#I wrote half of this whilst listening to I can’t help but wonder and will you fall in love with me again on loop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nahoney22 · 3 years ago

Note

Eeeeeee Honeyyyy!!!❤️

Please don’t stress yourself out with these okay? Your needs come first always❤️

How about something fluffy with Crosshair? I know you wrote about a lot of firsts with Tech, but what would giving Crosshair his very first kiss be like?🥰 I am so curious what you think! Female reader if possible please❤️

Sending so much love and positive energy❤️

His Secret

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 3.2k

When Crosshair accidentally confesses he’s never kissed anyone before, you’re stunned and can’t help but wonder what it is he’s waiting for.

warnings: none other than that is a sexual innuendo. fluff. Crosshair being a grumpy grump sometimes. First kiss trope, idiots in love . 😊

Masterlist 🤍

“Wait, what?”

When you learnt that Crosshair had never kissed anyone it was a huge shock. Not only to you but to Hunter, Tech, Echo and Wrecker as well.

You’re all at 79’s and you weren’t too sure how the conversation came up in the first place. Crosshair had said something along the lines of ‘I know who my first kiss will be’ and it stilled you all completely. Wrecker spat the rest of his drink across the table, Hunter and Echo’s eyes went wide in surprise whilst Tech seemed uninterested but still queried a brow.

Crosshair turns to you, eyes a little red and he had a coy smile on his face. “What?”

“You’ve not kissed anyone?” You ask in shock and watch as his smile fades.

“Is that a problem?” He hissed, taking another swig of his stiff drink.

You grew hot under his powerful gaze and looked away. “No, just interesting.”

Crosshair grumbles something under his breath before he swipes up his belongings and stands. “I’m goin’ back to the ship.”

And just like that, he had disappeared.

You had hoped you didn’t upset him by asking about his first - or lack of first kiss - but it just seemed so unusual. Out of all the boys you had truthfully (and painfully) thought he would have been the most active so to speak.

When you all piled back into the ship, you glanced around for Crosshair but he was nowhere to be seen. A small sigh escapes your lips and you tense as you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Hunter. “He would’ve gone for a walk.”

You relax upon seeing your Sergeant but then frown a little. How would he know you were looking for Crosshair in the first place? Then, a sickening thought came to your mind as you worried if Hunter had sensed how you felt around Crosshair. You knew his senses involved being able to detect electromagnetic frequencies but is it the same for humans? Or any species? “Who?” You asked dumbly.

“Crosshair, of course.” He almost smirks, folding his arms over his chest as he watches you shift and kick at the floor with your feet.

“I don’t care where he is.” You try to say it casually but judging by the lack of eye contact, he didn’t need his senses to read you like a book.

“Sure.” He says, tone sarcastic. He steps back as Wrecker comes stumbling by, having a little more to drink than the others as the pair of you watch him sway until he tumbles into his bunk. “You should take a note out of his book and get some sleep too. Crosshair will come back soon.”

You hoped it wasn’t noticeable your slight attraction to the Marksman but clearly Hunter knew. Tech despite being the smartest could be the most oblivious. Echo wouldn’t say anything about it anyway for your sanity and Wrecker wouldn’t have taken any notice anyway. As for Crosshair however, you knew how observant he was.

There had been many a time you would sit near him and he could scope out anything suspicious a million klicks away it seemed. He observed, stayed quiet and listened intently to others without anyone even realising. He seemed uninterested half the time but when something comes up later in conversation, he makes it known he paid attention. Maybe that’s why you liked him. Quite significantly.

So when you learned that he had not kissed anyone before, it piqued your curiosity. Sure enough he was reserved but he was incredibly handsome and too mysterious looking to have not had any suitors. In a sense, it kind of gave you some hope; wishful hope.

He had been going on walks quite recently on this planet and you couldn’t blame him. There was a beautiful trail that led down to a calming stream which you believed he found serenity in whenever he was tense. You hoped he was okay, he wasn’t one to ever express his feelings unless deeply intoxicated and even then it was always vague and you never knew how he truly felt about things. Maybe one day you can join him on one of his walks.

Being roused from your deep sleep was not a welcoming comfort. Wind howled through the ship and chills ran under your thin bed sheet making you shudder and open your eyes.

You hear a hiss and sure enough you heard the retreating footsteps of someone walking down the steps of the ship. Sitting up, you check all bunks and sure enough it was Crosshair who had swiftly departed.

It had been days since his confession and days since you last spoke so in a rush, you pull on something more appropriate than your nightshirt and shorts and make a quick dash after him.

You pause at the door to the Havoc, contemplating if you should go after him and you silently curse how long his legs were because he was further than you had imagined. Yet, he was still in sight.

“Screw it.” You grunt as you bound down the ramp and do a light jog after him. You think about maybe sneaking up but as he came to the tree line he stopped and so did you, rather abruptly.

He glances over his shoulder, watching you practically skid to a halt. Your breath hitches as he gaze penetrates you, tingles roaming down your spine as they usually do. Awkwardly, you give a timid wave at him. “Mind if I join you?”

Given the fact he rolled his eyes and carried on walking, you saw it as a ‘suit yourself’ kind of response.

When you finally caught up to him, you followed behind him down a narrow path and took in the area around you. The moon was bright tonight, as it has been every other night since you arrived. The wind was a little strong, creating an almost musical sound as it bristled through the foliage.

You’re so caught up in everything around that you didn’t see a mean looking bush with sharp bristles ahead of you, clumsily bumping into it.

With a sharp hiss you stop and this caught the attention of Crosshair who turns to you and sees your predicament.

“You alright?” He asks carefully, stepping towards you and even crouching as you try to free your leg from the entanglement of teeth like thorns.

Truthfully, it was hurting but you quickly nod your head but in your flushed and embarrassed try of getting your leg free, you prick your finger.

With a wince, you bring your finger to your face and inspect the small droplet of blood. “Kriff, that hurt.”

Crosshair is silent in your fight against the bush but alas pulls out a blade and quickly slices the foliage away from your leg and sets you free. He takes a hold of your leg, quite firmly yet also with a hint of tenderness and brings your leg over until it’s clear.

He stands and looks down at you, brooding but you were unsure if it was his natural face or if the shadows of the night gave him that cold look.

“Watch where you’re stepping.” He rumbles, about to turn around and carry on walking until he halts says, “Suck on it.”

“W-what?” Your eyes widen, clearly not paying attention to the fact he was gesturing to-

“Your finger.”

You're mortified that you would think he could have meant anything else and you bashfully look away but little did you know that his neck up to his ears began to burn.

When you began walking again, you ended up walking beside him. You’re panting, hating how big his strides were but you’re a little surprised to see him slow down, even if it’s only slight.

“It’s nice to get away from the others. You finally break the tense atmosphere between the two of you but Crosshair didn’t reply like you had hoped. His head was straight forward at the path ahead and as you look at him, you can tell his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Crosshair?” You nudge him only softly with your arm when he replies in an instant.

“It’s nice to walk… not talk.”

Well, that did wonders to your confidence. You’re used to Crosshair being occasionally short with people, although not as much as with you. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps he wanted to be on his own after all and you’re just burdening him by being clumsy and annoying. “I’ll uh, I will just go back to the ship.”

You’re turning around to walk back to where you came from when a hand clasps around your upper arm to stop you from moving a single inch. Looking at the hand and then up the arm, Crosshair's gaze is strong as ever. Drawing you in, intoxicating you.

“Stay.”

“But you just said-.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t like walking beside you or listening to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You smile at his words and turn your body full back to him and for a moment you swore you saw him smile. A beautiful rarity. Or, it was the leaves of the canopy’s above you tricking you with the wind to cast shadows of things that may not be there. You’d like to think it was there; just for you.

When the stream came in view after ten more minutes of walking, you were blown away. No wonder he came here at night. The moonlight rippled against the calm and shallow waters. It was in an opening, wide and had a few trees dotted around.

But, there were no sounds. No critters chirping, no winds howling and no water trickling. It was pure silence.

“Crosshair… this place….”

“I know.”

He couldn’t find the words to describe this place either when he first scouted it out. But, it made him calm. All the troubles of war and what’s to come seemed to have vanished and he kind of felt warm that he now had someone to share it with. If you’d walk with him again that is.

He sits down along the grassy embankment, blessed that the skies have been sunny rather than drizzling with rain like on Kamino so he didn’t get wet. You stood back for a moment, unsure whether or not to sit by his side but then he looked at you, raising a brow. “You gonna sit or gawp at me?”

“You gonna sit or gawp at me?” You mimic in a comedic tone, smirking at him before you take a spot to his right and bring your knees up to his chest. “It is lovely here.”

His legs were laid out flat, leaning back a little on his arms to keep himself raised as he gazed out to the stream in front of you both. “Sure.” He confirms with a nod.

You find yourself laying back on the grass, gazing up at the stars and every now and again you will glance over to Crosshair who stayed where he was and every now and again, frowned. But then, he would smile as if reliving an old memory. It was somewhat surreal to see him at one with nature. No snippy remarks, not even chewing on a toothpick.

Feeling like you wouldn’t have the opportunity again, you had to ask, “Crosshair, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” He quipped smoothly, not taking a moment to look at you.

Laughing, you nudge his side with your knee. “Okay a different one then?”

“You just did.” He repeats and when he hears you let out an aggravated sigh, he smirks to himself. “Go on then.”

Your hand rests on the ground, fingers grazing through the blades of grass until you pick at it almost anxiously. “Why haven’t you had your first kiss?”

You regretted asking literally a second after. His shoulders tensed and he was white knuckling the ground but then, he sighs.

You want to tell him that he didn’t have to answer you because after all, it was none of your business. In fact, you wouldn’t blame him if he were to get up and walk away but he didn’t. Instead, he glances down at you. “Not had the chance.”

Surprise was evident on your face, your mouth making a small ‘o’ shape. You wouldn’t tell him but there was a small pang in your chest as if each of your heart strings were slowly snapping one by one. “But, you said you knew who you were gonna kiss so I imagine it’s someone you’ve met.”

Crosshair watches you, eyes narrowing. “I suppose I did meet her a while back.”

Boom. There it was. The realisation that Crosshair had met someone and longed for them. Maybe he still kept in touch with her?

In for a credit in for a million of them. “What’s her name?”

He had looked away at this point, eyes trained on the stream ahead. Crosshair can feel your eyes burning into his back, a strange knotting feeling rapturing his stomach.

As he decides whether or not to tell you, you think of all the times you had to tell him how you felt. How you find him funny and gentle when he wants to be, how you found him as a protector and shield. You sincerely wanted to tell him how beautiful you thought he was whether to see him agree with you or tell you to shut up.

Then he said your name.

You look back up to meet his gaze, confused for a mere second. “Sorry, what?”

He sucks on his inner cheek, realising he had roused you from a set of deep thoughts. “Her name.”

“… But you said my name?”

His heart is hammering against his chest, hoping you would shut up and get the hint. The longer he stares at you, the quicker the credit has dropped.

Your face is burning and you’re sure if it’s because an intense blush was crawling up your neck or because his gaze is more penetrating than ever before. Your stomachs doing flips and you found your hands on the grass began to shake. “Y-your first kiss is going to be… me?”

“Probably.” He keeps his voice quiet and of course a little too casual. “I’ve always thought about kissing you.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing and find yourself idly pinching yourself to see if it was a dream. Nope, not a dream. “I’m confused.”

He blinks, probably for the first time in a while. “Clearly.”

You’re trying to think of a response but your thoughts are all tangled in a cobweb and nothing is coming out. As you’re thinking, you’re chewing on your lower lip and as he scans your face until his hues land on your lips, he suppressed a noise that he didn’t think was possible for him to make. Eventually, you say something.

“Why me? W-why have you never told me before?” Your voice is quiet, scared to break Crosshair out of his surprising secrets and true feelings. You wish it were true and that he wasn’t just teasing you.

“I… I think you’re a good match for me. Stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn.” You mumbled.

“Sorry, obstinate is what I meant.” He rolled his eyes and you grew a little warm in embarrassment and decided it best to just let him talk. “I didn’t tell you because I can’t imagine hurting you.”

A confused expression crosses your features and ever so gently, you sit up slowly and wrap your arms around your knees. “How could you hurt me for wanting to kiss me?”

He looks away once you get too near, finding something to take his mind off the sensation that always ran over his body whenever you came too close. The urge to just wrap his arms around you had become unbearable for months and now that he was revealing his secret longing for you, he didn’t want to scare you away. He’s half tempted to get up and walk away from the conversation but when he finally looked back to you, you looked at him with those eyes.

Eyes he had fallen for. Eyes he had wished to see whenever he woke. Eyes he had the pleasure of seeing laugh, cry, show surprise and mischief.

His lungs are heavy with shallow breaths. He’s trying to hold himself together. “Because there’s more I want to do to you. For you. With you. But I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Our lives, this war.”

You let out a heavy, constrained breath you didn’t know you were holding. Fingers trembling. It was everything you want to hear yet he thought it was a bad idea. You sensed he felt pained to even admit it.

Shyly, you move your hand down until it hovers barely over his until your fingertips slowly traces over the back of his hand.

He had flinched at the touch but as he looked down to see what you were doing, he slowly relaxed and then looked back at you with curious eyes.

“What if I told you that I wanted this? That I want to kiss you just as much.”

He bites down on his tongue for a moment, feeling his world collide but thought it was too good to be true. “Sweetheart, I…” he doesn’t know what to say but he could notice the way your voice was almost hushed and you were sitting closer to him than before.

You could feel his warm breath against your skin, eyelids drooping as he looked to your inviting lips. It was just you two, nothing could disturb you both now in the dead of night and under the moonlight.

And he leans in, breathing but also not breathing. And his lips finally, after so long, touch yours. They’re careful against yours and you’re certain that you could not feel any limb on your body. His lips are soft, surprisingly. Smooth like the edge of his blade but knowing they could draw blood if given the chance.

He’s the first to pull back, gauging your reaction. Crosshair is panicking a little as your eyes remain closed, dreading the awkward realisation that maybe his first kiss was dreadful. But, it wasn’t.

“Kiss me again.” Your voice is a hoarse whisper and he obeys your shy command with every fibre in his being. He turns his body better to face you and kisses you as a hand comes up to the back of your head, enthralling his long fingers in your hair.

You don’t know how long you kissed for but you were now laying back down on the embankment, Crosshair half-way leaning over your body as his lips moved expertly against your own.

It was perfect. He never imagined his first kiss with you to be this sweet, so tender, but it was. He feared that he would get ahead of himself, overstepping his boundaries once his tongue wanted to find refuge in your mouth and his hands biting gently into your hips. However as you groaned against him and let your lips part, he dominated your mouth in a needy, desperate state of affairs.

“Mesh’la, I…” he wanted to say it, those three words that had been harbouring inside him but he cursed himself as they couldn’t quite fall from his lips. Not just yet.

“It’s okay Crosshair,” you whispered against his lips, a smile forming so elegantly, “me too.”

Masterlist 🤍

More Crosshair Works

tags (tagged some Crosshair whores too so hope u don’t mind) @thesunwof @moonstrider9904 @twistedstitcher27 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @jennamelinda12 @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho o @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @sadspring @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @salaminus @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @in-the-crosshairs @therealnekomari @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @agenteliix @fiveshelmet @the-good-shittt @photogirl894 @buddee @s1st3r @cosmic-persephone e @imalovernotahater @rain-on-kamino

#nahoney22 writes #crosshair bad batch #the bad batch #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #clone wars #bad batch crosshair #tbb #star wars

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Text

ahem here is a self indulgent domestic nanami x reader fanfiction that i also posted on ao3. u can tell i wrote it bc i looked at nanami and said ‘that’s a man that wears sock garters and that’s very sexy of him’

routine // 3k words // nanami x reader warnings: afab reader, fem pronoun, domestic stuff, nsfw, fingering, creampie, idk pals i’m just thirsty

You don’t mind the mundane.

No, that’s not quite it. It’s not that you don’t mind the mundane – you do, when it becomes sticky and muddled and drags on and on and on. You’ve been trapped in an endless cycle like that before; allowing life to happen to you, as trade-off for simplicity. Planning things that didn’t materialise. You hadn’t realised that’s what you were doing, at the time – but looking back on it now, it’s clear as day, because it was exactly what had been happening to him.

Your life is not mundane. Your life is . . . routine.

Yes, that’s right. You stick to a schedule. You keep time. You plan things – and it’s not mundane, not any more, because this time as you stick to your routine, Nanami is right there beside you.

It’s domestic. Comfortable. Oh, you worry about him – he comes home enough times with scrapes and bruises he didn’t have before and tells you about his day, world-weary – but you also know he’s more than strong enough to withstand. You curl up next to him whilst he reads a book, or whilst you watch television. You cook for him on the few days off that he snatches for himself (though he often wraps himself around you whilst you do cook, directing you or helping. He’s a better cook than you, but you have more time than him). You drape yourself over the back of his armchair sometimes and work on the knots in his neck.

“You get too stressed,” you tell him. His lips quirk into a brief curve of a smile before they return to their usual position.

“Maybe,” he says. “But you help me with that.”

For all of the unusual things in your lives, your existence is uncomplicated. You watch weight roll off of him when he comes in through the front door and is once more safely ensconced in a little slice of home. You and he share the household duties; he’s meticulous and careful, and you admire him sometimes when you think he’s not watching for being so . . . balanced, you suppose.

(“That’s you, too,” he tells you. He shrugs. “Everyone else . . . they’re living absolute chaos. But I get to come back after I clock off, to you, and . . . this.” He gestures to the little home. It’s nothing special. It’s neat and tidy and small and the two of you have reasonable savings in the bank. Responsible. You think he keeps you balanced, too.)

But . . .

Well. He’s not always so in-control.

He hadn’t sounded harried when he’d called you. He doesn’t often; instead, his voice had been calm. You know Nanami well enough to know when there’s frustration bubbling under the surface, but his tone had been smooth.

“I’ll be home late,” he’d said. “Don’t wait up.”

“Overtime?” You’d asked, already looking at the pot boiling on the stove and wondering if it could be salvaged for tomorrow’s dinner. Nanami had paused, and then sighed.

“Mm.”

You don’t let yourself worry too much. Nanami handles whatever is thrown at him – he’s always in control, poised. . . The most you see him frustrated is from calls from Gojo in the middle of the night.

You put your own phone away. There’s no use in concern yet, you tell yourself.

You don’t start to worry until you crawl into bed without having heard from him. This is late, even for him. You try not to let your anxiety eat away at you as you close your eyes and lay your head on the pillow, but the scent of him permeates every part of your bedroom. One of his shirts hangs loosely on the back of the wardrobe door. The drawer on his side of the bed that contains a collection of novelty ties (bought by you, because you’d thought they were funny – and Nanami had smiled at the first one, and laughed at the second, so you just hadn’t stopped) is still half-open from him rifling through it this morning.

The click of a key in the front door makes you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. The sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards, a familiar, steady cadence, makes you let go of sheets you hadn’t realised you were clutching.

Nanami’s head rounds the door.

“You’re late,” you tell him.

“I am,” he affirms. He steps into the room proper and you see that his shirt-sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a splash of blood on his left shoulder. He probably was in more bother than he let on, then. You don’t think it’s his blood, at least. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

You sag. You know it’s part and parcel of what he does – and so, you move in the bed from where you’ve unconsciously pressed yourself into his side to breathe in the familiar scent of him. You know Nanami doesn’t miss you’ve done it – he comes to sit on the edge of the bed as he meticulously undoes his tie.

He reaches over to you and cups your cheek in his hand, his fingers warm and calloused.

“How about I make it up to you?” He asks, and you sigh as he breaches the gap and kisses you. Everything about his kiss is familiar and comforting – you’re pressing back against him before you even think about it, hand coming to tangle in the neatly combed hair. He tastes like coffee, and it makes your eyes open against the kiss and check the time. It’s late. Nanami generally prefers to be sleeping by now. You'd once laughed and told him he was boring, and he'd raised his eyebrows and smiled as he'd told you that sleep was important. After spending the night wrapped around him, your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart - you'd been inclined to agree.

“Aren’t you tired?” You murmur, breaking the kiss yourself. Nanami quirks an eyebrow at you. The hand still on your face brushes across your cheekbone tenderly. You don’t think anyone who works with Nanami imagines him like this – messy-haired, half-undressed, his stoic composure gone to softness. Every time he even half-smiles, your heart feels like it will ricochet out of his rib-cage, but when he looks at you now you get the full thing.

“Too tired for you? Never.” He shifts on the bed, shrugging off his suspenders along with the stained shirt. He’ll do that laundry himself – he always does, when it’s bloodstains. “Besides,” he breathes as his hands move to stroke over your shoulders, his breath tickling the junction where your neck and collarbone meet and making you shiver. “I still have plenty of energy to work off before I can get to sleep peacefully.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get a fulfilling night’s rest—”

The bed covers are swept off of you. When Nanami has made up his mind to do something, he does it – and right now, it appears what he’s made up his mind to do is you. His hands are big on your hips, sliding up the loose shirt of your pyjamas. You let out a soft huff of breath as he pushes them up over your breasts that makes him lean in and kiss your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh. Your fingers flex on his shoulders as he cages you underneath him.

“Oh,” he promises against the skin. “When we’re done, I’ll rest very easy.”

You lose the shirt just as quickly as Nanami lost his, and then you both stop talking. Nanami is the kind of man who doesn’t use a hundred words when one or two will do – he’s happy to have conversations, when conversation is the name of the game . . . but conversation is not the name of the game when his mouth is busy kissing your neck, your throat, your collarbone . . . When his lips are wrapping around your nipple and teasing it to a hardened point until you moan aloud.

In the pit of your stomach is heat and fire and need. When Nanami moves against you and your thighs press together, you can already feel that you’re slick and warm with the promise of what is still to come – and when Nanami, too, moves, you can tell that he’s looking forward to things just as much as you are.

His thumbs hook into the shorts of the nightwear set you were wearing. The fear of less than an hour ago seems to have dissipated in the wind – it’s hard to remember how worried you were when Nanami comes home fired up like this. He drags the fabric down your thighs, tsk-ing at how they catch.

“A nightgown or shirt would be more efficient,” he tells you. “You’re welcome to one of mine.”

Your cheeks heat up at the idea of sleeping in one of his shirts, and Nanami doesn’t miss how your skin warms underneath him. You’re so cute. He kisses you again so he doesn’t embarrass himself, this time peeling off your underwear (the thin cotton clings to your damp sex and your breath hitches at how it feels, peeling away).

“Are you going to tell me it’d be more efficient if I weren’t wearing them?” You say, your voice coming out low and husky.

“I’d be right if I did,” he tells you, but he’s far more preoccupied with the button and zip of his trousers. You reach over to help him with it, your hand brushing the hot, hard length of him through the fabric – you always forget just how big he is until you’re confronted once more. Your body gives a low throb of arousal, a reminder that the need inside of you requires sating sooner rather than later.

