in his. His fingers are chilled as he pulls you in, a hand naturally falling to your waist. Your breath catches, and he smiles.

“Ah, slip of the tongue,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning the blush on your features.

“Something you do often?” Your voice is a little breathless as he turns the both of you, and you look down at your feet, chewing on your bottom lip as you beg whatever deity out there to not step on his.

Terzo lets go of your hand for a moment to gently tap your chin. “Eyes up, tesoro. And as for your question…,” a wide smile crosses his face, a tiny chip in his front tooth. “I use my tongue very often.” His pink tongue wets his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth for a moment before slowly and sensually letting go.

Your eyes widen and you giggle nervously, “You are…something.”

“Something good?” His eyes flicker with amusement before his mouth pops open in a little ‘O’ shape. “Ah, yes! You never answered my question.” He pulls back to spin you around, laughing again when you do an awkward little turn on your heel. He draws you even closer then, his hand flexing against the small of your back. “Do you like me?”

“We just met.” Your voice is small, and your eyes focus intently on the dark chest hair peeking out from his purple button-up.

“Sometimes meeting is all it takes,” he murmurs.

Your eyes find his again, and you don’t think you’re dancing anymore, but you’re still swaying - your heart, your mind. Swept up in the softness of his eyes as they look back at you with…hope. Glaring desperately from green and white depths. The vestiges of a younger, happier man. And there’s a part of you that wants to cry.

“I like you very much, Terzo Emeritus.”

His response isn’t what you expect. His head raises slightly and he peers at you with curiosity, his brow furrowing as he searches your eyes for some kind of answer to a question you aren’t privy to. You get the sense that he doesn’t believe you, that he’s waiting for the punchline to some cosmic joke. “Well!” He says finally, his face dropping back into that easy smile. He waves a hand. “I am an old man. Do you see? I moisturize but,” he clicks his tongue. “The lines, they grow. I appreciate you entertaining me, eh?”

Your brow furrows and your mouth presses into a thin line as you gaze past him with the intent to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “You think I can’t like you because…you have wrinkles?” The word comes out slightly high pitched and confused. “Make it make sense, Mr. Emeritus.”

Terzo’s bushy eyebrows fly into his hairline and he looks vaguely disturbed. “I am not called that often…it is weird.”

“Oh, right. You’re Papa,” you wiggle your brows, and the man groans. His fingers dig into the small of your back and he pulls you closer, dipping his chin to regard you with a heated stare that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You should be careful with that, amore,” he murmurs, his voice low like the crackling of firewood, flames licking over the endearment. “I could have you saying ‘Papa’ in a more…breathless manner, hmm?”

His words alone are enough to knock the wind out of you, and he knows it, a twinkle in the man’s eyes that tells you this isn’t his first passion play. The song is long over, the jukebox having gone back to its eerie nostalgic silence, yet he turns you again, his shoes sliding along the faded linoleum floor like butter. You are, perhaps, less graceful.

“I thought you were too old?” You ask him, narrowing your eyes. Terzo looks briefly affronted, and the nearly outraged expression on his face makes you burst into giggles. He wags his finger in front of your face before placing both of his hands around your back, lacing his fingers together and drawing you forward until your hips are flush. That shuts you up very quickly.

“I know what you are doing,” he purrs. “But I can play, too.” He smiles and sighs, looking up at the cracking ceiling before returning your gaze. “And yet I see your point. But it is true, volpino. I am much, much older than you.”

“I think whether or not I’m bothered by that is my decision, don’t you?” You ask.

Terzo concedes, tilting his head a little. “In my faith, it is encouraged to follow your desires.”

“Oh, right. Your non-cult cult. How could I forget,” you tap your finger to your temple and Terzo chuckles. You smile back, wrapping your arms around his neck. A million possibilities, a million ways the night could have gone, and you got the one with Terzo. Your smile softens, your eyes taking on a tender reverence, and you can see pink dance at the edges of his cheeks. His wrinkles smooth as his face falls into almost boyish wonder while the two of you sway to nothing. No, that’s not right. You’re swaying to a music all your own.

“You have a really nice face,” you murmur, your voice coming out in a soft hush.

“You aren’t lying.” It’s said as a statement. Confusion lining his words, his eyes widen just a fraction. This isn’t the first time in the night where you wanted to just…ask him if he’s okay? Hug him. Your words appear to confound him, and a hand lets go of your waist to touch his cheek, his fingers following one of the deeper lines. “You know, in my line of work, I usually wear a full face of makeup.”

“Is this where you tell me you go by…Paprika Smear or something?” You tease, eyebrows raised.

Terzo laughs so hard, everyone in the diner, who isn’t already watching you like you’re the first interesting thing to happen in decades, are gaping now. Penny hasn’t turned the page in her National Enquirer in the last ten minutes. “No, no, no. Ah, my naughty volpino. What I am trying to say,” he clears his throat. “I do not show my face often. What you said…grazie mille. I am often not kind to myself.”

“I have no reason to lie. We just met, Terzo. This is my perception of you. My honesty. I feel like you’re looking for a different answer or…looking for deception.”

“I am looking for something real,” he says, with vulnerability in his eyes. “It has been a very long time since I have had something real.” Terzo releases your waist and removes your arms from around his neck, but he holds your hands in his. His thumbs rub circles into your skin, admiring the contrast of your hands together, and he brings them closer, cradling them near his chest.

“I can be real,” you say, turning your hands to lace your fingers through his despite his tight grip. Terzo takes a deep breath, his lower lip quivering slightly as he thinks.

“And if I told you to know me is to know Satan? If there are dangers in my life, amorino? Things your beautiful, sweet mind could perhaps not comprehend?” His voice has turned nearly desperate in his speech, pained. And yet despite his warnings, you don’t feel afraid, or concerned. There are no red flags waving over Terzo’s head. You just see someone very alone.

The shrill ring of a cell phone slices through the tension like a heated blade, and the two of you freeze for a moment before Terzo sighs, heavily, his shoulders falling like rocks have been placed on his shoulders. He gently pulls away from you, his hands lowering yours back to your sides before he’s digging into his pocket. “Sì?” He snaps into the phone, listening to the voice on the other end. “Perhaps I am not ready to come back…because I am Papa and I say so…of course I understand!” Terzo runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up in a few places. “You tell that stronzo he can wait…ah-but…dai!...alright, alright. I will see you soon.”

Terzo puts his phone back in his pocket, and looks at you with an apologetic smile. “It seems our dance comes to an end, eh?” You stand facing each other, and panic seizes your heart in a fist. If Terzo walks out that door, you may never see him again. It almost strikes you as odd, the way he managed to wrestle his way into your very being in your short evening here at the diner. There was no feasible way you could sit back down and go back to writing, surrounded by the same monotony while this man is somewhere in the world.

“You know,” you begin, taking a step toward him. “I’ve been really into theistic Satanism lately. Gosh, if only there was a place, or someone, that could guide me.”

Terzo stares at you with an unreadable expression, and then he takes a step forward, and places his lips against your forehead. He chuckles softly, “My evil plans worked, volpino. I am converting you.” He pulls back to wink. “You like me.”

“I already told you that-”

“Sì, sì, I am only teasing,” his smile broadens and he smooths back a strand of hair from your forehead. “This is a big thing for Papa, no? Something real.”

“You’re going to have to tell me why you keep calling yourself that,” you giggle, shaking your head. Terzo’s fingers cradle your jaw and tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Come and find out.”

Another look is shared between the diner writer and the mysterious stranger. But this one? It’s a look of yearning. Yearning for a future that changes the both of you. That a man can learn to love himself again. That the walls of this diner will let you go. Terzo grabs his jacket and his little notebook, and you slip your hand into his pocket to grab his phone.

“Already, amore?” He says, his grin wide, and you laugh and swat him with a hand. You type your number into his phone and slip it back, but Terzo grabs your wrist. He brings your hand to his lips and gently kisses the soft skin. “I will see you soon,” he promises.

“Arrivederci, Terzo,” you sigh dreamily.

“Eh, we will work on your Italian,” the man rolls his eyes playfully.

Terzo walks toward the door of the diner, and you sit in your seat. Is it possible to change in a single evening? You don’t feel like the same person who watched this man walk in with the perfect hair and pretty accent. And you get the feeling that he isn’t the same person now either. Terzo stands in the doorway, looking back at you, and he smiles. A smile that lights up his whole face, and is really, truly…happy.

