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westmoor · 3 years

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the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @justjess94 @fontegagrilledcheese @dani-dandelino @honeysuckletook @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

#post before i chicken out #the fox #the hare #the hart #geraskier #the witcher fanfic #shapeshifter!jaskier #geralt #jaskier

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years

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Powerful Ch. 1

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU* Quirkless as well

Warnings: Arranged (sort of) marriage, brief mention of champagne, mentions of violence (nothing too specific). In later chapters: Probably smut

Word Count: 3.4 k

Author’s Note: ALRIGHTY here we go. I just had a fixation on Mafia AUs and, of course, it’s Shouta. What else did you expect? I’m a sucker for arranged relationships. Also he’s a little ooc in here, more confident, more ‘I want it I got it’. Hey, he’s the most powerful man in Japan, might as well have him act like it right? Anywho, I have no clue how many chapters this’ll end up being. Let’s just say this is ongoing for now.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Enjoy~

25 years old and you haven’t been married off yet. This was strategic on your father’s part. As a rather low-ranking clan he’d purposely saved you, his eldest daughter, for marrying into a higher ranked clan. You’d bring immense honor to the family name. If only you’d known what you were getting into, maybe you could have been better prepared for your world to flip on its head.

The black velvet gown you wear is tailored perfectly to your form, accentuating every curve and dip on your body. The skirt fanned out around you gracefully and a short train trailed behind you as you stepped through the grand doors of the massive mansion. Tonight is the annual celebratory ball, held to celebrate successful unions and achievements. This one was particularly special, you just didn’t quite know it yet.

Since the event wasn’t mandatory, you were told to go in alone as a representative of your clan, while Mother and Father attended to more important matters. Before you even stepped in you fixed your posture and schooled your expression, keeping your form humbled. Heavens know what could happen should you irk the wrong clan.

Inside you were met with an onslaught of mixed everything, mixed drinks and colors and styles. Some wore traditional Japanese kimono, others more modern versions of the garment and others, like you, wearing more extravagant european or western style clothing. Though a rather interesting mix, nothing quite clashed which you were slightly grateful for, since there was no possible way you could make it through the night without a headache if there was an unpleasant mix of visuals.

You strode through and instantly met several lower clan heads that you respectfully bowed to and engaged in pleasant small talk with, moving from person to person, couple to couple and paying respects to all of them. You kept a small smile, a pleasant facade as you waltzed over the hardwood flooring. It took almost two hours of endless conversation before you managed to catch a break in the madness, snatching a small flute of champagne from a waiter and leaning up against a wall for a breath.

You still hadn’t noticed the pair of dark eyes that studied you from the moment you arrived.

____

You struck him as intriguing at first. From the moment you walked over the threshold his eyes drank you in, studying you, observing and judging just as he had with many other women before you. No one here knows it, but the man is looking for a bride. Someone who could stand by his side,improve and uphold his image, help him wield the power that is the Yakuza. Yes, rank is important, but Shouta is too picky to care about rank. He is looking for a specific type of woman, one that can hold untold depths of power without crumbling under the pressure or getting swept up in the rush of it all.

A woman, he decides, like you.

You held yourself with grace, pride and humility. You seemed to understand your position, your probable low rank, while also not undermining your importance nor worth. A woman like you is hard to come by in this world, most just as power hungry and ruthless and greedy as their husbands, all while putting up a cotton candy sweet mask and using it to disguise their conniving ways.

But in truth, that’s what it took to live this kind of life, isn’t it?

It was clear you knew that, while still managing to feel genuine in everything you did, even with an action as simple as sipping champagne. At the same time he can’t deny you are quite beautiful, soft lips and softer eyes, fingers gently grasping your glass with unmatched elegance and an unwavering strength in your posture. You’d bowed before many this evening, and yet you stood taller than even the highest ranking clan heads without challenging a single one of them. Bamboo in this forest of tall, unyielding trees. Capable of wielding so much power.

For a split second his mind wandered to other things, filthy moments shared in the privacy of his chambers, shared breaths and shimmering sweaty skin. He wondered what you would be like underneath him, if you would be a brat or willingly submit yourself to him. He hopes it to be the latter, but wouldn’t completely deny the chance to tame someone difficult. How would you look pinned under his weight, completely helpless to his hands that have killed and tortured? Would you claw at his shoulders or grip the sheets instead? What would you sound like? Your image plagued his mind even if only for a moment.

He’d studied many women over the few hours since the event started, none of them giving him a good enough first impression for him to continue watching further than a minute. There was no question in his mind now. You’d be returning home with him tonight.

____

You had just finished your drink and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray when suddenly the ballroom fell extremely silent. All heads turned, eyes focused on the man that began his descent from the balcony overlooking the floor. He’s gorgeous, long black hair pulled into a low bun and exposing the light scruff on his chin and impossibly sharp jaw, a deep scar curved under his right eye. The full black satin suit is fitted to his form, strong shoulders and rolling muscle evident even under the thick materials. Ink peeked over the collar, a hint at what was definitely intricate sleeves and detailed artwork. His steps were measured, calculated and purposeful as he made his way down and across the floor, the entire room bowing down at his presence.

You know who he is, as does every person here. Top rung of the ladder, Oyabun of the most powerful clan in Japan, his name widely known through the entire organization and yet almost never spoken. Shouta Aizawa, a name both respected and feared, holding unknown power and strength. His reputation is enough to make anyone feel small in his presence, known for his cold demeanor and the violence he’d committed, many losing their fingers, loved ones, and their own lives for misdeeds against him. He’d done most of that himself, marking him as a very dangerous man to be involved with, and an ally everyone wanted backing them.

You bowed down respectfully just as everyone else did, waiting patiently for a release, whether it was from the man himself or a collective understanding that it was alright to rise once again. The former was the first to come to fruition, though you didn’t expect him to be so close to you as he said it. Your eyes met with sharp onyx as you fixed yourself upright. It made you freeze in place, not quite tense, not quite relaxed, your expression hopefully not showing the utter shock you were feeling.

“What is your name?” You blinked only once before your mind caught up, and you willed your voice steady as you responded. What had you done to piss him off? What punishment awaited you for what you didn’t know you’d done? Despite fearing what may come, you don’t dare speak out of turn, even to beg for your life. His next words were addressed to the entire ballroom, you included, his smooth, deep voice booming out and yet somehow not loud at all.

“Any transgression against this woman is a transgression against me. As my future wife she is untouchable, and will remain that way until I explicitly state otherwise.” A collective hushed gasp sounded through the massive hall, your own eyes growing wide and your heart damn near stopping as your brain dissected the information. He just made you his fiance, with no warning, no hesitation, and full confidence. You are now engaged to the most powerful man in Japan, and you have exactly zero say in the matter. Really though, you never expected to be able to voice any opinions considering the patriarchy of the organization, so that bit of shock was quickly overlooked.

“It’s time to retire, little one.” His hand was held out to you, waiting for your own. You blinked, deciding it was best that you saved your shock for later you focused on the here and now and what to do in this moment. Taking a breath, you schooled your face into a pleasant smile and placed your hand in his waiting palm, allowing him to tuck you into his side as you both walked out the front doors and climbed into a black limouzine.

You didn’t allow yourself to relax, sitting silently next to the man as trees and telephone poles whizzed by the vehicle. It was tense, to say the least, his hand possessively sat on your knee as his eyes remained fixed in front of him and yours did the same. Neither of you talked, you slightly out of fear, of respect, and slightly out of sheer shock, your mind just barely able to keep itself together. He remained silent for a purpose. He would talk when you were alone, or when he felt like talking. Which isn’t right now.

You let your mind whirl a bit, worrying about what this meant for you. Worrying about how this powerful man would treat you, how he acted behind closed doors and if he even cared about you or what you might have to say. It’s nerve-wracking, suddenly bound to a power such as him, not knowing what could happen next, not knowing what to do next. There was nothing that could have prepared you for this.

The car slowed as it pulled up to the gate of the enormous estate, shaking you out of your thoughts, and once it opened the drive to the main house took nearly five minutes on its own. It’s a modern home, several stories tall with the top clearly penthouse-style with a full glass wall that overlooks the landscape, the rest of the huge inner home hidden behind crisp walls.

At a full stop, a man opens the door for you, the Oyabun having already exited and held a hand out for you to grab once again, strong muscles pulling you up with ease and leading you through the building and into an elevator. The silence is stifling as you wait for the machine to come to a stop, the soft chime indicating you’ve landed.

Now you’re completely alone with him.

He leads you in and stops in the center of the large main room, stepping away and turning his scrutinizing gaze onto you. You do your best not to tense in front of him, not to show fear, partially for his comfort though you’re sure he’s used to it. His shoes clack softly, rhythmically on the polished wood floor as he begins to circle you, like a predator eyeing its prey, eyes burning paths up and down your form. You barely keep from squirming under his intense gaze, managing to keep still from sheer willpower. He stops suddenly behind you and you feel his warmth as he leans in close before a hand presses into your mid back and another gently grasps your shoulder, gently making you straighten even more, stand even taller.

Once he’s satisfied with your posture he rounds you and tilts your chin just a tad higher with a hooked finger. He’s silent as he shapes you, adjusting your body to his liking. You let him tenderly push and tug, grab and knead and trail those deadly fingers over you until he stops before you, studying you once again.

“You’re my fiance now. You will hold yourself as such, radiate power as I do and command the attention of a room with only a glance.” The reminder of just what was happening made your breath stutter a little, and his hand came up to grasp your chin, making you look up into his dark eyes.

“You will learn, little one, to be the powerful woman I see.” He was so close, the heat from his body rolling over your skin and his breaths fanning over your face. Then he was walking away, motioning for you to follow as he led you to his chambers and bathroom to get cleaned up. You’d be sleeping with him from now on, he said, handing you a robe to change into after you’ve bathed and guiding you into the bathroom before closing the door and leaving you alone with your thoughts as you set to cleaning yourself.

Given you don’t screw things up, you are going to be the most powerful woman in Japan, solely because of a sudden arranged marriage dropped seemingly from out of nowhere. But the longer you think about it, it isn’t really out of nowhere is it? The Oyabun is 30 now, and until tonight hadn’t named a wife, nor any love interests, and therefore no possible heirs. If the man were to die for any reason, those chances only increasing the older he gets, the power vacuum his absence would create would be absolute madness. You’re part of a strategy, just as before. Just as always.

Yet there was no denying he’d struck something inside you. Of all the women in that hall he approached you, a woman he didn’t know from a low ranked clan, for reasons you could only barely begin to guess. He’d called you powerful earlier, the sincerity in his voice making your mind spin. Did he really see you as powerful? And the name he’d used for you felt far too tender on the tongue of such a dangerous man, though you understood the nod toward your previous rank.

Father and Mother must be either confused, shocked, or overflowing with joy right about now. Confused as to why you haven’t returned, shocked, happy, or both at the news had they learned it. With your mind processing everything, your body finally begins to feel fatigued.

You shut off the water before drying yourself, patting your hair in the towel before pulling on the fluffy robe. It was clearly meant for him, the fuzzy black garment large around the shoulders and sleeves engulfing your hands, the garment nearly touching the floor where it’s meant to hang several inches from it on his frame. Despite swimming in the robe, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vulnerable. You’re bare beneath it, not having planned to not return home. Still, it’s late, and the Oyabun needs to shower as well. With a steadying breath, you step out into the room.

He’s standing near the bed, the top half of his clothing discarded and bare skin exposed, along with the heavy tattooing and scars along his body. Dragon scales decorated his skin, along with delicate swirls heavily resembling smoke and clouds that followed the curves of his corded muscles. He is undoubtedly a beautiful man. You don’t realize you’re staring until a miniscule smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Enjoying the view, little one?” You blink away your daze and shift your eyes to the side, feeling the slight burn in your face at being caught. Instead of answering the cheeky question you choose to change the subject.

“I’m finished with my shower, Oyabun.” He hums, a low sound you can feel in your chest.

“I can see that, little one. And you call me Shouta.” You take a quiet, sharp inhale and nod.

“Yes, of course...Shouta.” His name feels heavy on your tongue, a name that people didn’t normally dare speak. He’s silent as he gathers his things and moves toward the bathroom, stopping momentarily by your side. You’re confused a moment before his calloused fingers gently grip your jaw and turn your head, his lips pressing softly against your temple for a split second before he’s disappearing into the bathroom.

You stand in shock, the tender touch unexpected. Shaking your head, you decide it’s best to lay down. Hopefully you’d fall asleep by the time he finishes bathing, but you doubted it. You’re proven right when, in the midst of mulling over your own thoughts, he emerges in nothing but sweatpants, dark hair still damp as it fell around his shoulders. You managed to avert your eyes before he could catch you staring for a second time tonight, and it wasn’t long before he slipped under the blankets next to you.

There wasn’t a single word shared between you as he flicked off the lights with a remote and settled into the plush mattress. There was no movement from the man as you lay with your back to him. You aren’t entirely sure if the lack of movement unsettles you more than if he were to be shuffling around. It felt like hours had passed in the darkness, your eyes had adjusted and you couldn’t sleep despite how exhausted you felt.

Your mind raced with questions. What happens now? What happens with your clan and parents? Would you have clothes soon? How would he treat you? How were you supposed to act around him? When is the wedding? Is the engagement already official? What if you disappoint him and fuck everything over? The entire situation makes you anxious, for more than something as trivial as your own safety. You shift onto your back and listen to Shouta’s soft snores, signaling his sleep. As silently and gently as you can, you slip out of bed.

You have no clue what you were going to do or where you were going to do it, but you had to get away from him if only for a moment, to let yourself breathe and think. Almost mindlessly, you find yourself staring out of the glass wall and out into the night. This far out, you can see the stars in the night sky clear and bright, and it was a sight you missed having lived in the city most of your life. Right here you have room to think, space to spread your thoughts and calm your mind to keep from jumbling everything in your brain and stressing over it more.

From what you can tell there is a very small chance Shouta would treat you maliciously, so for now you don’t have to worry about that. Considering his power and status, you won’t be without clothing for long. The thought was silly in the first place, but stress tended to make you question even the most ridiculous. As for how you’re meant to act, well that would have to be tested. He’d already told you how to appear to the public, so that shouldn’t be too hard, but being alone with the man was driving you insane.