Nanami is patient. You are not.

There. The zip, the button – and Nanami is pulling off the fabric, leaving it too in a pool by the side of the bed that you know he will probably manage to get into the wash basket before it ever crosses your mind. He’s still wearing socks and sock garters, and whilst normally you’d laugh at him and make him take them off before he got into bed . . .

Well. There are more important things to think about right now, and you can’t deny that the sock garters are endearing.

His cock brushes against your thigh and you start, a soft noise escaping your lips that makes him look down at you tenderly. He tips his head to the side in a silent question and you nod in a silent answer – his fingers push your thighs further apart, sinking into plush flesh, stroking along the slick outer lips of your sex--

His knuckle brushes the swollen bundle of nerves of your clit and you sigh, your hips bucking up for more of the friction. You know that this is just him being kind – a precursor to the main event – but you still can’t help but greedily seek out more and more of him. He clicks his tongue again.

“You’re so impatient sometimes,” he chides, though his cock hard and hot against your skin is just as impatient as you are. He slides one of his fingers inside you, your walls clinging tight to the digit. He pumps it in and out of you, once, twice – and then, a second finger is inside you, stretching you out. One of your hands twists into the sheets as you helplessly let him fuck into you with his fingers. You know that he’s doing it in preparation for fucking you – he often does – but it doesn’t mean that you’re any less impatient for the main event.

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, breathlessly. He smiles, more to himself than to you.

“I suppose so,” he replies. He’s enjoying it. You know he is – tension is draining from his shoulders the more he looks at you, the fingers still plunging in and out of you growing more lax and liquid in their movements. The sound of him inside you is lasciviously loud in your bedroom. You don’t mind helping him work out his tension – whether with cuddling up to him, or cooking together, or massaging the knots from his back – but you do mind when he teases you--

“Please,” you say, breathlessly, your hips rocking in time with his hand. He can never resist it when you’re polite.

His fingers come out of you with an audible slick noise.

“You’re ready, anyway,” he murmurs. He absent-mindedly places the two fingers that were buried inside you against his tongue, tasting you – your cheeks are hot again at the way he tips his head back, savouring the taste of you. Just another little moment of intimacy. It’s not unusual, but that doesn’t make it feel any less erotic.

He cradles you like you’re something precious as he settles heavy between your thighs. His hands on your hips are certain. There’s a warmth about Nanami that few people are privileged enough to see – one you’re privileged enough to see every night and every morning, when he wakes up next to you sleep-tousled or comes in and leaves a warm package from your favourite bakery in front of you that he picked up on his way home.

You breath through the initial sting as he stretches you out on him, and then there is nothing but the pleasure of being filled. You feel yourself mould to his cock inside you, your walls snugly accepting him, hot and wet around his shaft. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and as he bottoms out inside of you, for a moment you two are joined entirely. You can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I love you,” you breathe, against the shell of his ear. He kisses at your neck in return, his voice very soft as he returns the affirmation of one of his own. He is not one for sappy declarations – he is a man of small acts of service. Still. He speaks it against your skin and it feels like a tattoo on your heart.

“I love you too.”

After that, neither of you speak. Instead, you concentrate on Nanami’s powerful hips as they roll against you, his cock brushing the sensitive spots of your wall, stoking the flame inside of you that’s been steadily burning since the moment he untied his tie. You concentrate on moving your own body in tandem with his, the squeeze of your channel around him, the way that he grinds himself just so against your clit with every thrust so that your body feels fizzing with unreleased promise.

His mouth against your collarbones and neck. Your nails digging into his shoulders. He’s well-built despite seeming nondescript in his suit and tie – you’re heart-achingly familiar with the taut muscle making up his arms and backs. The places he’s scarred, even after being healed up.

You can hear him breathing heavier and heavier against your ear as his peak nears. Your own is rushing up on you, as Nanami’s hips begin to rock quicker and quicker, his cock plunging impossibly deep into you with every drive. You think, for a wild moment, he’s going to come first, despite the fact he’s always been nothing but the gentleman in control of himself no matter how many times the two of you become one--

And then, the hot ball of fire in the pit of your stomach becomes overwhelming and bursts into pieces, wet heat soaking you, waves of pleasure lapping at you as your body shakes and constricts around him. Everything is so hot. His body above yours is burning, warm, needful--

Your nails have dug into his skin hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks, but Nanami is chasing his own release now, his eyes clouded with lust as he looks down at you. Aftershocks of your own orgasm make your channel pulsate around him--

You’re tender as you pull him down by the neck and kiss him, teeth worrying at his bottom lip – and he groans into your mouth at the same time as you feel his cock inside you twitch, and the heat of his come fill you. That’s not a problem. You’ve talked about that plenty of times – both of you agree that you’re happy the way you are. Children are dangerous.

. . . But it’s nice to feel claimed by him. Nice to have him rest hot and heavy inside you, like a marker of his affection even as he’s pulling out of you and leaving you full and heavy and sticky. He smooths kisses onto your brow. He doesn’t murmur sweet words against you, but you know he’s thinking them if only from the way he holds you and the way that his hands dance over your skin like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

(You are; and he is to you, though neither of you say it aloud. In the sanctity of the quiet bedroom, though, both of you know it as an absolute fact.)

He’s breathing heavy as he sits on the edge of the bed again, reaching down to undo his sock garters and remove the socks themselves. The tell-tale rustle of clothing and slam of the drawers on his side of the bed tell you he’s neatly folding the dirtied garments and getting out something to wear in bed himself.

“Are you tired now?” You ask him. Nanami turns his head to look at you, and you can see the tell-tale sign of shadows under his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. You laugh, and the sound seems like pealing bells to him. You wrap an arm about his waist and pull him against the bedsheets, curling a leg over his, wrapping yourself around him in an embrace that he at first resists before leaning into.

“It’s easier if you don’t get dressed.” You mumble against his neck, as you nestle yourself into the crook of his shoulders. Nanami uses one arm to pull up the bed covers he stripped from you earlier. “More . . .” You stifle your own yawn. “More efficient, if we decide to waste time in the morning.”

The covers wrap around both of you, the wrinkled clothes forgotten (Nanami will tut at himself in the morning, but for now, he’s enjoying your body so close to his).

“Time with you,” he says softly, “is never wasted time.”

#writing #not jojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #not sfw #i am not a multi fandom blog.... YET!!!!#jjk posting #jjk writing tag

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

Text

the list : d.d

brief summary: you grew up with david, and he always wanted there to be more than just friendship between you both. however, now adults and david is dating someone else, you coming back into his life causes him to have doubts about what he wants. (1.8k)

requested: yes by the sweetest anon, i hope you like the outcome! warnings: none that i’m aware of

all my links

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You call out as you gather your things in the kitchen, your back turned to the guys as David sighs quietly to himself.

Ilya can’t help but roll his eyes at David’s lovesick expression that remains plastered across his face whenever you’re around. “Dave,” Ilya slaps his chest, causing David to snap out of his trance.

“No!” David blurts out, and you turn around quickly.

“Okay,” You nervously chuckle, thinking nothing of it as you head towards the front door. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, you close the door behind you, and David groans loudly as he buries his face into his hands whilst Ilya and Zane share a knowing look.

“Dude, you gotta get it together.” Ilya states as David shakes his head in his hands. “It’s only Y/n, we’ve known her since High School.”

“That’s the problem,” David mumbles. “it’s Y/n.”

It was true, David had known you for many years but for at least half of them he was sort of (most definitely) in love with you whilst you remained oblivious to it. He grew up alongside you as you had boyfriends, was the shoulder for you to cry on after a breakup and one of your best friends. Yet, David always wished he could’ve been something more.

There had been moments between you both, flickers of something more than just friendship, but nothing came of them.

Yet, David had moved on and was happy. At least, he thinks he’s happy until you walk into any room he’s in with your bright smile and joyful laughter; before he realises David’s back in High school, pining after his best friend.

“Look, David, you have a girlfriend.” Zane states, knowing Taylor is out of town currently. “You can’t be drooling over Y/n like this.”

“I know, I just,” David sighs as he thinks of you, knowing he should think of Taylor in that way. “whenever she’s around I just forget any other girl exists, and I just want to be with her.”

Ilya rolls his eyes once more. “God you need help.” He mutters as he rises to his feet, clapping his hands together as both David and Zane look up.

“What are you talking about?” Natalie speaks up as she walks through into the open space with Todd by her side.

“About David and Y/n.” Zane motions to David who simply shrugs his shoulders meekly at Natalie’s raised brow.

“She finally tell you then?” Todd smiles brightly, unaware of Natalie’s eyes widening. “Why’re you all looking at me like that?” Todd asks as wide eyes stare at him from across the room. “Oh no.” He mutters.

“Oh no is right.” Natalie remarks.

“Y/n likes David?” Ilya asks, sounding astounded by the idea as he looks over at David and back to Natalie. “You sure?”

Natalie sighs before nodding. “She has for a while now,” Natalie starts, and David falls back down into the sofa, his mind dazing over in shock as Natalie continues. “but then David started dating Taylor, so she felt like her chance was gone.”

“Okay,” Ilya begins pacing around the room. “so, Y/n likes David, David likes Y/n, but David also likes Taylor.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious.” Natalie mutters. “Look, David, you gotta sort this.”

“But how?” David asks weakly as he looks around at his friends before Ilya’s face lights up.

“I’ve got an idea.” Ilya smirks as he rushes out of the room, returning with the portable whiteboard. “We make a pros and cons list.” He suggests, ignoring Natalie shaking her head.

“Ilya, that is a terrible idea.” She tells him, but Ilya chalks it up on the board instead.

“Actually, it might not be that bad.” David comments, now standing up as he approaches the whiteboard and twiddles the pen in his fingertips as he eyes the pros and cons list. “If I can think of more cons, then I’ll know she isn’t right for me and Taylor is.”

“Your logic is so fucked.” Todd looks down to Natalie who remains silent, hoping that something will come of this for everyone’s sake.

Exhaling deeply, David stands back as he admires the board completely covered in the pros and cons of possibly dating you. “I never realised there could be so many.” David half laughs, now feeling more conflicted than ever before.

“Yeah, this is way harder than I anticipated.” Ilya comments, resting his hands on his hips. “Anyway, wanna order food?”

David nods as he walks out from the room, going to grab his phone whilst Ilya heads into the bathroom.

Both remain unaware as the front door opens, and you walk in with bags in hand. “God, it was crazy out there.” You huff, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. “Even though you said you didn’t want anything, I got you guys Starbucks!” You call out, picking up your drink as you notice the whiteboard out and covered in writing.

You can’t help but be intrigued by the board, and as you read over it, your heart drops. The board is about you, your pros and cons in David’s eyes.

“Y/n,” Ilya speaks up softly, emerging from the bathroom as he sees you standing there, trying to force back tears in your eyes as you remain still, gaze fixated on the board. “I can explain, we can explain.” Ilya starts, but you hold your hand up, silencing him.

“Ilya, I ordered pizza from-” David’s voice becomes closer until he’s stood metres from you and his smile drops instantly. “Shit.” He mutters. “Y/n, I, you weren’t supposed to see this.”

A light scoff leaves your lips as you step backwards, glaring to David. “Gee, I wonder why.” You retort. “You’re unbelievable David.” Your voice softens as you turn around, grabbing your bags from the counter and leave without saying another word, too afraid of your own voice and what will be said.

“Fuck!” David yells, gripping his hair in his fists as he groans loudly. “How could you do this to me, Ilya?!” David shifts the blame to Ilya who stares, utterly dumbfounded.

“I wasn’t the one who wrote the fucking list, David.” Ilya reminds David. “You gotta talk to her, man.”

“I,” David starts, but Ilya stops him.

“No, I mean right now.” Ilya states firmly, pointing to the front door. “Go, you idiot!”

Without needing to be told a third time, David jogs over to his front door, opening it and thankfully, you’re still loading your shopping back into the car as you wipe your eyes repeatedly.

“What, David? You wanna tell me about my pros and cons?” You speak up, slamming your boot shut as you near your car door.

“No, I, I wanna explain, as it wasn’t fair you saw that. It wasn’t something you should ever have seen really.” David begins to try and explain, but seeing you so upset, it causes his mind to fall apart. “Y/n, I, I know we’ve always been friends, and I’ve always cared about you- which you knew already.”

“Thought I did.” You mumble to yourself, causing your heart to ache even more.

“But I gave up the possibility of us ever being together a while ago, and then I met Taylor.” David tries to sound happy about his relationship, that it’s a good thing that he moved on. “Before I knew it I was swept up in this new relationship, and then you came back from your trip, and my feelings kinda dug themselves back up and you’re all I can think about.” He half laughs, realising how ridiculous it all sounds.

“David, don’t, please.” You tell him, now opening your car door as you lean against it, but David simply steps closer.

“Y/n, I can’t help how I feel about you, and I know you feel the same.” A nervous smile crosses his lips as you stare blankly at him. “Todd told us, and that’s kinda what caused all this. We were trying to figure a way of trying to decide if we should date, and it was so fucking dumb as I already know you, and I know you’re close enough to perfect.” David laughs light-heartedly. “And I’m so sorry I hurt you Y/n, just please, give me a chance?”

Silence falls between you both as you remain lost in thought. And then, you break it as you exhale quietly. “You’ve got Taylor, David. I can’t do that to her.” You force a small smile, ignoring the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Maybe we just weren’t to ever be.” You chuckle, forcing back pain in your voice as you climb into your car.

“Taylor broke up with me.” David blurts out, just as you’re about to close your car door.

“What?” You ask, staring up at him as he stands in front of your door.

Lowering his gaze, David tries to keep himself composed. “She broke up with me before she left. She knew something wasn’t right between us and didn’t want it to carry on and get messy.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” You can’t help but ponder over why he never spoke up, listening along with stories as you all sat together in his house and would leave to speak with her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because all I want to do is kiss you, Y/n.” David admits. “I want to be there with you in the mornings, make breakfast or try to at least. Sing shitty songs in the car and film dumb TikTok's together. I just wanna be beside you, and finally, let myself love you after all these years.” David confesses, feeling a weight lifting off his heart as he finally looks at you, seeing you focusing back at him.

“Wow.” You breathe out, now rising to your feet as you move past your car door, closing it as you stand in front of David. “You actually love me?”

David laughs quietly. “I think I always have, weird right?”

“Super weird.” You chuckle. “But kinda cool, cause I think I’ve always loved you too.”

“Oh,” David stumbles over his thoughts, as you lift your hand up, resting it on his shoulder. “that’s pretty cool. So er, what now?” He asks.

Running your hand along his shoulder, you move your fingers across to the back of his neck. “This is usually the part where you kiss me.” You mutter, smiling shyly to him as he nods.

“I think I can do that.” He whispers before resting his arm around your waist, tugging you closer into his embrace as his lips ghost yours. “I love you.” He breathes out as his lips part.

“I love you too.” You mumble back, finally allowing yourself to open up after all these years, never thinking dreams could come true.

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anabsolutetrainwreck · 4 years ago

Text

oh, honey || h. styles

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing

word count: 2.3k

summary: when harry is struck with writer’s block, you come to the rescue and inspire him to write a song, which later becomes known as ‘adore you’...

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a crush on a man you’d known for about five years. And for four and half years of that, you found he was the only thing that seemed to occupy your mind. With any crush, it was fun at first. The thrill of being around him brought a new spark to your life. But then, gradually, it became tiresome; the constant butterflies and the overthinking every tiny action began to aggravate you.

You’d had a boyfriend since you met Harry. He loved you and you tried to love him. You knew it wasn’t fair on him, and you felt an ounce of extra guilt every day that relationship went on. You knew it was selfish to paint yourself a mirage of a perfect life with a man you knew you couldn’t love.

The relationship lasted eight months. It had never meant to last that long. At first, it was all fun and games - neither of you took things too seriously. A bit of harmless sex and late nights with red wine and David Attenborough documentaries. But then things took a turn, and he began talking of moving in together and meeting each other’s parents. Your parents would have loved him, you knew that. But what good was that when you didn’t love him?

Eventually, the two of you sat down and decided that maybe it was best if you went your separate ways. It was a mutual decision. And you both agreed that it was fun whilst it lasted. So, this relationship you’d gotten yourself into to get your mind off Harry had ended because you could never love this man the way he wanted you to.

It had been a rough eight months for you. Harry had been in somewhat of a mood with, well, everybody. Mitch concluded that he was probably just stressed with writing for the album and making sure everything was perfect for his debut solo album. But, though nobody necessarily picked up on it at the time, when you announced that you’d broken up with your boyfriend, Harry seemed to be in a much better mood ever since.

So, now, as you walked into the studio, you ran your hands along your jean-clad thighs. It was a desperate attempt to rid your palms of the sweat your nervousness had caused. Sarah had called you and asked if you were free to swing by the studio. She said something about needing a new mind to help Harry. Instantly, you agreed. You would always be there for Harry.

Sat on one of the couches was Harry Styles himself, his hand over his eyes. He was alone, his guitar beside him. A notebook of his lyrics was tossed aside, clearly neglected in tiredness or frustration. “Harry?” you called out, closing the door behind you.

He looked up quickly, startled by the sudden disturbance. “Y/N,” he smiled slightly, sitting up properly. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help,” you shrugged, slipping out of your black puffer jacket. “And clearly you need it. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they went to get some lunch at some place down the road,” he replied.

“And what about you? Aren’t you hungry? You need to eat, Harry.”

“I know. I will, I will. I’m just trying to finish this song, is all.”

You nodded slightly, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were resting on top of dark bags. “Let me see,” you said, extending your hand.

Slowly, he placed the notebook into your hands. You stared down at the scribbled lyrics. Things were crossed out; things were circled; things were accompanied by little doodles. On the very top of the page, though, was the rushed title (above a few others, which had been crossed out): ADORE YOU. “I’m just gonna put it aside and come back to it,” he sighed. “Wanna get high? It always helps me write music.”

“No, Harry. I don’t want to get high with you. If you leave it, then you’ll never come back to it and nobody will ever get to hear it,” you replied.

“Except you. I want you to hear it,” he said quietly, so quiet, in fact, that you barely heard it.

He wasn’t looking at you, thankfully. At least he wouldn’t see the mix of nerves and excitement at what he’d just muttered. You shifted slightly, placing the notebook down beside you, “Well, then you’ll have to finish it, won’t you?”

Finally, he looked up at you. You felt tiny as his eyes explored your face, drinking in every last inch of your features. A small smile worked its way up onto his face, “I suppose I will.”

So, Harry began projecting his ideas onto you. He explained what the song was about and the kind of things he wanted to write. He sang the chorus to you, and you swore you melted right there and then. Hearing his voice fill the otherwise silent room you were in, with no other intent than to please you, filled your head with all sorts of fantasies. “It’s good, Harry. It’s really good,” you nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

“Obviously not good enough if I can’t think of anything other than the first verse and the chorus,” he groaned, raking his long fingers through his unruly hair.

In a moment of fleeting confidence, you reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. He looked up at you, his green lagoons of eyes staring directly into your own. “Harry, stop. You’re doing yourself no good thinking like that. No songs start out as the greatest thing ever written; you have to put time and care and effort into them,” you said gently. “Let me help, Harry. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand in return. He pulled out a pen and stared expectantly at you. You smiled - you were happy he was willing to let you help. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, eager to hear a new outlook on these lyrics he had grown sick of reading over and over again.

“Well,” you began, “it obviously has a sort of ethereal vibe to it. So, summer skies? Like, maybe something about ‘you under summer skies’?”

He nodded slowly, absorbing your suggestion. Until, suddenly, his eyes lit up. You knew the look. You’d seen it many a time before. It was the look he adopted whenever he’d been struck by the perfect slice of inspiration he needed to write an incredible piece of music. “You, Y/N, are a bloody genius! ‘Your wonder under summer skies’,” he grinned.

He scribbled the lyric down desperately. You couldn’t help but admire him as ideas escaped his brain and fell onto the paper before him. He finally looked back up at you, the page now littered with prompts and snippets of lyrics. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything for my other songs but they exist because of you,” he rushed out, clearly not comprehending his words. “Shit. Sorry, that- that didn’t mean to come out.”

You smirked. You had the power now, after four and a half years of falling in love with Harry Styles and making a massive fool of yourself in front of him. He’d slipped up and now you were in control. “Yeah? What songs did I unknowingly contribute to?” your confidence was rare, especially when it came to things like this, and yet here it was.

Unfortunately for you, Harry’s natural confidence matched your own. A playful grin swept up his features as he said, “Wouldn’t it be more fun for you to listen to the album and figure it out for yourself?”

“Or you could just tell me the titles?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, his confident smirk faltering for a split second. But, before you had time to say anything else, he said, “There’s this song called Sunflower, Vol. 6. I wrote that because your favourite flowers are sunflowers. And I wrote Cherry because I know you love cherries. And then there’s Golden, because that’s what you are, Y/N. And then there’s Watermelon Sugar because I know that In Watermelon Sugar is your favourite book. And now Adore You, because, I swear to God, Y/N, that’s all I want to do.”

He was rambling and you couldn’t help but smile. Whilst you’d spent your days rambling to your friends about how you were convinced you’d remain single forever if he didn’t happen to fall hopelessly in love with you, it appeared that he’d been writing down all the tiny details about you in his songs. Because it was true: sunflowers were your favourite flowers and cherries were your favourite fruit and In Watermelon Sugar was your favourite book.

He was staring at you now, his eyes searching your face for some sort of a hint on how you were feeling. When you said nothing, your lips parted slightly, he went on, “Hell, I wrote Cherry years ago. I wrote it when you were dating that guy... what was his name?”

“Ollie,” you replied quietly.

He knew what his name was. He never forgot. It had been two years but he’d never forgotten the eight months of hell where he had to watch you cuddle up to him and take him home after your group of friends had gone out for drinks. He didn’t know why he wanted to hear you say his name again. Some sadistic form of self-torture maybe, hearing another boy’s name on your lips. “Yeah, Ollie,” he played it off as if he really had forgotten your ex boyfriend’s name. “I wrote it when you were dating him. And I’ve been sitting on it for two years because I thought if I released it then you would know I’ve been in love with you for four years. But then I just thought ‘you know what, fuck it’, so I’m putting it on the album. And Anna, that was about you. But I’ll never officially release that one. Because I wrote it one night when I was alone and I couldn’t get you out of my head and I needed to tell somebody how I felt about you. Even if that was just a bit of paper. But then I played it to you, do you remember? And you loved it, so I swore to never release it because it felt like I’d confessed to you how I felt.”

As you listened to him ramble away about all of these songs he’d written about you and how much you clearly meant to him, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d dreamed of Harry confessing how much he, well, adored you. And you’d only ever thought it would be an occurrence in your fantastical dreams, and yet here he was, staring back at you, rambling on about how much he loved you. “Wait, Harry,” you spoke up, “isn’t ‘watermelon sugar’ something to do with oral sex?”

You chuckled as he flushed, “That’s besides the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“That I’m in love with you and, I pray to God, you’re in love with me back.”