When he’s gone, you open your laptop and stare at the pages you had written earlier. With a wry smile, you shut your laptop off and gather your things. Walking to the front, you toss a few bucks on the counter.

“Gettin’ cozy with that eye-talian man, huh, honey?” Penny asks, chewing her bubble gum as she looks you up and down with the eyes of a seasoned gossip. “Be back tomorrow?”

Your phone buzzes and you glance down, grinning before taking a breath and looking back at Penny, the diner, and its forever patrons.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii fanfiction #terzo fanfiction #terzo emeritus #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #reader fanfiction #terzo headcanons #the band ghost headcanons

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midnight-vixn · 2 years

Note

You want some thirsts?! Have a random sprinkling of headcanons from the smut fairy.

Satan growls. No moans, no gasps, not much talking. Just variations on growls, usually the deep bass-y rumble deep in his chest as he watches your face. He even growls his praise into your ear.

Asmodeus is an absolute GOD with his fingers and he'll play with you at any chance he gets. Under the table during a lesson? Don't mind him. RAD meeting? Best be quiet, gorgeous~. Movie night under a blanket? You'd better hope Mammon doesn't clock on.

Speaking of Mammon, he gets greedy for your pleasure. He's drawn one orgasm out of you, he wants more. More. MORE. It's like his brain switches off and he just needs you, his sin fully takes over and he just indulges in you until it's sated.

Diavolo loves having you "dressed" in dainty golden chains, jewels and precious gemstones. You're not his queen, you're his goddess, his deity, and he'll worship you the second you ask. He'll gift you with beautifully scented oils, perfumes and lotions that leave his bedsheets with a tiny lingering scent of you, even after they've been washed. Underneath your RAD uniform you just wear these little gold chains and jewellery so expensive it would make Mammon cry. But it's for Diavolo's eyes only.

Solomon is always in control. Whether he's on top or power bottoming. However, he's good at making you think you're in control. He keeps up the façade well until he starts getting close and the "switch" flips and the next thing you know you're pinned under him and he's absolutely feral above you. Smothering your face with kisses and giving bites to your neck as he wills himself to last just that bit longer as he enjoys your tightness around him.

Lucifer loves going down on you, maybe more than Beel, maybe. There's something about just playing with you that drives him insane. Maybe it's the fact you can't stop moaning his name with your fingers threaded into his hair. It's pure lust and passion, no thought going through your mind other than him and his name. That stokes a kind of pride in him that he's not felt in a long time. Knowing that you can think of nothing but him.

I had to physically lay down for a minute after reading all these sldksksk

I’m a firm believer that all the boys growl if you get them worked up enough during sex but Satan growling the most is so fitting!! He has this primal instinct that comes out when he fucks (I think Beel growls just as much)

Yesssss Asmo being willing to play with you/please you literally whenever you ask is such 🤤 the same goes reversed though, he’ll let you touch him whenever you want he has zero shame, though he prefers to be in his room where things can get extra steamy he’ll gladly let you rub his growing erection under the desk in class.

Oh yes yes yessss Mammon is soooo greedy for you!!! For your kiss, your touch, your taste, he constantly needs more!! If you think you’re only fucking for one round with him you’re sorely mistaken

Oh goooood Diavolo showering you in riches, gifting you expensive dainty jewelry to wear, maybe even expensive lingerie to wear under you uniform and only he knows about it. Mmmmm Diavolo who buys you a choker/collar with a little heart charm that has a D engraved on it 😵‍💫🤤 just so everyone knows who you belong to.

Solomon is a switch you’re right say it louder👏🏻 he loves to be under you and watch your fucked out face as he fills you up but will just as quickly flip you over and ram into you like a toy.

Lucifer being so in love with eating you out that if you give him a certain look and spread your legs apart he’s instantly hard. He’s pulling you away to the nearest vacant room and pulling your underwear off so he can worship you with his tongue.

#obey me smut #midnight thirsts #obey me mammon smut #obey me diavolo smut #obey me lucifer smut #obey me satan smut #obey me asmo smut #obey me solomon smut

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fleet-of-fiction · 6 months

Text

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Four

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 430 ~ Amelia

Gunshots echoed through the canopy. Birds cried out overhead, fleeing their nests. The sound of wings in desperate flight as they tried to escape an inevitable death. And I'd never particularly enjoyed it, to see their little bodies hit the ground and have to pluck their feathers and gut them like they'd never been living, breathing creatures of the earth we shared.

But I could no longer walk into a grocery store and pick one up all nice and neatly packaged. Plucked and skinned ready to be chopped or diced. I had to watch the life fade from their eyes.

"I think I got one." Jake said, lowering the rifle from his cheek bone. "I'm getting good at this."

He was a good shot. You couldn't deny him the satisfaction he took with each kill. Never more than birds or squirrels. Anything more would have been outside your realms as a hunter. You'd never been allowed to shoot anything bigger.

"Make sure it's a clean kill." You always said it, like there was a way to absolve yourself of having to take a life.

He was starting to grow a little line of hair above his lip and on the underside of his chin. I suspected he wasn't capable of garnishing his face with anything more, but it was starting to change the shape of his face. He looked a little more rugged. Like a man who had seen some things he dared not speak of. A man who had known suffering but could still smile despite it all.

"You don't have to do this anymore." He sighed, flinging his kill over his shoulder. "I can see how uncomfortable it makes you."

He would have done anything to give me comfort. He was gentle and kind and whimsical. He didn't belong on his own, he was a pack creature. He needed validation and love, but more than that he needed somewhere to belong.

"You want me to stay home and tend the house while you go out hunting? Like a tv wife?" I jested, balking at the sight of the dead bird he carried.

"Why not?" He shrugged with sincerity. "And then I can come home after a long day and kick my boots off and say honey, I'm home!"

It had never crossed my mind that Jake would take over some of the duties I'd been doing all by myself. That he would want to carry some of the burden of our survival. I'd hoped, perhaps, that he might integrate himself as somebody I could exist alongside of without too much of a struggle.

But in truth, I was falling in love with him.

"If only the apocalypse had been of the zombie variety." I said, rolling my eyes. "You'd have had all the opportunities in the world to shoot things."

I started back towards the cabin, following the muddy path back up from where we'd found ourselves down near the lake. All the birds liked to congregate near the water. To hunt game it was the best spot in the woods. A steep incline that was always an inconvenience on the way back up awaited us, and I was eager to get back inside before the light began to fade.

"The dead are still here, aren't they?" He mused, staying close behind but far enough away that the corpse on his shoulder didn't unnerve me too much. "Isn't that what you said? There's still time."

I couldn't help but giggle at his intimation. But I was still haunted by those vacant eyes on the slab. Telling me everything I needed to know without speaking a damn word.

"I think if the dead had any plans to rise they would have done it a long time ago." I replied, "And besides, we don't need another thing roaming around out there."

We heard them at night. Howling. All the dogs that had once been docile pets in the towns and cities, wild and free like their ancestors now. Those who had survived, at least. Those that had adapted. I pitied their struggle the most. Where once they'd known nothing but love, there was only the hunt to kill instinct.

And as I watched Jake take his prized kill home to eat, I did wonder how he had managed to retain all his softness.

Day 431 ~ Amelia

He didn't sleep in that bunk anymore. It had gone unslept in ever since the rain had stopped. Every night he'd asked me if I wanted him to go back to his room and every night I'd made a promise to myself that just one more wouldn't hurt.

And every single one of those promises felt as if I was making them to a faceless and nameless deity that held my life's destiny in their hands. Who was I making that promise to? Why did it matter? Would it be so terribly wrong to continue enjoying Jakes body next to mine?

I was never really certain who's voice it was speaking to me when I told myself that it was wrong to need him. That same voice screaming at me now telling me it was wrong to want him.

How could I not fall in love with him? He took his time with me. Spending hours whispering questions into my ear. Sweeping his hands over my body, asking me if I liked the way he touched me. If I needed him to do anything differently. Altering his pressure and speed to my preference. Reducing me to a quivering wreck without ever asking for anything in return.

Once I knew that it was inevitable, I couldn't stop the temptation anymore. Satisfying each other with our hands and our tongues, never stepping over the threshold of penetration. It was a risk I simply wasn't prepared to make.