Soft footsteps broke you from your thoughts. You spin around, suddenly very much on guard, before Shouta’s voice broke through the darkness, his figure slowly approaching.

“What are you doing up, little one?” You bite your lip and turn to gaze outside again, hugging your arms tight.

“Just thinking. I apologize for waking you, Oya-… Shouta.” His warmth hit you before his skin did, chest pressed into your back and large rough hands gripping your shoulders firm but gentle. His breath is hot on your ear and neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Such an intimate action from him only hours after he’d made you his fiance was quite the shock in and of itself, only enhanced by the fact that this man is known for his cold nature.

“Thinking about what?” His hands smoothed down your arms, following them around your waist and encompassing your hands in his, tugging you into him further. Unnatural as it may seem, it feels good, his warmth. In the arms of such a dangerous and powerful man you should feel small and scared, but you don’t. You aren’t entirely sure what it is you feel. Truthfully, you don’t have the energy to answer his question properly.

“About a lot of things. Too many things.” Right now, the only thing you want to do is melt into the man’s arms. His presence is suddenly comforting, instead of worrying, and you feel safe in his embrace. You sigh and lean into him, fatigue finally beginning to tug at your body and mind. Strong arms scoop you up like nothing, and suddenly you’re being placed down on the bed before he climbs in and pulls you onto him. An arm circles your waist while the other cradles your head, a tender kiss placed at your hairline.

“Sleep, little one.” His fingers thread through your hair, massaging your scalp lightly. It’s a soothing action, especially after nearly giving yourself a headache from stress. It isn’t long before you’re nodding off, relaxing into his body and letting his steady heartbeat lull you to sleep.

#shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa bnha #shouta aizawa mha #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta bnha #aizawa shouta mha #aizawa fanfiction #aizawa #mafia au bnha #mafia au mha #shouta aizawa x fem reader #aizawa shouta x fem reader

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hops-hunny · 3 years

Text

What’s in a Name?

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.6k

Request: N/A

Summary: When two beautiful people fall in love, everything can go right. Or, the one where Blaise gets the girl of his dreams.

Warnings: None?? Mentions of past self hate, positive use of the word fat.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. Enjoy!

Fat. It was a word (Y/n) had thrown at her from a young age but had grown to become neutral with as she got older. See, the (y/h/h) was fortunate enough to grow up in a household with her dear aunt Marlene who brought her up on the principle that ‘fat and ugly were not synonymous’ which she found herself quite fortunate of. You see, Marlene herself was an extravagant woman. She never stepped out of the house unless she was runway ready, long acrylic nails, hair curled in the prettiest of waves, and a face of makeup that could put anyone to shame. Marlene found her niece to be reminiscent of herself when she was younger. But, she also knew no matter the great example she showed her and the encouragement she’d give her, the world around her would affect the way she viewed herself until she reached a certain age.

However luckily for (Y/n), that age was when she hit the ripe age of 14. She was sick of it. Sick of feeling like a prisoner of her own body. Sick of hiding from mirrors, sick of wearing clothes that fit her like potato sacks just to hide the figure that she was naturally born with. Why should she have to feel bad because the world wasn’t ready to accept her for who she was? Why should she have to hide away due to a bit of extra weight and fat? So, after a long night of crying she decided from that day forward she would do her absolute best to at least accept her body for what it was. She didn’t wanna skip meals anymore just to make everyone around her comfortable. She didn’t want to avoid clothes that made her figure less of a figure. She wanted to live and be free in the body she was currently in.

If she could go back to where she was when she was 14, she’d tell herself she had exceeded that limitation. She was far beyond just accepting herself for who she was, she loved who she was. (Y/n) found herself falling in love with a new thing about herself every time she found herself blessed with the fortune of time to look in a mirror. Whether it was the way the rolls of her back reminded her of the ocean or the bumps and lumps around her hip area that were reminiscent of clouds, she loved every bit of herself. Even though it took her time to get there, she didn't regret it one bit.

Her confidence and demeanor attracted a lot of positive attention wherever she went. Her friends adored her and so did many other people around the castle! There was always a few wronguns here and there but that goes without saying. Even if you change your outlook on life, in a society where fat is a sin there will always be your self proclaimed saints. The more popular opinion shared throughout the castle though was ‘if she could find love in herself, why shouldn’t I be able to as well?’. Although it’s hard for one girl to change the world, she came quite close to it, always offering a shoulder to anyone in need and a helpful word of advice to anyone on the path of self acceptance and love.

There was one person who noticed her much more than that. Some would say it was a crush but no, it went quite deeper than that. He found himself being absolutely enamored by her. Her confidence, her positivity, her ever radiant beauty. All those things he found to be addicting, entrancing. Never had he come across a woman of any sorts who was so sure of herself, so proud to be in the skin she was born in. (Y/n) knew who she was and honestly? It was fucking hot. Blaise Zabini wasn’t one to make wild claims which is why when he thought about how he felt, he was very sure of the feeling. He absolutely adored the goddess that was (Y/n) (L/n). So why was it so hard to say it to her?

The way she made him feel had him in a whirlwind of emotions. A lot of the times, he was infuriated. Not by the way she made him feel, but the way she made him act. Blaise was always a hit with women from all houses around hogwarts. Why wouldn’t he be? When you’re a tall, dark, and handsome man with oodles of charismatic charm and yes, a fat load of cash, who wouldn’t wanna be yours? He could have any woman he wanted wrapped around his finger before he even opened his mouth. But around her, around her? His mouth would close as soon as it opened. He’d feel a rush of heat move to his face and his ears would start ringing. What was this feeling? This feeling that made him act so idiotic. This feeling that had him awake late at night, wondering what it would be like if he only said-

“Hi.” his head snapped up at the sound of a familiar warm voice. The same voice that made his heart race wildly, the same voice that made him act like one of those stupid fucking Hufflepuffs. All nerves and scurrying to find something, anything to say. There she was right in front of him, looking uncharacteristically shy. She had her arms behind her back one hand gripping at her other wrist as she looked up at him through thick lashes. “Have I wronged you in any way?”

“Hm?” he hummed out, still dazed as he looked down at her with a soft look present on his face. He cleared his throat slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt that was suddenly too tight. Too constricting, too-

“Have I wronged you? I always see you staring at me quite a bit.” she repeated, gaining her confidence back some. God was he always this bloody gorgeous? Well, to her he was. She had her eye on him ever since she’d ran into him on the train back in first year. “I know I’m quite pretty, but I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that. No?” she questioned, taking a step closer to him. She felt her hands grow sweaty at the smell of his aftershave, a sharp smell in comparison to her own strawberry body mist.

Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t he tell? He always could tell. Many upon many times he found himself rejecting women before they could even get the chance to confess how they felt. So why now, why with her could he not? Was this- was this nerves? “My girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that. I-I mean I don’t have a girlfriend!” he stumbled out, cursing under his breath slightly. He felt himself grow quite warm as he heard her giggle. He looked up at the sound once more wishing he hadn’t. She looked radiant in the glow of the late evening sun. Her round cheeks prominent as her face turned up in a smile before she quirked a brow at him.

“Ah I see then. You don’t have a girlfriend but you were staring?” she questioned, feeling a bit guilty about how she was enjoying the usually calm and collected boy lose his composure. His face fell straight before processing what she said. (Y/n) could see a whirlwind of emotions happen behind his eyes in such a short period of time. ‘Isn’t it funny that only a few years prior this would have been me? I can’t wait to tell Rose-Marie about this later.’

“I-I.. you know what? Yeah I do stare at you quite a bit. More often than not, I find myself staring at you.” he closed the distance between them, her soft frame pressing against his tone one. He lifted two of his fingers up to her chin, lifting her head softly. “How could I not? You’re an absolute work of art. Only the most worthy of men should be able to gaze at such a rare beauty and I find myself to be very worthy.” he whispered softly, his dark umber eyes staring into the (h/c) haired girl’s (e/c) ones.

It */was crazy how with such few words, he could make her feel so breathless, so woozy. Was she awake right now? The moment she had been waiting for since first year was currently right in front of her. The years spent dreaming, pining from a distance all gone in a few words. She smiled up at him, placing a soft hand on the man’s toned chest. Even through his clothes she could feel that he had a nice build to him. “I suppose you’re worthy. I mean look at us, we’re both beautiful. Imagine the gallery of art we’d be together.” she said, confident in her words as she bat her eyelashes. (Y/n) would be damned if she was the only one left breathless and flustered after this exchange.

“Well, why imagine dear? I’ll be taking you to Hogsmeade this weekend.” He said, turning around as he began to walk off. She was stunned. Was this the infamous charm she had heard him having? As much as (Y/n) had heard about how charming and suave Blaise was, she had never heard of him asking anyone out for a date. Knowing this gave her her own boost of confidence.

“You will be? What makes you so sure I’ll be there?” Blaise froze, turning his head back at the girl’s teasing words. He smirked. She really was something else.

“Oh I know. I wasn’t the only one staring all this time, I saw you too.” he winked laughing some before turning around walking off. (Y/n) felt herself smiling some as she shook her head before her eyes widened.

“Wait, what am I gonna wear?!”

----------------------------------------------------------

There was exactly 30 minutes until Blaise was meant to arrive and (Y/n) was nowhere near ready yet. See, she had planned on being ready early, even going as far as to get up at the time she usually did for class. However, after an impromptu dance session in her underwear her luck had run out. She wasn’t completely unprepared though, her hair had been done the night before and her makeup not taking much time, the main cause of concern was her outfit.

The problem wasn’t a lack of clothes, it was quite the opposite. She had so many clothes that she had absolutely no idea of what to wear! She frustratedly slammed her fist on the pile of clothes in front of her letting out a few choice words. In a moment of defeat, she looked up at her empty wardrobe- wait a second. (Y/n) quickly scrambled to her wardrobe, slipping and sliding on the sea of clothes that lined the way before quickly yanking out the clothes covered hanger. On the hanger was a two piece set.

The top was a wisteria purple crop top with puffy short sleeves, the skirt the same exact shade with a ruffle hem. “This is perfect! Where did this come from?” she said, checking herself out in the mirror. The outfit clung to her plush body, every curve visible and apparent. The girl smiled, smoothing her hand over the outline of her stomach that was apparent through her skirt. Years ago she would’ve been bothered by the entire concept of the outfit but now the outline of her figure made her smile like an old friend. She quickly put on a pair of white chunky sneakers, accessorizing the outfit with a few necklaces and rings as well just in time to hear a knock on the door. She did another once over in the mirror before quickly running to the door pulling it open to reveal Blaise standing there. She felt her face grow warm at his appearance.

He wore a form fitting maroon sweatshirt that he had rolled up to his elbows, a pair of jeans that weren’t skinny but fit to his figure in the most flattering of ways, and a pair of expensive shoes from some brand she couldn’t even begin to try and pronounce. In his hands were a bouquet of flowers composed of forget me nots, baby’s breath, and daisies. Blaise was in awe. He had seen her outside of her uniform a plethora of times but knowing that she had dressed up so nicely just to go on a date with him made his heart soar. “Wow, you look breathtaking. Look at you!” he hyped her up, grabbing her hand. He held their entwined fingers above their heads, signaling for her to spin around. “Lovely, absolutely divine. I can’t believe I’m going on a date with a deity.” he said, smile growing more as (Y/n) grew shyer.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Zabini. You look great, maroon is definitely your color.” she gushed, closing the door to her room. She looked down at their still entwined fingers, squeezing his large calloused hand with her small chubby one before bringing her gaze up to his face. Unsurprisingly, he was already looking at her.

“Thank you, dove. Let’s get going shall we? I’ve got a ton I wanna do with you and such a short amount of time. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

“We shall.”

-----------------------------------

The first place they arrived at was a building she had seen many times during her visits to Hogsmeade but had never been in. It was an old brick building with a paintbrush on an old rusty sign above it.

“An art store?” she questioned, looking up at him confused but not against his choice. They both walked in, a sound of a bell dinging as they did so. She looked around in awe at the abundance of supplies. The store was sort of stuffy and crowded but that was a part of its charm. Blaise scratched at the back of his neck nervously as he watched her roam around.

“Yeah I don’t know if I mentioned it before but I enjoy doing art in my freetime. I thought I’d take you to one of my favorite places first.” He said, walking up behind her as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “A-and well, everytime I imagined going on a date with you, I always pictured the two of us showing each other our favorite hidden gems. We can leave if you wa-”

“That won’t be necessary. This is really cool and I’ve always wanted to learn more about art! I’m more of a reader and writer myself.” she said, grabbing his hand. Blaise let out a huge breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in in the first place before dragging her off in the direction of his favorite brand of oil paints. The two walked hand in hand, exploring his favorite parts of the store. When he’d see something he used himself or was familiar with, he’d explain it to her, rambling off about it excitedly.

Blaise wasn’t normally the type of guy to speak many words but being around (Y/n) brought out that side of him. It wasn’t that his friends were bad per say, they just weren’t very fond of listening to things that didn’t pertain to them which he was more than fine with. However, it was nice having an outlet to share his interest for once. He loved that she would ask questions about things and even let him talk about his own work. Most girls he talked to never really cared to listen to what he had to say, often spending more time kissing him breathless than listening to the words that flew from his lips. But (Y/n) was very attentive, listening to everything he had to say, eyes full of the same excitement he held.

“Alright, I think I’ve bought everything I’ve needed from here. Your pick, where do you wanna go?” he questioned, grabbing the girl’s hand again as they walked out of the small art store. He offered the old man behind a small smile before turning his attention back to his date. (Y/n) thought about it, humming as she tried to figure out before her eyes lit up.

“I have the perfect place! Come on Blaise, you’re gonna love it.” she exclaimed before taking off down the street, dragging him along with her. He smiled fondly at her letting her lead the way.

“This something I could get used to.” he muttered, trying his best to keep up with her pace.