Overwhelmed with joy, you couldn’t help but throw yourself at Harry. The feeling of his hands around your waist in a way that wasn’t just a slightly prolonged hug goodbye after a night out or a slightly overly flirtatious gesture of Harry’s felt electric. Harry’s hands on you in a way that was meant to be a moment of appreciation shared between two lovers was how it was always supposed to be.

After so long of knowing one another, falling for each other and sharing life changing moments, everything was finally slipping into place. You’d been there when One Direction first began their hiatus. You’d been there when he cut his hair off. You’d been there when he went to Jamaica to write his first solo album. You’d been there, albeit your eyes were shut most of the time, when he was dangling a thousand feet in the air for the Sign of the Times music video shoot. He’d been there when you finished university. He’d been there when you lost your mum. He’d been there when your sister had her first child. He’d been your date to your brother’s wedding. All of these things, and you couldn’t help but feel they mounted to this very moment.

You pulled your head back, admiring his face for a moment. Your arms were around his neck and everything just felt... right. His smile was bright and his eyes were full of nothing but loving joy. Without another moment’s hesitation, your lips were on his. You weren’t sure who leaned forward, but all you knew was that this was what you’d been waiting for for almost five years. And, now you were here, showing Harry how much you loved him, the wait seemed worth it. “We’ve got so much time to make up for,” he whispered.

“Good thing we’ve got all the time in the world then, isn’t it?”

He grinned, embracing your body. All he’d wanted to do for four years was to praise it. And now he finally had the chance to. That was until the two of you heard a voice behind you, “We only left for lunch!”

#harry styles #harry #harrystyles #harry styles imagine #harrystylesimagine #harryimagine #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you

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lavendersb · 5 years ago

Text

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes.

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

#sdklmwfoncamk #anyway can yall tell im h*rny #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #my writing #smut #star wars #star wars x reader

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pa-panda-heroes · 5 years ago

Text

blue hour.

demon!au!dabi x reader nsfw; find the sequel here

Inspired (sorta) by this post. This was initially a 400 followers celebration fic but took so long I got to 500, plus it’s Halloween!! 🎃🎃🎃

i listened to Mothica’s song Blue Hour while i wrote this and honestly fell in love with it. hence the name! please go give her a listen!

Minors, go away. This content is not for you.

Warnings: brief description of kidnapping, tiny mentions of religion (nonspecified tho!) and human sacrifice, injury + blood mention, foul language, brief cremation, Dabi being horny (hehe), Dabi absolutely 100% not using magic on you nope, thigh fucking, orgasm denial, biting, dirty talk, degradation?, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification if you squint?

Words: 14k+

Summary: Kidnapped and held as an offering to an ominous demon, you thought your death was near. Soon enough you find your captor dead and the demon you were offered to becomes your savior. Dabi clearly has plans for you, but what are they? Or was everything just a dream?

Your heartbeat thrummed within your ears, sweat sweltering and becoming a thick layer on your skin all over, making the fabric of your clothes cling to it ever-so-uncomfortably. It felt like you were being smothered from head to toe in fabric. The cooled blood that began just above your temple and trickled all the way down your face and neck had dried by now, acting as a crusty reminder of the reason behind the throbbing in your head. Trees swayed in the chilly winds that passed, making the cool air even colder - yet here you were, sweating like there was no tomorrow. You were bound by the wrists and ankles to a musty wooden pole in a forest you’d never seen before, the sky dark yet bright for the blue moon. The stars looked so free, so beautiful, so serene tonight. Yet you didn’t feel it.

Your breathing was quick, panicked, and hurried to the extent that you’d take in more oxygen by breathing less. Your poor, puffy lip was numb from having been chewed on so much, to the point where you couldn’t remember whether you were a chronic lip biter or not; but you sure were, now. That is, until he gagged you by tying an old handkerchief around your face. You struggled against your scratchy, dry restraints so much, they began to dig into your skin and bleed, sending a trail of blood down your arms and a jolt of burning, throbbing, stinging pain through your nerves.

You were far from alone.

The only other human body you knew of was the one who put you in the position you currently find yourself in after a night of dancing, booze, and sweat. The inebriation from the alcohol made you an easy target, you guessed. God damn it all.

The night began with your celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, drinking, dancing, and making merry. You had regretted agreeing to go at first after having a long, agonizingly tiring day at work, which gave you the burning desire to wrap up after a bath and lay in bed until the next day when you’d have to get up again. But as the night progressed, you were glad you tagged along; after all, it was an unexpectedly nice release after a bad day.

Now you were regretting it again.

If only you hadn’t gone to the club.

If only hadn’t agreed even if begrudgingly to go.

If only you hadn’t left your apartment.

You made the mistake of trying to find a bathroom on your own and ended up in an alleyway. The last thing you saw was a filthy dumpster before it all went black, and upon waking you found yourself bound in this horrifying forest.

Around you was a circular dirt clearing bordered with a solid line and filled with various marks made upon it, ones that you’d never seen before. They looked to be of a lost, long-dead language - the language your masked captor was evidently speaking as he sat on his knees with his hands in the air before a makeshift altar of a sort. There was some distance between him and the altar, probably about two meters, that being the same distance he sat from you as you watched in horror.

He was going to kill you, but not before torturing you - or other things. For some hideous purposes that looked a lot to do with a demon or something. All because you were a virgin that just so happened to cross his path.

You tried making noises, tried screaming, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t stop his hideous chanting and no one could hear you anyway. The thick forest swallowed your every scream and the gag held back your every cry. More tears run down your cheeks at your predicament, your struggling against your binds only digging into and stinging your skin as piping hot blood continued to trail down your tender wrists and ankles. It felt like frostbite was setting in. Was it actually, or was it your nerves?

A pillar of black smoke began to rise from the ground in front of your masked captor, who then bowed with his forehead to the ground. Your own heart was beating in your ears so quickly you thought it would explode any minute. If only it would - you wouldn’t have to endure this any longer.

“What... the hell do you want?” you hear a voice boom, distorted in such a way that made it sound like it echoed a thousand times. “Filthy human.”

“Your favor, my lord. I offer you this virgin.”

You try screaming again, your throat beginning to feel scratchy and dry. It almost felt like it was bleeding. Could it be bleeding? Your mind was almost a haze, now.

You can see a form emerge from the ground where the black smoke stands, and you’re stunned and scared into total silence as you see the silhouette of two large wings and a pointed tail. Other than that, the silhouette appears mostly human. But it’s not.

“My favor, eh?” you hear the voice again. The silhouette swings his arm and with it vanishes the smoke, and the reality that this... thing isn’t human finally settles in your heart. His hair is black and spiky, there are pieces of what look to be burnt flesh under his minty eyes and the lower half of his face, bound to the unblemished skin by silvery staples that seemed to spit steam. Three dotted piercings adorned his nose, and plenty more his ears. His wings reminded you of a bird’s with feathers and all, and they were a flat charcoal in colour, albeit they seemed a little worse for wear and severely burnt. The demon’s horns poked out from each side of his forehead and curled around like that of a ram’s. He wore a dark, simple cloak.

You almost wondered if he had goat hooves for feet.

He looks down on the human who summoned him, literally and figuratively, it seemed. His eyes narrow viciously at the man, before jolting to you - and you, honest to all that exists, feel what you can only think of as a bolt of lightning course through every nerve - no, cell - of your body before it feels like your heart stops beating. You can feel the blood coursing in your veins, and it’s ice-cold, all of this forcing you to tense every muscle you’re able. He looks away and you’re instantly back to normal, slouching in your restraints.

“Is this asshole bothering you, little one?” the voice of what’s clearly a demon rings.

“I-I beg your pardon, m’lord Dabi?”

“Shut your trap, moron.” Clusters of the brightest, bluest flames you’d ever seen erupt above each of the demon’s eyes and he leans downward to grab the man by his neck, before easily lifting him in the air as the human choked. “Y’know, back in the day, sacrifices in some cultures were an honor. It was seen as a gift, a way to serve ancient - nonexistent, mind you - gods. People vied to become a sacrificial lamb. I’m ancient, too, you know that.”

The human man stammers and stutters, trying to say something coherent but failing out of fear.

Dabi lets the man rest his feet on the ground as he jerks your captor to look at you, and you want to just shrink into yourself. “What the fuck is that, huh? Do you see the fear in her eyes? The bruises covering her body? The blood seeping down her arms as she fights against that rope? Does that look like a willing sacrifice to you? Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think she is willing at all.”

You blink. What? How? Why?

“You piss me off.”

Dabi throws the masked man to the ground away from him, then raising his palm into the air and summoning flames to filter out of the ground. They swallow him hole, and whilst he’s screaming in agony and burning alive, the demon turns on his heel and saunters your way. “Well, this is quite a mess, eh, dear?” His eyebrows are pointed upward, almost as if the gentle tone behind his words is sincere, yet almost as if there is deviance behind them.

You can’t help but gulp at the look in his eyes. Smile and arch his brows as he might, he was still clearly a demon unfitting of your trust. Right? He was going to hurt you. Surely.

His hands reach up for your face and you shut your eyes tight and turn away.

Much to your surprise, fingers work away at the handkerchief splitting open your poor, stretched, and saliva-coated lips, and you nearly gasp at the relief of pressure on them, the ache in your cheeks quite apparent and downright agonizing. Not only that, but the corners of your mouth were rubbed raw, and you weren’t sure if there was saliva mixing with more saliva, or blood mixing with saliva at the site. Dabi drags a finger from the corner of your mouth up to your cheek to wipe away the tears staining your skin, and you have no strength to fight the shiver that runs up your spine as your eyes fall half-lidded.

“Fuck me, you’re lookin’ a bit worse for wear, little one,” you hear him coo. “Easy, babe. You’re alright. That ugly, scary man’s all gone.” He seems to chuckle at the irony, before a toothy smirk splits his lips. His teeth are sharp, certainly enough to puncture skin without much effort, and you shiver again.

You’re quickly relieved of your bounds, but with the little strength you have left, you’re not able to stand on your own and collapse into his chest, spent and sore. He’s warm. It’s... nice. Fuzzy. Cloudy. Soft. Where are you, again? What’s going on? Why is everything spinning?

Everything fades to black.

:·•·:

You groan and turn over in your bed, pulling the fluffy covers up closer to your head as your body ached. You were warm and settled in, nothing could make you leave the comforts of your bed, yet you knew you needed to. To explain the achy joints, you tried reminiscing the night before. You remembered that night. Parts of it, anyway. When you tried to remember the feeling of being bound or the blood trickling down your wrists, nothing came up. When you tried remembering the chanting of your captor - nothing. It seemed that any parts which could be deemed... unsavory were gone from your memory. You brought your wrists up and felt around them and-

Also gone were any wounds.

It was odd. You could remember it all happening, but at the same time, you couldn’t. Must’ve been some whacked out dream induced by the alcohol.

You had no want to, but you sat up in bed and reached over to your nightstand to switch he clock around so you could see it. It read about half an hour after midday, and you sighed. How long were you asleep? You picked up your phone from the nightstand and switched it on, your heart leaping into your throat at the amount of notifications. Texts, emails, calls, there were dozens upon dozens of them.

“How long was I asleep?!” you shriek.

“Enough to nearly get evicted.”

Your head jolts up so quickly you hear your neck crack, and you see the demon leaning against the wall in front of your bed. You can’t help but gasp and scoot away, your back banging against the headboard of your bed. It wasn’t a dream.

He waves his hand lazily. “But don’t worry, I got it covered. Congrats, you have free rent for life, now.” His wings, horns, and tail are all gone, and he almost looks human, save for the staples and scars. You guess he can’t change his appearance much. Perhaps he doesn’t want to.

The teeth showing off from his smirk look just as sharp as before, however.

Your eyes are drawn to the huggies piercing the cartilage of his ears. They’re as shiny and plentiful as you remember. Your heart rate spikes, and you begin to breathe heavily.

“That soreness is probably from you bein’ out so long, sweets,” he comments, arms crossed in front of his chest, his right ankle also crossed over his left. His voice is smooth and a clear attempt at comforting you - yet there’s something behind it.

“Th-thank you. For saving me, and... the rent... I guess.” You hoped he would leave if you thanked him. Why else would he stick around?

He only shrugs, though. “Sorry, little one, but you’re not special. That sacrifice wasn’t done right in the first place.”

‘Ouch!’

Ah, you remembered that, now. But you couldn’t remember his name.

“What’s your name?” you ask hesitantly. He’s obviously not going to kill you by now. Why would he stick around?

“Dabi.”

“That’s it?” You tilt your head. You were surprised at how... nonchalant you were beginning to feel about this. The longer he stood there, the more it felt normal.

“That’s it, dollface.”

:·•·:

He ended up not having goat hooves for feet.

You knew there was a catch to being saved by that demonic bastard.

Aside from the fact that he wouldn’t leave you alone, keeping a demon cooped up in your apartment wasn’t easy. It especially wasn’t easy when said demon was constantly on your heels, pressed right up against your back. Personal space was not in his vocabulary. Dabi was constantly up to something, and he loved to harass or scare your neighbors with his devilish form; it was just too easy. “What else have I got to do while you’re gone all day?” he’d say. “Gotta entertain myself, somehow, doll.”

Apparently, it had been a long time since someone had summoned him at all, let alone with an offering of some kind. He hadn’t seen the mortal realm in hundreds of years, and because you were offered to him, he decided to stick around you. You only agreed to it as long as he never left your apartment.

Well, technically. He wasn’t actually giving you a choice, he was going to stick around anyway. Dabi so loved giving innocent mortals the impression that they were in control when they never truly were. The demon practically got off on the idea of giving a helpless little thing like you a false sense of security.

Having him essentially stuck to your hip, you couldn’t let him cause any trouble with the human world, be it harmless pranks or downright murder; hence why you left a line of salt in front of every opening to your place one day, to keep him home. He was a curious demon, a sketchy one.

And a bit of a horny one, at that.

If the groping or peeking in on your showers wasn’t enough of a clue, the fact that he did everything else in his power to seduce you certainly was.

Demons don’t sleep. They’re immortal, they don’t need to. Yet, as you lay snuggled up in your bed at night, he always snuck in with you to poke and prod at you, the exchange usually ending with you kicking him out of bed - sometimes literally. Other times, he’d randomly lean into your ear and say the filthiest things you’d ever heard - and then some, obviously - to get a rise out of you, giving him the opportunity to tease you about unconsciously clenching your thighs, whether it was for friction or out of denial.

You were starting to think he was a damn incubus.

But no, he denied that. He looked almost insulted when you made the insinuation before explaining that incubi and succubi are one and the same, changing back and forth between male and female. First as a succubus, the demon collects... “seed,” and then transforms into an incubus to “plant” it. He could change his physical appearance if he so wished, but he never had much want or need to, save for hiding away or using his devilish form; nor could he procreate, he was so proud to tell you.

It seemed the fact that you were a virgin only spurred him on to seduce you. With Dabi being the vile and damned being that he is, you thought he wouldn’t give a damn (ha) if you consented or not at first. The thought was honestly horrifying. Yet not once had he forced you or went too far. It was “poor taste,” he once said, there being no fun in it. You wondered if his rule of consenting sacrifices played a part in his discipline.

And of course, Dabi would go on about how badly he, a demon, an unsavory being to say the least, wanted to be the one to take your virginity and “defile” you, “the pure, innocent treat that you are.”

Defile? Really?

And treat?

‘Pick better wording next time you sex-starved, pointy-tail-having, staple-wearing, horned son of a bitch,’ you thought sarcastically, shoving dishes into their proper places after having dried them. He’d left you alone for most of the day, talking to you and treating you like he was a normal human being. ‘Then, maybe I’d consider letting you get your dick wet.’

Would you, though?

Nah...

Right.

One of the plates was a little wet still, and managed to slip out of your hand and shatter on the counter in front of you. You yelped when a shard cut into your palm after you’d instinctively reached to catch the plate, failing miserably. “Dammit,” you mutter, holding your left hand up to inspect the cut. From the looks of it, no stitches were needed, but it still stung like hell.

You should’ve known better than to think he cooled his jets for the day, because in an instant he’s standing next to your left side and reaching for your wrist.

“It’s fine, just a tiny cut,” you mutter, quirking a brow as he seemingly glares at the wound. “I think I’ve got a first-aid kit somewhere... Have to keep it clean, at least.”

“Nah, don’t need it,” he mutters, before pulling your hand toward his mouth. His tongue slithers out from between his lips and drags along the cut in your palm, the wet appendage searing against your skin.

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, and yet another soars when you see the hungry, predatory look in his eyes, which are fixed on your wound. You can’t help the gulp that sounds from your tight throat, or the yelp that fights out of your lips when his whole mouth latches onto the fatty part of your thumb where the cut is. Your knees begin to feel weak and your eyes fall half-lidded.

Dabi sucks on the flesh there, licking the wound occasionally as well. His eyes then flicker to yours, and they burn into you like no other ever has. You feel the heat of a blush trail up your neck and to your cheeks and ears, your heart thrumming in your chest and lips slowly falling open just a tad as he licks away at the opening in your skin.

“Ah-“

The demon pulls away with a pop from one final suck of your flesh, whilst a trail of his saliva - do demons have saliva?! - hung between your hand and his mouth. “See? Take a look.” He pushes your hand towards your view, and amidst the clear wetness on your skin, you see no wound at all.

Your mind flips back to the wounds you should have had from that night.

“Back then... did you... y’know...”

“Naah. There’s spells and the like for bigger stuff like that,” he explains nonchalantly with a shrug. He almost seems proud of himself with his next line. “Tiny paper cuts like this can be taken care of with good ol’ fashioned demon spit. It’s nice, huh?”

You deadpan at him. “No, it’s totally gross.”

Dabi chuckles at you, waving a hand as if to wave you off. “Admit it. Your virgin ass enjoyed it.” His words are crass, but you know he’s only teasing and they’re not meant to insult.

Yet it still riles you up.

That heat crawls up your neck again, and you huff at him. “Shut up!” you gripe, then turning away from him to at least try to clean up the dish shards. There was nothing wrong with being a virgin! A lot of people wait for the right person, or they just aren’t ready. People have their reasons, and there’s no shame in it! Just like there’s no shame in being the opposite. As long as it’s healthy, that’s all that matters!

“Jerk! You seem to forget whose apartment you’re squatting in!” you grumble, scooting the pieces of the plate you broke together - ever so gently - with a washcloth from the sink. “I could kick you out, y’know.” You forgot for a short moment that he managed to achieve free rent for life for you, but you told yourself it wouldn’t matter anyway. It was still your apartment, after all.

“Really, now?” The demon scoffs, then leaning against the counter and crossing his arms - clearly at you. “How would you go about that, little mouse?” His tone is unconvinced and sultry, the look on his face painted with doubt.

You avoided eye contact with him and perused the kitchen for a plastic bag before marching back to the mess of plate shards and trying to sweep them off the counter and into the bag. “I’d exorcise you,” you mutter. Finding a priest in this area would prove difficult, but you could manage to find one willing to travel. You could do it if needed.

Dabi only laughs you off, though. The sound is smooth and velvety, yet you’re left to describe it as littered with smoke and ecstasy. “C’mon, doll! That wouldn’t work,” he says finally. “Besides, we both know you don’t wanna do that. You like havin’ my sorry ass around too much, eh?”

“Ha! You’re right about you being a sorry ass,” you sass with a huff before tossing the bag into the waste-bin.

Oddly enough, while you’d never tell Dabi this and end up stroking his already massive ego, you felt safer with him around. It was hard to pinpoint why. Nothing had happened for him to be called to protect you; however, you lived in a less than savory part of town, which wasn’t entirely unbearable, but shit still happens. And you’ve already been abducted once, leading to your acquaintance with this horny (I’m more ways than one) asshole. Maybe it was because you knew part of what he can do, all that aside. Push comes to shove, he’d protect you, right?

That was a nice thought to have, if a bit naive, you thought.

He was a demon, not a guardian angel of some sort. He had no obligations to you.

Yet here he was, still living with you over a month after that awful night.

Your thoughts are completely swept away when you’re pushed by the hips against the counter with your back to it, your hands instinctively bracing the edge on each side of your hips for support. The demon’s face is immediately in front of yours, his breath easily filling your nostrils with an ashen smell. You see those horns of his again and have to fight the urge to reach up and grab one, maybe even give it a tug. He’d probably cremate you for it.

Could he hear your thoughts? Previous instances somewhat insinuated that he could, but he never admitted to it - or denied it.

Dabi was right. You don’t want to get rid of him. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that. There is an intensity in those half-lidded, fiery eyes of his that has never before been directed at you by anyone, and it leaves you wishing you could read his thoughts. Are his eyes merely looking at your own, or are they bearing into your soul, calculating and appraising it?

What you can tell is that it’s full of impatience and want. Greed. Lust. And so much of it all.

You tilt your chin down a bit and look up at him with a gulp quietly. You can’t think of anything to say, and tension builds within your chest as you search; you feel as if that silence ought to be filled, yet here you are, at a loss for words as you stare at your own reflection in his glossy eyes. On the other hand, he seems totally content letting you lie in it, letting you squirm for him as he smirks.

And so you look away, bringing your hands to your chest and holding them there bashfully. The sleeves of your sweater are soft and warm and plush - just how Dabi would describe you right now.

This maneuver of yours not being what he wanted, Dabi scowls a bit and grabs your chin to essentially force you to look at him, his thumb ghosting over the softness of your lower lip. He tilts his head at you almost curiously, perhaps evaluating your reaction as it’s been so long since he has seen or felt the mortal world. Those eyes narrow at you, though not out of ire. Dabi’s thumb pokes at the crevice between your lips, and the rest of his fingers on your jaw tug downward.

Confused, you comply anyway and part your lips for him, only for his thumb to invade your mouth and press hard on your tongue, coaxing you to gag and instinctively grasp both hands on his wrist. You attempt to pull it away, to relieve the pressure in your mouth, but he doesn’t want that.

Hell, in reality, neither do you. You just don’t feel like gagging and clouding your vision with tears.

Aw, you poor dear.

With a contemplative hum he pulls his appendage out of your mouth and holds it not far from your mouth, as if planning another venture into your wet cavern. You can’t help but stare at the string of saliva still connecting your lips and his hand as it glistens in the low lighting of your kitchenette.

“Open back up for me,” he huskily demands, but it’s not cruel and dictating, so you comply, entranced as if under a spell. But you know you’re not. This time, it’s his forefinger and middle finger that roam between your teeth, and as if he had told you to do so telepathically, you close your lips around them. With an innocent, doll-eyed look, you suck his fingers and lick at them with your tongue, earning yourself hushed praises and a searing trail of touches up your ribcage and back down. You continue to lick away, occasionally wrapping your tongue around his digits or cradling them as you suck on them, coating them in your saliva as some of it trails out one of the corners of your mouth. They feel cold, as if there was a lack of circulation, and it only spurs you on to warm them with the toasty cavern of your mouth and soft plushness of your tongue.