"Amelia?"

I snapped my head up over the shelf of cereal that was slowly decaying away. Jake was standing on the other side, stuffing detergent and fabric softener into his back pack.

"Sorry, I was miles away."

He smiled at me.

The store was shrouded in darkness, daylight coming in from the entrance at the other side. The fresh food had long since perished or been eaten by scavenging dogs and what was left was either long past usable or too heavy for me to load into my Grandpa's truck.

"I said I need to head over to home depot." He repeated, "Gonna fix that door on the chicken coop."

The incessant rapping of it blowing in the wind had kept him awake. He was adamant that he could fix it, despite confessing to having little to no experience with joinery. Something else that really didn't seem to matter. He would try, regardless.

"I've got a few things I need to do before we head back." I replied, hoping he wouldn't venture into it any further.

Supply runs had always been something I'd endured more than enjoyed. There was something about built up areas that just soaked me in a fear that reminded me I was alone. And sometimes, I'd been afraid that perhaps there was a chance that I wasn't. Watching Jake grab things off the shelves and hum to himself as he scanned the ever dwindling aisles, I felt a sense of calm.

"Oh yeah, like what?" He questioned, cocking his head to the side as we met at the end of the cereal boxes.

"Meds supplies." I replied, pleased at the speed in which I'd come up with something that wasn't entirely a lie. "Used a lot of stock on you when you first got here."

His hunting rifle was tucked away under his pack straps. His hair tied back into a low bun, a serious darkness beneath his eyes where he hadn't slept making his gaze appear more sinister as he pulled me in.

"Meet you back at the truck in thirty minutes?" He whispered, sliding palms down the curve of my spine as he kissed the edge of my jaw.

"Thirty minutes." I agreed, letting him have a taste of a kiss before we went in separate directions.

The Roanoke planned parenthood was only a short walk from the depot, but far enough away that I knew he wouldn't find cause to follow me there. It was eerily void of life, as I'd expected. But I still had to step over the weather worn and ripped remains of pro-life flags that were strewn across the open entrance.

The irony was not lost upon me. How none of it mattered anymore and yet there I was, after the world had ended, responsible for ensuring I didn't get knocked up. I laughed a little, at the ridiculousness of it. Trying to keep my footsteps light as they echoed down empty clinic corridors.

It was far too close a reminder of those first days in the hospital. The shadows of others still lingering in the ether. But not anymore. The only thing that echoed was me and my choice not to bring life into a world that had purged itself of it.

Like everywhere else, it was dark. The windowless corridors winding down towards examination and consultation rooms that were equally void of natural light. It wasn't difficult to find where they kept the IUD's and implants, once I'd stumbled on the only cupboard that was locked.

I'd have to do it myself. Make the incision and implant the device into my flesh. It wasn't something they'd taught in medical school. Performing minor surgery on yourself in the event of the eradication of mankind. Yet, there I was. Scalpel in hand and a reluctance to watch as I made the incision. Blood dripped down my arm. Pain tore through me. I clenched my eyes shut as I clicked it into place beneath my skin.

I held my breath. Sent curses reverberating off the clinic walls. A massacre in my hand as I held the shaking blade up in disbelief that I had done it. I didn't even know if it would work. Everything had a use-by date. Even the medication I knew would one day become useless.

As I wrapped my arm up, careful not to apply too much pressure, I let my mind wander into a future that was so uncertain I didn't want to picture it. I could see a faceless child sitting on the porch steps, a sweet voice calling out to me in a dream like echo. But it wasn't my name they were calling, it was Mommy...

I shuddered. The dread spilling down my spine like a portent. I wouldn't. I couldn't. No child deserved to grow up alone. The fantasy that I could have spent my life never knowing how Jake felt inside me becoming a real possibility as I checked my watch.

Five minutes to get back to the truck before he would panic.

I was uninspired. Feeling the gravity of my choice and my blood. He would sit there with his cock in his hand. Hard and fierce. And I would know pain for this pleasure. The sacrifice entirely mine. For him? I would have cut myself a thousand times. Uninspired, but only because I hurt.

I felt the rush of adrenaline spike as I returned to the daylight. Kicking those flags to the side as I exited. No doubt in my mind that if by some terrible mistake we brought a child into this world it would be loved and cherished. But only by us. And that wasn't enough.

He was waiting by the truck as I approached. One knee bent against the wheel arch, eyes roving around in search of me.

"Sorry." I yelled across the empty street. "Got a little delayed."

There was palpable relief in his face as I greeted him, throwing my pack in the back along with whatever he'd thrown in there. I could see wood and tools and various other things we potentially didn't need, but he'd taken anyway.

"I realised something." He said, taking the liberty of moving my hair aside, making me pay attention to the seriousness of his tone.

I'd often wondered where he got this air of confidence from. It was as if there had never been any doubt in his mind of how he felt. How certain he was that I would never hurt him. I wanted to bottle it up and drink it.

"What?" I replied, letting him covet me.

"I missed you." He murmured, fingertips planing down my throat. "We haven't been apart, not really. I was walking through home depot and I was struck by this feeling that you should've been with me."

I could see the wistfulness in his deep brown eyes. He was picturing us sauntering through home depot together, talking about all the things we wanted to do to improve our home. Discussing measurements and which grain of wood would look best. Maybe he was imagining it before the world ended. Maybe there were other people doing the exact same thing and the exact same time in his little daydream.

I envied him of that dream. I wanted so badly to imagine the sweetness of it. But all I could feel was the throbbing ache in my arm.

"You're somewhere else." He mused, pulling me back as he realised I wasn't responding. "What's the matter?"

His hands came about my arms, trying to embrace me. I flinched, causing all the faraway beauty in his eyes to fade. Now there was only concern.

"Are you hurt?" He fussed.

"No, no. Nothing like that." I protested, shrugging out of his embrace so that I could lower my coat sleeve.

He could see the blood pooling beneath the bandage. I hadn't been careful enough with myself. But he seemed to understand. He traced a fingertip against the blood, looking to me to see if it hurt.

"I never would have asked this of you." He said stoically. "I'd have taken responsibility."

There was no doubt in my mind that he would have. The sweet gentleness of his discourse as he kissed me in the crisp late winter air was enough. Streams of breath converging as his mouth opened to welcome my tongue. The incessant throbbing that took home in my core beating a song that told me I had done the right thing. This was my choice. Regardless.

"We can't bring a child into this, Jake." I shook my head, steadying his mouth as it continued against mine with a hand to his cheek. "You understand that, don't you?"

He paused. As if the thought hadn't crossed his mind deeply enough to plague him. Such was the privilege of a man.

"I'd have been satisfied." He countered, "Haven't you been satisfied these last few weeks?"

To what end could we had rolled around in those sheets until we'd have become irrevocably connected? He was sweet to say it. But I'd seen enough of humanity to know their wants and needs.

"Jake..." I said matter-of-factly. "It's just a little cut. It will heal. It just means we don't have to be so careful now. Don't you want that?"

He closed his eyes slowly. Exhaling. As if the thought alone was a sinful repose of a dream that would be something he could truly have. I liked the way he thought about it. Making a low, gravelly sound as he pulled my coat my back up over my shoulders.

"If I ever wanted anything, it's that." He replied, pressing his lips to my forehead as he bundled me up and into the truck. "Now let's get home so that I can fuck you senseless."

I was about to explain about the seven days grace period for it to start working, but my eye was caught by movement down the street. I peeked over the edge of the passenger side door as I climbed in, taking note of the creatures that appeared at the intersection.

"Jake, look!" I whispered.

He was searching for the keys in his many pockets. Distracted. I grabbed his chin and forced his head up, causing him to still even his breathing.

Creeping steadily through the urban decay, they noticed us as we noticed them. A mountain lion mother and her cub. My heart was pounding in my chest. Round, black eyes met mine in a solemn gaze across the concrete keeping us apart. She understood that I meant her no harm. And she, in return, began to pad away from us in mutual respect for whatever life had been left behind.

"Get a lot of mountain lions around here?"

His voice was small. Riddled with fear. His hand reaching for the rifle on the back of his pack. I put my hand on his to steady him.

"No." I replied calmly, "Not for hundreds of years. Hunting grounds must be changing. She means us no harm."