-----------------------------------

About 10 minutes later, they arrived in front of what looked to be a bookstore. Blaise looked around, swiping his fingers across the dusty books. “Welcome to the place where I spend most of my time when coming to Hogsmeade. It may look like just a bookstore but you’ll see why it's not in just a minute.” she said. Blaise watched as the girl got on her hands and knees and began to crawl making a ‘spspsps’ noise. He was confused, rightfully so but he didn’t question her actions. All of a sudden, a floof of white fur came crawling over to the girl purring as she scratched behind its ears.

“It’s a cat bookstore! How cool is that? There’s a bunch of these little guys just running around here.” she said, standing up with the kitten in her hands. Blaise’s heart beat wildly at the sight. She looked too cute with the kitten in her hand, holding it gently against her soft chest. He was brought from his thoughts as he felt something brush against his leg. He had to stop himself from losing it at the sight of the little calico cat brushing against his leg.

“Hi there little guy.” he cooed softly, reaching a hand down to pet the cat’s head. The cat jumped up to meet his hand before it could land, nuzzling its fuzzy little head against the boy's head as he purred loudly.

“That’s not the only thing. They also carry some muggle literature too! Don’t tell anyone though, it’s a secret.” she said, placing the kitten down as she began to browse the books on the old wooden shelves.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” he promised, eyes never leaving her curvy figure. She looked right at home in the book store, reading the titles like they were old friends. “I’m a bit of a muggle literature fan myself. Ever heard of Shakespear?” he asked. (Y/n) looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. She would’ve never expected that from the man, knowing how against all things muggle related purebloods slytherins were. He walked over to her tilting her head up as he looked into her eyes. “ What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” he whispered, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip. Her breath hitched slightly as she began to scowl as he walked off laughing some.

“Jerk! That was not funny.” she said, punching him in the arm as she glared up at him.

“Wasn’t supposed to be, love. You just look too cute when you’re nervous!”

---------------------------------------------------

It had been a few weeks since their date and (Y/n) was starting to grow nervous. She and Blaise hadn’t been on another one and it confused her deeply. She had an amazing time on their date, in fact it had been the best one she had ever been on! Did he not feel the same? Maybe he had commitment issues? It couldn’t have been her. No, she had done everything right. She spoke well mannered, bantered back and forth with him, and she looked bloody amazing.

She sighed, opening the door to her dorm. It had been a long week. She threw off her robes before turning to her dresser before gasping. On top of the dresser laid a huge painting surrounded in a beautiful antique golden frame. She hesitantly walked over to it, brushing her fingers along it before looking at the note attached. Opening the wax sealed envelope she began reading the note out loud.

“My dearest rose, how are you? I apologize deeply for my lack of presence. Not being near you for so long deeply hurt me so but it was not in vain. You see, after spending such a lovely time with you that day, I felt extremely inspired. Your beauty deserves to be captured in something far more grand than a simple photograph so I painted you this. I hope to see you soon. To my greatest muse, Blaise Zabini.” she smiled as she read the words, goosebumps going up her arms. Blaise was indeed a talented artist. In photo realistic detail was a large painting of her smiling with the white kitten from before in her hands. She was lost for words. Never had someone done something so amazing for her. “Do I really look this beautiful? Is this how he sees me?” she asked no one in particular.

“It is and you are. You’re absolutely gorgeous.” she jumped at the sound of the deep voice. Turning her head she saw the man she had been thinking of for weeks. Slowly she walked over to him, smiling before wrapping her arms around him hugging him tightly. Blaise froze for a bit, not used to receiving such gentle forms of affection. He pulled back before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“Let me take you out again tomorrow, yeah?” he asked her in a soft tone. She simply nodded before standing on her tiptoes initiating another lovely kiss. Blaise wrapped his arms around her soft waist, bringing her closer to him.

“I really am one lucky bloke.”

#blaise zabini #blaise x reader #blaise x y/n #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x y/n #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #plus size reader #chubby reader

231 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Asmodeus Comforting A Chubby Partner

Request: i was wondering if you could do hc's maybe for an insecure/chubby!reader x asmo? (both n/sfw are fine. whatever you're more comfy with) he's my favourite/comfort character but he very clearly loves beautiful things... as someone who isn't "traditionally/stereotypically beautiful" it makes me feel very insecure that he probably wouldn't be attracted to me. cellulite, stretch marks and scars riddle my body from years of extreme weight loss and gain from various eating disorders and harmful, unhealthy coping mechanisms. it's a lot of projection but ig i'm just worried he'd see like my loose tummy skin and be repulsed by it or the stretch marks on not just the "typical" places like thighs, stomach, bum, etc. etc. but places like my arms, shoulders and sides too.

Warnings: eating disorders + scaring briefly mentioned, allusion to self harm

A/N: Don’t ever worry about what I write for!! I’m willing to write a lot (also babes, i obvs don’t know you but please believe that you’re gorgeous, beauty standards fuck us all over and i need you to understand that your marks are all kisses from your body and marks to kiss. I’m sure you’re lovely and i hope you find love within yourself xoxo)

Absorbed with his beauty in the first few weeks that you’ve stayed with at the House of Lamentation, Asmodeus hadn’t noticed your lack of self-love. It’s only until later that he can see your forlorn glances at a mirror, the way you try to hide yourself under baggy clothing or long sleeved shirts. Of course, it’s a bit chilly in Devildom, but it doesn’t sit right with him. He brings you to his room that smells like lilies and strawberries, letting you sit down beside him as he grabs your hand, painting it a matching set as himself. With you in hand, he’ll ask you about yourself, slowly prying into your view about yourself. A deep frown will tug against the corners of his mouth and he’ll furrow his brows. He’s been aware of beauty standards in the Human Realm but he had never thought it was so dire to affect your own perception of yourself.

As the love and relationship between the both of you progresses, he’s focused on trying to make you feel better about yourself but in doing so he has to open some wounds. He knows that it hurts, and he’s pained to see you cry, looking nervously at you and fiddling with the ends of his hair but he means well. He tries to understand you, to feel a deeper connection with you and he’ll hold you as you cry onto his shirt. Once you’re done, he’ll let you calm down for a few minutes, offer you some water and dry your eyes, his fingertips grazing against your skin ever so slightly. With every word that you spewed with hate, he’ll counter it with adoration. He’ll hold your hands and comment about how they fit into his perfectly, the soft plush cheeks that you have, your lips that taste of sweet nectar and the marks against your skin that are perfect kissing spots.

He adores your cellulite. You may not think much of it and see it as a hindrance but to him, it reminds him just how soft you are. While demons and the alike are fun and he enjoys the time that he has spent with them he adores you. You’re a human, you’re soft and always changing. He likes to see your body, the way that it has changed, the pale lines marking over your skin like lightning bolts against the night sky. You’ll often find him tracing over it, his fingers walking over your skin and letting the stretch marks take him where they need to be. The stretch marks that lace over your stomach, the ones that pull and wrinkle your skin are something that he enjoys to look at. The groves trace under his fingertips and he’s reminded that you’re human, that you trust him with your plump body despite the mannerisms that he shows at times. Your worth is not put onto your body, it’s put against who you are and he loves everything sweet about you.

The Avatar of Lust is many things and loves many things, and one of those happens to be you. His charm doesn’t work on you and while it was a disappointment at first, it was also a grace hidden by it. You grew to care for him, for him. You loved the sweet nature of him that is hidden by childish jealousy, you adore the way that he tries not to cry at movies, less it ruins his makeup. You adore the small things about him. He fell for your beauty and soon fell for you. He loves beautiful things and his past partners might share a similar type but it doesn’t dictate his only standard of beauty. Beauty comes late at night when the moon is bright, beauty comes at seeing a lover wrapped in a silky bathrobe that’s matched with the other. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and he beholds many things that are beautiful. He seeks you out because you care for him in a way that he hasn’t realized he wanted- you hold his hand and you seek him out for pure enjoyment rather than lustful reasons.

His lips will trace against your body, his hands held tight in yours and he reminds you in all the ways that matter that he loves your body. You’re human, you change and that’s all right by him. Your loose skin is soft, plush and squishing under his slender fingers. If you allow him to, he’ll kiss your skin, let his pink lips pepper against your burning body and he can feel his sin tug at him. He wants to care for your body, to let you feel the pleasure that roams throughout him. His hand will curve over your tummy, his lips close to yours as he tells how delightful you look under him.

Perhaps it's because a few of his past lovers have looked a certain way, but he truly does love your scars. He likes to see your scars of tales from the time before. He might not know how you got them, but from the way you become nervous, he can only guess. He sees your scars as growth, you are in a different place, you are healing both physically and mentally. The scars are from someone long ago, from some cruel and uncaring, and now he’ll kiss them with a cheeky smile, merely telling you that he enjoys kissing your skin. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he’ll pull you to another part of the house, commenting how he needs help with a class.

While he does love your body, your own happiness comes before his own pleasure. He wants to know that you truly do love yourself and if you don’t, he’ll pout but your happiness means much more. If you really do feel so bad about your scars, he’s willing to go and buy whatever cream is necessary to help aid in fading your marks. He’ll rub the cool cream against your belly, his smile melancholic as he tells you a story. He isn’t fond of changing you, but if it makes you happy and helps erase the scars that you try so desperately to hide, then who is he to complain about your body? He will remind you throughout the process that he does love your body, that whatever you do, is for your happiness because no matter what, he’ll be happy with you.

When he learns of your rather unhealthy coping mechanisms, he heart aches. He becomes rather dependent during this time, wanting to stay close to you for fear of hurting yourself in some type of way. He trusts in you but knowing that you would have harmed yourself makes him rather jittery. He’ll use the title that he has to find someone to talk to because while he would love nothing more than to listen to you, he is not qualified to be the one giving you advice. He’ll still spend hours scouring the internet looking for a way to help you- different medians, alternative ways to feel the sort of satisfaction that you might derive from it and anything else he can understand and see it fitting for you.

He rather have you do things in a healthy way that won’t ruin your body and mind. If you are keen to lose weight, you’re going to do it carefully. As the relationship unfurls into a blossoming flower, he becomes bolder in his actions. He won’t assume what you want to look like, but he wants to help so he’ll find a plan perfect for you and work alongside you. He loves beautiful things and he finds you to be beautiful and if you want to alter a few things about yourself, he’ll support you. Whatever disorders you had in the past, he knows how to care for them and you, he’ll make sure you eat well and treat yourself. You’re his and he isn’t going to let human standards take you away from him. Body image is something that he tries to keep perfect as much as he can and the clothes that you wear are an important factor in how you feel. He’ll change your wardrobe- steadily, of course- and allow you to feel better with what you wear. The clothes will be there to help frame your body in a more flattering way than anything baggy could ever, and he’ll have you model for him, taking pictures and uploading them to Devilgram just to show off how cute you look.

Asmodeus is the Avatar of Lust. He’s the narcissistic fifth born who loves himself and everything beautiful second to only himself. He values how he looks and takes great care of his body. He can be catty and whip out insults in less than a second. But, he is a caring lover, someone soft and sweet, attentive to the needs of his lover. Human beauty standards are something that he understands but he is a demon. He is monstrous and ugly, blood pouring from his hands and forever fretting over how he looks. You, however, are none of those things. You are soft, caring and sweet. You care for him, not the lustful part of him, but for the demon that he is. He’s sorry that he let you believe that he wouldn’t love you, that your marks are blemishes that stain your beauty, but you have to understand that they aren’t. He'd never reject your body, he’d hold you close and let his hands soothe over the parts you dislike while he tells you how gorgeous you are, muttering his praise until your heart beats against your chest and he’s giggling at your reactions. Until you’re gone, he’ll lay in his bed, arms spread wide that his fingertips can barely reach the edge of the bed and he’ll smile to himself, his heart fluttering and chest feeling light, knowing that he made you smile.

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (3/3)

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif belongs to me!

**If you understand what I’m referencing to in the end, well the Kudos to you. You win 85 Stardollars.

***Trigger Warning: Scars from mentioned self-harm

****Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

Word Count: 6397

Part 1 Part 2

Eobard said nothing. Instead, he disregarded your look as his gaze locked back onto Kara, as the Kryptonian woman threw him a hateful look. The futuristic genius did not care. His baby blue hues jumped back to where you stood before stepping away to the side tables. Now we proceed, the speedster mused to himself, picking up a scalpel and arranging his surgical tools. The stage needed to be set tonight. All the actors were in place, and he needed to complete his role. A delicate procedure, if you will. But he needed to be bought some time. Surely, Barry and the others would be back by now from Earth-X. He was, in essence, reluctant to cut up the Earth-38 Kryptonian for he held no malice towards her. She was just an unnecessary casualty in all this. And after all, if Barry Allen were to die it would be at his hands. Not on some tainted Earth at the firing range. You’re centuries late, Mr. Allen. As always.

You glared at your genius scientist for not cluing you in on whatever it is he had planned now. What was his plan? Play along until ‘Uh oh, it’s too late to turn back’ and ‘Oh, look. We’re doomed’? A grunt caught your attention, Kara was trying to break out of her restraints again. “Kara,” you whispered, now standing beside her. “Save your energy, please.” She eyed the restraints on you before taking a slow breath in. Kara wanted to throw her guts up, but she pushed back the bile caught in her throat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Honey, you are looking anything other than fine.”

Kara pursed her lips, feeling fatigue wash over her once more. “Where… where are the others… that were here- at the labs? Are they…?” There it was, always concerned for others when she should be concerned about herself.

“No, no they’re fine. They’re in the pipeline. Iris and Felicity-” You stopped yourself, noticing Eobard’s head snap towards you. A pang of guilt echoed in your body. “They’re being held there too,” you lied, giving her hand two small squeezes for her to indicate the lie. If he held things back from you to entertain the Earth-Xer’s with legitimate reactions, then so would you. Supergirl nodded her head subtly in understanding. You were too focused with Kara; you didn’t notice Eobard move. “You’re going to be fine; the others should be back. They wouldn’t go out just like that.” Iris, Felicity, where’s that help? Just where are you guys? You couldn’t leave if you wanted to. Not with the others lurking around. Not when there was a chance you could tip them off about Iris and Felicity, then there was Eobard. Overgirl would instantly go after him for betrayal.

“I… I really hope not. Alex-” Kara trailed off; her eyes drooping shut as her shoulders sagged. Her hand went limp in your cuffed ones.