You’re sure you’re less than apt at this, but the praise and touch you’re receiving helps you feel less... off.

Dabi leans in for your ear, his hot breath against your cartilage sending a chill down your spine before his wet tongue laps at it, and you jump in your skin at the burning, completely unknown sensation. It’s so hot it almost stings, but it’s not painful; tingly, maybe. In the process you lean away to your left a bit, at which he seems to pause. But then you lean back as if to tell him to go on, and you can nearly hear the simper he gives just before he latches onto your ear, licking and nibbling away as you tremble and whimper around his fingers. The heat at your core throbs in tandem with your racing heartbeat, creating a melody of your arousal that you hoped only you could witness.

But you knew better than to doubt the senses of a demon.

“You’re doin’ good, doll,” he breathes into your ear, aggravating the sound of blood flushing through your ears and the thump of your heartbeat. “Such a good girl for me...”

The digits in your mouth get a little adventurous and explore your wet cavern a bit, but they’re quick to push down on your tongue again and you gag around them. Tears start to pool within your eyelids and your whimper is stuck in your throat.

The demon then unceremoniously pulls his fingers from your mouth to reach down at the hem of your sweater and yank it up over the swell of your chest, leaving your torso and bra-covered breasts bare. Dabi seems to drink up the sight of you as if it were a sweet wine he hadn’t indulged in for centuries. Both his hands then trail ghostly fingers - really, they felt like spiders - up your belly and to your sternum. You shiver and a mewl fights out of your throat unexpectedly, your back arching unintentionally toward him as you clutch onto his forearms. Dabi lets out a hot breath, just thereafter his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your bra as he grinds his pelvis against yours, the outline of his hardened cock clear as day against you. You don’t even try to fight back the moan it elicits as your head droops back at the stimulation.

Why bother, right?

The inhuman entity before you takes the opportunity to use your open mouth, his own latching into yours and tongue exploring your mouth in a battle for dominance you have absolutely no hope to win as he makes a mushy mess of you. You accidentally lacerate your tongue on the sharp point of one of Dabi’s teeth and flinch a bit, the sting on your tongue nearly coaxing you to pull away while the taste of iron floods your mouths. That tase you could certainly live without only encourages him, as Dabi growls and grips the base of your neck to hold your head in place as he quite metaphorically devours your tongue with his own, before his teeth latch onto your lower lip and you squeak in surprise as he pulls away.

“Aw, what’s’a matter, little mouse?” Dabi taunts, left palm dropping to rub against your clothed sex.

“Ah, Dabi-!” You jolt at the sudden stimulation on your clit and breathe in hard. Even if there are a couple layers keeping his bare hand from touching you, if feels damn good to have someone else touch you like this. Ripples of warmth flood through you and you feel your body temperature rocketing. Your own breath feels as though it’s on fire as it leaves your heavily salivated mouth and bloody lips in rabid succession, alongside your increasingly rapid heartbeat. Your grip on his firm arms tightens and you resist the urge to grind against him as he continues his ministrations. “Fuck...” Your lips throbbed, yet you weren’t sure if it was from the tiny wounds he created or your blood pressure spiking.

“Hm?” The demon hums, inquisitive and high in pitch - yet maybe condescending. “‘Fuck,’ huh?” His grip on the back of your neck relaxes only slightly before his tongue pokes out of his mouth and drags along your lower lip, lapping away at the blood pooling there and drawing a slight whine from you. “What about it? You sayin’ you want me to fuck you, doll? Tell me.”

Blood rushes to your face like there was a race and your eyes wander from his bashfully, instead choosing to look at the horns cutting through his spiky black hair. He’s right, you do, you have to admit it. But admitting it out loud was embarrassing! With a gulp you elect to simply nod, but his brows furrow and he’s clearly unimpressed considering the animalistic growl that claws out of his throat.

“Hey, I’ve been locked away from you humans for so long, y’know,” he breathes, his voice dark and low. “I’m a bit behind on gestures. You have to tell me.” This time, you can tell by the almost playful tone of his voice that he’s really lying and just trying to make you admit it aloud. Dabi’s palm leaves you before moving up to the waistband of your jeans while his other hand snakes up your neck and latches onto a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, say it. Where’s all that spunk from earlier? You’re all bark and no bite, little one.”

“Y-yes, Dabi. I... I want you to fuck me.” You finally meet his eyes again, and the hunger in them from before hasn’t faded at all; it’s only deepened. What else has changed was the hunger and arousal in your own eyes.

That smirk appears again and Dabi leans into your ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he parrots, “do you? You want my demon cock to take your virginity and fill you up? You want me to fuck you against this counter until your voice gives out? You’re a slut after all, little one. Beg like one, then.”

Your thighs clench together and you gulp. This was... not how you fantasized your first time to carry out. “Demon cock” was not something you’d ever thought you would hear someone say.

But who cares? Not you.

“Yes, please. Please!” You tug at his jacket in an attempt to coax him toward you, your knuckles turning white from your grip. “Please, fuck me with your demon cock...” Your this time voice is less loud and demanding, albeit it’s more desperate and pleading. “Please.” Your voice breaks this time.

Nor was it something you thought you would ever say.

A groan rumbles from Dabi’s chest. “Good little human. Keep it up, yeah?”

You squeak as he roughly yanks your sweater over your head before working to unbutton your jeans, his lips and teeth savoring your neck all the while. Your head cranes back again, a mute gasp leaving you at the sensation of his searing tongue on your recently sweat-slicked neck as his fingers work to remove your bra before they move onto yanking your panties down. At least, you thought he yanked them down, but a quick glance to the floor revealed he ripped them off, rendering them unusable.

“I liked those!” you whine, still panting.

“Tough luck. I didn’t.” It’s not like you need to wear panties around him anyway. He’d burn every pair you owned to mere ashes if it meant getting you to waltz around your apartment with no panties. They just got in the way.

“Daabi! Why would you-

“Oh god!”

You jump and thrust against Dabi’s hand when his fingers run through the slick of your soaked cunt, your breathing ragged, while he gathers the slick abundant there and edges toward your clit. His tactic coaxes ripples of pleasure that lull a low moan out of you.

“Ha,” he scoffs in your ear, “no gods have anything to do with it, babydoll.”

Dabi’s fingers finally work their way to your clit and circle around it a few times before rubbing in a steady rhythm around it. You moan at the combination of the bliss he gives you and the pet name, and your legs instinctively open wider for him as you mewl.

“I’m really not sure you are a virgin, doll,” he starts with a chuckle, “You’re fuckin’ soaked, you know that? Like a slut begging for my dick.”

“D-Dabi!” You flinch at the sinful words he’s spitting at you, embarrassed.

The demon’s digits leave your clit and trail back through your folds, and the wet, lewd sounds that result almost surprise you more than the fact that you want to fuck a demon. You buck your hips in hopes of encouraging his fingers back to your clit, albeit his other hand distracts you with a flick to your nipple, before it rubs circles over the sensitive nub as the rest of his hand palms at your tit.

“Ah, feels so good,” you find yourself muttering.

In response his ear seems to twitch. “Speak up.” His lips are sucking and nipping at your neck, either ignoring or enjoying the layer of sweat built up on your skin as the heat coming from his body begins to overwhelm you. Not that you mind either way. He’s definitely leaving a mark here and there as he works around your neck. Not that you mind either way.

“Your fingers... ah, feel so good!” Your head cranes backward, your hands dropping to the counter against your ass for support as your legs begin to feel weak. The shockwaves of pleasure his hands send through your nerves leaves you feeling weak and mushy.

“Good. Now hold still.”

You give a confused look, eyebrows pointed upward before you feel the tip of his digit poke at your weeping hole, eliciting a loud gasp from you when his finger plunges into your pussy with no reserve. You hiss at the sudden intrusion, you walls stretching pleasurably yet painfully as he slowly moves his finger around, letting you adjust. His other hand merely plays with your breast.

Biting your lip, you lean forward and plant your sweaty, flushed forehead on his shoulder. “Hey, it kinda hurts,” you whine.

“Just relax, doll.” Dabi’s voice isn’t as crass as it was before, nor is it entirely soothing. You figure he just doesn’t have it in him to coddle you, being a demon and all that.

You whimper as Dabi ever so slowly thrusts his finger in and out, the mixture of pleasure and pain not at all what you’d expected. When his finger hits a spongy spot, you jolt and moan for him, and he takes the opportunity to take over your mouth again in a wet, hurried kiss with a groan. Dabi swallows any and all sounds that you make, and in the process you feel the hand on your tit move downward to your hip before it swings around and wraps under your thigh to lift your knee up to his hip level. The muscles of your legs tensing and the choked moan in your throat tell him the pain is starting to very slowly fade away. At the realization, he carefully dips another finger into you and you moan, higher in pitch, into his mouth before he pulls away to stare at the sight of his fingers fucking into you for only a short moment. Dabi is then quick to shove his tongue back into your salivating mouth.

The lithe digits within your wet walls pick up pace gradually, giving you time to adjust and not barreling into you. By now there is still a barely-there stretch, and all the pain has essentially faded as the assault on your nerves takes place and you near an orgasm. Your eyes lull shut and your head cranes back, your hips almost thrusting involuntarily on his fingers as his pace keeps increasing and pushing you over the edge.

“I’m- ah, I think I’m...”

Dabi hums as if requesting you repeat yourself or perhaps simply acknowledging your sputtering, but you’re too busy moaning louder and and thrusting into the palm of his hand, to do so, as the coil between your legs tightens. His fingers graze over that same spot as before and you cry out for him, for which his fingers increase their pace even more rapidly and slam into that spot over and over and over again as he groans at the lewd, wet squelching resulting.

“Shit! I’m gonna cum, Dabi, I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it. Cum for me, babydoll.” His voice is much more authoritative and huskier, and as per Dabi’s demand you cry out almost loud enough for your neighbors to hear as your orgasm slams into you like a tsunami of pleasure crashing into your nerves. Your soft, hot walls convulse around his fingers in your release as he uses them to fuck you through your first orgasm of the night, with your hips still thrusting toward him uncontrollably as you go through your high and begin to climb down, panting.

Your head feels light in the best way possible and your legs are weak, so you whine lowly as he pulls his fingers from your heat with a pleased sigh. The second your legs give out, he catches you by the ribs before grabbing your trembling hips and lifting you onto the counter, with you latching onto him and holding tight all the while, your forehead on his shoulder and arms around his neck while your legs wrap around his hips.

Dabi drags the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, sending a jolt of calming, electric waves up your spinal cord as he repeatedly kisses your hair and ear on the side accessible to him.

“Atta girl,” he mutters into your hair.

Do you... thank him? He’s giving you a compliment, after all, right? Do you nod? Do you hum? You have the energy to do all three, but what response does he expect of you?

“I didn’t... do anything,” you mutter quietly, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

“Technically. Doesn’t matter because you will, soon.” He leans into your ear like he’s so fond of doing, his lips grazing your earlobe. “We’re not done, doll.”

Your legs twitch around him unconsciously, eliciting a deep, amused chuckle from the demon.

You see pointed pearly whites bear at you before he lifts you off the countertop and plops you down in front of him. Dabi’s hand squeezes your ass cheek, said hand then spinning you around to put your back to his chest. Searing breath on the back of your ear makes it twitch. “You’re wet and all, doll, but I’m not sure you’re wet enough,” he taunts, his hands splaying out on your abdomen and gently roaming around, fingers spread wide as they adore your body.

“For what?” Dabi’s chest against your back prevents you from turning around and giving him a confused look.

“My cock. What else?” he jabs.

Your curt reply is totally cut off and forgotten when you feel a wet tongue singe the side of your neck toward the back, and you gasp shakily.

“What to do, what to do...?” you hear Dabi whisper into your now-pebbled skin, his hands ghosting down toward your thighs.

“Oh.”

Remaining silent yourself, you could feel the damn lightbulb light up in the bastard’s horned head, but you didn’t know what exactly would entail.

Before you can ask what the hell he was on about, his fingers drove between your glistening folds and prod around, as if measuring the lewd slick settling there. They quickly pull away after a quick hum from Dabi.

“Be a good little human and bend over, yeah?”

Without a word or thought against it you comply, bending over your countertop and leaning on your elbows a little. You gulp at the thought of your leaking cunt bearing for Dabi. You weren’t sure what he could see from this position, but you were a little embarrassed, nonetheless. With a gulp you shift your weight back and forth on your feet nervously.

Hands rub and palm at your ass cheeks as thumbs rub deeply into your flesh in a symphony of soothing touch. You sigh blissfully and spread your legs for the demon without realizing, but it’s over all too quickly when he instead moves your legs back together. You crane your neck to look at him. “Wha...?”

Wasn’t he going to fuck you from behind?

Suddenly the weeping tip of his cock slips between your thighs, gliding against your dripping cunt and through your folds. There’s no piercing despite his many others, though perhaps that was why he asked you to take him to a parlor not long ago.

Dabi’s cock manages to grace your clit and your body unwillingly jolts a little, still having been sensitive from your previous orgasm. A soft gasp leaves your swollen lips and you hear Dabi growl behind you while he pulls back from your ass end only to jut forward again. Legs beginning to tire out, you unconsciously spread them, only for his hands to push them together roughly.

“Don’t fuckin’ spread ‘em,” he hissed, hips holding still. The fingers on your thighs push deep with force sure to leave bruises while you hiss quietly at the stinging pain they bring to your nerves. But that sensation is quick to fade into something warm and euphoric yet electric and sensitive, causing your head to spin even though he’s not fucking your desperate pussy. He pistons his hips into your ass, and you mewl.

“That’s your last warning, fuck!” he grunts.

You nod vigorously, content with letting him fuck your thighs so long as he keeps grazing your puffy clit like this. His pace quickens and soon enough you hear loud skin slapping against skin, his hips jutting into your ass and balls pattering against the crevice between the soft flesh of your thighs. The quick pace and silkiness of his cock against your clit is euphoric, leaving you to wonder if it would be better than this if he were inside of you. Are you drooling? Your head droops lazily as you revel in pleasure.

The wetness and heat between your legs has increased several-fold, but it’s apparently not enough for Dabi. Your poor body rocks against the counter and your eyes are clenched shut, head fixated on the sensation of his cock grinding against your cunt and between your soft, drenched thighs. You weren’t sure if it was the position or your nerves going haywire, but your legs ached with a dreadful burn.

“D-Daaabi,” you whine pitifully, “my legs... aah, hurt...!”

A hand jumps to your navel and brings you back toward him to allow room for his fingers slithering to your cunt. Before they graze over your clit, they stop. “Cum for me, then,” you hear him command, voice deep and breathy and sending a chill up your spine. “Maybe when you’re done, I’ll take you to the bed and fuck you into the mattress. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, doll?”

“Yes, b-but,” you suck in a breath when his hand envelops your tit, “‘maybe?’” You parrot the word desperately, your head going blank as you near orgasm.

“Mhm.” You can hear the smirk in it, and the sound of the hum rumbling in his chest is oddly euphoric for you to hear.

You hated having him behind you like this. All you wanted in the moment was to latch onto him and relish in his heat no matter how intense it would be for a mortal like you. You wanted to touch him, to be able to see him, and he was depriving you of it all - very likely on purpose.

Your moans and squeals get higher in pitch and Dabi evidently picks up on your cues, thrusting against your cunt faster and faster until your entire body tenses.

You cry out his name ever so quietly, yet before you can climax he pulls away and leaves you panting and weeping, a whine escaping your throat. “But you told me...!”

“Changed my mind.”

“You’re a jerk!” you half-gripe and half-whine, standing up to glare at him. “I was so... so close, you know! You better make it up to me!” You huff and puff from the intensity of almost cumming.

“You’re awful feisty when I’m not touching you,” he remarks cockily.

You’re going to regret saying what you said. At least, that’s what the look in his eyes tells you when he spins you around. It’s dark and already you shrink in front of him. The next thing you know, Dabi’s pushing you against the counter and mumbling something into you ear, that something being an incantation that sends a trickle of electricity though every nerve of your body. Suddenly you’re cumming hard as heavy waves of pleasure wrack your cunt clenching around nothing rapidly as whatever the demon used on you pushes you through your orgasm, your toes curling and lips shrieking, head falling back so fast it almost slammed into the cabinet if he hadn’t caught it. You don’t register that you had wrapped your arms around his waist until his hands grasp them as if holding you there.

“How’s that for makin’ it up to you, eh?”

With his voice pulling a moan out of you, your poor brain goes foggy and full and it spins within your skull as you pant away, your body feeling heavy. Dabi grabs hold of you and lifts you onto the countertop when it seems like your legs are going to give out. “Hey,” he mutters into your sweaty neck, “don’t tire out on me. I wanna fill that pussy up with my cum ‘til it’s dripping out.”

You feel heat rush from your heaving chest up your neck to your cheeks. “Stop... that! You pervert.”

Dabi chuckles at you. You weren’t prudish, you were inexperienced. “What? Stop what, hm?”

“Talking like... that.”

He only hums, though, and he’s not to comply with your request. “Ya know, if you weren’t a virgin, I’d take your ass, too. Or put you on your knees and shove my cock down your throat until you’re chokin’ on it. Fuck, you’d sound like an angel.” Dabi chuckles at his ironic comparison, seemingly proud of himself for it.

You shrink in front of him and shiver, the room feeling so cold. You glance at your bedroom door and he notices promptly.

“I’ll carry you, for a price.”

Your eyes flicker back to him and the simper he flashes you would’ve had you weak in the knees had you been standing.

“Like what, my soul?” It’s a slightly genuine, slightly snarky question.

“Your mouth.” Dabi waves a hand at your widened eyes. “Not tonight. Maybe next time. You won’t know up from down and I don’t feel like playing teacher more than I already am.”

The demon doesn’t wait for your snarky remark before he picks you up and lugs you to your bed. You let out a noise when he literally drops you onto the mattress, your form bouncing atop it before he pins you to the bed roughly, so quickly you get dizzy. He dips his hips between your legs and spreads them wide while his mouth delves into the crook of your sweat-coated neck to let him begin suckling and leaving stinging marks with sweet, little kisses peppered in between.

It seems he’s suddenly gone soft on you, but it won’t last, even if you don’t know it.

Your back arches against him, ready to finally feel his torrid body against yours so that you can relish in his warmth despite the fact that your body was soaked in sweat; you wanted so much more, you needed it. Your next moan is dealt without a care who can hear, and thereafter with you wrap your arms around his neck tightly. Dabi grabs your hips and squeezes the plump flesh before his hands roam down your thighs to your knees as he hikes your legs around his hips, with you far too eager not to comply.

“Dabi,” you breathe, and he hums with one of his hands still on your hip as the other supports his weight by your shoulder. “Kiss me. Please.” Your voice is desperate and needy, and you’re starting to think this is more than lust pushing you on.

Had he used another demonic spell on you?

When Dabi complies, his hips grind against you to allow his hardened cock to nudge the folds of your glistening pussy.

This time around, with his tongue prodding in your mouth at a slower, more passionate pace, you catch on and realize he has a tongue piercing. Your walls clench at the thought of what it would feel like licking stripes up and down your soaked cunt, wondering whether it would be cool to the touch or searing hot due to his body temperature.

Searing hot would be the answer, though you don’t know that as of now.

The demon grinds against you as he devours your mouth with his own, his weeping cock sliding through your your wet folds. On the other hand you’re careful not to cut your tongue on his teeth again, albeit he wouldn’t complain if you did; if anything he’d encourage it. Your hands splay on his hot back, and you wonder that if leaving them on his searing skin for too long will burn you. If it gave you the opportunity to roam your fingers over his muscles and caress the staples, goddamn would it be worth the burns. With a sigh into his mouth your hands move from his back to grab onto those horns you’d thought about, your grip gentle yet exploring as you try to focus on feeling the rough texture of them.

Dabi pulls away from you to pepper open-mouthed kisses among your jawline, growling all the while. “What’re you doing?” he brusquely asks between the wet gestures, and you croon. His voice was so rough and gravelly while the gestures were soft and... sweet. You almost dare to say it was heavenly.

“Just feelin’ ‘em, babydoll.”

You throw his pet name back at him purposefully, and the mockery elicits a dark chuckle from him. Ever so slowly, you were beginning to learn how to be more brazen. You were getting comfortable with him on this intimate level. You’d already been comfortable in some way with him living forcibly in your apartment for over a month, but not on this level, not like this.

The stapled hand on your leg disappears before it reappears in your hair and gives a pull - not a yank - to tilt your head back and further expose your neck. You expect him to ravage it with his mouth like earlier, but he stopped to admire his apparent handiwork. You can’t see the marks he’s left, albeit he’s apparently satisfied as he smirks.

“What’re you doing?” you mimic him playfully.

“Thinkin’ about how I want you, of course.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

In response, you huff at him.

“Let’s see,” he begins, moving closer to you, his breath fanning the lower half of your face as his eyes bore into your soul, “chest up against the wall, or on your hands and knees... hell, maybe just your knees...” He moves down so that his breath reaches just under your jaw, his eyes still staring intensely up at you while his hand slithers to your tit, rolling the hardened bud under his finger and you mewl. “...could always put you in a mating press and fuck you like a bitch in heat... I might even let you get on top, if you’re a good girl. Decisions, decisions, eh?”

“What,” you huff, “you mean, with all that whoring and harassing you did, you never thought this through?” You mirror his smirk with your own quirked brow while you rub the horns on his head, thoroughly enjoying their soft yet rippled texture.

“Oho, that’s the problem, doll. I’ve thought about it too much.” Dabi’s teeth put on a show for you to see from his widening smirk. Next thing you know, his fingers are pinching and tugging your nipple roughly for the first time and you keen under him from the shock before his wet mouth matches onto your other tit, tongue lulling over the bud. You mewl and flick your head back, chest heaving in your panting as you feel him suction onto your plump skin and suck away with a sopping, hot mouth, his low sigh into your skin blissful.

Your hands drop to his shoulders as a result of the distraction his mouth brings. Demonic saliva coats your tit and glistens in what little silvery moonlight filters through your blinds, all while you feel the pull of your leg over his right shoulder and prodding at your weeping heat with the tip of his cock.

“Ya know what?” he murmurs into your skin, “I wanna see these lovely tits of yours bounce.” With his other hand he guides the tip in and gives a moan at how warm and slick the entrance of your cunt is around him. And tight as hell, too. Of all the summons he could’ve answered, he answered the one that, unbeknownst to Dabi, lead to you, just on a whim. And fuck, if it wasn’t worth it.

You whine and writhe underneath him, needy as can be, as your entrance clenches around the head of his cock.

“Use your words, babydoll.”

You groan at him. “Just please hurry up and fuck me!”

“Your wish is my command...” Dabi’s voice is full of tease and mockery, which makes you want to bite his tongue.