The little cub took a curious look at us. Their whiskers snuffling into the air, no doubt catching our scent before following it's mother.

"For a world that doesn't seem to want life, it sure as fuck seems to have given precedence to other life forms." Jake huffed, "We're the only species who can control the outcome of sex."

"But for how long?" I sighed, "Life finds a way."

Maybe the portent was in this. As I watched the mother and cub disappear behind the building opposite, I was gripped with a sense that in reality I had no control whatsoever. Everything we were doing right now to prevent life was futile. Maybe it wasn't humanity that had been eradicated. Maybe it was just the humanity that we'd become.

Day 439 ~ Jake

The days were growing warmer and longer. I could feel the pull of spring in the trees. My lungs felt much fuller, now that I could draw breath without too much trouble.

The ground was drying up, it felt like the birds were starting to chirp in the morning more sweetly. What had been sleeping was starting to awaken. And it felt like I was, too.

Amelia was the sort of woman I didn't know that I needed. The sort of woman who craved to be taken care of but would ruthlessly abandon all requests for help. She didn't need me, I knew that I was surplus to requirements when she reluctantly allowed me to start hunting and chopping wood without her interference.

But I was under no illusion that she wanted me. She stood on the porch steps with a steaming cup, diligently watching me with the axe in my hand. Chopping wood was something I knew, something I'd always done. Something she hadn't needed to show me.

"Enjoying the show?" I teased, rounding off another harsh blow as the log beneath my strike split in two on the block.

She continued to sip on her drink, leaning against the rail. Wearing a t-shirt that I'd picked up during a supply run, grateful to be out of the clothes she'd given me to wear. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and nothing covering her legs, she looked like she'd only just rolled out of bed.

"You're putting on quite the performance." She giggled, sending my pulse into disarray.

It had been hours since I'd touched her. I knew it would be something I'd have to endure, knowing I was days away from being able to slide inside her and know what she felt like wrapped around my cock. I'd tortured myself with it. Ticking off mental hours as I'd laid in bed at her side.

I shook my head, strands of my hair falling out from the bun I'd lazily sculpted to keep it out of my face as I chopped. The heat of the exertion making me sweat beneath my flannel shirt.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch?" I asked, fighting the urge to stick my axe in the block and go over to her.

"Yes." She replied stubbornly.

I placed another log in the block. Rounding off to a resounding blow that caused the two halves to shoot off either side of the axe. I always felt more powerful when that happened, as if the singular blow was strong enough that I didn't need to pull it out and round off again to complete the split. It felt all the more satisfying knowing that she had seen it.

"Hmmm, you like to watch huh?" I threw the two halves into the pile I'd already made, throwing her an amused smile too.

Last night she'd been like putty in my hands. Her body stiff as I worked my way around her clit, her eyes closed and her moans stifled as I talked her through it. Telling her she was soft and warm, growing hard against her hip as she revelled in the way I spoke to her. The hemisphere of her lower body completely saturated, beholden to my whim.

I told her she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. That her pussy felt so good against my hand. Trailing a breeze of a touch over her swollen bud, making her buck upwards for a harder friction. I liked the way she begged me for more. Her little whimpering voice so submissive, so sweetly veiled in the question she wouldn't dare to ask for outside the realms of sex.

Weeks of foreplay building up to this.

"You know, it'll be warm enough to chop wood without your shirt on soon." She raised a playful eyebrow, mischief in her voice.

I stuck my axe in the block and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Releasing a few more buttons until my chest met the cool air.

"You're nothing but a fan, aren't you? I'm really sorry to tell you that I don't fuck my fans." I shrugged, watching her wrap the cardigan around her waist as she appraised me.

"That is a shame." She replied sarcastically. "Because here I was coming to tell you that the seven days were up."

The blood flow to my cock immediate piqued. I could feel it begin to stir, throbbing at the underside and tip as it slowly grew.

She lost all her joviality as she stared at me. Her blue eyes striking me, as they always did, like she could see straight through me into the parts of me I couldn't hide.

"What are you waiting for?" I dared to ask, the two of us locked in a strange stand off.

She let the cardigan open. I could see her chest rising and falling, her breath deep and shallow. She let it fall to the ground. With violent intent she tore down the steps, pulling off the t-shirt over her head. Messing up her hair, ragged breaths escaping me as I found myself struggling to breathe once more.

I stepped away from the chopping block. Buttons flying open as I ripped my shirt off. My fingers not doing as I willed them as I tried to pull my belt buckle apart. The anticipation was making every nerve ending numb, like I couldn't formulate a string of thoughts that made any sense. Not even the ones required to pull my belt off.

She took it from me. Yanking it from my failing hands. Pulling my body into hers with it, striking a match I knew would never extinguish. She unclasped the buckle with ease. There was no difficulty for her, no stumble in her step as she pulled everything down in a desperate attempt to take what she wanted.

There was nothing more beautiful than her desire. It was far more dark than who she was in the cold light of day. And I was drawn to the darkness, I always had been. The fathomless prose of her eyes as she wasted no time in dragging our bodies to the ground.

I could smell the earth. The moss and the fern. The wood and the soil. I could feel it at my back, solid and soft all at the same time. And her above me, like the Goddess that she was. All knotted hair and freckles as she straddled over my erection.

There would be time enough for gentleness. Time enough to savour it. What had been building for all those nights which came before demanded to be slaked. She didn't even waste the time that it would take to rip her thong off, slipping the fabric at her crotch to the side in haste.

"Fuck..." She hissed, a symphony of unadulterated songs there in her voice as she sank onto my grateful cock.

I couldn't stop myself from digging my fingers into her hips. Guiding her up and down in blissful rhythm. She felt like a tight little ribbon had wrapped itself around me from base to tip, coveting my shaft in smooth silken wetness that threatened to unravel far sooner than I'd have liked.

It was the combination of how she felt inside and the look on her face that would ruin me. The way her tits bounced as she moved, the way she softly cursed at the way I rutted upwards to hit deeper. My own words reeling out like poetry of filth.

"You feel so good, fuck... stretching me so good Jakey...I swear..."

Who was this girl? This woman? All those soft mumbles as I'd edged her to oblivion with other parts of my body had stepped aside for this demon who worshipped my cock. The altar set, her devotion of it unrepentant.

She had bled for this. She'd cut for this. She would have it and that fact alone made me feel as if I wanted to cum inside her right there as I stared up at her pained expressions. Brow furrowed and lips parted, panting wildly as her breasts rubbed against my chest as she leaned into a kiss that was dominated by tongue and arousal.

"You like how my cock feels?" I breathed, clutching her ass in both palms, letting my finger tips reach around for where I could feel myself sliding in and out of her.

She bit down on her lower lip, nodding passionately as I parted her ass cheeks and manipulated a single fingertip towards her sweet spot. She gasped. An evil little smirk taking place of the shock once I began massaging, any hope of romance dashed.

"It's everything...everything..." She sang, bittersweet because no matter how many times I would fuck her this would always be the first time.

It wasn't how I'd imagined it. I'd been the hero of that day dream. The one who had taken her, pleased her and pounded her into the mattress for as long as it took to make her cum on my eager cock. I'd been the one to instigate it, guide her into an orgasm that would've lifted the lid on her immortal soul. This was not that. This was real. Gritty. Down in the mud and with a ferocity that was all hers.

"That's it, my beautiful girl, take it..."

This wasn't about me, although I felt as if my cock had never known such a welcome as she clenched around me. This was about her. Whatever she wanted from me, she had earned. She deserved. I took her thrusts and shot my own into the rhythm, holding her ass as I pounded upwards. Her corresponding moans a clear signal that she wanted it like that.

"Fuck me harder, Jake...I'm almost there..."

I could feel that ribbon start to fray at the edges. My resolve fading. The tingle that shot up my shaft like the resurrection of a feeling I'd not had in so long I'd almost forgotten it.

"You gonna cum all pretty for me?" I asked, seeing the flush in her cheeks and the desperation to finish in her eyes. "Such a fucking beautiful pussy, give it up to me...It's mine."

My claim had her screaming a siren call that disrupted the nesting birds. She arched her back and let me see those tremendous breasts and the heaving of her stomach against her ribs as she released. The trees rumbled as the birds took flight, and so did her orgasm. Mine flowing out through the tip of my cock, spurting inside her as I tried to hold it together. To let her have her moment.