“Kara?” You looked up to see a tube in Eobard’s hand with a syringe in it. Empty as its contents have already worked its way into Kara’s system. “What are you doing?!”

“I’ve given her a mild anesthetic,” you pursed your lips as his statement. Eobard sighed, “Not to worry, that should have her out for 30 minutes. Strong enough for a Kryptonian, but not strong enough for too long even with the red sunlight on her.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I needed to talk to you without anyone listening.” You followed how Eobard’s eyes glanced at the door. Outside stood two more Nazi guards.

“You could have just pulled me to the other room,” you whisper-yelled at him.

“No, I couldn’t have.” He crossed his arms at you, replying in his own gravely hushed tones. “I needed to keep up the image of the bad guy in front of Kara.”

“Why? Why, when she could understand that you’re not really with them? Why let her also think of you as one of those heinous monsters?”

“Because her opinion of me doesn’t matter. Not hers, not the Earth-Xers, not anyone else.” Eobard punctuated his words before taking your hands in his, placing a gentle kiss on the back of one. The intensity in his eyes never broke as he spoke once more, “Only your opinion of me matters. You matter.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes unable to leave his heated gaze. Oh, if only we weren’t in this mess. If only we had more time… Kara crossed your mind once more, the ominous thrumming noise that came from the machine that generated the red sunlight. A frown found its way onto your face. “Wait, you said 30 minutes? Shouldn’t she need time to recover from the anesthesia to be given another one?”

Eobard sighed, letting go of your hands. He crossed his arms. You weren’t going to like his answer. “No, not in this case.” Dread welled up in the pit of your stomach.

“What…”

“The General herself requested, more like ordered, me to have our Kara awake during the… transplant.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You responded slowly. Your eye slightly twitched as anger started to consume your thoughts. You wanted nothing more than to rip your friend’s doppelganger apart.

Eobard very well sensed your feelings, he always hated putting a frown on your face or seeing you upset to this extent. “Look, I don’t want to do it either,” the speedster retorted hastily as he unfurled his arms, his hands gently grabbed your shoulders, “but I can’t defy their word especially with you around.”

“Why? Am I suddenly a liability?”

“Never, but they’ll figure something is up with you here with me. Conspiring against them. You already saw how easily Oliver-X caved to his Kara regarding who you are to me.”

Technically, that’s my own damn fault, but a calculated risk to get to Eobard. I can live with the repercussions. “But that’s technically what we’re doing on the downlow, Eo.” You echoed one of the lessons he taught you years ago. “One weakness is better than none, it can be essential to creating the downfall of another.” He had mainly told you that regarding Eilling, who hadn’t ceased to stick his nose into Eobard’s lab experiments and projects. The general had eyed you as a means to get to him, but in reality you were a strength to Eobard. Not a weakness. And the speedster very well knows you can handle your own; after all, the both of you trained constantly. Pushing each other’s limits. Though where you hesitated to kill, he compensated on that, especially in the right moment. “We can have the Dark Archer on the ropes. If anything, he’s made it evident that his wife is a liability to his rational thinking.”

A proud grin ran along his handsome face. “Exactly, my little bird. But they will hurt you, even if you can hold out against them you can’t take them both on.” Even I cannot, not with where I’m at with my speed. Not with the slight dampener they have on my suit. The potential self-destruction if removed from the emblem by my own hands, is a heavy weight on my chest. If I can get rid of them, I can defuse the detonator.

“I’m not worried about me; I’m worried about you! I can’t- I can’t be the one to lose you again.” Eobard shifted his gaze away from you. “Look it’s not going to come to that.” He knew what you were suggesting. “Ok? Worst comes to worst I cause a distraction.”

“No, over my rotting corpse.”

That sounds eerily familiar.

“We don’t have a choice, if it buys us time then I’ll be damned not to try!”

“That’s why we adapt to the situation and find alternate routes to keep off their radar. I know what I’m doing.”

“Precisely. Adapting. So let me do what I can if it comes down to it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” You bit back a retort at the way he raised his voice. “Just trust me.” He wasn’t asking you to.

“Kinda hard with your track record,” You deadpanned, and Eobard just rubbed his face.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Is that a question you seriously want me to answer?” A small cheeky smile made its way to your face. You couldn’t help but tease him right now, of all times.

Eobard huffed out a chuckle, pulling out some white surgical clothes from a drawer. Have those always been there? “Just follow my lead, ok? Whatever happens stay on their side, whatever happens to me stay with Barry and the others.” Eobard gloved his hands while the guards re-entered the medical room along with Oliver-X and Kara-X. Speak of the devil. You pursed your lips and held a stoic expression even as Kara-X sauntered to her respective gurney, smirking widely before a violent coughing fit erupts from her. You didn’t miss how Oliver-X moved towards her, yet you averted your eyes to the protruding machines the other soldiers were bringing in for the ‘necessary’ operation. Two guards held you by the arms where you stood. You swallowed thickly as everything was being sterilized and prepped.

***

Harry caught the ball once more after it ricocheted back to him. He’d been letting his frustration out on it towards the cell wall. Something didn’t feel right. He cursed himself, knowing he should have been carrying some weapon or breaching device to have gotten away from the Dark Archer. Or any intruder for the matter of this invasion. Yes, he pushed the emergency labs alarm, but he still got whacked and dragged to the pipeline. He could have done more damage to these damned Nazi’s, but he was helpless. I should have carried my gun or my pulse rifle, what was I thinking? His hand gripped tightly at the ball as regret never left his side. I should have seen this as a possible attack. It’s a simple strategy. Divide and conquer. Yet they were all too fooled, too hasty to attack to even logically see this move by the Earth-Xers.

“Wait, Thawne’s here?” Cisco’s outburst broke the Earth-2 genius out of his thoughts. Harry cracked his neck and directed his attention back to Cisco’s squabbling from the cell near him. The Wells doppelganger was getting pretty tired about hearing of Thawne. A feeling of dread picked at his insides, his thoughts going to you and what Barry had discussed vehemently earlier.

“Yeah,” Caitlin responded. “I haven’t seen or heard from her. We only briefly got a visit from Iris and Felicity not too long ago. But they didn’t know where she was either.”

“Do you think maybe she… you know?” Cisco made an implication. “I mean, does she know?”

“I don’t know,” Caitlin trailed off. “But Iris had said that she left them in the Time Vault to buy them time. Whatever that could mean.”

“Well, on the one hand, they either got to her and are holding her hostage somewhere or, on the other, she rendezvoused with Thawne and now they're going all Mengele on Kara.”

Harry rubbed his face irritably at Cisco’s words, by now you would have known. There’s a high possibility. Whether it’s from seeing Thawne face-to-face or by overhearing someone. By now, Harry’s sure, you would have made a choice. Where did you go, though?

The lights flickered in the pipeline before shutting off as Caitlin finished. A dull blue tint lit up in each individual cell as the pipeline was divulged into a dim darkness. The emergency lights were the only things on. Every person was on high alert at this point.

“Ohohoho, my girl Felicity definitely pulled that one!” Cisco chirped, making a loud clap.

Dinah tried her canary call again, but to no avail. The cell would not budge. Harry narrowed his eyes; he knew she’d try again. But Cisco had crafted these cells with Thawne cautiously for metas. Practically indestructible unless you’re a Time Wraith.

“I wouldn’t try it again if I were you.” Harry finally spoke. Dinah paused, the silence daring to be her question. “These cells are reinforced to withstand any form of meta-attacks generated within. A backup generator still supplies the power dampeners with energy to preserve the cell.” Harry looked out his cell and towards the darkness. “All we can do is wait.”

***

You took a breath, smoke and blood and electricity filled the air. Your eyes didn’t miss the rush of electricity in the distance. Red and gold, the Speedforce of the only two speedsters here. Swallowing thickly, your attention was diverted to the Waverider being chased by another. Well damn, I think someone’s having a bit too much fun. Raising an eyebrow, you watched both airborne vehicles zig-zag through the air. You hooked up your earpiece and headed for the nearest skirmish to help out. A grin plastered itself on your face when you heard Cisco on the comms arguing with Harry. I guess they’re the ones taking the Waverider for a joy ride.

You pressed the button on your communication device, “Any chance I can hop on?” You sucker punched a Nazi. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” Cisco laughed, weaving through the air as if he’s directing a Strike Fighter.

He’s totally Luke Skywalkering his way through this.

“Girl, where you been?”

“Let’s just say,” you huffed, generating electricity in your palm and slamming it into the chest of another soldier. “I caught some unwanted attention, and they were reluctant to release me.” In actuality, Eobard had sped you away from the Labs once Ray made a dramatic entrance to save Kara. He’d sped you to where the battle would be, at least to where the Earth-X forces would arrive from. Telling you to run and appear at an opportune moment. Meaning, go hide while the battle thickens so your disappearance doesn't bring up too many questions from your friends. “Is Iris with you?”

“Yeah, she’s in the back with Felicity, we’re still trying to maneuver in the best position possible to take down their shields.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thinking back to her stunt with Felicity to sabotage the surgery. “So, how about that help?”

“Hmm,” Harry spoke up, pushing his glasses up. “Unless you have the capability of overloading and shutting down the entire Earth-X Waverider system without passing out, be our guest.”

“… I mean I could try.”

“No.”

You pouted, punching another soldier, this time in the nose. Someone’s particularly grumpy right now. “It’s honestly not that hard, I would just be out for a couple of days and probably on life support.” The line was quiet meaning that Harry chose to ignore your comment. Rude.

You took in a breath and reduced your being to an electrical form, traveling up some buildings to gauge the situation. Kara and Kara-X were facing off at the moment. Eobard was naturally keeping Barry busy while Oliver and Oliver-X were in an intense hand-to-hand-to-bow combat. Yeah, their fight wasn’t as impressive as the other two. You took in a breath heading back down to the fight, this time getting closer to Mick and Leo Snart, who you found to be the Earth-X resistance fighter and doppelganger to your dead ex-boyfriend.

What goes around comes around.

***

“Where were you?”

Turning back from where you sat, you sent a questioning look to Barry and pointed to yourself when no one had responded. He had specifically prompted you with the question. The look in his hazel-green eyes were distant as he leaned against the front of the Cortex desks. You recognized that look from a few years ago. The silence in the Cortex was sliced amongst the team. DeVoe was still out there, scheming. Some stopped what they were doing to gauge what would happen, others (mainly Harry) kept working away but inclined an ear in case either of you were to do something rash.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, (Y/N). You’re not that dumb.”

“Excuse me.” You narrowed your eyes at the scarlet speedster.

“Barry,” Iris whispered to him, but he shook her off as he folded his arms.

“Where were you after you left Iris and Felicity?”

Ah, of course he wouldn’t miss that. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“I went to go buy them some time.”

“Buy them some time or buy yourself some time? To see Eobard.”

Your heart hammered tightly in your chest, but you made no move to indicate what you had done. In a sense, you did both. You protected Iris and Felicity while keeping Eobard company.

“Why would I want to see someone who’s allied themselves to a Nazi regime on a different Earth, Barr?”

“Why wouldn’t you do anything to see the one you once loved?”

“Are you talking about me,” you tilted your head to the side, taunting him now, “or yourself?” You referenced the events that happened last year. Barry was more than aware of what you were indicating. Flashpoint. Savitar. Iris’ predicted death, HR’s sacrifice, his time remnant’s downfall. But you’ve been wanting to add kerosene to the flames. “Are you referring to your mom,” you turned your head to Iris, “or to Iris?” If looks could kill, you would have been reduced to ashes under Barry’s gaze. Cisco put down his tools and Caitlin glanced at her friends from where she sat beside Iris. Harry capped his marker but turned his eyes towards you. “Like I said, I caught some unwanted attention, and they were reluctant to release me. How is that any different from the others getting stuck in the pipeline?”

“You left Iris to defend herself.”

“Oh my god! Barry!” You rolled your eyes at his statement, deflecting your own questions. “Iris this, Iris that. Iris is a big girl with nearly perfect marksmanship as Harry. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. I know that. She knows that. The same goes for Felicity as well. But do you know that?” Divide them, fester the idea of unreliability between those two. After all, it’s because of Barry’s decisions for Iris that everyone gets screwed over. It’s one of the reasons for the resentment and bitterness that grows within you. Only they can be happy, no one else can.

“You left Iris and Felicity while this place was crawling with Earth-Xers just to see Thawne!”

“Fucking prove it, you dickbag,” you screamed back at him, “if you’re so certain. Prove it, because contrary to your belief, I was fighting beside you and everyone else that day in the city once I managed to escape. Ask Cisco and Harry. Ask Sara. Hell, even ask Mick and Leo.”

Barry shook his head with a cruel smile, “Do you wanna know how I know?” The speedster took out his phone and started it up, showing the screen of your location. “Careful what you wish for.” Dread gripped your heart as Barry chuckled to himself. “That’s right. I chipped you, that night I pushed you against the doorframe before leaving for the warehouse fight. I chipped you. I already had Thawne chipped earlier that night. On his suit, when I landed a few hits on him. He doesn’t know or… not until recently.” Barry did a search for any pings, but there were none except for yours. “You asked me for proof, here it is.” He slid his fingers on the screen showing a timestamp and your location pinged with Eobard’s at the labs.

“This means nothing.”

“It means everything!” Barry stepped closer to you, anger in his wake. “You left us for him.”

“Yet I still fought with you guys because it was the right thing to do regardless of how I feel for him. You don’t understand nor will you want to understand. You’d rather label us as 100% on the wrong side without acknowledging that we can dwell in a gray area. The world isn’t just black and white, Barry. Or have you forgotten about your own morally gray decisions?”

Sparks crackled in the air, whether it was from you or Barry, no one could tell. Harry took a subtle step towards you from where he stood at the glass board a few feet beside you. He was the only one that can calm you down from this, maybe Iris too, but most definitely he himself. But Harry wasn’t quick enough because the Cortex monitors went haywire while the room darkened. You and Barry were nowhere in the room.

“Barry!” Iris screamed a second after he had sped you away.