Without any warning he sheaths his cock all the way into you as a groan escapes his throat, and you jolt at the sensation of suddenly being so goddamned full, your lustful gasp resonating off the walls of your bedroom. That one hard pump of his hips sends a wave up pleasure through your nervous system and the stretch of your tight walls leaves you wanting more. He’s much longer and thicker than his fingers, and you can’t help your cunt clenching around him like it does. The subconscious movement has Dabi groaning and panting out as you clench on his cock, and he still can’t help but relish in how fucking worth the wait you are.

That stretch of your cunt is back again, sweet and sinful as before. His cock brushes against all the right places, filling you up perfectly and having you drool for more.

Dabi holds still at least, though you can tell it won’t be for long.

“So goddamned tight,” he spits through his teeth against your neck, fighting the demanding of every cell in his body to fuck you like a rabid animal. Dabi’s hot breath fans over your neck, his teeth clenching as a result of your tightness around him.

His hips slowly start pushing and pulling to gently thrust his throbbing cock in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust before he can pick a normal pace.

...is what you thought he would do.

But nay, he begins with slow and agonizingly yet blissfully hard thrusts into your wet core, his grunts being drowned out by your wails and mewls as he slams into your sopping cunt. The lewd sounds of wet skin slapping slowly against skin and hot squelching mixes into it all, creating a melody of sin only you and Dabi share, that only the two of you can hear.

You were definitely going to hell, by now. But hey, good dick seemed worth the eternal damnation. Right?

With one particularly hard thrust, Dabi bites into the crook between your neck and shoulder, unexpectedly not breaking the skin, eliciting a cry from your parched throat and your eyes shut tight. The teeth latching onto your skin feel less sharp and more human, as he’s morphed them not to tear into your flesh and draw blood. He’d never hear the end of it for getting blood on your sheets, he knew that. Besides, if he wasn’t careful it would kill you.

He doesn’t want that happening again. Ugh. That was a godsforsaken mess - literally.

With every pounce of his hips, your tits bounce on your chest like he set out to do and he was sure to take in the sight of it all very well, having waited over a month for it. The smarting pang you felt earlier when his fingers fucked you is completely gone by now, leaving you to writhe and thrust your own hips from the overwhelming fucking of your senses.

“Dabi, Dabi!” you sob, your thoughts blending together until nothing but the demon inside of you remains in your consciousness. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, drawing a thick, black liquid in the deep crescents, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Words, babydoll,” he breathes out, emphasizing the first word with a thrust. “C’mon, you know better.” He groans above you.

A yelp and another, higher in pitch slap of skin resonates within the room amidst the wet, sloppy ones and his grunts, but it doesn’t register that he’s slapped the underside of the thigh perched on his shoulder until you feel the pulsating sting that scatters through your leg. The yelp was apparently yours.

“Faster!” Your voice is devoured by a whiny tone and squeals that fight out of you, but it’s drowned out by the rhythm of his hips against yours.

Another slap hits your senses, and you cry out, tears flooding your eyelids. All you need is a little push.

“So fuckin’ demanding... Where are your manners, little mouse?” His lips are on your ear again, almost as if threateningly. “I’d be a little more... ngh... polite if I were you.” The covers bunch and roll under your body when it’s slid back against them from the hardest thrust he’s graced you with yet, the process bringing a shriek out of you and shock as a result of his hitting that special spot after angling his hips just right and causing your poor head to spin. With Dabi then yanking you back to where you were with the hand on your thigh above the reddening cloud of flesh, you croon underneath him as he stops fucking your dripping wet heat altogether. You’re left to stare into his fiery blue eyes directly while hot breaths flood out of you in rapid succession. His nose almost touched yours, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s dead serious.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re at my mercy, doll. If I don’t want you to cum, you won’t.”

“Nonono, I’m sorry! Please! Please! I’m sorry!”

A cross between a hum and growl leaves his throat, and you shrink underneath him.

“‘Please,’ what?”

“Go faster, please!”

Dabi’s teeth are on your neck again when he picks up his thrusting into you, increasing in speed and fucking your sopping pussy like you had requested. With his hands on your hips, the demon mutters praises and moans into your neck and you sputter incoherent gibberish when you’re not gasping for air and squealing and bawling out from his almost inhuman, blissful pace. The leg wrapped around his waist clenches as hard as you’re physically able as he slams into you, and while your senses are being ravaged and brutalized, you hear faintly those wet squelching noises and the sounds of metal and wood creaking. You weren’t sure if the thrumming in your eardrums was your heartbeat or your headboard hitting the wall, but the thought of the latter rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Dabi angles his hips just right and smacks his cock into that oh-so-special spot within your soft cunt, and the jolt of pleasure and utter bliss that results brings you back to reality momentarily - yet still somehow throwing you out of your mind.

“Right there! Dabi! Oh, fuck!” You sob with a slur, your hands grasping and clawing at his back desperately. Incoherent garbling follows thereafter, and Dabi doesn’t even try to decipher it even if it is silk against his ears.

The fingers gripping onto your hips are so tightly embedded into your skin, Dabi’s sure they will leave round little bruises in their wake and he relishes in the idea, but the sting they bring you feels so damned good, you welcome it, too. The tension that builds within your cunt keeps building and building, your hot walls clenching around Dabi as you near carnal release. You’re close, so fucking close to the height of true bliss, your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as your back lifts off the mattress without you willing it. You feel that familiar tingle before-

It stops.

You sob at the utter emptiness and lack of release, your head spinning.

The ancient bastard denied you of your orgasm.

Chest heaving up and down in your panting, your wordless whine and protest at the emptiness you can feel is seemingly ignored by Dabi. The lack of warmth at your pulsating core is almost... cold. So cold.

“Wh-why...?” you whine.

The demon lets out a breathy groan. You can feel him dip his lips to your collarbone and smirk. “Just ‘cause.”

Quickly the demon sits back on his haunches and your arms droop off his shoulders. Dabi blinks at you with his hand holding your ankle to his shoulder, all the while staring you down with an intensity that has you feeling small, like an ant before an elephant. You’re so vulnerable and naked under his unwavering gaze, it’s nearly frightening. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. It’s soft but it’s predatory. He drinks in the sight of you leisurely.

You know damn good and well blood is rushing to your face, your hot breaths leaving you in weak puffs.

“Aren’t you precious?” you hear him remark with a toothy smirk. “Just for me. Right?”

You nod.

Demonically slitted eyes narrow at you darkly. “Say it, then,” he demands.

“Just...” you pant, “for you.”

Dabi’s hand pulls your ankle off him and puts your foot flat against the bedding next to his knee as he looks down at you. The moonlight striking the vibrant color of Dabi’s eyes is breathtaking, if your breath could be knocked out of your lungs further. It almost forced you to liken the sight with tinted ice, with icy waters off Iceland or perhaps glacier-dwelling seas of the Antarctic. And yet, you knew better.

The sight before Dabi was more than he’d expected, albeit just as sinful. Seeing you splashed out in bed, sweating and panting and dripping in your own essence just for him drove him wild. You were so adamant against fucking him, about retaining your innocence and saving it for the “right” person, in the beginning. And yet now, you let him do as he pleases and he didn’t doubt it would be the first time. He knew better.

“Get on your hands and knees, love.”

That was a first. “Love?” You like it more than the several others. It was smoky and gravelly and breathy all once.

Without your knowing your eyes soften and you grin the tiniest grin at the demon, knowing he won’t return the favor and be as gentle and sweet with you. He’s quick to quirk a brow at you, but you turn on your side to maneuver your body around and comply with Dabi’s command. Your breath has evened out by now, as you prop yourself on your elbows with your ass pointing out to Dabi, weeping cunt ready to be filled. It was embarrassing being on display like this again. You glance back at him with curious eyes, only to be met with silence and what felt like a dark presence. He’d gone cold on you.

You feel a hot hand on the nape of your neck and swear on whatever god you used to believe that your skin sizzled for a bit, while another lands on your left hip as his cock presses up against your folds and slithers through between your legs a couple times, gathering the slick of your essence - as if it needed to! - before he delves into your pussy once again. You croon in front of him, and the moan that comes out of Dabi has you clenching around his cock for the countless time. He mutters something untranslatable to you and pushes down on your nape, easing you face-first into the mattress. Your bedding was so soft and warm from your own body heat. Maybe it was leakage from the demon’s body temperature, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was a mix of both, intermingling like perfectly-cut pieces of a puzzle.

With a sharp moan, Dabi bottoms out in you, your mewls being swallowed by the bedding pressing against your cheek. You sigh into plush warmth, but the soft and gooeyness you feel is quickly torn away by a harsh snap of Dabi’s hips. Your gasp is cut through by a squeak from your throat, only urging him further as you already feel that coil tightening and readying to snap. You feel him shift a little against you, and you try to glance at him as much as you can before he begins thrusting into you again. That hard but slow pace makes its appearance for a short while, and hot damn is it heavenly. You moan and whine completely unabashedly. The walls of your apartment were thin and cheap, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It was just an effect he had on you.

So what if your neighbors knew your were getting railed by a demonic being from ages past?

He certainly wanted them to know.

Dabi’s pace picks up again and you already feel the ripples of pleasure soaring through your body from your clenching cunt, your grip on the fabric underneath you tightening as you fight back the urge to bite into it. Even the lewd slaps of his hips against your ass are louder and quicker, and fuck aren’t they wetter. Dabi himself seems proud of this.

Your breathing quickens and your lungs almost burn like the hand on the back of your neck, your keening and sobbing getting higher in pitch and filled with rushed air. His thrusts only seem to get deeper and harder, if it were possible, and your eyes close shut tightly as your body trembles. Dabi adjusts his hips and continuously hits that oh-so-sweet spot that makes your head cloud over totally, his head falling back at the way your pussy hugs him tight.

“Dabi!” you sob. “Don’t stop, please!” Your wording is heavily slurred and slightly hushed from the impact of his fucking your nerves and your cheek being pushed into the bed, but you manage, nonetheless. You can’t fight back the drool that droops out the corner of your mouth.

The demon chuckles. Dabi could hear you say his name like that for a thousand years straight and it wouldn’t be enough. “S’pose you’ve been a good girl, babydoll. Go on, I’ll let you cum.”

The hand on your neck moves to your shoulder and soon enough, your chest and face are removed from the sheets, albeit you’re still on all fours as he fucks into you. Thereafter you feel the piping heat of his chest against your back, a crude reminder of the seven layers of arson Dabi’s capable. His hand holds you still while he continues to wrack your body with thrusts into your wet heat. You feel his fingers rub and circle your clit after a torrid hand snakes around your ribs and down your navel, and the pace of Dabi’s fingers is almost in beautiful tandem with his fucking as he hits that special spot over and over and over again. You can feel your essence flowing down the insides of your thighs like you thought wasn’t even possible, pussy dripping onto your bedding.

Ah, fuck.

With a lustful shriek, your spongy walls convulse around his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm, your vision going white as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body rocks back and forth, legs twitching and torso shuddering. It takes almost everything Dabi has not to cum then and there, his hiss and loud growl being evidence of that. You just feel so good, why wouldn’t he want to cum now? But no, that would be a treat for you later.

Your clutch on the bedding underneath is as tight as you’re fully capable, and your knuckles turn white while you revel in your own personal bliss, courtesy of whatever the hell Dabi is. The intensity of it all has your head spinning and body pulsating. Poor body beginning to come down from the fierce high, you wondered if Dabi would stop and let you bliss out - but nay; he continues to fuck you like an animal and abuse your clit while you cry it all out. You were drenched in sweat, your cheeks flooded with tears you didn’t know were there until now.

“Too much, too much,” you squeak quietly, so quiet you’re not even sure he could hear you. But maybe it was incoherent. Maybe you were babbling and drooling like a fucked out hole at this point. Was it getting overwhelming? Yes. Did it feel ungodly good? Fuck yes.

“You’re so fuckin’... wet, though,” he pants, before slowing down slightly. “I think you’re playing innocent. You like this, ah, don’t you?” Dabi groans as you continue to flutter, sensitively, around him. “You want me to fuck you stupid, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, right?”

Dabi chuckles at your lack of response and continues to ram into your soaking heat with your cries and squeaks only urging him further. An attempt to glance at Dabi is mostly thwarted by the pace he’s taken on, or maybe it’s because everything’s spinning - or is it the tears flooding from your eyelids - you manage to meet his icy, slitted eyes once, which prompts him to poke kisses at your nape and behind your ear. You feel that familiar warmth in your entire pelvis, you cunt clenching down on his cock as the waves of pleasure intensify.

“Dabi, I- nnn, it’s too mu-much,” you whine. “Please.”

“Nah, you’re okay, babydoll,” he drawls cockily, voice gravelly and breathy enough to make you cum on command. “I think you’ve got a few more for me, don’t you? C’mon.” He makes a point to hit your g-spot harder than before after he’s done talking, and goddamn does it take the air out of your lungs. You choke on your own spit when you feel that piping hot hand patted against your asscheek repeatedly.

Your shriek and wet slopping fills the room as you cum yet again, albeit this time the pressure on your nerves feels different - smoother, warmer - and the tingle in your belly is intense as your scream feels like it claws at your throat until it bleeds. Your thighs are drenched in your juices, cunt twitching and clenching in the aftermath of your mind-splitting pleasure. You mumble and whimper as he finally slows down and gives you a sliver of mercy, both of his hands now holding you up by your hips when your torso slowly droops down like it was before. Dabi chuckles behind you quietly as he comes to a halt.

“You good, doll?”

He’s definitely not sincere.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you heave and pant, the fabric in your fingers wrinkling in their grasp.

“Oi, you can’t quit on me now,” he demands. “I haven’t cum yet and I gotta make you squirt again.”

Trying to get a whole, solid word out was a struggle as a result of your heavy breathing and the overstimulation. Your head was fuzzy and the room was spinning like a damn typhoon, and for a split moment you thought you’d fallen unconscious. What spills out is garbled nonsense.

The demon hums that inquisitive hum again, urging you to speak.

You lift your cheek off the bed slightly, as you’re able. “Will...”

You’re not sure why, but the thought of Dabi skipping off after taking your virginity so unceremoniously rang into your thoughts, giving you a sense of loneliness and anxiety. Why, though? Why now?

“Huh?” He leans in so close, his horn bobs off the side of your head when he arches over you to put an ear to your lips. “Try again, love. Go on.” He sounds quite intrigued, probably the most you’ve heard him.

“Will you... hah, leave... me?”

The grin against your neck is dark.

“Whaddya mean, little mouse?”

His voice was downright excited. You were worth the wait. How long had it been since he’d had a human so obedient, so innocent yet so easily corrupted? You were his, now - whether you liked it or not was irrelevant. But he knew you would. Dabi had grown on you far more than you’d ever admit, he knew that for a fact. You were clearly enjoying yourself now, anyway. And it didn’t take magic to do all of this, save for one here and there to coax you to enjoy yourself and to bring out subconscious feelings. Like right now. You felt these things, he just amplified them to an unbearable extent. Whoops. You poor thing.

“Don’t go.”

Eyes half-lidded and droopy, you turn your head to look back at the demon, only to be met with sharp teeth shown off in a naughty grin. You blink once and you could’ve sworn you saw an image of a black, smoky aura surrounding him.

“If you can handle me, dear.”

You nod against the bed slowly before trying to push your ass against him with what little stability you have. Even if his cock was still buried in you, without any movement you felt empty and... alone.

“I thought it was too much?” he quips, hand rubbing at your reddened ass cheek in a way you have to describe as soothing. It felt so silky and mellow. Yet you knew he was far from that. “Well? I thought you were bitchin’ out on me like the virgin you are.”

“In... insi... inside,” you sputter shyly, mental clarity not quite returning, albeit you manage enough to think of that at least. You want him to cum inside, to know what it feels like to be stuffed full of his cum, to feel his cock twitching inside after his release. “C-um.”

You never would’ve thought about that before you met him. Why would you feel this way?

“Aw, what is it?” The hum that results from his scarred throat is dark. “You want me to cum inside right now? I’m not sure you’ve earned that yet.” His voice is bastardly and maybe even a little teasing, and he sighs almost happily at your squirming. “Asking me to cum inside like that the first time you get fucked - such a whore. Have I fucked you stupid already, doll? Shame, I thought you’d hold out better than that.” Dabi clicked his tongue and shook his head, though you can’t see. “Broken so early. Guess there’s no point in me stickin’ around after all, huh?”

A noise sounds from the back of your throat in protest and nearly unbeknownst to you, drool slithers out the corner of your mouth. Dabi seems to ignore your noises as his hands adjust your hips, giving you enough friction to elicit a whine from your lips. You can’t register this at the moment, but Dabi was a victim to his own whims and could be a mix of soft and downright mean in the bedroom, and there’s no telling which will arise. Sometimes he’ll want skin against skin, tongue lashing against yours, fiery pleasure; sometimes he wants to insult you and lash his hand across your ass cheek, leaving bruises or drawing blood wherever he can.

“I was gonna make you convince me,” he breathes, slowly thrusting. “But considering you’re still conscious, I think that’s enough.” Dabi chuckles behind you. Well, you were only conscious as per his meddling. He was the one keeping your consciousness pulled to the surface, preventing you from letting go of reality and passing out. “You’re most welcome to cry and beg, though, babydoll.”

Hell, that list was half-checked off. Tears stained your cheeks and blurred your vision already, and the more he fucked into you, the more they fluttered out. Your lungs burned at this point, a searing heat cutting through your chest. Anything you try to say comes out incoherently, a sputtered and garbled mess, when it’s not a pitiful sob.

You push your hips back against him in an attempt to fuck yourself on his cock while Dabi fucks your puffy cunt, drawing a condescending chuckle from him. The jolt of overstimulation beckoned you to crawl away and relieve yourself of him, but the need to have him thrusting and cumming inside you overcame it. His release and what it would feel like to have his cum mixing with your juices and dripping out of you was all you could think about, as if entranced in a spell that bound your consciousness to that one thing. The rest of your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent even to you, the drool trickling out your mouth and the rolling of your eyes into the back of your head representative of that.

As Dabi watched your pussy envelop him, he couldn’t help but envision his name carved into your asscheeks with a sharpened claw of his. Ah, the squeals and squeaks that crawl out of you would be divine in the most sinful way possible, and the threads of blood that would trickle down your skin would taste head-spinningly beautiful. Maybe next time. Dabi’s jaw clenched at the throb of his cock within your sputtering, velvety walls, the tightness in his abdomen building. Just one more...

“Fuck, little one...!”

As the demon drags sharp claws up your thigh and asscheek, it leaves red ribbons in its wake and the squeeze of your cunt and pitiful squeal tells him well that you’re enjoying it far more than you ever thought you would.

“Such a good fucking human... good fuckin’ hole,” he grunts, voice strained. His hand plants on the middle of your back and pushes hard, bowing your poor back as his other hand keeps your hips up, his cock ramming into you at a faster pace. Dabi lets out a loud groan when he sees the blissed out, tear-stained, drool-covered face of yours before his thrusting loses rhythm and he suddenly feels your pussy flutter around him hard in orgasm again, soaking him in your slick again. Finally he allows himself to find the release you’d internally begged for, fucking into you at a less than rhythmic pace as his own mind begins to become overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck, motherfucking-!”

Dabi soon finds his teeth embedded into your flesh and gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise or even cut into the skin as his hips move entirely on their own against you. With a strained moan he cums, thick, warm ropes of cum painting your fluttering, sensitive, and overstimulated walls as you literally cry and sob underneath him, his hips still involuntarily thrusting into you as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth.

“Fucking hell,” he bites out, body relaxing against yours as he comes down from the high, yet he doesn’t pull out. “I missed this.” His voice is breathy and littered with pants against your neck. Dabi leaves a few wet kisses to it before leaning back and slowly pulling out with a groan, leaving you empty and dripping before him. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out but is quick to gather it with his fingers and push it roughly back into your pulsating cunt.

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

Your poor head spins and you don’t know up from down, so Dabi ushers you to lay down and before he knows it, you’re passed out asleep. Eh, he’ll consider aftercare next time maybe. With a yawn that’s more out of sudden boredom than it is exhaustion, Dabi lays down next to you and props his head up with his hand, leaning against his elbow as he watches you sleep peacefully, a complete contrast to a few mere minutes ago. With a smirk he wipes the tears off your cheeks. Those cheeks...

“I oughta answer sacrifices more often.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #dabi #mha #bnha #blue hour.#*throws candy* happy halloween have some mediocre smut!

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thestarsoutofyourwindow · 5 years ago

Text

Forbidden Library - The Doctor x Reader

This was written with 11 in mind, but you can easily see it as 10, so it’s your preference! I wrote this as a description experiment, then tried to apply some story to it. I’ve been trying to master character/body language too, so this took a while to write because I just couldn’t settle on anything, so I just gave up. If this does well I may do a part two, and I’ll try to make it more romancy. Word Count: 2,161 Summary: You hear a book fall whilst in the library and go to investigate. You stumble upon a book that answers the questions you’ve been asking yourself for a long time, but you just can’t bring yourself to lie to the Doctor about it. Warnings: Time War heavily referenced, Comforting the Doctor, A lot of description, You find it hard to lie, Reassuring the Doctor.

All of time and space, he said. Wherever, whenever, and home in time for tea. The Doctor has always been a bit of an enigma to you. You knew practically nothing about him, yet if anyone had asked, you would consider him one of your closest friends. However, whether or not you're the sort to ask questions, you had a feeling he isn't as honest as you'd like to believe.

The first time you had asked him about his people and planet, he ignored you completely, babbling about the asteroid you were supposed to be visiting. The second time you had asked, he dodged around it, giving you a half-arsed response. All he told you is that his race died out a long, long time ago and that there was a war. After that, he excused himself, and you couldn't bring yourself to mention it to him again.

You had to admit, that puzzled you: you had believed it to be a sensitive subject, so of course, you left it there. No matter how curious you were, you're not going to force The Doctor into reliving anything he'd rather not. But sometimes it did keep you up at night. The Doctor had never seemed like the fighting sort, but something about his recount didn't settle right with you. You weren’t sure what. Usually, on those nights where you end up in an hours-worth of conversation with the TARDIS, you would truly realise how much you thought about it. As weird as it sounded, you felt she was listening as she would often click or whirr in response. You felt insane the first time you did it, but the longer you spoke to her, the more normal it felt. You hardly mentioned your conversations to the Doctor, but whenever you did, he only grinned to himself.

"Doctor?" You peeked into the library. It was, and always will be, the most impressive library you had ever seen. There were cherry-wood bookshelves, that stood towering over you, each shelf overfilled with beloved, worn books. The library was like a maze, asides from the sitting area where a few chairs huddled around a fake-fireplace, there was an indeterminable quantity of shelves. The rest of the library was lit up by fairy lights, which looked as if to be a new addition to the systematic chaos, making the already supernal library look even more mystical. According to the Doctor, the TARDIS has full management over the configuration and layout of the bookshelves, sort of like the Hogwarts stairs. There were step-ladders haphazardly scattered throughout the library. There was the occasional ivy plant that had grown and twisted down the bookshelves. One day you had been scrolling through Tumblr, and a post with ivy plants showed up on your feed. You talked about how cool that is to the TARDIS; within the next week ivy sprung up all over the place, including the kitchen. The Doctor made a passing remark about the ivy plants, and you confessed, alongside a frantic apology. He laughed, telling you it didn't bother him.