Because that was all it was. A moment. Not hours of love making. Hours of brutal fucking. Just a moment that she had taken, and I had given freely. And it wasn't until we were done that I'd known quite how much I'd been pining for a sweet little pussy like hers to let me in. How much I'd disregarded how much I needed it.

It was like I wasn't in survival mode anymore. I was thriving.

Day 469 ~ Amelia

We passed the wreckage where I'd found him on our route towards the road. It felt like part of the forest now, vines and shrubs growing around it. Reclaiming it. Sometimes I regarded it and wondered what might have happened if our paths had never crossed.

And other times I paid it no attention at all. Passing it like I would any other tree. For some reason, on this particular day, Jake had felt the need to stop.

"Do you ever think about it?" He asked poignantly, running his hand over the smoked frame of what was once his car.

"Sometimes." I replied, letting him figure out whatever it was that was hanging on. "But I try not to. We found each other, didn't we?"

I was obsessed with him. The way he looked, the way he felt. The way he tasted after drinking wine and the way he smelled after a shower. The shape of his lips and the way his mouth pockets moved as he spoke. Even the dark circles that were ever present beneath his eyes were a reason to love him.

"It scares the fuck out of me to think I could have driven right past you and never known."

I took his hand away and put it in mine. Entwining our fingers.

"You can't think like that. There's a thousand what if's and none of them stand against what we've got." I comforted him, "If we truly are the only ones left, how lucky that it was you and I that were left behind."

He coiled those big hands around my waist.

"You always know what to say when I get like this." He crooned softly into my ear, "Why don't you let me be the big strong man you need for a while?"

Day light would fade in a few hours. I liked it when he needed to feel dominant, I relished in it. But the walk we needed to take was another hour south.

"I would, but you know I have a surprise for you." I sighed, letting him rail a hand down the curve of my breasts. "So you'll have to save all that big strong manliness for later."

He grunted into my neck and placed a solitary kiss there.

"I love you, my sweet Amelia."

He'd said before in his sleep. But never in waking hours. I tried to keep my heart from soaring. But he noticed the way I held my breath at the sound of those words. Taken aback by them, almost. Unexpected. And yet soulfully beautiful, here in this tiny little moment where he needed something to hold on to.

"And I love you, my darling Jake." I whispered back, "Now, come on. There's something I want to show you."

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Text

(what about me?)

summary: even gods get lonely, it just takes them a bit longer than most. but when it hits, it hurts, and hard.

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, mentions of wine, little guy is sad and alone about it :(

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

starsnatch cliff is empty more times than it isn’t.

it was a common destination for couples, the silence a welcome break from the bustle of the city of freedom. the stars up above were unblocked, bright, the full rotation of constellations visible by just tilting one’s head to the sky. two majors, twin sets of stars, the three minors orbiting, staring down, watching. the same form, night after night, a bard in green driving away the aspiring couples often enough they learnt to stop trying. a body is there, physically occupying the space, but with how little is being done, the cliff still feels empty. the stars watch, seeing all, as the same body comes and sits, as the same eyes turn to the sky, vacant with memory.

venti didn’t know which constellations were in rotation—he did, that was a lie, he knew every single one and their owners—nor how long they’d be up—liar, liar, liar—but he watched the sky anyway, spinning a cecelia in his hand. the stem was worn, some of the juice clinging to his fingers, but he didn’t set it down. to the left, to the right, the six petals twisting outside of his field of view.

the god of freedom found himself coming back to the same cliff every night, sometimes leaving the angels share earlier to get there quicker. he walked, picking a cecelia as he did, and sat in the same spot at the peak of the cliff.

was he truly free, he wondered, if the stars kept calling him back?

(he knew he was. it was his choice to return, his choice to stay until the sun rose, to take naps in the afternoon to make up for the sleep before coming back, back, back, night after day after night)

the galaxy streaking its way across the sky, blue and purple and greens mixing and blurring, broken only by the bright shine of stars. planets, all locked in their own orbit, worlds he’d never be able to see, all within his sight yet all out of his grasp.

his eyes fell on a star at random.

who lived there, he wondered? what was beyond the atmosphere he knew? how far was the next planet? was there even intelligent life? surely, there must be—you wouldn’t create only one planet with life on it, right? you’d create many races, aliens he couldn’t imagine, all created to thrive on their world and serve under you.

(were they treating you better? had you exited your resting world already, and found another planet to keep you occupied? was teyvat not enough for you? you… you’d tell them if they weren’t doing enough, right? you’d say? you wouldn’t just leave them in the dark, right?)

he wondered how far away you’d gone. he remembered you—of course he did, your visage was engraved in his mind, miles deep and never to erode—and your last moments on teyvat, how you’d promised the archons that you would return soon. that you wouldn’t be far.

of course, ‘far’ was relative. and what was time to a god? how long was ‘soon’ for you? how long would it be until he could be blessed with your presence again? the little of your aura that bled through your vessels wasn’t enough- it wasn’t, and he was horribly selfish for thinking so, but it wasn’t. not when he’d been able to lay his eyes upon your true form, not when he’d felt your skin beneath his as he led you through mondstat for the first time. the small glimpse of you that seeped into the air around your vessels may be enough to rest weary souls, but for a god?

you were the shining light of teyvat, always everywhere. traveling from nation to nation, occasionally visiting off-world but never for long, never, he never had to go without you for more than a year or two at a time, he never had to feel erosion start to sap at his life-

the stars grew blurry, and venti hastily wiped the tears away, continuing to search the sky.

he knew he was eroding. every god was. memories, resilience, patience, all of it fading. mortals (part of his mind flinched, but he was right, he was mortal, he could die) weren’t meant for the power of the divine, the gnoses grating against the walls of their soul. it was never a problem before, not when they had you, you to temper the flame of creation, you to brush your hand over a wayward god and breathe life back into their heart, you with your endless compassion, to accept what felt like overwhelming and discard it as trivial.

barbatos was eroding without you. every god was. the ley lines were acting up, the abyss growing stronger, the eons without your presence turning teyvat into a hollow husk. and yet, the pathetic little he discarded from your vessels had begun to heal it anyway.

why did you use vessels? you had to know it was easier to descend yourself, right? to let flowers bloom in your wake and the breeze brush grass from your clothes, to tuck ei’s hair behind her ear and let empathy back into her mind. your vessels did a lot, but they could not manage all- murata, focalors, the tsaritsa and her wretched fatui- you could fix it all, all with a blink and a smile, a gentle hand across the earth to sew it at the seams.

he was being idealistic. he knew he was. and yet, he could not help but to wish—wish, he wanted to laugh at the irony—that your return ‘soon’ would be within his lifetime.

he wanted to see you again. he wanted the scars across his soul to heal, for his empty, cracked cup to be filled with you. he wanted to go back to how it was, when ei could smile freely and the tsaritsa wasn’t so cold, when the wind blew softly, carrying the sound of laughter. time only turned one way, yet he wanted to reverse it, to force the universe in rewind, to when his greatest worry was which song to play you at lunch. he wanted to bring a bottle of dandelion wine and watch as morax insisted upon osmanthus, as rukkhadevata rolled her eyes with a smile and suggested how about tea instead, it’s barely noon.

he was selfish. every god was, to an extent, but he…

as venti looked up at the stars, he couldn’t help but pray that one of them was you.

#genshin #genshin impact #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin self aware au #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #genshin x gn reader #i had this idea like ages ago and i was Real Sad yesterday so i decided to channel that energy #i’ve been in a real ‘(what about me?)’ mood recently so time to make that his problem!!!!#i have another venti angst i need to write too so. our fella boutta be Real Sad too.#coping 101 #oh god all the stuff in my inbox i need to go oh god oh fuck-#uhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHH #i wanted to take a picture for this and ended up with no picture and two hours gone. love that.#by no picture i mean i didn’t even get the nighttime photo i wanted #how is this 1k btw it felt like 3 #???#hey stew remember that talk we had about commas………………#title from the drafts: either ‘cold cold world’ or ‘(not ehe)’. might start leaving this in the tags of every post ngl

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strwbrrybxn · 1 year

Text

cw & tw: pet loss under the cut bc i've been reading loving reaper by jenny jinya on webtoons and it has inspired this.

neighbor!nanami who's concerned when you disappear for two weeks after your little date.

neighbor!nanami who thought maybe the kiss goodnight had scared you away.

neighbor!nanami thinks you might be ghosting him, but why would you when you live next door?

neighbor!nanami doesn't see you on the balcony, nor do you come to answer the door when he knocks.

neighbor!nanami notices the lack of bark from the other side of the wall; the laughter and the "stop it, kai" no more faintly filling his living room.

neighbor!nanami who hasn't seen you leave your apartment, or even hear you through the paper thin walls.

neighbor!nanami who, after two weeks, hears the quiet click of the door as he steps out into the hall.

you're standing there, gripping a small urn in your hands and a collar between your fingers. your eyes are vacant, staring off at the blank space on the door.

neighbor!nanami decides not to bother you, watching you open the door and step inside. he'll let you come to him when you're ready.

neighbor!nanami is startled awake at 2am by his phone ringing and answers without looking.