***

Eobard raked a hand through his dark locks, analyzing the future article again. He fiddled with his rightful Reverse Flash emblem in his hands, his fingers tracing over the single lightning bolt. It took the genius a full day to extract the SS emblem from his suit, but with your help he was able to detonate it a safe distance away in some open fields. While the people of Central City slept and you had assured Eobard that the Labs were vacant, the speedster had rushed into his old office and compiled all the documents he needed to keep out of Barry’s hands. He’s honestly surprised Team Flash hadn’t rifled thus far into the records he kept. The only things missing were speed theories and the equation escalation to the Speed Formula. Although, he had solved that issue for Barry two years ago when he had traveled back in time for an answer on getting faster.

Still such a naïve child, not at all like the Flash from my future. Arranging some papers together on his new office desk, without meaning to Eobard had knocked over a picture frame. The breaking of glass caught his attention, craning his neck to see the fallen frame. The frame held a picture of you and him from before the Particle Accelerator exploded around Christmas. Before you had known his secret. But now the frame was adorned with a fierce crack through you. Eobard’s mouth went dry, knowing that superstitions were just superstitions, but he couldn’t exactly place the rush of fear welling in his body.

“Gideon, pull up (Y/N)’s location.” Eobard pulled his glasses off smoothly as the AI did as told. She was at the labs. “Access the live feed cameras.” Gideon pulled up holo-images 8x8 of what seemed to be a further escalating scene between you and Barry through STAR Labs. Gritting his teeth, Eobard summoned his suit and launched himself forward into it. The Negative Speedforce fueled by his anger and hate pumped dangerously in his veins.

Barry Allen will regret the day he dared to lay a hand on you.

***

“You’re a traitor!”

“Speak for yourself.” You grunted against the wall, your electric blade dissipating in your hand. It was getting harder to breathe, to keep up with his movements. With speedsters, you preferred long-range combat, but you had to make due at times. “You’re the one who betrayed everyone first for your own selfish desires. Flashpoint, the cause of so much pain and misery. In the end, there was so much collateral damage, and you were the cause of so many lives lost.”

“Flashpoint should have wiped you away. You should have been thankful. We helped you,” Barry fumed, pressing his forearm harder against your throat. “We stood by you.”

“They stood by me.” You tried channeling your electricity, even to siphon off a lick of his in order to produce a dagger, but to no avail. Only sparks flickered from the tips of your fingers, “You couldn’t stand the sight of me when you brought me in.” You had no grievances towards anyone else other than Barry. Not Iris, not Caitlin, not Joe, not Cisco. Certainly not Ralph simply because he’s new. And not towards Harry and Jesse. Iris and Caitlin were the two people who kept you the most grounded to the world for they understood the loss of a loved one and the process of moving on.

“You’re damn right I couldn’t. I was wrong to have let you stay around after Iris and Caitlin rehabilitated you.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make, now, was it?”

“You’re a monster just like Thawne. You’re not a hero.”

You simply spit blood in Barry’s face. “I’m neither thief nor hero.” You were kind of enjoying pushing his buttons, releasing all those pent-up emotions and frustration over the years. Wiping his face clean with his sleeve, the speedster sped you out of the room, throwing punches and kicks at you. He had run you through the entirety of STAR Labs. You siphoned off passing energy from computers and lightbulbs to throw at him Palpatine-style when there was distance between you two, but there was only so much you could do in your current condition. You were getting tired; you couldn’t keep up. Every burst of electricity that burned him had drained you. Blood continued to trickle from the side of your face and sweat glistened on your skin. You healed fast, but he healed much faster.

“Barry, stop! You’re going to kill her.” Iris shouted with a gun in her hand, the others piling into the room. Cisco threw a wave blast at Barry and Frost aimed a couple of icicles his way, but the speedster had dodged them. The scarlet speedster tossed you to the ground like a bag of peanuts before turning to the others. You skidded to the side, breathing in deeply then coughed up some blood into your fist. Blood continued to trickle from the side of your face and sweat glistened on your skin. You could feel your cheek swell as well as an ache form in your chest, maybe a few cracked ribs. Could potentially puncture your lungs if this didn’t end soon.

“And why shouldn’t I? For all we know, she could be spying on us for Thawne.”

“Barry killing her won’t solve anything,” Harry shot at him with his pulse rifle to create some distance between you two before training it on you. “It’ll just make things worse.” You met his eyes, and you could see the disappointment in them. A tinge of guilt hit you, but you pushed past it as you stood on unsteady feet. Your body felt like it was made of lead, but you continued on. If this is how things are to be, then so be it.. You leaned against the wall, cradling your damaged ribcage, as Harry continued. “Regardless of her actions, she did keep Iris and Felicity safe in her own way, she still stood by us.” You were finding it extremely hard to breathe, to stay conscious. Your breathing slowed, the noise in the room between Team Flash was reduced to murmuring to your ears. Did I burst an eardrum too?

“Are you kidding me, Wells? How can you say that when-”

You blinked before collapsing onto the ground, a streak of red had filled your vision. Eobard pinned Barry to the wall, his hand squeezing at his throat while red hot anger filled his vision. “Good to see you again so soon, Flash,” the yellow speedster drawled with a rough grin in his distorted voice. “It seems like you overstepped your boundaries.” Eobard kicked Barry in the ribs and landed a few speed punches, the scarlet speedster already exhausted from his fight with you. “Isn’t this position nostalgic?” Barry was clawing at Eobard’s firm grip, suspending the young hero in the air against the wall as he had done years ago.

“I- had a feeling... you’d show up, Thawne,”

Licking your bloodied lips, you groaned as you leaned up with hoarseness in your voice, “Eo, don’t.” The man in yellow stopped, slowly turning his quaking gaze towards you. You held his gaze for as long as you could get the message through to him. “Enough.” Eobard retracted a fist that was to make contact on Barry’s face, but not before squeezing the scarlet speedsters throat tightly and throwing him towards the upper part of the speed lab. Eobard took off his cowl and generated his speed to be by your side, eyeing every cut and bruise on your broken skin. Your eyes drooped shut when he brushed the back of his gloved hand against your unwounded cheek. His eyes softened, but his insides clenched. Iris and Caitlin had run to where Barry laid while Harry and Cisco monitored Eobard with caution as he gently scooped you in his strong arms.

Standing up with your limp form, the speedster disregarded Cisco, yet glared coldly at his supposed doppelganger. The future genius then turned to them and spoke, “My love for her is what stopped me this time. Next time,” his eyes landed on Barry, “you won’t be so lucky. Lay a hand on her again and I won’t hesitate to end your miserable life, Flash.” His eyes flashed red as they met Barry’s for the last time before taking his leave in a wake of red electricity.

***

Eobard stopped his vibrational intimidation once he made it to your temporary home, Gideon had already prepared the necessary diagnostic tests that would need to be conducted to assess your health. Laying you on the gurney gently, he kissed your forehead before proceeding. The speedster had cleaned you up, replacing your burnt clothes and scrubbing the dried remnants of blood on your skin. His heart shattered. His blood turned to ice. Eobard’s baby blues scanned every part of your marred skin. Lines that tallied up right after another, scars that were too stubborn to heal correctly as if trying to serve as a reminder. Eobard’s mouth had dried as his thumb made featherlight touches before injecting the needle into the correct vein. The speedster opened his mouth and closed it, but he could not register any other emotion other than anger and guilt. His thoughts funneled fluidly, emphasizing that one certain cause that led to this escalation. His death had been the cost of your mental and physical state.

Never again. The speedster peppered kisses along your arms as all the implied images ran through his mind. A tear slipped out. It fell from his face onto the scarred tissue. My love. He needed to get back to work. With classical music dancing in the background, Eobard conducted a blood transfusion in order to replace the blood you had lost as well as administering IV fluids. He had to steal the materials from a hospital nearby in Keystone. They won’t be missing it.

“According to my current readings, copious amounts of stress have been exuded onto her heart allowing her to retain a constant distressed state.” Gideon rattled on as Eobard sat next to you with a sleeve rolled up. He glanced over at you as the AI continued. “The X-ray scans have also been completed. She’s suffering trauma in her ribcage, a few cracked ribs, however none are broken. CT results also conclude a mild concussion.”

She’s lucky her lungs hadn’t been punctured. His hate for Barry Allen grew with every second that you laid unconscious.

“How long until a full recovery?”

“Physically it could take up to 3-6 weeks regarding her ribs. The mild concussion will take approximately almost a week and a half. Her heart might take longer. Therefore, she must avoid extraneous activity.”

“Such as using her powers and so on.”

“Yes. Shall I assist you with anything else today, Professor Thawne?”

Eobard ran his fingers over his lips before taking his glasses off and throwing them onto the side of a nearby table. “Keep tabs on Barry Allen’s movements, I want to be alerted if he comes near Keystone or has any intention of it.” The AI nodded before shuttering away into the plinth. Yes, the speedster had been smart to chip him, something Eobard had easily gotten rid of. But to chip you as well, Thawne cursed himself for not seeing it coming. Too preoccupied with the timeline and it’s malleability. “Hopefully DeVoe will keep him away long enough.”

***

Your eyelids felt like they had been cemented shut, the stinging smell of antiseptic slapped you right in the face. Am I dead or in a hospital? A groan left your lips, your throat dry as a desert and craving any drips of water. I hope I’m not in a hospital, I hate those places. The nice thing was that a light wasn’t blinding you, at the very least not piercing through the darkness supplied by your shut eyelids. It was oddly soothing. Your mind finally processed the dull ache residing in your bones, the softness beneath you and the slight chill in the air. Maybe I am dead. Taking one slow breath in, your blood vessels throbbed louder with each fluid pumped through and the humming of machines finally registered to your ears. You didn’t want to open your eyes; you were content with just laying here.

“…” You frowned, the sound of mumbling coming to you. Who was that? “Gi… ru-… I-.” Death, perhaps? You twitched your fingers, a numb sensation set in both your arms. If I’m dead, how can I still feel? It took a moment for your brain to catch you up on how you’d been reduced to such a state. Barry… killed me? No, that’s- Eo was… You shakily formed a fist only to feel something cool against your skin. Felt like another hand. Not bony. Maybe Death gave the appearance of a human for us to pass.

“Mm,” you tried clearing your throat, but it hurt each time, inducing a coughing fit. Blinking wearily, you looked around, your vision blurry until it settled on the being the hand had belonged to. “Mm, I…”

“Shh,” the deep voice cooed. You could hear much more clearly now but couldn’t make out the image of the being. “I have some water for you,” you felt a straw tap your lips. “Drink up.”

Why is Death being so kind to me? I thought Death was swift. You drank a sip at a time before pulling back and shutting your eyes once more. The somatosensory neurons on your arms brushed against some coarse material. A blanket? That same cool touch caressed your cheek. You blinked your eyes open a few times, dizziness ensnaring your mind, but your eyes met icy blue ones. “Eo?”

“I’m here,” he whispered in a gentle tone, standing up from where he sat next to you.

“I’m not dead.”

“No, you’re very much alive”

“Barry, he…”

“I’ve dealt with him. He won’t ever hurt you again.” You watched as he kissed your bandaged hands, each finger receiving a kiss. Cracking your neck, your realized he had changed you into fresh clothes. The scent of faint lavender hung onto the fabric.

“How long was I out?”

“Two weeks.”

It hurt your head when your eyes bugged out. You patted your temples lightly. “Two weeks? What- I-I need to get back. They were going to confront DeVoe. Harry and-”

“No,” Eobard pressed his palm against your shoulder when you tried to sit up abruptly, “You need to rest. Screw Team Flash. For once, just let them be so you can recover.” The speedster did not ask for what had happened to you, knowing the implications in his mind were too strong to be false. Rather, he’d make sure it would not occur a second time

“It’s not that simple, Eo.”

“It really is,” the yellow speedster sighed to himself, rubbing his face. You gestured to the water, and he handed the cup to you. “You’re in no condition to go back there, not after what happened. Your powers and your fight did a number on you. I-…. Your heart stopped a couple of times.” You almost choked on your sip. “I had to jumpstart your heart and keep it going.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For worrying you.” For being a liability that Barry can use.

“Don’t. This,” he gestured with his hands between you and him, “is not something to apologize for. Ever. If anything, it was smart of him to use you for bait as I had used Iris and Eddie.” You pressed your lips into a thin line as your mind started to wander.

“So, we wait?”

Eobard nodded as you ran a hand through you knotted hair. Need to brush that out asap. “We wait until it’s time to strike.”

“Until it’s time for you to strike. I’m remaining neutral in whatever it is between you and Barry in the future. Even if he might not see it that way.” Tipping the scales, balancing good and evil natures in the forces of the world. That’s what He told me my role in the multiverse is along with...

“I know, my love.” I don’t know how to break this to her. “But until then, rest.” If I ask her to come with me, would what I orchestrate then work?

“Eobard.”

“Hm?” Eobard knew he needed to go back to sort a few things out. Chances of getting caught were roughly 30-70, but not zero.

You shifted over to make room for him, patted the spot next to you. “Stay.”

Or would she become collateral damage?

“Always.” The speedster leaned down to kiss your lips before moving in beside you. You laid your head on his chest, minding the slight tremors of pain. Eobard kissed the top of your head and you shut your eyes. You’d go to the ends of the multiverse for him, but you’d also protect your friends. Being at odds with Barry wouldn’t stop you. He just needed to learn to live with your choices as everyone else has had to live with his.

Eobard’s mind ran through every scenario, deciding it’s best to tell you what he intends to do. He’d rather you decide for yourself what to do. The negative speedster respected the position you held onto. Neutrality wasn’t always an easy feat, but he admired your devotion towards him and the ones you love. Eobard was just selfish enough to only want and care for you. He didn’t need anyone else. He certainly didn’t need camaraderie. Tomorrow, he’d tell you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to take the first step towards ensuring the future.

Betrayal is a fickle thing, Barry Allen. A lesson you will learn again.

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folkloreguk · 4 years

Text

Paris (optional bias)

A/N: This is just something short I’ve had in my drafts for so long and I’ve finally finished it...there’s not much storyline but I swear it’s really sweet and I hope you like it x

genre: photographer!bias, suggestive themes, some kissing and cuddling, just two people on holiday and deeply in love tbh (pls send me some tissues)

words: 1.4 k

“Stay still baby,” he demanded, but not in a rough tone. It was gentle, a little sleepy. You chuckled, hearing the familiar click.