"Yeah, Y/n/n?" He mumbled, not so much as blinking away from his book. He hunched over it; his legs draped off the arm of the chair due to his inability to sit correctly. He nestled himself in a duvet, and which would be inconspicuous if not for his head poking out. "Have you seen... Woah. Fairy lights!" You smile, looking up at the tastefully draped lighting. "Is this your doing?" The Doctor asks ludicrously, turning to face towards you, gesturing over at the shelves, "I knew the TARDIS liked you, but this is getting ridiculous."

You chuckle for a moment before peering back at him, "I only came here to ask if you'd seen the book I left on the kitchen counter, but if you're going to criticise me so rudely, well I guess I'll go trip over something important." The Doctor grimaced at that, "That's really not necessary, I think... Yeah, I brought it in here with me earlier." He gestured the book out at you, over the back of the armchair. You stepped closer, about to take the book, when he pulled it away, his eyebrows furrowing. "Are you going to do some reading? If so, would you like to, um, maybe sit and join me?" "Yeah, why not?" You marvel, looking him dead in the eye. You walked around the chair and sat on the armchair next to his.

You cosied down and tried to focus on reading. However, your anxieties and considerations began cropping up again. You lost yourself in thought over what the Doctor keeps from you. Peeking up at the Doctor, you noticed his eyelids drooping. You watched attentively; you had never seen him asleep, oddly enough. His head, already tilted into his chest, slipped further. His tousled brown hair settled on his face, and his breathing eased. His grip on the book slackened. You remained there, admiring the sleepy face you had grown attached to over the months of touring time and space together.

Due to the endearing nature of his subtle breathing, you hardly realise the TARDIS clicking to get your attention. A distant thump draws you out of your hypnosis, the sound emanating from deep in the library. You stir noiselessly out of the armchair, as to not disturb your friend, and hesitantly edge towards the direction you assume it originated. You notice a small, cherry wood door in the wall between some bookshelves. Convinced you have never seen that door before, you approach the door. Stopping dead in your tracks for a moment, you take a moment to calm your nerves. The TARDIS would never let you get hurt, at least if she could help it. You reached your palm out towards the handle and, taking the TARDIS's silence for approval, enclose your hand around the metallic knob and twist.

Behind the door was what appeared to be the smaller section of the library, perhaps it's a study full of books the Doctor had just never taken back to the library? From what you could make out through the darkness, and the distinct smell of dust, the bookshelves were similarly themed to the ones outside. Although, these shelves are in a much smaller room, both vertically and horizontally. A desk was facing towards the door on your left, and a beanbag on the floor to your right.

You were about to close the door and leave, ready to call it his study and leave it at that. But as the door was half-closed, it dawned on you that the Doctor had never even mentioned this room, and the room appeared as though it had been undisturbed for a long time. This room would be pretty redundant, and the TARDIS surely would've reorganised the books onto the shelves, right? With that in mind, you re-entered the room, curiosity brimming in your eyes as you notice the book in the middle of the floor. It's TARDIS blue cover stood out like a sore thumb against the crimson carpet, regardless of how dark the room was. As you knelt to pick up the obscure book, the ceiling light flickered on.

"History of the Time Lords: All you need to know." You mumbled as you read. You habitually flip the book in your hands to read the blurb, the grey foiled text read, "From humble beginnings to the vicious politics of the time war, here is everything you need to know about the history of our civilisation." You checked to see if there is a contents page, of which there is. None of the chapters stood out, except for perhaps, Gallifrey Falls. It clicked in your mind that Gallifreyan must equate to Time Lord, at least to some extent. The Doctor had referred to himself as the last Time Lord.

You flip to the chapter and settle down on the floor, considering you may be there for some time.

And by god, you were. You read about everything from the potential causes, to the effects on the rest of the universe. What you paid the most attention to, however, was the Doctors' involvement. For the most part, he stayed out of the war, asides from helping the victims. But whoever had "restored" him, had pinned the continuing deaths on the Doctor and his lack of involvement, which had finally made him give in. The Doctor fought for literal decades on the front line.

No wonder he didn't want to talk about it.

You read on about the sacrifices he made and the Daleks. They always survived, no matter what he did. By the time you had wrapped up two or three chapters, you had worked yourself up. Even if you're not the emotional sort, just the thought of the Doctor having to go through all of that brought you to tears. You kept imagining the burden he must be carrying, keeping from you and Amy. The decisions he has made.

You stood up, the book still in your hands, and make your way back to where you had left the Doctor.

Upon re-entering that section of the library, it took you a moment to realise that your companion no longer huddled in the armchair. There was no trace of him. You hoped he had withdrawn to his room, and took a step towards his chair. "Y/n!" A hand landed on your shoulder. You recoiled, whirling around to face the weary-eyed Doctor, pulling the large book to your chest, "There-... what's up?" "Nothing, I-I just thought you had gone to your room, is all. You scared me." You exhale a sigh of relief, gently laughing as you spoke. "What have you got there?" He scrutinised inquisitively, eyes pinned on the book you were gripping so tightly. "Oh, It's a book," The Doctor raised a brow at you and rolled his eyes, a smile on his cheeks, and you thoughtlessly added an, "Well, of course, it is, uh, it fell off a shelf in a sort of study room- I heard it and went to see what it was." You handed the book over sheepishly. It wasn't your book to keep, after all. You didn't want to admit it, but a part of you didn't want to lie to the Doctor, either.

He shifted the book about until he could comfortably read it; the moment his eyes darted back up to you, eyebrows curved upwards, smile extinct, you could've sworn something shattered behind his eyes. Noticing this, you couldn't stop yourself from clarifying, "I, I did read a bit of it, quite a lot actually- out of curiosity. Look, I'm, I'm so sorry. I didn't realise when I kept asking you about Gallifrey, and the war- if I'd known the half of it-" You paused, taking a deep breath and looking into his eyes, "Look, If you want me to forget about this, that's cool- I, erm, can just pretend this never happened, and I'll make sure to keep Amy/Donna off your ass about it," "Humans, you're so," The Doctor mutters exasperatedly, gesturing outwards with his hands, before sighing, he puts his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently, "You know, Y/n. You don't have to stay. I get it, I really do. I killed my entire species, nothing co-" "Doctor. You cannot honestly tell me that it is your fault. I won't sit here and listen to you take the blame for something you avidly tried to avoid. From what I read, you tried to help- you swore to help, to make up for something out of your control," You rest your hands on his upper arm, shaking him gently as you speak, "You did your best, you did what you thought was the right thing, and most importantly, you saved the whole of time and space, again, from the Daleks and the Time Lords." The Doctor hesitated, lips pursing as he looked away. You offer him a hug, and he quickly accepts, his arms wrapping around your waist. You try your very best to make it the best hug you've ever given. You hold him firmly and flatten the back of his hair soothingly as you speak, "Treat yourself the way you'd treat someone else, you know? I know it's been a long time, but I need you to know that I'm not leaving you for doing the right thing." The Doctor took a shaky breath, "Yeah. Thank you." He breathily laughed, "I wish I had met you sooner." You smiled, "Well the day you figure out how, I will have prepared some very, strong words for you." He hummed in affirmation into your shoulder, "I'll have to work on that." The two of you just stood there for a bit, hugging each other. You impulsively touch a kiss against the Doctors temple as the two of you separate.

#doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #fluff #angst #newwho #doctor who library #doctor who

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drvrslcense · 4 years ago

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maybe the night

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+ send your requests!

pairing: annabeth chase x fem! reader

summary: in which annabeth found you singing a song she didn't know was about her

notes: request; this fic is also inspired by a BEN&BEN song called maybe the night - give it a listen while reading!

The soft strumming of guitar filled Annabeth’s ears just as she was walking back towards her cabin. It was late at night - way past curfew - but she never really did care for it. It seemed like you didn't care either, as you sit in front of the campfire, guitar in your lap and crooning a song.

You shook your head, shaking your right hand a few times before it settled on your strings once again and strummed. It was a beautiful melody, Annabeth decided, as she took a seat on one of the benches in the amphitheater. You had your back on her, but Annabeth knew it was you. The way you move, the way you sing - there was no doubt in Annabeth that it’s you.

“I want to lay down by the fire with you,” you softly sang. “Where souls are glowing ever warmer too.”

Annabeth didn’t know what it was, but she sensed yearning in the way you were singing - as if you’re missing something you knew you couldn’t have. Maybe you are. But whatever it was, it made her want to reach out to you, hold your hand, and maybe even give you a hug or two.

“Love surrounds me like a lullaby,” you continued singing, showing no signs that you notice her presence behind you. “Singing softly, you are mine, oh mine.”

Annabeth couldn’t help but stare at your figure as your arms move to strum the guitar. She let herself get lost in the song you’re singing, wondering who you were referring to. She didn’t know any possible romantic interests you might have - you were never inclined on sharing them to her, so she just let it go. But now, she kind of regrets not pressing on the topic further.

She wanted to know whether you were singing about someone she knows. Annabeth wanted to have a stern talk with them and, hopefully, scare them away.

“Maybe the night holds a little hope for us, dear,” you sang, filling Annabeth with memories the two of you have spent. There were ones when your cabin and hers have teamed up for capture the flag and the moments the two of you spent together guarding the flag. There were also those moments when you would have each other’s backs during battle, each guarding one another’s weaknesses and amplifying one another’s strength. But Annabeth’s favorite memories were those quiet ones she shared with you: taking small walks during early mornings or late nights around camp, deep conversations whilst sitting atop the camp half-blood hill, or those moments when the two of you were just laying down and she’s rambling on about astrology and architecture, and you were there with an arm under your head, softly smiling and listening to her talk.

“Have you seen the Parthenon?” She asked you as the two of you lay beside one another on a clear night.

“Not really,” you laughed. “I’ve always wanted to go there, though,” you continued as she looked at you expectantly.

She turned her head back, staring at the clear night sky as she started to ramble on about the Parthenon. She couldn’t help the pull the sides of her lips were threatening as she thought of the Parthenon, but she couldn’t deny that most of the force was brought upon by feeling your gaze at her.

“Okay so,” Annabeth popped her lips. “The Parthenon is this Doric temple that is named because of the style of its column used in its construction. It was built to worship my mom and used to be the home of the Athena Parthenos until it was-.”

“Look, Annabeth,” you shook her arm, pointing somewhere in the sky. “A shooting star.”

“Yeah, and?” She narrowed her eyes at you.

“Make a wish, you dummy,” you rolled your eyes.

Annabeth watched as you closed your eyes and mouth some words. She watched as a small smile formed on your lips and stopped herself from reaching out and running his thumb around your cheeks.

“What did you wish for?” You whispered to her once you opened your eyes.

“Nothing,” Annabeth shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips. “I didn’t really make a wish. I don’t believe in them.”

“Why not?” You asked her. But you didn’t press on as you widened your eyes and grinned, pointing at another shooting star in the sky. “There! Make a wish, Annie!”

“Fine,” Annabeth dramatically sighed, still she closed her eyes and relaxed for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she wished for then, only that this moment with you would last forever.

“I have never been more certain,” you continued singing, still looking peaceful as ever with your guitar and the fire that Annabeth thought maybe she should just leave. But she didn’t as she leaned in to hear more. “I will love you ‘til we’re old.”

Annabeth felt anger bubble inside of her. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way; she thought as she shook her head. She should be happy for you, right? She should be happy that you finally found the one you love, even if it wasn’t her. She should be supportive, even be happy at the thought of becoming one of your bridesmaids in your wedding somewhere far in the future. Yet, she was furious. She wanted to storm off or make a scene. Instead, she watched as you finished the song and slowly stood up, clapping.

She saw as you abruptly stood up and turned to face her, eyes wide and mouth ajar. “Nice song you wrote there,” she said, plastering on the fakest smile she could muster.

“You think so?” You asked her, looking down and chewing on your lips.

Annabeth softened instantly. Normally, she wouldn’t easily cave in even if she knows she lost. She would still hold her head up and win, even with the pointless arguments. But with you, she can’t even bring herself to be mad at. And it baffles her. She wasn’t like this, even for Luke. But here she is, not even staying mad at you.

“Yeah,” she started walking down the steps towards you. The two of you shared a smile as she reached you.

“Did you hear the complete song?” You asked her, sitting in front of the dancing fire.

"Yeah, 'twas nice," she said, taking a seat beside you.

"Yeah?" You asked her, laying your head on your knees.

"Yeah," Annabeth nodded, though she was sure her gray eyes remained like thunderous storms. "I like the way your voice was soft, but still held so much emotion than lofty feelings."

Instinctively, her fingers ran up and down your spine. It felt good and for once; she let it out happen as you let out a hum of approval.

"I like how it feels like you have something close to your reach but still far from you," Annabeth continued, her fingers softly massaging your back. "Most of all, I like how it felt like coming home to a warm bed after a tiring day."

I love how the song made me want to reach out and hug you tight, as if the world was going to end tomorrow and the only thing that mattered was you. Those were the words that silently hung in the warm air around the two of you as Annabeth was silent, mulling over her own thoughts, while her fingers still ran up and down your back, softly massaging.

"It's always been you, you know," you said as you raised your head high, straightening your back. A strand of your hair fell in front of your face, making Annabeth immediately brush it back behind your ear. She felt her cheeks heat up and was about to remove her hand, but you took hold of it and placed it on the side of your face.

"Has it?" Annabeth ran her thumb through your soft cheeks. "Gods, I didn't know."

"It's okay," you said as you leaned into her hand, warmth hitting Annabeth in every way she knew. "I always knew I was the brightest out of the two of us."

"Take that back," Annabeth removed her hand, opting instead to point a finger at you. You grinned and Annabeth grinned back. Pretty soon, you were laughing - just the two of you in your own world - and that's all what Annabeth really wanted.

"I won't," you shook your head. "Because if you really were the brightest, you would have figured it out a long time ago."

"Oh, yeah?" Annabeth moved closer to you, moving her lips closer to yours. "If you were the brightest, then you would have known how badly I wanted to kiss you for so long."

She knew how the proximity made you feel, as you widened your eyes a bit, but leaned closer. Then you smirked and said, "Then do it, owl head."

Annabeth crashed her lips into yours, not caring if others would see you this late at night. All she thought about was how soft your lips were as she kissed you for what felt like a long time.

Maybe the night holds a little hope for us, dear.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 2 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same.

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while.

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him.

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair.

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?"

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications.

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed.

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father.

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?"

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it.

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other.

"Nothing," you backed down immediately.

"Tell me," he pressed.

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?"

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly.

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood."

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom.

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?"

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented.

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter.

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered.

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?"

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'.

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets."

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form.

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready.

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory.

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set.

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit.

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper.

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward.

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?"

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes."

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter.

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?"

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow.

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you.

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks.

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet." He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock."

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling.

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise.

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge.

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own.

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs.

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom.

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel.

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted.

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up.

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size.

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison. You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked.

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks.

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something.

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her.

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused.

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished.

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired.

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear.

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen.

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp.

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper.

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off.

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away.

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water.

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way. Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition. And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

“What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway.

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc��s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them.

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.” Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...."

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him.

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely. The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study. Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose.

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

#murder he wrote #ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale #chris evans #chris evans characters #reader insert #ransom drysdale smut

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blu-joons · 4 years ago

Text

DATING DAY6 HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Park Sungjin

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Being affectionate isn’t something that Sungjin isn’t a huge fan of, so whenever he’s affectionate with you, make the most of it. If he’s in the mood, he’ll love to cuddle you and keep you nice and close against his side.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

You’d met through music, you were one of the techs at a gig that they were playing, and you were in charge of Sungjin’s guitar. It naturally meant that the two of you began to strike up a conversation, and Sungjin quite quickly took a liking to you, making sure at the end of the night that he asked for your number.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

At the end of a gig together was when Sungjin confessed, he drove you back to your place after the two of you hung out and watched a local band, but just as you were about to step out of the car, he told you that he needed to talk to you. You sat and listened intently to what he told you, and once he’d finished, you said the exact same back to him, joking that you were relieved you weren’t going crazy thinking that Sungjin could like you.

D ⇴ DATES

Sungjin is quite a homebody, he enjoys being in his home and with his own company. With that, the two of you will often have dates at the house or at the studio together. Sungjin always works better too when you’re around which helps him. You’ll usually show up with food, and he’ll be prepared with a game or a film, or if he’s in the studio he’ll set up somewhere for you to relax and talk about your days. It’s the perfect hub for you both as you much prefer doing your own thing away from the rest of the world.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

Love was all a bit of a mystery to Sungjin before he met you, he never quite knew how he managed to portray it so well in his songs when he had no real idea of how it felt. You were the answer to a lot of his questions though, the old lyrics that he used to look over with huge confusion suddenly made so much sense. The new lyrics that he did write too were also a great improvement, the words he wrote made a lot more sense when he knew that they summed up perfectly the love that he had for you rather than an abstract he never understood.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Arguing with Sungjin was a big no, he would never argue with you nor would he ever raise his voice. The two of you definitely had your moments when you’d disagree with each other, but you were grown up enough to know that these sorts of things just needed talking about rather than adding fuel to the fire. Arguing with you can make Sungjin very emotional, he’s not afraid to be in touch with his emotions, and knowing he’s not getting along with you can be the main cause of his upset. Similarly, when he resolves things with you, he’ll often get teary again as he tries to apologise whilst wiping away his tears.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You knew his family were protective of him, Sungjin hadn’t always had it easy. But more than anything, they were thankful that he had you in his life as someone who could support him and understand him. Seeing the many positive changes, you made to Sungjin’s life made it impossible for them not to love you.

H ⇴ HOME

When he really began to feel comfortable with you, he was quite keen for the two of you to begin to find your own place. He really wanted a space for the two of you where you could be yourselves as you often spent a lot of time together at the dorm, without any of the other boys being around you to interrupt.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Sungjin was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ when you came home from work one day. Waking up from a nap without you there completely startled him, he didn’t understand where you were. When he saw you, he was relieved to know that you were safe, and before he had a moment to think he said those magical three words.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He’s not someone that tends to get jealous, Sungjin is much more of an insecure person. He can’t blame someone if they take a liking to you, he knows how special you are, but when someone is around you, he instantly blames himself for missing something. You know how often he beats himself up, so whenever he goes quiet you know that he’s not feeling good. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, you’ll leave straight away as Sungjin is, and always will be your priority in any situation you’re involved in.

K ⇴ KIDS

His career had always been the focus for him, but as he began to get older, he definitely wondered about the future. He’d often sit when he had a moment to think in the studio and tell you all about how he wanted to be able to teach your children instruments and how he hoped that they’d follow after him. Most of the time he didn’t even realise he was doing it, but you loved to listen and smile back at him.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

If there was one distinctive feature about Sungjin, it was definitely his laugh. His hoarse chuckle was always an infectious sound that was guaranteed to put a smile on his face. Hearing him laugh was often a great relief for you too, you knew there were times when he really felt low, so hearing him laugh was incredibly comforting. Sungjin knew that he found himself laughing the most whenever he was around you, it was just a natural instinct for him to smile around you, he just loved your company so much.

M ⇴ MISSING

Sungjin struggles a lot when he’s on tour, he really feels like the other half of him has gone missing. Every day, without fail, the two of you will talk, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a couple of hours. It doesn’t matter if you’re awake at four in the morning waiting for his call, you’re well aware of how big of a boost it is for him, and with that, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. He always feels bad for waking you up, but deep down, the calls the two of you have are important to you too. You struggle just like him, so you often hold out even for just a small bit of contact from him to try and pick yourself up. Being around the dorm by yourself just isn’t the same without him, and all of the other members too.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

Before dating, you were a fan of the band anyway, so naturally, you just began calling him ‘Bob.’ To begin with, he hated it, but as time went on, it felt strange not to hear that nickname come from you to him.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He’s obsessed with your eyes; he can read a lot about you just by looking at you. He loves the colour and the hold they have over him whenever he’s talking to you.

P ⇴ PDA

Again, Sungjin isn’t a massive fan of skinship, so don’t expect too much from him in terms of affection, especially in public. The most you’ll usually get from him is feeling his hand in yours, even though he doesn’t like affection, he’s still very protective of you, so likes to have a hold of your hand so he can make sure you’re beside him.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Sungjin will often ask for your opinion on something that he’s been working on. When you’re in your little hub at the studio he’ll often call out your name and play you something and then ask what you think about it.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Around you, Sungjin is a pretty open book, but one thing you don’t know about him is his diary. Sometimes, he worries about scaring you off with how strong his feelings are, so instead he’ll note them down in a diary to remember how special you are. There’s definitely been a few occasions when you’ve nearly accidentally read it, but luckily Sungjin has been able to move it away quickly before you get your hands on it.

S ⇴ SEX

The two of you often switch roles, most of the time neither of you subs or doms, you just work at your own pace. He likes to be able to find your eyes during intimacy, they tell him a lot about how you’re feeling, and often reassure him that he’s doing a good job. It’s during these times when Sungjin will often tell you the most about how he feels about you, he can’t help but whisper into your ear and let you know.

T ⇴ TEXTS

He loves to text you when he sees adverts for gigs whilst he’s at work. The two of you love live music, so he’ll often see if you’re free for the night and speak to one of his managers to see if he can get two late tickets.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

For a long time, Sungjin had been a very closed book, but you’d been the one to open him up. At some point in his career, he really felt like he’d lost his way, but when he was around you, he really felt like he’d found himself again.

V ⇴ VACATION

Sungjin isn’t a huge fan of going on holiday when he has time off, instead he wants to appreciate that he has the chance to spend some time at home. With that, he’ll often invite you to go on tour with him instead, so he still has the chance to show you the world and do a bit of travelling with you amongst his schedule.

W ⇴ WHINING

If there was one thing he would never do, it’s whine. He understands that he can’t always have your attention, and that’s alright with him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Sungjin doesn’t kiss you often, so whenever he does kiss you, he expects you to savour it. He knows that you love his lips, so he loves to tease you by pressing a few feathery kisses against your skin before kissing you properly. He much prefers to receive your kisses as he finds them reassuring and comforting when he’s had a bit of a rough day. They certainly go a long way to trying to pick his mood back up when he’s down.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his soulmate; you turned his whole world upside down.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Sungjin loved to go straight to sleep when he went to bed, so he’d usually whisper a quick goodnight before falling asleep beside you. He’ll often cuddle up to you at night to make sure that you fall asleep safely and sweetly.

---

Masterlist

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bangtann-bangdamn · 4 years ago

Text

Lightning: Part 2

Warnings: Unhappy relationship mentioned, but other than that you should be good to go.