"I was asleep, Goj—"

"sorry. I-I'll call you ba—"

he doesn't give you a moment to hang up, speaking your name quietly. he hears the rustling of leaves in the background, the trees dancing with the wind outside. he takes it you're on your balcony.

neighbor!nanami doesn't waste time climbing out of bed and onto the balcony.

neighbor!nanami sees you sitting under the moonlight, holding the same urn from earlier and the collar sitting on the outdoor glass table.

neighbor!nanami climbs over the little wall that split your balconies, taking a seat in the chair beside you.

"he was pretty old, you know," you whisper, eyes on the trees above you. "but he was a great dog, a great friend." you sigh, the tears in your eyes and a soft smile on your face as you tilt your head back down to look at neighbor!nanami, who doesn't speak.

he met kai a few times; when he would wag his tail and bark as nanami would take back the emptied bentos. the gray hairs around his eyes always made the shepherd look elderly, but he was much more lively in his old age.

"kai always loved this one path we would take, near a lake," you say after a moment, taking the time to wipe those tears away. "would you like to come with me to spread some of his ashes?"

nanami nods after a moment because he realizes...

he isn't just your neighbor anymore. he had slowly become your person.

#neighbor nanami #nanami kento #cw pet loss #tw pet loss #nanami #nanami jjk #🍓 writes #nanami x reader #jjk

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

hotch being smitten over reader when they have a case back in their hometown :( looking at them with starry eyes as they tell the team about how they used to sneak out with their friends to hang out in the park until sunrise. maybe he’ll notice she’s gone from the hotel the night before they leave, and he finds her there so they sit on the swings together <//3

fuck i want hotch to push me on the swings when i'm telling him about my adventures in my hometown

He knows where to find you, he just wishes he didn't look so silly joining you.

You look right perched on a ride-on horse toy, the thick spring beneath the animal's body swaying gently as you do. As he steps up beside you, footsteps crunching in the woodchips below him, your head jerks to face him.

You relax when you realize it's not the killer you're looking for, and though he came out with the intention of chiding you for being so careless, he can't bring himself to. He lowers himself onto the tiny seat of the duck that's vacant next to you, the spring creaking beneath him.

"I should take a picture," You giggle wistfully into the starry night above you, "No one's ever gonna believe I got the great, grumpy Aaron Hotchner to sit on a springy duck toy."

"Well believe it or not I've done it for Jack a time or two," You can hear the smile in his voice, and it's as good as a laugh in your book, "He used to be afraid of them so he'd make me do it first."

"Oh my god, please tell me you were in a suit then, too." You gush, glancing over at him and finding he hadn't changed for the night. He does chuckle this time, and it warms you through the chilly night air.

"No, probably jeans and a t-shirt," He watches the overdramatic slump of your shoulders, but his eyes fall to the hand you have on the horse's plastic tail.

"You said that one was your favorite." He remembers the conversation you had with Morgan and Prentiss earlier, regaling them with stories of your youth in this very town.

Your hand tightens around the pony's tail, "Yeah. I named him Rolo."

"Rolo.. any reason?"

"I liked the candy." You dismiss with a reminiscent giggle, "I was four, Hotch, cut me some slack."

He lets out an amused, 'Ah,' and runs a finger over dried mud that's caked onto the duck's face. It crumbles off beneath his massive hand and he brushes it off with his clean one, "Do the other ones have names?"

"No," You giggle, "I was the only one who ever named mine. That one, the one you're sitting on was my friend Lacy's. And that one," You point to a dog across the park, "That was Charlie's, and the cow over there was Lea's."

Aaron tunes the world out for a moment, letting your voice and nothing but it fill his senses. He doesn't hear cars driving by, he doesn't think about the case you're working, all he knows is you and your rambling. Your eyes shine like the stars above you and he admires your ability to become what you've always known, how you'd become the stars you'd spent so many nights staring at. He has a sudden urge to become one himself, if only to twinkle bright enough to shine a similar light on you as you do for him.

Any case that ends with a hostage recovered is a good one. Well, they're never good, but your spirits aren't as crushed this time as they would have been had you not gotten the victim out. You're doodling away on a scrap of paper when Aaron sits down across from you, but you look up as a familiar gold-and-brown tube slides into your vision.

"Rolos," You breathe, eyes twinkling with the light of the universe once more, "Thanks, Hotch!"

He pulls a snickers bar out of his jacket pocket and sends you a soft smile, "Mine is named Snickers, by the way. I didn't want to leave him without a name."

"Snickers the duck," You conclude, popping a Rolo into your mouth and letting the caramel ooze onto your tongue, 'I like it."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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dozing-marshmallow · 8 months

Note

helloo!! the og nibling requester here (hehe i gave myself that nickname :] ) okay, i've kinda got two ideas!! nibling!reader getting comfort from chris (n had an argument with someone, you can pick who) or, gn!reader x chris having a snow day :] you can pick either! thank you for the amazing stories <33

AWW HELLO AGAIN MY LOVE!❤️ Welcome back to my blog, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long! Thank you so much for your well meaning words, you are such a beaut, but really, you should be thanking yourself for giving the amazing requests! As always, I hope you enjoy!💗(and feel free to request the other idea again if it’s something you want to see in the future!)

CHRIS MCLEAN X NIBLING! READER HEADCANONS (PART 7)

It’s another school break, and you’re back.

Back on your uncle’s couch, watching TV.

You thought you had imagined it, but keeping your attention longer on the window rewarded you with the reality of the consistent fall of the watery fluff.

You come closer and your heart jumps in delight.

It’s snowing!

Squealing, you rush from the living room to find your uncle, to inform him of nature’s miracle, to get him to go outside with you, to to to!

“Chris?” you run up to his bedroom door and knock on it rhythmically, singing,“Do you wanna build a snowman? Come on let’s go and play-“

The door opens. Oh! Guess you didn’t need to go through the entire song, even though you had prepared for it.

The occupant snickers, pointing finger guns down at you, ski goggles on,“Already ahead of ya!”

Because this was the first time camp Wawanakwa was getting snow, you and Chris had to improvise on snow gear.

Well, you had to. Chris already had his set of winter clothes. Fortunately, you had your coat, mittens and worn out Wellington boots laying around somewhere and you got to borrow Chris’ pair of earmuffs and his scarf.

Stepping outside, it was a completely different air. The freezing change of temperature nibbled your skin like a shrew on a worm and the hairs on your arms somehow were tensing up when you just stepped outside. You forgot how cold the planet can be.

“I didn’t know islands could get snow! It’s so much!” you yell, throwing your legs up to merry about.

“You learn something new everyday!”

“Look! The whole trampoline is covered in snow!” you point astonished at the bouncy garden toy of springs, now submerged under the husking snowfall.

You had to be careful where you walked, come to realise- the entire island as you knew it was masked by this misty paleness that only seemed to thicken as more of its leader piled next to your ankles.

Naturally, you didn’t think about the dangers of gleefully hopping into the smooth slopes so soon, until you see that you’re about to walk into a chunky physique of a tree.

You stop on time, and feel something moving above you. Something alive. You feed your curiosity, finding a large pair of indigo eyes and a pointy nose.

“Look, Chris look!” you call cheerfully for him, neck extended to the sky,“There’s an owl up there!”