“You look so gorgeous in this light,” he mumbled, his face hidden behind his camera. The curtains of the hotel room were pulled away slightly, so the golden evening light could enter. You were going to get up, but now you fell back into bed, giving in to your boyfriend. Your hair was messy, your makeup even messier. Your clothes were everywhere but on your body.

For a moment you gazed at your boyfriend as he tried to photograph you from the perfect angle. He’d always preferred watching the world through a lens rather than just his eyes. Until you had come along. In you, he had found a new challenge. Oh, how many times you had heard him complain about how he couldn’t seem to capture your beauty in a photo. As if you were some part of nature that simply was too beautiful to fit into a picture. He had compared you to the night sky, a roaring waterfall, the light of the setting sun and fireworks – all his favourite things, basically. Although you didn’t agree. When it was hard to see your beauty in the mirror, one look at the collection of photos on your wall sufficed. Seeing yourself through his eyes made you feel like you were enough. More than enough, in fact. You understood a little better what he saw in you, and slowly you had also started seeing the good, beautiful things in yourself.

It had been a year since he had asked you to be his girlfriend. For your anniversary, you had booked a trip – your first holiday together, in fact. Now it was just the two of you, together, in a strange city. Without a care in the world. That’s what you had agreed on.

You spent your time in bed, exploring the streets where even tourists weren’t found, trying all of the local food and then spending more time in bed. As always, your boyfriend couldn’t put his camera down. Not even in his holidays. But you didn’t mind because you knew it made him happy. And when he was happy, so were you.

His hair was probably even messier than yours, but it made you smile to know you had made it that way. He grinned, watching you through his lens.

“Can I please go to the bathroom now?” you asked, stretching on top of the blankets.

“If you come back quickly,” he answered, and you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” you joked. Your legs were a little weak as you got up. You could still feel where he had touched you, making your cheeks heat up.

When you entered the bedroom again, he had taken your spot on the bed. The last sun rays were now catching in his sparkling eyes, tangling in his hair and dunking his skin in a golden, glowing light. His bare chest was rising and falling steadily and he had draped the sheets over his lower body lazily. He looked at you as if you were the rarest sight in the world, some mythical creature only the luckiest got the chance to encounter once in a lifetime and like you held all the answers to the universe all at once. An overwhelming feeling of love overcame you at the sight of him.

As soon as your leg touched the bed, he opened his arms for you. Smiling, you clung to him as he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead. Even though you were thousands of miles away, you had never felt more at home than in that moment. Your safe place was wherever he was.

Softly, his hands wandered across your skin, drawing random patterns. Sometimes he touched you as if you were artwork at a museum. Too fragile and too precious, maybe even forbidden to lay his hands on. Other times, he dug his fingers deeply into your skin and pulled you flush against his hot body, trapping you under his weight and making it hard for you to breathe with his feverish kisses. His light chuckle rang ever so delightfully in your ears as he noticed the dark hickeys on your chest. His personal masterpiece, only for you to see. If he was the artist, you were his muse and his canvas. The touch tickled you a little. When he traced the dark shapes on your skin you shivered, and when his fingertips came close to your nipples your heart skipped a beat or two. Softly, you swatted his hand away.

“Still haven’t had enough?” you asked.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he said. You didn’t blame him. If anything, you had never related more. You had just closed your eyes, trying to listen to the way his heart was beating underneath your head, when he rolled over on top of you. When you looked up at him, he had already lowered his head to kiss you. Without your control, your lips curled into a smile. Compared to earlier, when his kisses had been so full of passion and need, they now felt soft, like candy cotton clouds on your skin. Your lips moved slow enough for you to consciously notice every little sensation. The way his hair tickled your forehead, his nose brushing against yours, and his hand intertwining with yours next to your head. Deeply, you breathed in, only to sigh because his scent overtook all your senses with a rush you thought one could only receive from consuming drugs.

His bare chest against yours was warm and your legs tangled with the blankets by your feet. Through the gap in the window you heard the lively song of birds and chatter of both other tourists and residents in the city. Physically, they were just outside, a few levels lower, on the street. But your head was miles away from it all. It was all heart eyes and lips practically quivering with the need to let him know how much you loved him. He beat you to it.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered. “So much. All of you.”

He peppered kisses on your neck and squeezed your hands in his. How come your heart could never get used to these words? Why did it have to jump the way it did, every single time? Not once had you been able to stop the big smile on your face upon hearing the confession – not that you tried hard, because why should you have – and each time you had to regain your composition for a few seconds, until you could return those words.

“So am I,” you said. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yesterday you said the ice cream shop downtown was the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” he teased, a smile evident in his voice.

“That was an exaggeration, obviously,” you said. “If you hadn’t been there with me, it would have only been a fifth as delicious.”

“Thank god,” he said, exaggerating. “I almost thought I had lost against some chocolate ice cream there.”

“Come here, silly,” you said. He raised his head from your neck and grinned. Sometimes you were nearly convinced he could have cured any problem with his handsome smile. But the look he was giving you was reserved only for you. It was saying words without having to speak and held countless memories from the past.

“You’re my favourite person in the whole universe,” you said. “And yes, I do know that none of the aliens out there could possibly be better than you. But I do hope we go back to that ice cream shop tonight.”

His eyes had gone from loving to amused and back to loving. Gently, his lips met yours again. The kiss only lasted for a short while, but it said enough.

“We can go back there,” he said. “Do you wanna go for dinner now? Down by the river?”

“Let’s stay like this, just five minutes longer, alright?” you asked. You weren’t quite ready to lose his warmth on your skin and to leave this little, perfect world inside the hotel room just yet. In fact, if it was possible, you’d drag out the moment forever. And he seemed to agree. He hummed and nodded quietly. The next time his lips met yours, you didn’t let him pull away so fast. Five minutes, half an hour, an hour, what even was time when you were with him?

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perksofbeingatallpotato · 4 years

Text

Fitting Room One

Harry Hart x Reader Warnings: NSFW, NSFW, NSFW Word Count: 1,769 (Totally unintentional) A/N: I think we all know what happens in fitting room one. I googled and ‘popping one’s cherry’ doesn’t always refer to ‘losing one’s virginity,’ but it could also mean ‘do something one has never done before’ ;) Posting this in celebration of my two years on Colin Firth stan Twitter and for reaching one thousand followers! Thank you everyone for sticking through all my shenanigans.

An afternoon trip at the tailor shop on a weekday usually guarantees there aren’t any clients around, and the man at the front desk is busy doing actual tailoring.

You and Harry Hart had decided to meet-up at the shop before heading to the HQ. You planned to restock your weapons and ammo after your last mission. Unlike Harry, you don’t have an arsenal at home.

When you arrived, he was already there.

The ring of the bell announced your arrival. Harry turned to see who entered the shop. He smiled, that kind of smile that makes your heart flutter when he saw that it was you.

“Hi Harry,” you spoke. He was standing just outside fitting room three waiting for you. "Hello," he said when you walked up to him.

He opened the door, gestured for you to come in first, and held the door. A whiff of his perfume as you walked past him made you ache for his embrace.

Stepping inside, you were welcomed by your own reflection. Then you saw in it that Harry checked you out as you walked in.

You hadn't seen each other for almost two weeks, with the exception of quick and encrypted video calls. You were both sent on separate missions on different continents. And besides, your relationship is what can only be described as surreptitious.

That meant going on dates requires a lot of effort and sneaking around, which is why you’ve only gone out thrice in the months you’ve been dating. Most of the time that the two of you get to spend outside of work is whenever you hang out as a group with Merlin, Eggsy, and Roxy.

None of you has spent the night at each other’s place yet. The fact that Eggsy, Roxy, or both of them randomly show up at your door whenever they feel like it makes it extremely challenging.

He was about to pull the hook that opens the secret door when you felt this strong urge to give him a swift kiss.

You turned to him and placed your hands on his waist. You just had to, especially with the way his suit contours his body. You stood on your tip-toes and placed a kiss on his lips. But Harry had other plans, he pulled you against him and he deepened the kiss.

Your hands slowly traveled up to his chest, to his shoulders, until it found its way at the back of his head. Harry, on the other hand, made his way down. His strong, calloused hand went from your chin down to your waist. He pulled away from the kiss momentarily to tell you how much he’s missed you. And you responded by kissing him again. The next thing you knew, you felt his growing excitement against you.

He gently pushed you against the wall and started to unbutton your suit jacket.

A bit out of breath, you stopped him and said “remember when... you said one does... not use other fitting rooms except for fitting room one... when popping one's cherry?” And Harry looked at you with the naughtiest twinkle in his eye.

You fixed your jacket and he let himself out of the fitting room first. He wanted to check if there are customers inside the shop. It would seem odd for them to see the two of you leave the room together.

Fortunately, the place was still empty. The man at the front desk is still probably in the back room.

Harry held the door open for you. Once you stepped out, you could no longer wait for his gentlemanly gestures like opening doors, and you headed straight to fitting room one.

He followed promptly. Locking the door behind him and heading straight for your lips with such urgency.

He wasted no time undressing you, his lips trailing kisses on your body with every piece of clothing he took off of you until you stood there in nothing but your birthday suit.

With the mirror behind you, Harry has a great view of your derrière and this turned him on even more. He started kissing you again like a man drowning and your lips were air. After a while, he trailed his lips to your jaw, down to your neck. He cupped your breasts, massaged them, and made sure to give them adequate attention with his lips and his tongue.

Harry guided you away from the mirror to the wall. He got down on his knees and looked up at you as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He slid two fingers in and complimented just how wet you are, and then he tasted you. His mouth started doing wonders on you. You've been stifling your moans; afraid someone outside might hear.

Harry was making passionate love with his lips on you, only pausing to finger you and watch you squirm, until you reached your climax. You grabbed his hands and held them tight. You felt so weak.

He stood up and kissed you, making you taste yourself. You were still panting from your orgasm, but you whispered in his ears, "now, about that cherry?"

Harry started removing his jacket and you helped with unbuttoning his shirt. Harry worked on his pants, his desire for you visibly evident. In what seems like a blink, the fitting room floor is littered with pieces of bespoke suits.

He lifted you up and leaned you against the wall. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and he is holding you on your thighs. Harry asked you if you were sure about this, he needed a yes or a no. You’ve never been so sure of anything in your life until this moment, so you replied with, "yes, I’m absolutely sure."

He aligned himself against you. He looked at you as he slowly entered you. He wanted to see the look on your face as he connected with you for the first time. You moaned, and Harry crashed his lips against yours to suppress the sound.

His thrusts were slow, passionate. The way Harry fills you is sending you to a different high. You’ve never felt like this with another man. You were moaning against his ear, and his breathing growing heavy despite his gentle rhythm.

"Harder." You whispered, and without thinking twice, he obliged. Harry went from gentle to rough. He was grunting. He was going in harder and faster, that you lightly hit your head against the wall. Harry saw this, though he didn't stop, but he slowed his pace a bit and managed to apologize in between his heavy breaths.

Without pulling himself out of you, he gently laid you on the floor. He pressed his body against yours. His weight on top of you is comforting and is turning you on even more.

You started kissing him as he goes again — slow, gentle, and he starts picking up his pace without worrying about you hitting your head on the wall. Your hands were digging at his back and Your low moans and his grunting were the only sounds that could be heard.

He was making love to you, rough but still with tenderness. And not long after, you reached your second orgasm and it sent him over the edge. “I’m sorry, I think I’m going to cum,” and Harry withdrew himself from you. He released his load on your stomach, and his warm white liquid reached your breasts.

Harry was hovering above you and he leaned in to give you a kiss, “you’re so beautiful.” He searched for his pants and used his handkerchief to wipe his cum off of you before collapsing beside you. The two of you were laying on top of your discarded clothes, catching your breath. You cuddled up to him, and he wrapped his arm around you.

“Let’s just stay here for a while and rest,” Harry said and you managed to reply, “yeah.” You are both well-trained spies, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what just happened.

You didn’t know how long it has been but you closed your eyes, and Harry might’ve snoozed for a while.

When he woke up and you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to be late,” you sat up in search of your clothes. You were on your knees reaching for your shirt and the sight of you stirred something in Harry.

He kneeled behind you and put his hands on your waist. You looked at him from the reflection on the mirror and he gave you a look that says he would love to ravish you all over again.

Little did he know that you also couldn’t get enough of him. “One more?” You asked him. “Yes, darling, if you insist,” he chuckled and he started kissing your shoulder. Slowly, you felt his breath against your neck and the tender brush of his lips followed.

He held his erect cock and moved it up and down your opening, hitting your clitoris and making you whimper. You leaned forward on your arms, aching for him to penetrate you again. Harry continued his teasing until the head of his cock was wet with your juices.

Harry watched from the mirror as he took you from behind. You put your hand over your mouth as he enters you.

One of his hands is on your hips, and the other one’s on your breast. You could see from the mirror he’s biting his lip. You didn’t know your sweet, gentle Harry loves to do it this way. He was watching your breasts move in the mirror with his every thrust.

This time you both orgasmed at the same time, he was intoxicated from the sight of you and from the feeling of you around his cock, and he wasn’t able to pull out in time. He released inside of you. When he pulled out, you were dripping wet with a mix of his ejaculation and your orgasm.

After that steamy lovemaking, you two started to get dressed. He picked up your clothes from the floor. Your crisp and tidy white shirt, as well as your suit, have creases in it that hopefully won't be noticeable, as did Harry's.

You were both spent from that last one and would love to stay here all day and do more things, but unfortunately, you both have to go to your respective debriefing.

When the two of you arrived at HQ, Merlin was there waiting. He looked at his watch and said, “Galahad, late again, sir." He looked at you and added, "you too, Lancelot.”

#Harry Hart x Reader #Kingsman x Reader #Kingsman Fan Fics

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huihuiheart · 4 years

Text

Spiked - Minho

Part of @clandestine-lixie ‘s Smutmas Collab and a great excuse to get some more Minho on my page!

Summary: It’s pretty much tradition at this point that Changbin spikes the eggnog at the annual Christmas party. What happens though when secrets slip through drunk lips and aren’t forgotten the next morning? At least not forgotten by the very person you confessed to.