Word Count: 4165

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

AN: I originally wrote Lighting in June 2019. It’s March 2021. Also, I feel like my writing style has changed slightly. If it has - whoops. My bad.

< Part 1

Master list

“Can you get me another beer?” Mark called from the living room.

“Why don’t you get off your ass and go get it yourself?” You yelled back, rolling your eyes as you plunged the plate you were washing back beneath the water. It wasn’t like he was doing anything important.

“I’m in the middle of a – die you motherfucker!”

You grit your teeth, holding back your retort. As much as you enjoyed Mark’s company, there were days where everything he did, everything he said, frustrated you. Okay, maybe not days. Lately, it has been all the time.

Sure, he was sweet and affectionate when he wanted to be, but ever since you agreed to move in with him a few weeks ago, you felt less like his partner and more like his mother.

‘For all his faults, Yoongi wouldn’t have done this,’ you found yourself thinking. Immediately, you felt guilty. Yoongi was your past. He had broken up with you. He had made that decision, and you had grown to accept it.

But he also said he missed you. And, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, a small part of you missed him too.

Over and over your encounter with Yoongi replayed in your head. It felt like fate seeing him that day. With the storm raging outside, you had stayed longer than you normally would. All those feelings you thought were gone suddenly resurfaced. You forgot all about the way he would ignore you when he worked, or how he never answered his phone. You forgot all the nights where his side of the bed remained empty. All you could think about was the time you had spent together. Never did he make you feel so small, so insignificant in his life.

The plate you were scrubbing shattered in your hand. You screamed in frustration as blood began to trickle from your palm. You sighed as you picked up the shards from the washing-up bowl, throwing them in the bin with more force than necessary before grabbing a towel from the side and putting pressure onto the cut. You were trying not to cry but tears still found its way down your cheeks.

Mark made no effort to call out and check to see if you were okay. He yelled in frustration as he continued to play whatever game he was currently obsessed with, continuing on as if nothing had happened. Most likely, he hadn’t heard your scream.

It was a sign from the universe, seeing Yoongi that day. A sign that you had made a mistake.

Mark had asked you to move in and you stupidly thought that seeing Yoongi was a sign for you to say yes. But now you knew. You knew that your heart wasn’t in it. Perhaps it never was.

Mark walked into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get the beer myself,” he scoffed, barely noting the red tainted towel wrapped around your hand.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You closed your eyes as you held your breath.

“Sorry, I won’t ask you to get me one in the future.” Mark walked out of the kitchen without a second glance.

You followed him. “No, you don’t get it. I’m done.”

Mark sat down on the sofa. “Okay,” he said as he picked up the controller and resumed his game.

You stared at the back of his head as he took a sip of his beer, waiting for him to ask you. But you knew it was futile. Mark would assume you were joking and would give you a few hours to calm down before he would talk to you. Then he would brush away any concern you had with a laugh and tell you you were overreacting again.

You shook your head, deciding that you didn’t want to have this fight. You didn’t want to be told that you were crazy, your feelings unjustified. You didn’t want to feel tired anymore.

You inspected the cut on your hand, quickly determining that it was not deep enough to require stitches. You grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the sink and quickly set to bandaging your hand before walking back into your bedroom. You grabbed your suitcase from under the bed and began packing your things.

Déjà vu hit you like a freight train. But, unlike with Yoongi, you found that your tears had stopped the moment you had decided to leave. It was a relief not to deal with Mark anymore, as bad as you knew that sounded. But ever since you ran into Yoongi all those weeks ago, things had changed. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but compare Mark to Yoongi. How Mark didn’t know you as well as Yoongi had, or how he couldn’t make you smile as easily as Yoongi had.

Seeing him again reminded you of how hard it was to leave. How much you missed him, despite everything.

And when it came to Yoongi, Mark never really stood a chance. It sounded horrible to admit, but Mark was only ever a distraction. A reason for you to stop thinking about Yoongi.

You rolled your suitcase out of the bedroom and down the hall. At the sound of the wheels rolling across the wooden floor, Mark paused his game to look at you.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking between the suitcase and you.

For this, he paused his game, you couldn’t help but think.

“I told you, I’m done.”

By the time you sat down on the bus, you were sweating slightly. It was a little from the humidity that still clung to the early evening air that had made the walk almost impossible. But mostly it was because of the panic that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

What if you had made an impulsive decision? What if Mark was the one and you just left him?

You were leaving him on what your heart wanted: Yoongi. But now that your mind had a chance to catch up, it screamed at you. Yoongi might have moved on, or he might not have changed. Sure Mark wasn’t the easiest to get along with, but he was there. He came to bed every evening. He ate dinner with you every evening. He replied to texts an-

Your phone started ringing. Mark. You stared down at the screen for a moment, wondering what he could possibly have to say to you before you declined the call. Almost immediately, Mark called again. So you switched it off.

It took you almost an hour to get to Hwasa’s house. You could feel your nose burning with unshed tears as you knocked on her door. She answered the door on your fourth knock. She had her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, accessing you before she spoke.

“Haven’t seen her, Mark,” she said, nodding her head at you to follow. She moved back into the house as you let yourself in, closing the door behind you. You left your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs as you kicked off your shoes and followed Hwasa into the living room. She was sprawled out on the sofa rolling her eyes at whatever Mark was saying on the other end of the phone. You took a seat on the armchair beside her.

“I’m telling you, Mark, I don’t know where she is. Now if you excuse me, my pizza is here.” She hung up, rolling her eyes. “You broke up with Mark?” She raised her brow at you as she tossed her phone down beside her.

“Yeah?” You played with your hands in your lap, avoiding Hwasa’s gaze.

“About time,” Hwasa muttered, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“Wait, I thought you liked Mark?”

“I do. But anyone with eyes could see that you weren’t happy.”

You frowned. “I thought I was happy.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Hwasa leant forward, placing her hand on your knee. “It’s the duty of a best friend to know when to say something. And when to bite her tongue. I knew you were unhappy, but I also knew you were heartbroken. You needed to date Mark to heal, to get over Yoongi.”

“Oh.” You tucked your feet beneath you as you turned your attention to the TV. The news was playing, detailing some study a university was doing into attraction.

“Oh? Oh god, don’t tell me that you broke up with Mark to go back to Yoongi?”

“Not exactly...”

“Are you stupid? He broke you. Or did you conveniently forget the month and a half you spent locked up in here barely eating and crying your eyes out because he didn’t even call? Even Mark called.”

“Yoongi works differently, you know that. He won’t tell you how he feels, he’ll-”

“Write you a song. I remember your anniversary present.”

You smiled at the thought. For your first anniversary, Yoongi made you a CD. He wouldn’t tell you what songs he had put on there, but when you had listened you knew. He had asked a friend to sing the chorus, whilst he had rapped the verses. There was something about the way he rapped, so confident and quick in his deep voice, that had you downloading it onto your phone and listening to it whenever you could.

“I miss him,” you admitted softly.

“I know. But does he miss you? He might say he does, but…” She left her words hanging in the air.

As much as you hated to admit it, you knew she was right. Yoongi made his feelings known through music. If he wanted you, there would be a song.

And in the year since you left, there was none. It was hard to argue against the concrete facts.

So why did it feel like you had just broken up all over again?

Yoongi was nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word.

Terrified. He was terrified.

After writing his song, he had asked Namjoon for his opinion. Namjoon had been lost for words – literally and metaphorically. He had thought the song was perfect, yet Yoongi felt like something was missing. Only, no matter how many times he listened to the song, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. He had managed to persuade his company to give him a few extra weeks to work on it, to make it perfect. But no matter how many times he tinkered with it; the song just didn’t seem right.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was a little too late for that now. In the end, he had to hand it over; he had wasted enough time. Now, nearly three months after he had written it, he sat in the green room of the radio station.

“Yoongi, are you ready?” The producer beckoned him to follow.

Yoongi nodded, rising to his feet slowly.

It wasn’t his first radio interview, nor would it be his last. But it was the first time a radio station was debuting one of his songs live on air.

You might be listening to this. You might hear this song. You might hear him.

He wasn’t sure if the idea of you hearing his song made him want to jump off a cliff or jump for joy. All he knew for certain was that he was out of time.

Every day since you left, Mark had made the point of visiting you at work.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” You continued to fill the dishwasher, not bothering to look back at Mark as you spoke. “What part of ‘I’m at work’ do you not understand?”

“You won’t answer my calls.”

You placed the last cup in the dishwasher. “We broke up. I don’t need to answer your calls.” You closed the dishwasher, grabbing a cloth and began wiping down the counters. The counters didn’t need to be wiped down - Hwasa had taken care of them just before Mark had walked in. But Mark didn’t know that. And you were determined to do anything to make it look like you were busy.

“No. You decided that we had to break up and haven’t listened to a word I’ve tried to say.”

You grit your teeth as you continued to wipe down the counter. You were pretty sure you gave him several reasons why you didn’t want to be with him anymore – namely that he treated you like some glorified slave.

“You’re still here?” Hwasa raised her brow at you as she walked back behind the counter and pointedly stared at Mark. “Can you seriously not take a hint?”

“This is none of your business, Hwasa.”

“You are scaring off my customers, which makes it my business. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be with you, so why don’t you listen to her for once and fuck off.”

Mark stared at Hwasa, eyes boring into her intensely. Then, without another word, he left. The sound of the bell ringing filled the shop, only the murmur of the radio and the few patrons who weren’t scared off by Mark left to fill the silence.

“I have changed my mind about him. He’s a dick.” Hwasa shook her head as she watched Mark storm away from the shop.

“Finally.” You rolled your eyes dramatically with a giggle.

“How can a bloke come across so nice and then be an absolute twat?”

“Maybe you should ask Mark.” You leant against the counter, watching as Hwasa walked over to the radio.

“If I ever have to talk to that child again, it will be too soon.” She played with the dial as she searched for a station. Hwasa moved through the stations quickly, only waiting long enough to hear what music was playing before skipping to the next. You turned to clean the counter, mind already tuning out the sound until-

“Now, Yoongi-” a voice crooned out before Hwasa was onto the next station.

You dropped the rag you were using and turned to Hwasa. “Wait, go back!”

Hwasa looked at you for a second, contemplating your words, before reluctantly dialling the station backwards.

“It’s an impressive feat, I must say. To write about such heartbreak with such love,” the female radio presenter was saying.

“I don’t know if I would describe it as love,” The male presenter said with a chuckle. “Isn’t the whole point of the song to tell this girl that the last time you saw her was your lightning strike, your realisation that it was over. That you weren’t in love with her?”

“Not at all. Seeing her again… It’s like we were never apart. Lightning coursed through my body and told me that I made a mistake. Truly, I did. I thought I was doing her a favour, breaking it off. I thought I was holding her back. That she was holding me back… But she made me better.”

“Wow, Yoongi. That’s quite the sentiment. What would you say if she was here, right now?” The female presenter asked.

“I… I would probably tell her how stupid I am. But none of that matters now. She’s moved on. I can’t go back to the past and change things. I just have to move on.”

Hwasa placed a hand on your arm, jolting you back to reality. You stared at her blankly as Yoongi and the two presenters continued to talk on the radio behind you. You couldn’t take in a word they were saying, only what he had said.

He publicly admitted he was - had - dated someone. Live on air. Either he had just admitted something he shouldn’t have and thus would be in massive trouble with the company or...

She’s moved on.

Your heart squeezed in your chest.

“Hey.” Hwasa tapped your arm, mouth open as if to continue her sentence but quickly closed when the radio presenter suddenly announced over the opening chords-

“And now, the song that we know will be at the top of the charts in no time, Lightning by Min Yoongi.”

The opening chords were slow; sweetly interlocked together on the piano. Yoongi’s deep sultry voice began to lazily rap. Slowly it built until a loud clap of thunder and silence filled the room for a beat, Yoongi’s breath consuming the airwaves. Then the music kicked back in; faster and more urgent than before and Yoongi’s rapping about you.

You.

His panic over watching you leave.

His pain at not calling you, not telling you he didn’t want you to leave.

And his love.

For you.

By the time the song ends, and the presenters were speaking and thanking Yoongi for his time, you had tears in your eyes.

Hwasa pulled you into a hug, murmuring, ‘I know’ as she rubbed your back.

Because there it was, clear as day. Yoongi had wanted you; he just couldn’t find the words. But now he was prepared to let you go, let a better man have you.

Except there was no better man.

You only wanted Yoongi.

Yoongi all but collapsed as he sat down in the car. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He just felt empty.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had dreamt of you calling him after the song played. Of seeing your face flash once more on his phone screen; hearing your voice as you told him what you loved about the song.

But his phone remained quiet in his pocket.

Namjoon had warned him of this. Of letting himself hope.

After he played the song for Namjoon, after the initial excitement had waned, Namjoon had turned to Yoongi with a sombre expression.

“Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon said softly as he placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re really ready to let her go?”

“Of course.”

Namjoon frowned. “Are you sure about that?”

“Namjoon, what are you trying to say? Just say it already.”

“I don’t think you’re as ready to let her go as you think you are.” He leant back in his seat. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Yoongi had promised him that he expected nothing from you, but clearly, he had been lying.

By the time the car returned him to the dorm, Yoongi had schooled his features to remain stoic. He knew he needed to hide his disappointment from the rest of his group, especially as he had overheard Jimin’s plans to surprise him upon his return. He didn’t feel like celebrating, but he also didn’t want to explain why he had a sudden desire to retreat to his bed and not come out for a few days.

He opened the door slowly, expecting Taehyung or Jungkook to blast him with confetti the moment he stepped through the door.

He was met with silence.

“Hello?” Yoongi called out as he took off his shoes. He was shrugging off his jacket when you appeared from the door.

“Hi.”

Yoongi froze, one arm still in his jacket. “What are you doing here?” He continued taking his jacket off, more to avoid your gaze than anything else.

“I heard you on the radio.” You tentatively stepped towards him. “It was beautiful, Yoongi.”

He heard the crack in your voice as you said his name. He wanted to tell you he didn’t mean it; he still loved you. Always had, always would. But, just like that god awful night, the words wouldn’t come to him. He stood in the entry of the dorm, unable to look at you; unable to say a word and it hit him. He was doing it again.

You laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I came. I just wanted to tell you that.” You made to grab your shoes, but Yoongi stepped in front of you.

“What did Mark think?”

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“I... don’t know…” you admitted softly. Yoongi stepped to the side, allowing you to grab your shoes.

He still refused to look at you, so you took the moment to observe his profile, noting the sharp, tense line of his jaw.

“You probably shouldn’t come here again.” Yoongi finally looked at you, searching your face for something. Anything that could help him finally get over you. “I doubt Mark would appreciate you turning up at your ex’s.” Yoongi stepped further into the dorm, all but telling you that he was done with the conversation.

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. It was a reminder to himself that you were taken. That he couldn’t just lean down and capture your lips like he so desperately wanted. So he needed to remove himself from your presence.

“We broke up.”

Yoongi stopped walking, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“Mark and I… I left him.” You took a shaky breath to settle your nerves. You hadn’t planned on him. Then again, you had never planned to leave him in the first place. You closed your eyes and turned towards the door. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” You opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Yoongi was frozen as his mind raced to comprehend your words.

We broke up… I left him…

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Turning up after hearing his song, after hearing him tell the world he was still in love with you. And that he was ready to move on.

The click of the door closing brought him back to the present. He hurried to follow you.

You were halfway down the hall.

“I didn’t mean it.” He called after you. “I’m not ready to move on. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” He slowly made his way towards you. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said we should go on a break in the first place. I was just feeling… inadequate. Like you didn’t need me around.” He stopped a little bit behind you and swallowed down his fear. You needed to hear this. “When I told you the agency wouldn’t let you come on tour with us and you didn’t react, I felt like I didn’t matter to you as much as you mean to me. Because I fought for you to come on tour for… I don’t even know how long. Then I come home to break the news to you and… nothing. I thought you were going to leave me so I thought taking a break would help but…” Yoongi took a deep breath. “I have never regretted something as much as that night.”

You blinked away the tears that were forming. “Do you want to know why I didn’t react, Yoongi?” You turned to face him. “Because I was used to it. Used to coming home to an empty apartment, waking up to an empty bed. Spending weeks alone because you had some project going on that you had to work on. It was going to be hard, but I was used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Yoongi shook his head. “Shit, I hadn’t…”

“Considered that?” You nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I thought about calling you every single day.”

“Why didn’t you?” You stepped forward once more. “Why didn’t you call me, Yoongi?” A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted softly.

“I didn’t need to hear you say anything, Yoongi. I just needed to know you cared.” Your phone chimed in your pocket. You stepped away from Yoongi. “I should go.”

You turned, but Yoongi caught your hand. “I can’t watch you walk away from me again.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “I love you. Always have, always will. If you don’t feel the same way… If after everything that’s happened is too much or… or you don’t…” He closed his eyes. “Then I’ll learn to love you less. It’ll take time, but I’d try.”

“You could have said that.”

“What?”

You smiled, lacing your fingers with him. “That you love me. That would have been enough.” You leant up and placed a kiss on his lips. He relaxed in your embrace, leaning his forehead against yours when you pulled away.

“Then let me say it loud and clear.” He pulled away from you slightly and kissed your forehead. “I.” Then your cheek. “Love.” Then the other. “you.” Finally, he kissed you with some force pulling your body up against his as he deepened the embrace. You wove your fingers through his hair as you lost yourself in him, in the familiarity of it all.

Despite the time you had lost, the time you had spent apart, the feeling that flooded your body was like coming home. It was sharp and sparked through your body like lightning lighting up the night sky and you knew, in that moment, there was truly no other man in the world who could make you feel like this.

#bts #min yoongi #suga #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts reaction #bts imagines #bts requests

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amortentiaboys · 5 years ago

Photo

📻 nothing has to change today 🌵

I present to you, an elaboration on @cibeewastaken‘s brilliant post about middle-aged Draco listening to Billie Eilish like the melodramatic git he is!!! (also pls excuse any plot holes/ spelling errors, I wrote this while waiting for my shower to warm up).

Blaise appears in Draco’s flat with a whoosh of green flames, stumbling to keep his footing on the loose fire grate. He keeps nagging Draco to get it fixed, and yet.

He casts a cursory Scourgify on his clothes and straightens, taking a look around the living room. It’s a far cry from the Manor; although elegantly decorated in leather furniture, sumptuous carpets, creams and verdant hues, the worn hardwood floors and the army of plants that Draco insisted on taking under his wing give the flat a warmth that the Manor never had, even when they were children. It’s quiet, quaint. Peaceful.

The sound of a sharp crack at his elbow and a puff of luminous dust draws his attention to a diminutive house elf, wringing her hands and staring up at him with wide, watery brown eyes.

“Sibney is ever so sorry Sir, Master is losing track of time -”

Blaise raises a hand, smiling. “Don’t worry, Sibney. It’s not your fault that Draco has the memory of a Flobberworm. Where’s he hiding?”

The corner of Sibney’s mouth twitches before the a pained expression crosses her face again. She points up at the ceiling. “Master is listening to the Wireless again,” she says solemnly. Now that she’s mentioned it, he can hear the strains of a song floating down the stairs.

Blaise groans. That bloody enchanted Wireless.

“Thank you, Sibney. I’ll check on him.”

He thinks he catches a flicker of relief on her features before she disappears again. Merlin knows how long Draco’s been blasting the thing for.

He heads upstairs.

***

Blaise says nothing as he stands over Draco, waiting to be noticed. Thirty years has evidently done nothing to dull Draco’s penchant for melodrama. This is not news to Blaise, but it is a sight to behold: the prat is sprawled on the bedroom carpet, one hand flung over his eyes whilst the other lies by his side, twitching every so often to replay the same song over and over.

He can’t take it any longer. ''Merlin's beard. Get up, you're scaring the house elves.''

Draco flaps a vague hand in his direction, not even bothering to open his eyes. ''It's fine, they're used to it.''

Sibney peeks around the doorframe and nods her head sagely. ''Master is having the enchanted Wireless on every day, Sir.''

Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose. ''Circe, give me strength. Fine. Fetch us some Earl Grey will you, Sibney?''

The house elf nods, sparing one last pitying (and slightly concerned) look for Draco before trotting off down the hallway.

Blaise sits down on the carpet next to his friend. “She humors you too much. I would have thrown you out onto the street the moment you turned that blasted thing on.”

Draco lolls his head to the side and stares balefully up at Blaise. The years may have etched a few lines around his mouth and grooves between his eyebrows, but he’s still the same melodramatic git that swanned around the Slytherin dormitory and flung himself on Blaise’s (or Theo’s, or Pansy’s) bed whenever he was in a crisis of the heart. “At least someone’s humoring me, with my condition.”

Blaise blinks, taken aback. He was expecting, as was customary with Draco’s said crises of the heart, a classic Malfoy-esque quip about how of course Blaise wouldn’t have taste when it came to muggle music. It seems he has caught Draco in a very reflective state indeed.

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the girl singing about flying and darkness and love. It all sounds dreadfully morose, but Blaise doesn’t comment on it. He waits silently because Draco seems to be thinking - Merlin knows the prat doesn't do it nearly enough.

Sibney returns with a tea service and some scones and Blaise dismisses her with a thank you. He sets about halfing a couple of scones, spreading a small amount of butter of jam on one (for him) and monstrous dollops of jam and clotted cream on the other (for Draco). Finally, he decides that Draco's has more than enough time to wallow.

'Well, spit it out then. What's got you in such a bother you've resorted to sprawling out on the floor and forcing poor Sibney to humor you?”

Draco sighs, still staring up at the ceiling. ''Life is a vale of tears, Blaise.''

''Why, pray tell?''

Another sigh, this one more real. ''Because I'm in love.''

Now that makes Blaise sit up straighter. ''Ah.''

Draco glances sharply at him, eyes narrowed. ''You don't sound particularly surprised.''

Blaise grins like a Cheshire cat. ''I'm not.'' He stands and helps himself to three more scones, shrinking them and squirreling them away in his pockets. ''Well, I'd best be off then.”

That makes draco sit up, his mouth open in indignation. ''You don't want to know the object of my affections? It could be you!''

''It's not me. Although I know you like them tall, dark and devilishly handsome,” Blaise drawls as he lazily draws a symbol in the air with his wand, watching with mirth as Draco's face pales. ''But I must be off - I have some very important business to attend to.''

Draco scrambles to his feet and narrows his eyes further in suspicion as Blaise begins to back towards the door. ''If you tell anyone else, on pain of death - no stop, Blaise!''

Blaise is still cackling as he Apparates into Pansy's living room. He shouldn't have drawn the lightning bolt but he couldn't help himself. There’s not much time for fun when one is busy plotting and scheming.

“Pansy!”

“Stop yelling, for goodness sake, Hermione’s still asleep -” Pansy stops grousing as she enters the room and sees the glint in Blaise’s eyes. “What?”

“Operation ‘Find Draco Sickeningly-Wonderful Eternal Happiness’ is go.”

Pansy’s face lights up as Hermione stumbles in. “He’s realised?”