There was! You got to hold one once. It was heavy, but kind! This owl was as keen as you about this sudden weather pattern, sitting on top of the high tree branch, nuzzled in its feathery neck, before tending to its nest, seeing another identical head and two peek from inside of the dry tree room,“Aw, it has babies! They’re so cute!” you see your uncle aside you, also observing,“Do you think they’ll be okay in the cold?”

“Sure they will. They’re adapted to survive weathers like these.” his answer was bluntly uninspiring, grazing accurately to his non-peculiar passion for animals despite him being surrounded by them everyday,“Now about that snowman...”

“Oh yes! Let’s goooo...” you rotate to find a vacant opening,“Down there! Where we’ll have plenty of snow!”

Chris had another idea, trailing behind your steps, boots consuming your smaller tracks,"How about we have a competition? Best snowman gets first dibs on the fireplace." he obviously knew what would happen to bet that.

“Aww...” you pout, the tip of your nose starting to tingle,"Why do we need to compete? You know you're gonna win, you have bigger hands!"

"Ohh?” he puts a finger to his chin, smirking,“Already admitting defeat? I'll gladly take the title of victory!"

Something about his unnecessarily fuelled pride abruptly changed your mind,“I won't let the size of your hands stop me from building the best snowman the world's ever seen!"

“Alrighty then!” he holds his arms out, wind must’ve changed the direction to glue that face on his face,“Bring it on, nibling!”

The cold air howls past your face. Your tongue catches a few drops of snow, heading off under competition stress to mark your own construction ground,“How is it on tv they’re able to roll the snowball so smoothly?”

“You’ve been on tv yourself, (Y/N).” your uncle replies in a raised tone, moulding some snow from the ground into a sphere, still standing in the same position,“You should be able to figure it out.”

You somehow found some stones under this blank layer of Earth to place on the snowman’s torso and practically identical lengths of twigs for arms. The only thing missing was its clothes, but with this snowfall, it’d be a death wish to even remove these earmuffs!

You look over to Chris’ side: though his snowman was vast, you can tell from his relaxed pace of motion that he actually couldn’t be bothered to make it look good.

“Pretty awesome snowman!” he congratulates you on yours by the unspoken end.

You’re very proud,“Yep! I did that!” It was so good you would have thought Chris made it!,“Too bad he decomposed early."

Confused, your uncle cocks his head to the side,"What do you mean?"

Unprompted, you tore a piece of the snowman’s shoulder and threw it at Chris, striking his chest,"Boom! Take that!"

He wipes the remaining frozen fragments off him,“Is that what we’re going to do now?” he briefly returns to his sloppy snowman and removed its head from the body of snow, darkly joking,“Remember that’s how your teddy looked like that one time?”

“Because of Heather!” you giggle, now able to fill your newer days with laughter about the tragedy you genially moved on from,“Ahh!”

Your uncle starts to chase you with both hands full of the clump of crystals. You liked running in the snow- every time you placed a foot ahead, it’d let out this really soothing crunch sound.

Whenever you think you’re far enough with time to spare, you’d hurry to grab a good handful of snow from the ground to throw at him, stride never getting slower.

I wish footprints didn’t exist!

Eventually, he makes an extra step for the chance and launches it, not thinking it would stay in the air for so long.

No amount of running could save you from the hurl of the large cannon ball- on impact, you land on your back into a lower plane of snow, where on a warmer day, you would’ve seen how high you fell from the mini hill.

Chris was worried when you don’t instantly recover to your feet, but smiles when he rushed to find you parting and closing your legs, raising and lowering your arms in the digging form of a snow angel, seeing the distribution of uneven crumbles of his snowman’s head.

The snowflakes resumes to sprinkle your face, gently pecking your youthful features with the cooling drops of white. It wasn’t so cold anymore,“Hehehe! Do one with me, uncle Chris!”

So he does, not surprising that his one was much larger, with his height and fur coat.

You jump up from the soggy ground and admire another work of art you both had shaken into the bitter sheet.

The nibling and uncle silhouettes in the snow had you remembering another must do in this foggy weather.

“Chriiiis, can we go back inside now and have hot chocolate?”

He groans in disbelief,“Seriously? Boooooooo.” he reluctantly dragged his legs across the snow, in the direction of his “cottage”. You can see it from the distance, the yellow beams illuminating the squares of glass, probably being the only reason why he knew how to get back,“What a perfect time to get ice cream.”

“Ah...” it felt great to be back inside. His house was soooo cosy. And this hot chocolate was just what you needed. You might need to dump your feet into a tub of hot water,“Uncle, do you think we can play some Christmas songs?”

“Why, because it’s snowing it means it’s the holidays?” right after he snorted, his mouth is covered by the back of his mug. Paradoxically, he was back in his indoor clothes before you, reminding you once again that your uncle really was unpredictable.

“The holidays wanted to come early! Which meaaans I’ll be getting extra time off school!” you clutch giggly to the circumference of your mug, hands burning. More time to stay, more time to play!

“But that means no holidays during December.” he smirks, twirling his steamy cocoa around, sinister to your let down.

“Aww...” you hated how realistic that sounded. School was so mean!,“Never mind...” there wouldn’t be enough time to open presents. You pitifully pinch a marshmallow from your cup and chomp on it.

“Hey, no need to be so down!” Chris’ charismatic voice rasps as he rubs your head,“Christmas is right around the corner.”

“True...” you add another swirl of whipped cream to your cup, covering the homely brown,“Will I get to be here then?”

“For sure! It’ll be the best Christmas yet!” he affirms with strength.

Hm hm (hm). Hm hm hm hm hm hm hm.

#chris mclean #chris mclean x reader #total drama chris mclean #tdi x reader #total drama island chris #total drama #tdi #td chris mclean x reader #request #td chris #uncle chris mclean #nibling reader #nibling #total drama chris #chris nibling reader

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whltlock · 2 years

Text

CHAPTER 1/10 ★ Masterlist ★ Subscribe on AO3

Pairing: Jason Todd/AFAB!NB Reader, Minor Wally West/Reader

Summary: Jason's dead, so how is he in front of you right now?

Tags: vague soulmates au, jason has temporary amnesia, Jason/Reader Endgame, Fluff and Angst, post-resurrection, Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Past Relationship.

WC: 2,154

You take the same route you do most days from work to home. It’s dusk and because of that, the street lights have only just begun to flicker. The ones that work, at least. Usually you tune into the sound of distant ongoings: dog barks, the flutter of bird wings, and the more unsightly ones like glass shatters, shouts, shots.

Tonight, though, those sounds are drowned out by something more pressing. You’re keenly aware that you’re being followed. Even if you can’t hear their footsteps or see their shadow, the goosebumps and raised hair on every limb confirms it. It gets your adrenaline up.

Your gaze sweeps the street as you decide how to tackle your pursuer. They maintain enough distance that you don’t feel them on your heels yet. While the apartments above have lights on, the road is pretty desolate. There’s no one but you and your new acquaintance.

You’re more annoyed than anything. You don’t want to deal with this. You’ve never understood why someone would bother to mug a random pedestrian. They’re not likely to have anymore than you do.

Desperate times, you suppose. Although every third day feels like a desperate time in Gotham.

You duck down a laneway to give them a chance to realise their mistake.

You stop halfway through and look up at the windows with bars above. It’s a painful fifteen seconds before the figure approaches. The first thing you spot is how appropriately dressed they are in the darkest of shades: black boots, black hoodie, black pants, black gloves.

“Man, c’mon,” you sigh to yourself as they advance. Louder this time, you tell them, “You’ve got one chance to rethink this.”

The person—who you assume is a man considering his imposing build—pauses only momentarily.

When he paces forward again, you ready yourself to just get it over and done with. The quicker you put the imbecile on his ass, the quicker your ass gets to bed.

However, the muscles in your legs freeze in place, no longer able to swoop his weight out from beneath him.

It’s his eyes.

Something swims in the sea-foam glass of them.

Recognition of a past life.

Although it’s hard to get a proper look because of the hood, you know his eyes stay on you. Calculating. Confused.

You choke quietly on the two syllables: “Jason.”

His head tilts like he doesn’t quite understand. The knit of his brows draws your attention to the scars that glimmer silver under the moonlight.

Your heart pangs at the ghost in front of you. He looks so different compared to the last time you saw him, no longer a scrawny kid just learning about the gym. You’re not the same height anymore. He’s wider, bulkier. He’d be terrifying if you didn’t know him.