Pairing: Minho x F! Reader

Warnings: Drinking (not drunk when having sex), drunken confessions?, cursing, some angst in the beginning, smut, lovemaking, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving), lots of petnames, moments where Minho is kinda smug, lots of praise, it’s sugary sweet, mild sir kink for a moment, fingering, some playful teasing.

I sincerely apologize but I haven’t had time to edit this yet, so...please excuse any errors and stuff I’ll be getting to those when I have some time. I wrote over half of this today with a migraine so we’re working on fumes here. Also if something seems off I apologize, I’ve never celebrated the holidays before so I honestly don’t know what Christmas is like....sorry.

Word Count: 4,992

“Awe don’t tell me you’re already finished taking bets? I haven’t even got mine in on how long before Changbin tries to get us all drunk.” You tease the rambunctious group in the living room as you remove your shoes by the door. Christopher joining you a moment later to help you with your coat, hanging it up for you as he often did.

“Hey, don’t look so glum. Felix was just getting to the interesting wagers now anyways. Bets of any kind are in Minho’s care this evening. Gifts for tomorrow morning under the tree as always.” Chris caught you up with where the ever excitable boys had already impatiently gotten up to, before stepping away with your coat so you could join the others.

“So what did I just miss then? You know the topic that had you all in a giggle fit?” You raise a brow as you claim a spot in their circle, between Minho and Hyunjin.

“Oh we were just discussing the last bet. Not that you’d be able to participate anyways seeing how it was about you.” Jisung smirks wickedly until you match his gaze with your own that was just as devious, making him fold in an instant, or so you think, “Just betting on whether we thought you’d stay the night or not this year.”

“That’s not interesting though, I stay practically every year cause I’m too drunk to go home alone and none of you will take me.” You chuckle shaking you head, “ A better bet would be who will get drunk the fastest, my money’s on Hyunjin.”

Minho took your bet money counting it out before the other boys made their wagers too, writing them all down as more and more bets danced through your group. Both those typical for the Christmas party and those unique to this year for whatever reason. Debates starting up over a few of them as they always did.

“No I’m telling you Y/N will be the first one to admit it. She always gets loose lipped when she drinks.” Jisung teases despite the validity of his statement, something you’ve proven true to them at more than just the previous Christmas parties.

“Still who she likes is the secret she guards more than anything else, she’d have to be so shitfaced for that to come out it would be ridiculous!” Changbin counters, “ My money is on Felix, he was practically giving it away unprompted last year. It wouldn’t be too hard to get it out of him if we really tried.”

“Maybe that’s just cause Y/N doesn’t trust some of you to keep your mouths shut.” Christopher shrugs as he takes a seat, though all eyes are on him not because of the motion, but because of his words. Giving away that you had already confessed your crush to at least one person in the room.

“Wait. So you told him, but you didn’t tell me? What do we even gossip for? Let I’m lowkey offended right now.” Hyunjin whines used to being your partner in crime when it came to exchanging secrets about your group, even the things you’d never tell anyone else. Trusting the other to lock it down tighter than even their own secrets, even if you exploited that information at times. Like when Hyunjin conveniently ended up paired with his crush for every game of the spring break party.

“In my defense I was distraught and looking for you when it slipped. Chris was just the only one around, so he’s the one who got that information.” You counter knowing there wasn’t any taking it back at this point anyways, Hyunjin barely accepting your answer with a grumble. You were somewhat glad that it was the case though, he’d surely exploit the information tonight if he had it. In this case you should be safe, or so you thought before you noticed the subtle smirk on Christopher’s face before he glanced between you and the very crush you’d revealed to him....Minho.

“Hey, the boys sent me to see if you needed any help.” Minho steps into the kitchen watching as you moved to pull something out of the oven. Most of the food had already been prepped before you arrived so you offered to be the one to actually cook it. This being the fourth time in an hour and a half that Minho had been sent to check on you, each time he showed up besides you though he announced himself with those same words....the boys sent me. Them digging a little deeper into your heart whenever you’d hear them again. It implying that that he never actually chose to come to you of his own will, only coming to you since the boys told him to.

“I’m fine Minho. You can go back to the others.” Your words were sharper than you intended and it nearly made you wince, even if he didn’t return your feelings he was still your friend and you shouldn’t be so harsh to him. Sometimes your feelings managed to rear their ugly head before you could stop them though, something you’d feel regret for later

“Rose....your thorns are showing again.” Minho’s gentle voice says the familiar phrase as he moves to stand at your side. His nickname for you with a subtle announcement of the fact that your emotions were slipping out quicker than you often registered, something he always managed to stay calm through no matter how snappy you sometimes got, “I don’t know what riled you up, and I don’t have to. You should go take a minute to calm down though. I’ll watch the food.”

The way he spoke to you was enough to calm you down enough to regain your composure, but not wanting to be so close to him and unintentionally get worked up again you conceded. Slipping outside into the frigid air for a few moments to collect yourself before finding the others in the living room again, sitting besides Christopher now.

“The eggnog spiked yet?” You question with a soft sigh as you lean against his shoulder, causing him to chuckle and nod, “Good, cause I’m going to need a drink to make it through the night.”

“You drunk yet Y/N?” Changbin teases as he pours you another glass. Internally cursing him out, he knew damn well he put something stronger in the eggnog this year without any warning. Knowing that you and Felix at least would try to keep up with everyone else despite being two of the light weights of the group. The others in that category smart enough to stop before they could make a fool out of themselves, even accidentally.

“Not drunk enough to lose to Felix or spill any secrets yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” You call him out, brow quirking as if to challenge him to tease you again. The alcohol buzzing through your system making you more confident in challenging them, even if it slowed your wit slightly.

“Nah just wondering if you’re drunk enough to at least confess you’re spending the night? Well officially anyways. We thought of a way to determine who you’re going to stay with tonight.” Changbin brings his own glass to his lips, hiding his smirk knowing that Christopher had come to him and Hyunjin with a plan to rig it so that you’d end up with Minho.

“Fine, I’ll confess to that.” You chuckle not catching onto their schemes, “So how are we figuring it out then? What’s your big, genius plan?”

The sarcastic way you’re carrying yourself makes Hyunjin snicker, leaning towards Christopher, “Oh if only she knew...” He shakes his head slightly before shaping up, to hide any suspicious acts from you, “Simple, you’re just drawing the name out of a hat. You know the deal though, you only get to pick once and that’s who you’re stuck with.”

“Yeah, I know the deal.” You sit up further waiting for them to bring the hat over, the liquid courage running through you making you feel really good about your odds. It was only a 1 in 8 chance that you’d end up picking Minho, you were most likely safe from your crush. Well the possibility of embarrassing yourself while alone with him anyways. Or so you thought until you managed to pull his name out of the hat.

“Well.....I guess I’m rooming with Minho tonight....”

"Alright I think that's enough for one night." Minho takes the glass from you before you can get it refilled yet again. You'd lost count three drinks ago, hoping you'd get passed out drunk instead of having to face him. Luck wasn't on your side this evening though as Minho still had his wits about him and he refused to let you do something dangerous to your health.

"But Minho, if I'm not drinking what am I going to do?" Your whine is only added to by the small subconscious pout adorning your drunk face.

"We've both had enough and are going to bed now. It's 4 fucking 37 in the morning and you know someone's gonna be waking is up too goddamn early hangover or not. So if you wanna drink something it'll be water on the way to bed." Minho insists moving to help your inebriated form up from your seat on the floor and towards his upstairs bedroom.

"You can use the bathroom, I put some clothes in their for you so you can sleep comfortably." Minho sits on th edge of his bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through seeming almost entirely disinterested as you wobble off to the bathroom. Not getting far though before you have to pull the door open with a blush, your shirt wedged half on with only one arm successfully out.

"M-Minho I got stuck, c-can you help me?" Your words held no room for any hidden implications, especially not when panicked tears started to well in your eyes.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I'm gonna help you and you'll be just fine." Minho coos trying to reassure you, not knowing your panic was partly due to having to face him like this. His warm hands gently in the way they helped untangle you from the shirt you'd somehow managed to get trapped in.

"There you go, all better. Now go get those warm clothes on and get in bed before the cold settles in too much." He insists gently wiping away the last of your tears before you returned to the bathroom.

Silence filled the space when you returned, saying nothing as you switched places with Minho. Sliding into the bed while he was in the bathroom. It wasn't like you'd never slept there before, staying with the boys frequently meant that you'd slept in all their beds at some point but never since your feelings for Minho had developed so much had you stayed in his. Never after you'd felt like you'd embarrassed yourself beyond repair in one evening either. Not realizing you were sniffling with a fresh batch of tears until Minho returned.

"Hey what's wrong rose? You've been upset all day. Please talk to me, we don't like when you're upset." Minho's brow furrows as he uses the paw of his sweater to gently wipe away the tears again.

"I-It's just so hard Minho. I don't know if I keep doing this." You feel exhausted from the alcohol, the excitement throughout the evening, and now an emotional breakdown too and yet you needed to get this off your chest or even that might not be enough to let you get rest tonight.

"What is? What's hard? What can't you do?" Minho asks feeling his heart bleed at your distress even if he was able to stay as calm as he was.

"L-Loving you...."

You had passed out nearly the moment those words had left your lips, but Minho couldn’t, not after your confession. It had been the last thing he’d seen coming after trying not to look desperate to you all day. Yet you’d confessed to him of all people and it weighed too heavily on his mind for the next two hours to even consider getting any sleep. Only getting maybe two hours in before an excited Jeongin bound in to try and wake you both up so everyone could come downstairs for Christmas. Though Minho ensured he never got to you before he shoved him out with hushing sound. Slipping down behind him to grab some water, coffee, and pain meds for when you’d wake up. Telling the boys you’d had a rough night, probably drank too much, and should be left alone to sleep as long as you needed. Not expecting you to already be shifting awake when he returned to the room.

“Hey, you can sleep more if you want. It’s alright.” Minho gently brushes the hair out of your face as your eyes slowly blink open, leaning into the warmth of his touch without realizing, “I brought you meds and coffee if you’re felling hungover.”

You accept his help to sit up and take the meds, willing your fuzzy mind to clear enough to recall what happened the night before, “Minho...d-did I do anything last night? I-I can’t remember.”

Minho froze debating how he should answer that, he wanted to be honest with you, but after seeing how upset you were the night before he didn’t want to embarrass you at all, “W-Well, umm....”

“I-I said something didn’t I?” You could read his face for once, the calm demeanor gone and it telling you something had happened. The way his eyes widened at your question was enough to confirm what you thought as panic bubbled up and made your throat feel tight, “W-Whatever I said I didn’t-”

Minho cut you off by pressing his lips to yours quickly, feeling his own panic, “P-Please don’t say that you didn’t mean it. I think I would die if I lost the hope that you actually loved me back.”

The panic stopped almost instantly, feeling it dissipate as you processed his words, “L-Love you back?....Y-You mean you love me too? B-But you were acting like I was such a bother yesterday.”

Minho sits on the bed, pulling you into his arms before you could cry again, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I-I just didn’t want to look desperate when I couldn’t think of a reason for you to love me too.”

“You’re an idiot, I was literally like so obvious.” You whine softly and he chuckles though his focus seems to shift as his gaze falls to your lips, “You can kiss me again you know....a-after all we both just confessed so it would make sense to...”

Minho’s eyes flick back up to yours as a smirk forms on his face, but he makes no smart comment as he gives in to what both of you are wanting. Leaning in to kiss you again, less panicked this time as his lips softly meld with yours. Though the both of you were pouring too much emotion into it for it to become anything less than desperate. Now that you had each other you needed that more than air itself, it remaining sweet despite the way you both chased after each other as if afraid this would all disappear if you separated for any real stretch of time. You feel the faintest trail as Minho’s hands move from holding you against his chest to cradling your head as he lays you back onto the bed.

“If you want to take things slower then just say so. I-I just don’t want to let you go.” Minho’s voice comes out so light you wonder how you hear it over the beating of your own heart, especially with how it races when his lips press a fleeting trail down your jaw between his words.

“Y-You don’t ever have to slow down Minho, I’ve wanted this.....wanted you for too long to do that now.” You insist with a low moan as his lips press a little firmer against a sweet spot on your neck.

Minho hums against your skin too caught up in you to care about words when he could show you how he felt better anyways. His hands gripping at your sides, thumbs rubbing soft circles as if he’s afraid he’ll break you by being too firm. So you decide to make a larger move, reaching to grip the hem of his sweater and pull it off him, letting your hands and eyes roam his newly exposed skin. The feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips heating you up inside, the flame of desire flaring up faster than you would have thought possible if the person before you had been anyone other than Minho. Minho’s hands gripping yours before looking up at you for permission, hesitating even as you nod.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?” Minho’s fingers peak under the hem to rub gently at your skin beneath it.

“Well if I am then I guess you’ll just have to warm me up.” Your words seem to light the same fire in Minho as he doesn’t hesitate a second longer to his sweater off you. Hands running over your stomach to squeeze your breasts through the bra, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Guess I will.” Minho speaks against your lips, tone deepening as he lowers again moving to rid you of your bra as his lips trail towards your chest. You nipples pebbling slightly from the frigid air and his advances, but noticing the unpleasant chill that runs through you he presses against you more, letting his warmth radiate onto you. His warm mouth closing around your one nipple as his hand toys with and warms the other, switching between them with a new path of kisses to make sure they get equal attention. Until he gets impatient to show his affections elsewhere and his mouth lowers while adding soft nips between kisses to reach the hem of the sweatpants he gave you to wear. His fingers nimble as they work on the tie, though he doesn’t do more than that until he has permission from you to pull them down and leave you in only your panties.

“Oh the thoughts I had while helping you get untangled from your shirt last night my flower, and to think now a few of them are becoming reality.” Minho places a kiss to your hip, as his hands gently spread your legs, loving the way he’s able to fluster you so easily, “I’ve been dying for a taste and you’re not making it any easier for me. May I?”

The way he drags his thumb over the wet patch of your panties makes it hard to respond when you’re moaning and focused on that surge of pleasure, but the thought of getting something more urges you to form words, “Y-Yes please, I’ve been wanting to feel your mouth.”