“Yep.”

Hermione yawns. “Who’s realised?”

“Draco,” Pansy and Blaise chorus.

It should be scary, the way Hermione instantly snaps to attention, eyes alert and cogs already turning in her head, but all Blaise feels is palpable excitement of epic proportions. This has been years in the making.

“He’s definitely realised?”

“He was listening to Billie Eilish on his bedroom floor, lamenting his seemingly unrequited love,” Blaise says with a knowing smirk at the girls.

Hermione grins.

“Excellent.”

#eeee this was so fun #cheers cibee for a fabulous post/ prompt!#drarry #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry squad #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry/draco #draco/harry #my fic #fic: ficlets

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lordoffiction · 5 years ago

Text

Two Souls, One Fate: chapter one.

☞: After spending two days trying to post this, here it is! Hooray!

I really hope you all enjoy this whilst I finish writing the fifth chapter for T.L, because god knows I spent too much time on this. I haven’t wrote in a few months, so please excuse any mistakes I made in this and if it’s shitty! It’ll get better, promise.

Please give me feedback and let me know if you would like to get tagged in this series!

Anyways, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 5,069

WARNINGS: swearing, mild violence, mentions of suicide.

gif isn’t mine, all credits to the owner.

—————————

Your fingers combed through your hair, bundling it up into an untidy ponytail, pulling the long strands to make sure it was secure and tight enough. You had had long hair for around ten years, it's your pride and joy.

Growing up in an all-male family had made you that way, you grew up a tomboy with your five older brothers and always saw yourself as one of them.

But then that magical moment came when you were ripped from your carefree childhood and brutally slammed into the harsh society and expectations of women, you had begun to hate the idea of acting like a boy. People told you to act more like a “lady”. So you had put away the mud pies, the sword fights, and the wrestling. You began doing make-up, having long hair, and wearing pretty clothes.

But throughout everything, no matter what anyone said, society and snotty people couldn’t take this one thing from you.

Archery.

Your father had taught you from a young age, a sport that made you better even on your worst days. Something that not even the most powerful being in existence could take from you. The thrill of letting go of that arrow, watching it glide through the air before striking its target. It was something you would never get bored of.

You dressed in your normal sportswear, sliding on protective gloves made specially to stop your hands from getting sores as you held the arrow.

Where you lived was a small village, everybody knew everybody. News and gossip spread like wildfire here, so you only imagine that half the village had already heard about your date later tonight.

Reaching over to your bow and your arrow hanging pot, slinging it over your shoulder, you left your small apartment and headed towards the forest. You had a set up shooting range for archery at the corner of it, your dad would make targets for you and set you challenges every day when you were younger. Like swinging targets or shooting whilst you're running.

“G’ morning, dear. Going out to the woods again?”

Your eyes turned to see your elderly neighbour smiling at you, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her walking stick barely keeping her up properly and her woven hat kept the sunlight out of her eyes.

“Mrs. Genkins,” You smiled at her small frame. Such a fragile woman. “Don’t I spend all my time in those damn woods?”

“Just you be careful, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself before your date tonight.” Mrs. Genkins waved her walking stick at you slightly in a teasing manner, barely putting it back in time before she loses her balance.

The comment made your eyes roll internally. Of course, people already knew about your date tonight.

“I see news hasn’t lost its way around this place.” Your hand automatically reaching out to her in case she falls, which she brushed away with her wrinkled hands. Though she may be pushing ninety, she sure is one tough little lady when it comes to receiving any help.

“You know people around here, other people's lives are their entertainment. Just make sure this one can handle you, you can’t be single forever, you know?” Mrs. Genkins squinted her eyes at you teasing you from the last man you had dated that went sour once he had realized how unfeminine you are.

“Is he really worth my time is he can’t handle a tough girl like me?” You teased back, giving her a small wink as she cackled at your comment.

“Well, I better be going if I want to miss the morning rush at the morning market. You be safe, dear. And be careful.”

You nodded at her, smiling as you waved her down the road and out of sight. You let your head fall back slightly, closing your eyes with an exasperating sigh. You really need to move somewhere where there isn’t anyone you know or where no-one knows you.

You set off towards the woods, it wasn’t a far walk, only about five minutes from your apartment complex.

You dug your earphones out from your pocket, plugging them into your phone, and playing your latest playlist you had made for when you go do your archery. You began stretching your arms on the way, hooking one arm around the other, and pulling on it to receive a satisfying 'pop'.

Just as you entered the woods, you began to hear faint drumming noises. You brushed it off, perhaps it was something for the song you were listening to, though you never remembered this when you last listened to it yesterday.

Your brows knotted together in confusion as the drumming began to get louder and louder as you went deeper into the forest. The noise became so loud that you ripped your earphones out of your ears, your eyes widening. It wasn’t coming from the music.

It was coming from around you.

As soon as you realised, a small chanting sound echoed with the drumming, syncing with the beat of it.

A cult? You thought.

Your E/C hues quickly began searching around you to see who was doing it but found no one else in the woods with you.

Your fight or flight reflex suddenly kicked in, making you break out into a full-blown sprint into the woods, you tried to fumble with your bow, reaching for one of your arrows in it’s hanging pot behind your back, panting as your fingertips brushed the tip of it.

“C’mon!” You yelled at yourself in frustration.

Suddenly, you began to fall sideways, your ankle giving way beneath you in a twisted mess. The world began to spiral around you as you rolled into the ditch near the pathway you were once walking on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You felt yourself being thrashed around for a few seconds downhill before finally landing on the flat ground again. You gasped for air, the collision causing you to land onto your back, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You laid there for a minute, breathing in deeply. Did you really just fucking fall?

Rolling onto your side and going onto your hands and knees once you regained your breath, you looked up at the large hill you just fell from, realising the only way you can get back to the track is if you climb back up again.

“Shit.” You grumbled under your breath, using the nearest tree to pull yourself up to your feet again. Your arrows were scattered around you from the fall, leaning down to pick them up one by one and placing them back in your hanging pot.

As you reached for the last one, but your eyes were caught on a small box under the root of a large tree, surely the largest tree you had seen in these woods before and in your entire life.

It must have been thousands of years old, you could wrap yourself around it at least six or seven times.

“Oh, my...” You gawked the tree up and down, taking it all in before looking back to the box that was intertwined with its roots.

“What’s this?” You wondered aloud, going onto your knees and tracing your fingers on the corners of the box that you could touch. It was covered in dirt and moss but your curiosity ate you alive, reaching for one of your arrows, you began to jab at the root to loosen it with the end of your arrow.

After a few moments of trying, you finally loosened the root enough to yank the box out from it with a hard tug, causing you to fall backward.

You brushed it with your fingers but the dirt and grime were so thickly coated on it for god knows how long.

“Curious cat, aren’t you?” You spoke to yourself, standing up again and forgetting completely about your training. “This could be a murder weapon or something and you want to take it home with you.” You tusked, tucking the box into your hanging pot.

The journey back home was filled with many emotions, the main one being self-pity for yourself on how you fell down the hill. The second was about the drums that caused you to fall.

—————————

You ringed your hair out as you stepped out of the shower, letting it fall down your back, the water droplets dripping down your skin, and pooling around your feet.

You dried yourself off as you danced to the music playing from your speaker in your small apartment, grabbing the clothes you planned to wear to your date tonight.

What a weird day, huh. You thought back to the drumming and chanting.

You had chosen a pair of black jeans and a cute black top you had recently bought as a treat, the neckline dripping to show your cleavage. The outfit suited your figure beautifully, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tugged on your black, leather heeled Chelsea boots.

You’d only done concealer and mascara for your make-up. Nothing too fancy for a little date.

“Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all.” You smiled at yourself. You had curled your long hair, tucking one side behind your ear.

You looked behind you, seeing the small box you discovered sitting on your kitchen counter. You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing you still had some time to kill before your date got here.

After a few minutes of running around your apartment and gathering things like a toothbrush, washing up liquid, a small paintbrush, and paper towels; you set up your little workspace on the counter to clean the box.

You dipped the toothbrush in the soapy water, gently scrubbing the dirt from the box, using the paintbrush to brush any specks of dirt off it.

Some time had passed, and you could finally see the beauty beneath the dirt.

“What are these?” You mumbled to yourself, looking at the strange engraved marks on the box. The box looked silver, but you couldn’t be sure.

Carefully prying the box open with your fingertips, you revealed inside a stranger kind of necklace.

Your head tilted to the side and your brows furrowed together as the small spiral pendant looked almost familiar. Like you had owned one before but forgot about it. A very distant memory.

It was silver, in the shape of an upside-down hammer. The leather cord that was with it had deteriorated, falling apart as soon as you picked up the pendant.

You cleaned off the pendant in the soapy water, patting it dry with a paper towel. Quickly going back to your room and grabbing one of your necklaces, you took the chain from it. Going back to the kitchen where you carefully hooped the pendant onto the silver chain.

Should I...

You pondered for a moment, staring at the pendant in your hand. You raised the chain around your neck, clasping it together at the hooks as it hung on your chest. You stilled for a moment, almost expecting something to happen when you put it on.

“Idiot,” You laughed at yourself, going over to where a mirror was to see how it looked on. But as soon as you took a step forwards, it felt like you began falling. You could hear the chants again from the woods, the drums pounding around you, almost deafeningly loud. Your eyes widened in terror as you couldn’t move your body as you fell back, the floor of your apartment swallowing you in a rabbit hole.

Lights surrounded you in all different colors, seeing silhouettes in the corner of your eye. Were they the ones chanting?

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.

Your breathing became labored, struggling to get air as you tried desperately to move your limbs.

The drumming and chanting only growing louder the deeper you fell into this rabbit hole.

Silence.

Suddenly the chanting and drums stopped, looking up to see the disfigured sky. You attempted to move your limbs again, gasping when you found you could move.

You kicked your way up to the sky, gasping for air once you broke through.

The sound of lapping waves and squalling seagulls invaded your ears, a sudden chill going over your body.

You looked around you with wide eyes, astonished by your surroundings. You were in the fucking ocean.

“What the fuck?!” You shrieked out, panic set over you as you tried to stay afloat, legs kicking under the water furiously.

“You’re dreaming. You must have gotten a concussion,” you repeated to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re concussed.”

“You there!”

You snapped your head to see a wooden boat sailing towards you, numerous men aboard it as they all peered down at you. One man, in particular, stood at the arch of the boat, big and with a long braided bear. He was bald, tattoos around his head in strange patterns.

“Did you get lost, woman?” He belly laughed, the other men joining in. You were too much in shock to try and even say anything back. “Frode, throw the poor woman a rope.”

One of the men, skinner than the one barking orders, threw a thick rope towards you, splashing into the water in front of you, the water spraying on your face.

You grabbed the rope, unsure whether or not being on a boat with strangers or being in the ocean alone was better. The men heaved you up to the boat, letting your body hit the deck of it like a wet fish.

You panted slightly, trying to calm your thundering heart before it jumped out your throat.

You weren’t facing the men, your eyes locked onto your hands that dug into the wooden deck, trying to desperately grasp onto some kind of reality.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped out.

“Someone get her something to cover herself with!” The bald, bearded man ordered. Someone came over and wrapped some kind of cloak on you, you quickly tied it on your neck, trying to get warm.

“What kind of clothing is she wearing?” Another man spoke.

“A whore, perhaps?” Another replied.

“Whore!?” You repeated, turning to look at the men for the first time. “Who do you think you're calling a whore?”

The expressions on the men’s faces changed as soon as you looked up at them. The sudden change in mood made you want to cower away. Are these cosplayers? Re-enactors? Why did they dress that way?

“Freyja.” The bald one spoke, barely a whisper.

“Freyja?” You repeated. Who?

You’d never heard such a name before, were they calling you that? The men exchanged a look, communicating with their eyes before turning back to you.

“What’s your name?” The bald one asks, his tone in voice changing.

“Y/N,” you reply, beginning to stand up. “Where is this? Where are we right now?”

“Kattegat.” Someone spoke, earning a quick shove by the person next to him.

Your brows frowned together. Kattegat? Maybe you should have paid more attention in geography class when you were in school.

“Tie her up. We must show the Princes, this is an imposter of Freyja.” The bald one spoke again before walking away, his face unreadable.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, looking around as the men closed in on you, starting to grab you. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

You elbowed the man who grabbed your from behind, hearing a grunt from him as he doubled over, making you flick your long hair out of your face.

“If anyone touches me, I’ll rip your fucking limbs off.” You warned, getting into a fighting stance with your balled fists in the air. You were outnumbered, by many. Before you could even say another word, one of the men quickly backhanded you across the face, knocking you down to the floor where they all cornered you.

—————————

The bald man, whose name you had learned was Magnus, threw you onto the ground with force, causing you to land on your shoulder. A groan left your lips as pain tingled down your arm.

“Don’t fucking throw me, you bald bastard!” You shouted at him, your hands restrained behind your back and your ankles tied together also, restraining you of trying to run off. Your hair had fallen across your face, limiting your view of your surroundings.

The whole hall of people turned to look at you, hearing small whispers about your clothing. The music had stopped playing and the cheers.

Who the fuck were these people?

You could barely make out four men sitting at a large table in front of you, maybe a few feet away, two with fair hair and two with dark.

“What’s the meaning of this, Magnus?” You heard one of them say, his accent making your ears perk up. “Did any of you ask for a thrall for the night?” He directed his question to the men beside him.

“My apologies, Prince Ubbe, but...” The bald man suddenly seemed nervous, unsure of what exactly to say. It made you scoff. A big guy like him was scared of these guys? “We found her in the sea--”

“Spit it out, before I rip your tongue out.” Another man at the table spoke, the threat taking you off guard. His accent was the same.

“We believe she’s an imposter and a volva.”

“An imposter and a volva?” another one of the men at the table snickered. “Sound’s interesting, Ubbe.”

“Who are you calling an imposter?” You sneered at the men. “I don’t even know you.”

“Watch your mouth, whore!” You heard, gasping as one of the men who tied you kicked you in your side.

“Enough.” You heard the first man say, hearing the chair he was sitting in move across the floor. “I asked you what the meaning of this was? You’re spoiling our celebration.”

The bald man grabbed the back of your head, gripping onto your hair as he roughly pulled you onto your knees, making you wince. Your hair moved from your face in the process and you could finally see around you. At the table sat the four men, the Princes, you had gathered.

All handsome— wait. Not the right time.

Their faces were twisted in an expression you had never seen before on someone as soon as they looked at you. The whole of the hall went deathly quiet as eyes were on you.

One of the men at the table stood up abruptly, his hands on the table. He had four twisted braids in his dark hair, his eyes a piercing blue as they stared at you. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen.

Those eyes. You’d seen them before.

“Freyja.” He said to you. Again with the name.

Your head was tugged back, knocking you out of your trance and filling your chest with rage. Ripping your eye contact from him, you turned your attention to the man behind you.

“Get your hands off me before I break them.” You growled out.

Whispers broke out around you, you scowled at them all. What were they all wearing? Are these Vikings?

Your E/C eyes find their way to the blue ones again, he seemed to tense when you looked at him, his breath catching in his throat. It was like he was a statue.

The one with long brown hair with two braids going into one and green eyes stood up.

“Everybody leave.” Was all he said for everyone to leave the room. “You men can also leave. Get out.”

The men behind you began to leave, Magnus let your hair suddenly go from his grip, letting you land onto your face.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, a tingling pain going up your nose. The only people left in the large hall were you and the four strange men, you strangely began to feel small.

The blonde man who was at the head of the table began to make his way towards you, his footsteps stopping once in front of you. Was this the one they called Ubbe?

“You,” He kneeled on one knee as he grabbed your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “What is your name?”

You hold your tongue, refusing to tell him. But this only made his grip on your jaw tighten.

“If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you answer when spoken to.” He said lowly, his eyes just as blue as the man behind him. Were they brothers?

You stare into his eyes, trying to stare him down like a dog but his eyes never faltered. His stare was incredibly intimidating.

You gave an exasperating huff of breath, rolling your eyes to yourself.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

He kept staring at you, his eyes studying your face. His eyes looked sad as if pained as he looked at you. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke again. “Why were you in the sea?”

“I don’t know, one moment I was in my home and the next I was in the water.” You knew this had to do with the necklace and the drumming in the woods. It all has to link up somehow. You went to reach up to grab it but remembered your hands were tied.

His eyes moved from yours as he removed his hand from your jaw, turning to the other men at the table. Your eyes followed. Both the one with blue eyes and the blonde one with fluffy hair were frozen in place still. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

The one kneeling in front of you raised his eyebrows at the one with the braids as if asking him what to do. He walked over to the both of you, gawking down at you with his green eyes.

“It’s as if she’d risen from the dead, but how can that be? We saw her body that day.” He said, staring down at you.

“Can someone just explain to me what’s going on?” You pipped up. A loud bang caused you to jump, looking towards the cause of the noise. The blue-eyed man had gotten up, his chair fallen behind him and his hands pressed against the surface of the table. His chest was heaving under his leather armor. His face was twisted with anger and hurt, barely looking at you as he grabbed his crutch.

“I don’t care what you do with her," he looked over to you with eyes so intense, your lips parted as your breath hitched in your throat. You felt your heart dip into your stomach.

Holy shit. Those eyes... Where have you seen them before?

"She's not Freyja." He walked out the hall and passed you, his crutch stabbing into the wood beneath him in anger, he looked as if he was almost snarling as he walked through the doors.

“Ivar--” The one with the green eyes called after him, going to walk after him but the one who was knelt suddenly stood up, holding a hand against his chest.

“Leave him, this must be a shocking sight for him. He needs time.”

“Can you untie me so I can leave?” You cut in, the rope irritating the skin off your wrists. The men ignored you, the blonde fluffy-haired one finally speaking up after this whole time.

“You can’t let her leave.”

—————————

You sat awkwardly in the chair, fiddling with your fingers on your lap as the three men stared at you. The fluffy-haired one had untied you but sat you in the chair at the large table, the green-eyed one threatening that if you tried anything then you’d regret it.

Scary.

They spoke as if you weren’t even there too.

“What kind of clothes is she wearing? She's dressed like a prostitute.” The one with the two braids spoke, cutting an apple slowly with a knife before placing it in his mouth.

Your gaze turned to him, anger rising in your chest. What was with these guys? Do they have no respect?

“Say that again,” You pointed your finger towards him. “and I’ll spoon your eyes out. How can you say anything about what I'm wearing when you’re dressed like a rodent in all those furs?”

The man stared at you for a moment before smirking. Who are you smiling at, you bastard--

“With a mouth like hers, she certainly isn’t Freyja. She wouldn’t dare speak like that.” He said. "Even if she is identical to her."

“That’s because I’m not Freyja. And you do know that this is kidnapping, right? You can get put into jail because of this.”

The brothers exchanged a look.

“And where would you find one of those?” Asked the one with the long braid, Ubbe, you remembered. “We’re the sons of Ragnar, nobody can tell us what we can or cannot do.”

Your eyebrows frowned, looking at them sideways at you felt dumbfounded.

Who is Ragnar?

“As if I know, or care, who Ragnar is. Let me go.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. Shit, it was cold here. Even this cloak did nothing to help with your soaking clothes.

Their expressions only looked more confused, as if they were more confused than you are and couldn't understand how you didn't know who Ragnar is.

“Where are you from?” The one eating asked.

“Tell me your names and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.” You cocked an eyebrow at them. If they were stupid enough, they’d tell you so you can report them to the police once you find a way out of here.

God, the air here smells like constant shit. You want to go home already, to your scented candles to cleanse your nose of this stench.

“Curious thing, aren’t you? I’m Hvitserk,” Hvitserk pointed to the other men with the end of his knife. “these are my brothers, Ubbe and Sigurd.”

Ubbe smiled at you as Sigurd only stood still, unsure of what to say to you.

“And the blue-eyed one who walked out?” You asked.

“That was Ivar, our youngest brother.”

“What was his problem?” You quizzed again. Shut up, Y/N. This curiosity is the reason why you’re here in the first place.

Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at you before exchanging a look between them, Sigurd shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. You noticed his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides.

“Well?” You repeated, waiting for an answer from one of them.

“The woman you resemble—” Ubbe began, getting cut off by a nudge from Hvitserk.

“Is it wise to tell her?” He asked his brother lowly, his green eyes looking at you.

“You do not think she deserves to know?”

“She could be deceiving us, a volva like the men said,” Hvitserk warned his brother.

You could only roll your eyes at them as you shifted in the chair, crossing your legs over.

“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I'm not deceiving you. I just want to know what’s going on.” You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You resemble a woman called ‘Freyja’,” Sigurd spoke suddenly, looking into the bright flame that burned in the hall. His brothers turned to look at him with you. “No, you don’t resemble her. You are her.”

“Who is Freyja?” You asked.

“She was my first love.” He turned to look at you. “And Ivar's.”

Hvitserk and Ubbe sat back in the chairs, staying deadly quiet as their brother spoke to you. Their first love?

“What happened to her?” The question made your heart sink, taking you off guard. Why do you care?

“She died protecting us all. She was the most beautiful and loved woman in Kattegat, every man wanted her hand in marriage. Including all of us,” Sigurd suggested to his brothers, making Ubbe take a sip out of his cup and Hvitserk turn his gaze.

“A king came one day, wanting to trade. But once his eyes set on Freyja, demanding to marry her or risk causing a war between us. We all agreed to go to war, prepared, made an army. She refused to cause a war over her, Freyja had always hated violence.”

Sigurd took a shaky breath, his hands trembling in the light of the fire. The sight was enough to let you know how much he was affected by this.

“She... she was in love with Ivar. The thought of either losing him in battle or by marrying herself off was too much for her to ever bare. The day of the battle, Freyja stood between armies, in the middle of the battle field,” His eyes looked at yours, something flashing over them. “She drove a sword through herself in front of everyone. She did it for her love.”

The words made your breath hitch in your throat.

She killed herself... for him?

Your eyes tore away from Sigurd’s figure, looking anywhere but at the brothers.

No wonder Ivar left, you thought. Imagine seeing the woman you loved kill herself in front of you and then seeing her alive again...

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, staring at your lap. “But I just want to go home. I have a family there, friends. They’re probably searching for me.”

“It’s dark out now,” Ubbe spoke, clearing his throat as he stood. “You should rest here for the night and begin searching for your way back in the morning. We'll help you.”

You nodded a 'thank you', standing from your chair. Hvitserk looked at your soaking clothes, turning to Sigurd.

"Tell one of the thralls to prepare some clothes for Y/N. She can't sleep in those."

Sigurd nodded, walking down a passageway and out of sight. You could see a grateful look on his face towards his brother for getting him out the room.

"You still haven't told me where you're from." Hvitserk turned his attention to you, leaning back against the table.

"Honestly, I don't think any of you will know where I'm from. But I can tell you I'm not from here. I come from a different time." You uttered, holding the necklace under your cloak, your thumb grazing the lines in it. "Someone or something brought me here, I want to know why."

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