But his eyes weren’t always so green tinted. It’s different. It’s not the only thing that’s different.

You say his name again, disorientated. You watch him as much as he watches you.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “Why am I… here?”

That’s his voice. Deeper, but just as scared.

It’s the meanest trick anyone’s ever played on you.

You look beyond him to the main road. The only thing that comes to mind is shit, you got knocked out back there. Maybe you’re dying in the street right now. Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

“You’re not here,” you say, more so to yourself. But you don’t want his apparition to go. You never wanted him to go. Missing him is entwined in the very fibres of your being.

“I’m not?”

You shake your head sadly. “You’re dead.” Your voice is barely audible, even in the vacant alley.

Jason’s eyes drop to his body. He surveys himself. A hand climbs towards his neck and he pulls at his clothes, uncomfortable.

You pat at your own skull, searching for a bloodied patch. “I wish you weren’t.”

His gaze snaps to you. “I don’t…”

He wants to say that he doesn’t remember. Anything. His mind’s fractured. Deep down, he thinks he knows you. He doesn’t know why. There’s flashes. One of them led him to you.

It hurts. There’s an ache in your chest as much as there’s one in his. His brain hurts, too. Like something hit him, hard.

Jason’s fists curl. You move closer and when his name rolls off your tongue, it slices into him. He steps back, troubled.

Jason must be his name, but he’s not sure he can trust it. Trust you. Even though his body yearns for your compassion.

You look sad. It makes him feel worse. You rub at your eyes, hoping the fog and fumes have just gotten to you. That when you blink your eyes open again, you’ll just have been passed out.

Jason’s still there when you do. Helplessly, he doesn’t know how to proceed. So he just turns and walks away.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you go straight home to bed.

You wait for the stupor to end; for the world to make sense again.

And you wait.

But nothing rights itself.

Jason waits, too.

And he waits.

But every morning he’s still drawn to you, tied to the hook at the end of an invisible fishing line.

You haven’t felt right since your encounter with Jason’s ghost, but you keep it to yourself. What’s anyone supposed to do, anyway? Everyone goes on with their days since his demise, so you have no other choice but to do the same.

You weren’t mugged because nothing was taken. You weren’t hurt, either. And yet, walking the same route makes you nauseous.

You do it anyway.

Despite how awful it feels, you’re compelled to stop in that damned laneway. It’s empty. Dark. Wet. Stinks of trash.

“Dead,” comes a voice from behind you. It makes you jump out of your skin, even though you know its owner. You whirl around. “I’m dead?”

Jason’s much closer this time. Only a foot apart. He wears the clothes you last saw him in.

It both is and isn’t a question. He doesn’t know. Fuck, he wants to know something.

He looks at you haplessly. As his eyes trace your skin from your temples to your collarbone, he feels the breeze of a faraway memory. Softness.

You swallow. “You were,” you whisper. “Don’t you remember?”

His voice is hoarse as he says, “No.” He’s scared, because while his mind might not remember, his body certainly does. Trauma’s laced into every cell at this point. He just can’t connect the dots. He thinks of death in colours: green and orange, black and blue.

Slowly, he raises a hand, palm out, gloved. An offer; another question. You look down. You meet him shakily as your fingers touch his. He’s there. Physical.

“Am I… real?” Jason asks. “Here?”

Dumbstruck once more, you graze over his palm. He holds the weight like a real person would. You prod at him to further test it. He rebounds easily.

“I think… you might be.”

It’s his turn to investigate. Your hands flip. He traces a vein to your forearm and feels your warm pulse. He can’t help but think I know you, even if it’s buried deep.

It’s when your fingertips slip under his sleeve and touch his bare skin that he jerks away like he’s been splashed with acid. He makes a choked sound. You chew on your bottom lip to keep the tears away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. It’s raw, and this time it isn’t about the invasion. It’s about your failure. It unearths grief and love. “I missed you,” escapes, and it’s painful to hear and painful to say.

Jason’s head tilts. He swallows. The words keep him standing in front of you. He thinks you might mean it. It means something to him, at least.

When you look up, it’s with wet cheeks. He wants to cradle them and wipe them dry. The thought makes his own heat up.

“You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head stiffly. “None of it makes sense.” Admitting it makes him feel like a child even though he’s clearly aged since his last memories.

“Okay,” you say, deflated.

“I… I know you, don’t I?” he offers pitifully. He doesn’t want you to mourn him. “I feel like I do.”

You stare at him for a moment. You’re slow to nod. “You were my best friend.” You look at the ground unsurely before you say, “I can show you.”

Jason agrees. You take out your phone and scroll, then hand it to him. He finds an abundant digital album. He squints as he scrutinises each photo.

But he can’t deny what he sees. It’s him, and it’s you. Us.

A young version of you both. You don’t look as different as he does.

It’s when he scrolls too far that something more stirs in him. The image is compromising and vulnerable. A scan of a photobooth strip; a typical shoot that ends with an impassioned kiss, your hands indented into each other’s skin and tangled hair.

His thumb stays on the screen as he draws over it again and again.

“Oh,” is all he can say as he understands why he wants you above everything else when he’s fresh out of the grave. You’re home.

You’re nervous as you watch him. He looks up, gaze softer. Shockingly, his own nerves have eased, although he doesn’t know what to say.

Instead, you ask him, “Do you trust me?”

It gets caught in his throat on the way out but he says, “Yeah.”

“Come with me?”

“Where?”

“My apartment,” you say. Seeing him hesitate, you add, “You can shower. Or sleep. Eat.”

It’s both a win and overwhelming when he gives a rasped, “Alright.”

He follows you to your building, although he stays a few steps behind. You let him have the space. He probably needs it to absorb what he’s learned.

Jason refuses to shower or sleep but he does sit on the couch with you. You wrap a blanket around his shoulders so he can be more comfortable. It smells like you—like safety. He holds onto it tightly.

You feed him crackers and cheese and water. He nibbles, slowly, eyes moving between your face and the apartment. It’s well lived in. He thinks it must be a while since he’s been gone.

You talk to him in a soft tone like he’s fragile. He is, but it still hurts.

“Did you just… wake up one day?”

He looks at his fingernails. He’s washed the dirt and blood and grime from them time and time again, yet he continues to feel the stains. You notice and it puts a frown on your face.

“Yeah. Down there,” is what he says.

You have so many more questions, but you ask, “Where did you go after?”

Jason shrugs like it’s nothing. “Shelter,” he mumbles. “Old safehouse.”

You sigh, exhausted. Not because of him, of course, but the whole situation is a tragedy. You don’t know what to do. An inkling of doubt hides in the back of your mind: what if you really are imagining all this?

But you owe it to him to take it seriously. Help him. You loved him so damn much, after all. Even if it breaks you again.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, sensing your anguish.

“Don’t be,” you’re quick to comfort. “I’m glad you found me, Jason.”

There it is again—Jason. He swallows. He likes when you say it. It helps him feel more secure.

You peek at him from under your eyelashes. “I… I just don’t know what to do,” you sigh. “I could call Dick?”

The name echoes in his mind. He dredges through cleaved memories to figure out who that is. He must look confused because your mouth forms around the answer, although he beats you to it. He blurts out, “Grayson?”

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “Do you remember him?”

His face scrunches and his head hurts from trying to recall the man. “A little,” Jason says. “He’s my… brother.” However, as he realises the problem at hand, it sets off panic. “Don’t tell him,” he stumbles, “Please. I don’t—”

“Okay,” you murmur. You place your hand near his.

He looks pained as he says, “Don’t tell my family.” He doesn’t know why yet, but he knows he doesn’t want to see them.

You nod. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.” His fingers brush yours. “I… I wish I could remember you properly.”

“Maybe it’ll come back with time and rest,” you tell him gently. You’re hopeful. Out comes a yawn. “Do you mind if I…?”

“S’fine,” he shrugs.

“Will you stay?”

“Guess so.”

You smile at him feebly. “I’ll be over there.” You point to your bedroom. “Wake me if you need me.”

He nods.

Jason does stay, if only to cut himself on your sobs that last well into the night.

A/N: Weekly updates!

😁 Going to do a one-time tag in the notes for people who have enjoyed my previous works ->->->->

#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #wayne family adventures #jason todd smut #fic*#jtfic*#jtsolace*

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