“All you had to do was ask precious.” Minho gently blows against the wet patch making you squirm before kissing your thigh and slipping off your panties and lowering himself between your legs, placing the gentlest of kisses to your clit. The way you whine impatiently makes him chuckle against your core only making you squirm, his thumbs rubbing softly against your plush thighs as he grips them firmly to keep them open instead of impeding his work. He has no intent on tormenting you with teasing, not this morning anyways, but he still wants to savor the moment. The way he licks through your folds slow yet firm enough to spark delicious waves of pleasure through you, enough so that you can’t complain too much about his pace. Minho’s tongue and lips working everywhere to get every last drop of you that he can, while also focusing on your reactions to find what makes you feel the best. Knowing that his own patience will wear thin soon enough and he wants to know how to throw you over that sweet edge with more intensity than you thought possible, wanting to make all of you feel as amazing as his heart did upon hearing your confession.

“M-Minho please, I want to feel all of you.” Desperation bleeds into your words and actions as you squirm against his grip, hips trying to roll against his mouth and it has his eyes darkening with a new surge of lust. Nearly giving into you pleas, but you’re his first priority and it has him pulling away slightly making you whimper.

“Shh pretty girl, shh.” Minho coos softly, grip loosening as he runs his hands over your thighs and hips trying to get you to relax some, “Calm down, don’t get so worked up. I’ll give you what you want, I promise. You just need to calm down so that I can get you ready for me. We’ve waited a long time I know, but you can be good and wait just a little longer can’t you?”

This time a simple nod isn’t enough for him as he’s a little firmer with you in this moment, pinching your thigh lightly as he demands your words, “Y-Yes sir, I can be good for you.”

Minho has to take a deep, shuttering breath when he hears the word sir fall from your lips so perfectly, now was not the time to lose control, not when he wanted to show you every emotion he’d had trapped inside for so long. Not when he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. Yet, it does have him snap a little as he dives between your legs again with more purpose. Lips suckling and kissing your clit like his survival depended on it, eyes locked on your face as he feels your fingers weave into his hair. The soft tug you give has him moaning against your clit, only adding to that pleasure as he eases a finger in, though it’s not long before he’s able to add another. Curling them with each thrust in search of the spot that would have you trembling against him, thriving off the pleasure he’d able to feed you right now, nothing else in the world mattering more than your cries for him and the way you lose yourself to the sensations. He knows he’s found that spot, when you’re clenching around him, practically sucking his fingers in, thighs shaking as your edge hovers so close and yet just barely out of reach.

“Minho, please I’m close. Please make me cum or give me your cock, I-I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Your pleas sound magical to Minho, it being enough for him to give you what you want, speeding up his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit as he brings it between his lips again. Willing to throw your over the edge for the first time, so that he can have you losing his own patience as your nails drag lightly over his shoulders. The was you fall apart beneath him is like a work of art, the most beautiful Minho has ever seen as he slips his fingers from your spasming core to gently lick over you and ride you through the pleasure until you come back to him. Kissing you briefly before licking his fingers clean while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re sweeter than I ever could have imagined my flower.” Minho hums in approval, his smirk almost showing more in his eyes than on his lips. You’re quick to respond though not wanting him to drag it out any longer.

“I bet we’d taste sweeter together, but there’s only one way to find that out now isn’t there?” You purr back as your fingers work to untie his sweatpants, gripping both them and his undergarments to impatiently push both down at once. Freeing his beautiful, hardened length to you finally. Not giving him to to ask for your permission before you rub his tip through your folds, leg locking around his waist to urge his hips closer. Your actions seem to be enough as he places his hands on either side of you, slowly pushing in and leaning in as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

“You were awfully loud earlier flower, if you don’t quiet down then all the boys will know what we’ve been up to. Do you want that?” Minho’s question is somewhat serious, but it also holds a teasing to it as he’s proud of the fact that he can make you feel good enough to be so loud. You getting him back by rolling your hips against him and earning a groan from him. Hands slipping around his neck to tug him down and tease his lips with your own.

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” Your words are almost daring and they have him crashing his lips messily against yours as his own hips start to move against you. The patience between you both is gone as he finds a quick pace and yet he’s not manhandling or overly rough in his treatment, the erotic scene still one of passionate lovers. Baring their emotions to each other in the most desperate of ways despite not being able to handle a slow pace any longer. It being everything you could have asked for and more, right now you didn’t need the soft, slow lovemaking. You need this the desperate lovemaking, the kind that showed that Minho had been longing for you just as much as you’d been longing for him. The kind that showed that you were his now and that he would show you that in every way possible for as long as you would ask it of him. Where every move he made was to find what made you feel best, because you were what he most cared for in this world and where it was so much better than he could have imagined that he wasn’t sure if he could hold off. Though he was intent on your pleasure coming first as he angled himself to perfectly hit the spots he found brought you the most pleasure with each drag of his cock, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit as his other hand tangled into your hair to keep your lips pressed against his. Taking in all of your moans as your pleasure explodes once more, the feeling of you cumming on his cock enough to send him spiraling into his own high as he moans into your mouth in response. Slowing his thrusts as he rides you both through your highs. Hands gently tracing shapes over your heated flesh, finding you glowing in the aftermath of your climax.

“Come on my flower, I’ll help you shower before we join the others.” Minho kisses your forehead softly before scooping you up to take you to the bathroom. Getting you in the steaming shower as quickly as he can so that you won’t have to face the cold while bare for too long and so that you two can be quick enough to be able to get some food in before the others ate everything. Not that he wouldn’t cook you up a good breakfast if it came down to it. Willing to shower you in all affections imaginable after what you both had just done. Though before long Minho had you both cleaned up and in warm fresh clothes, going down the stairs to join the others.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?” Jisung questions Minho slyly as if they hadn’t all heard what you two had been up to earlier. Minho knew what he meant, but still didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah well I took a shower, so I put on something else.” Minho shrugs pulling out a seat for you, before taking his own so you two could eat breakfast as well.

“Oh did Y/N shower too? Her hair is all damp still.” Jisung innocently inquires taking a bite of his pancake trying to hide his smug expression. Minho gently moving your damp hair away from your bare skin so that it wouldn’t get too chilled.

“Well then you obviously know the answer.” Minho rolls his eyes adding his portion of whipped cream and other sweet toppings to your plate instead of his own.

“Hm I just find that interesting considering we only heard one shower running.” Jisung smirks at you both as the others snicker and chuckle, teasing you all through breakfast while exchanging knowing looks.

The teasing had died down some later as you all gathered around to exchange gifts. Feeling your heart stutter as you hold Minho’s in your hands, the man seeming flustered as you go to open it. Finding a small necklace inside one that looked like a lifeline with a heart at the end, flipping it over to find his initials on the back besides yours.

“So if things had been different this would have been when I confessed.” He admits in a soft whisper into your ear, a blush adorning his cheeks so beautifully as you laugh softly.

“It’s alright I liked the way things turned out much better anyways.” Minho admits before the guys pretend to gag and whine at all the pda they were witnessing.

“Alright enough of the mushy stuff, you have to open mine next.” Hyunjin dramatically insists shoving his gift in front of you, a pretty envelope sitting on top and beckoning you to open the card first. Your attention immediately drawn to a special little note at the bottom...

PS. Minho’s name was the only one in that hat.

“Well guess I ruined your little plan huh?” You tease, flustering along with him as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek in front of everyone.

#stray kids #stray kids smut #minho #minho smut #lee know #lee know smut #lee minho #lee minho smut #smutmas

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malibix · 4 years

Text

Quiet Radio & Travel Mugs of Tea || One-Shot | Hisirdoux Casperan x GN!Reader

Summary: After moving to New York to protect Nari from the Order, you find it hard to adjust to a city that never sleeps. Douxie’s solution is a little night drive that’ll take you away from the noise where you can finally get some peace and quiet.

Word Count: 1480

Warnings: None!

Douxie awoke to the sound of quiet tapping and movement coming from the kitchen of your shared apartment. His room was dark and the door was closed, but he could faintly see a soft warm glow creeping in under the door's crack.

He took notice that you weren't with him in bed like you usually were, so he got up to investigate. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and slipping on his house slippers, he made his way into the kitchen to find you shuffling about with a kettle on the stove.

"(Y/N)..? What are you doing up darling? It's 4 in the morning-" his voice was still thick with sleep as he spoke softly to you, as not to wake Archie and Nari on the couch nearby.

You jumped slightly, not realizing he'd come into the room.

"I couldn't sleep, the sound of the city is too loud- it’s taking awhile to get used too," you admitted, pulling your favourite mug from the cupboard. "I didn't wake you did I? Sorry if I did- I was trying to be quiet." You dropped a tea bag into your mug while chuckling softly, "Tea?"

"No no, don't worry. You didn't wake me, I was already kind of up from the noise as well."

It was partially true, partially a lie.. You hadn't been what woke him, he was naturally a light sleeper from all the years on the street in Camelot, and now with always having to be aware of his surroundings to protect Nari, he wasn't much better.

"And yes to tea, please." You nodded, pulling his regular tea from the shelf alongside his favourite mug.

"Yeah, it's certainly nothing like Arcadia, is it?" You asked, turning off the flame on the stove before the kettle had a chance to whistle and wake up the others.

"Hah.. no, not at all. It's going to take awhile getting used to I suppose.."

"Hey, why don't we go on a drive, like we used to?" He offered suddenly, stopping you from pouring the hot water into your cups. Instead, he reached for your travel mugs and tossed the teabags into them instead. "Tea to go," he told you with a smile and a shrug.

"I don't know, it's kind of late and I'm not really in the mood to drive.." You mumbled in your odd state of tiredness. You may not have been able to sleep and were awake because of the noise, but that didn't mean you were aware enough to be driving on the road.

"I'll drive," he told you, smiling softly as he took the kettle from your hands. "So what do you say? I can ask Archie to watch Nari while we're out, and we won’t be gone long. I can take us away from the noise of the city for a while, get us some peace and quiet?" he put the kettle down and made his way over to you, draping himself over your shoulders in an attempt to persuade you.

"Ughh, fine." You chuckled lightly, unable to refuse his request as he seemingly melted into a blob, putting all his weight on you as he leaned. "You wake Archie and I'll get the tea."

"Love you~" he said, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before going to wake up the familiar.

"Love you too," you smiled at him, rolling your eyes slightly at the wizard and his cute but strange antics.

As promised, you made your teas and screwed the lids onto the travel mugs before going to get one of Douxie's hoodies from your bedroom.

He came back out to see you pulling on your favourite hoodie of his, "Still living in that one, eh?"

"Well it is my favourite," he chuckled, smiling at you in his clothes.

"Though it is starting to lose it's smell, so you should probably take it back for a bit."

"Duly noted."

You exchanged smiles as you handed him his tea. He held the apartment door open for you on your way out, bowing his head with a soft ‘after you.’

You eventually plopped yourselves down in the car, you in the passenger and Douxie behind the wheel just as he'd promised. He started up the car and began making his way out of the city. From the passenger seat, you quietly sipped your tea while flipping through the radio stations to see what odd things were playing at this hour. You had also flipped the seat warmer on. It wasn't a particularly cold night, you just liked being warm and cozy, even in the car.

Eventually you settled on a station that was playing instrumental and acoustic versions of current popular songs, it seemed to fit the feel for tonight's spontaneous night drive.

The music being without its regular words most of the time left room for you and Douxie to fill the space with your own voices. Douxie sang along softly to the songs that played, while you did a little more humming as you enjoyed hearing his voice. That and you were also tired enough that you didn't want to put forth the energy to formulate the words you knew so well.

You kicked off your shoes and curled your legs up under you and onto the warmth of the seat.

Douxie smiled sweetly at you as you peered out the window, watching the world around you grow darker and quieter the further you drove from the city. You could still see the dazzling lights of the Big Apple behind you through the side view mirrors, but they were much less bright than actually being there.

The both of you took sips of your tea between humming and singing along with the music.

You drove for a while, as far from the city as you could get in a short amount of time (and still at a safe speed, mind you). Eventually you'd begun nodding off, welcoming the silence in comparison to the noise from the bustling streets of New York.

You pulled up the hood of your jacket to shield your eyes from any remaining light as you curled yourself up further in the heated passenger seat.

When Douxie had noticed that you'd begun nodding off, he turned the volume on the radio down a little bit and started humming instead of singing.

You ended up completely falling asleep at the end of the next song.

Douxie smiled at you, glad that you were finally able to get some rest.

He drove for a little longer before turning around and bringing the both of you back to the city.

The time of day meant less cars on the road and less noise to return to, but the large city never really slept. Lights still shone bright, even at this hour as they lit up billboards for all to see.

Your travel mugs once filled with tea were now empty, so he figured it would be okay to leave them in the car until tomorrow, seeing as he wouldn't have the hands to grab them when he needed them free to carry you back up to your apartment.

Once he’d parked the car, your wizard did his best to not wake you as he pulled you from the warmth of the car and into his arms.

He’d thought you were out cold but you still reached to hold onto him as he carried you from the car to your room. He couldn't help but smile at you, you looked so peaceful while you were asleep.

You were kind of coherent enough to process that you were in and out of sleep and that Douxie was taking you back upstairs but not exactly awake enough to get yourself there.

The hood you’d previously pulled up to shield yourself from the light was still up, he thought you looked quite cute wrapped in his hoodie.

He let Archie know that he was home once he returned to your flat, locking the door and making sure the protection wards were back up before bringing you to your room and tucking you in under the covers of your duvet. He did a quick security sweep of the apartment before crawling into bed next to your sleeping figure.

Douxie wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. After a bit of driving and a few cups of tea, he was glad that you were finally able to get a good night's sleep. Now he could finally sleep knowing that you were getting rest as well.

You snuggled into the warmth of his touch as he pulled you to his chest, happy to be home.

Inevitably, Archie and Nari would wake the two of you up in a few hours just after sunrise, but until then at least the two of you would get some much needed sleep.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie #douxie x reader #douxie x y/n #one shot #trollhunters #wizards #toa #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #wizards toa #wizards: tales of arcadia #douxie casperan #toa imagine #3below #douxie casperan x reader #fluff

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