#and just writes it off as a lost cause and gets rid of all the stuff for a snake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t.

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of.

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own.

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface.

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You.

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway.

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer.

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth.

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look.

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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karlachismylife · 8 months ago

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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qiyutism · 3 months ago

Text

"you became quiet all of a sudden. i'm not used to it."

summary: you had been working late, night after night for weeks now. you don't answer his calls, you give clearly rushed, short responses to his texts. you haven't even stopped by his studio in god knows how long. rafayel cant stand the lack of attention. can't stand being ignored. forgotten. abandoned.

had the bond your two souls share lost all meaning to you?

word count: 3,283 words

content warnings: angst with a happy ending. mentions/fear of abandonment. kissing and implied sex (if you wanna interpret it that way?) but no actual smut.

author's note: this is my first time writing a fic on tumblr! umm this is barely proofread because i'm sleepy asf so apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes, if i notice any i'll go back and edit them. but yeah, this was all mainly inspired by my own headcanons about rafayel's character and by the in-game dialogue below! please let me know what you think and maybe i'll write more in the future :)

tags: @m00nchildwrites @ghoulishnero <3 !!

heart dividers by @/cafekitsune!

the rain poured down like a waterfall, heavy raindrops hitting against your umbrella as you rushed to your apartment building. it was late at night, with the only thing illuminating the sidewalk at this hour being the flickering street lights and occasional blinding lightning from the storm.

after sprinting your way through the rain, you finally made it safely inside your apartment building. trying to regain your composure you paused for a moment, breath heavy with sheer exhaustion as you closed your dripping umbrella.

you sluggishly began your way to the elevators, wet shoes squeaking along the floors and echoing throughout the quiet lobby. pressing the button to go up, you then stepped back and waited only a few seconds before the elevator doors opened in front of you.

you were thankful that no one else was inside as you pressed your floor number and leaned against the cold wall, closing your eyes and letting out a loud sigh you didn't even know you had been holding in. you remained still, letting your mind and body rest, even for just a moment, before the ding of the elevator brought you back into your body.

you stand up straight and make your way to your apartment door, fishing your keys out of your purse as you get closer. you turn the key in the knob and open the door, quickly ridding yourself of your shoes and almost throwing the rest of your things to the ground. you'll worry about that later.

but right now, you were so incredibly tired.

every muscle in your body ached after weeks of training and battling wanderers nonstop. your head was pounding, as if there was someone inside your head repeatedly beating against your skull.

work had been pushing you especially hard lately, with a sudden increase in wanderer appearances causing hunters in various departments to be stationed around the city to protect citizens, and hopefully find a lead as to what triggered this influx in the first place. over the past month, you had been stationed in several different places around linkon, ordered to eliminate any potential threats to the area and investigate for any clues on what could be causing this.

and even when you weren't stationed out to be constantly battling wanderers, you were at headquarters sorting through mountains and mountains of paperwork. for hours on end, you would do nothing but read and catch up on previous investigations or potential leads that would explain the uptick in wanderers.

and yet, you nor anyone else in your department had seemed to uncover anything.

and for the past few weeks, the stress, skipping meals, and losing sleep had finally begun to catch up to you. when you would eventually be let off work and allowed to go home, you completely shut down. even your closest friends hadn't heard from you in who knows how long. you were always too fatigued to do anything but sleep the moment you stepped through your front door.

even rafayel suffered as a result.

you'll admit, despite everything, you still tried your damn best to reply to his texts and answer his calls when you could. but the frequency of which you two communicated had still been heavily impacted. sometimes, the best you could manage was only a short reply, if only to let him know that you were still alive and breathing at the very least. you hadn't even had the energy (or the time) to pop by his house for a visit.

realizing how bad things had gotten thanks to this increase of demands from work, how horribly you had been neglecting your physical and mental health, how badly you've been neglecting your friendships and relationship, you decided to finally reach out and request for some desperately needed time off. that's all you needed, was time.

some time to sleep in late and be able to wake up and have a calm, slow morning. some time to take a long, hot, relaxing bath to soak the stress and strain out of your poor muscles. some time to eat a big, filling, home cooked meal, a luxury you hadn't allowed yourself lately and instead opting for the convenience of take out meals or junk food snacks and sweets.

you needed time to go over to rafayel's studio and profusely apologize for how distant you had been.

with your thoughts circling back to rafayel yet again, you thought you should check your phone and see if he had sent you his usual stream of texts messages throughout the day. sprawled out across your bed, you slowly reach into your back pocket for your phone and check your notifications for the first time all day.

among the usual system notifications and messages and calls from friends, there was only one person you cared about and were specifically looking for.

30+ unread texts and 10 missed calls just from rafayel alone. you could swear you felt your heart physically break into a million pieces inside your chest seeing the sweet, playful messages slowly turn despondent and sorrowful as the day went on.

goooood morning cutie ♡ i finished another painting last night, reddie thinks u should totallyyy come over later and check it out :P

i went out to the beach today and collected some seashells to make some new paints. i think the hues will be perfect for an old piece i was working on

the hermit crabs outside have begun asking where u've been lately :/

miss bodyguarddd where are uuu :(

you're being quiet again today ...

cutie??

*missed call*

*missed video call*

you stare at the screen for a while, tears threatening to fall from your eyes as guilt digs its claws into your heart. you feel like a horrible partner, with work straining you mentally and physically, you've barely had the time or energy to even talk to your own boyfriend? of all people?

you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts as your fingers begin tapping the screen. you're not even completely aware of what exactly you're saying, all you know is that you need to make it up to him.

you have to see him.

your body feels heavy like a sack of bricks, its past midnight, and the storm outside is only just starting to let up. but looking back at this past month, you realize how much you've pretty much neglected rafayel. barely replying to his texts, and if you do its something sent in a fatigued, half-functioning state. you haven't had the time to answer his calls, not wanting him to see you so disheveled and almost on the brink of passing out at work. you damn sure haven't been able to visit his studio with how busy work has kept you.

mustering every last bit of strength in your body, you slowly make your way out of bed and into the shower. you need to at least wash off the day's stress from your body before heading over to his house. though it's nothing compared to soaking in a nice bath, the scalding hot water still does wonders for your body and you certainly feel more refreshed than before.

you slip on some comfortable clothes, just some sweatpants and a hoodie, before putting your shoes on and grabbing your purse from where you left it when you first entered. locking the door behind you, you begin your journey to rafayel's home, on a mission.

you check your phone again, every bone in your body hoping rafayel was even still awake and had replied to your text from before. usually he stays up late, either soaking in his bathtub or pulling an all-nighter on a painting project. so it's a little disheartening when you glance at your phone and see no new notifications from him. this doesn't deter you from your newfound mission, but it does plant a seed of worry that buries its roots deep within your chest.

the rain had thankfully seemed to have briefly paused by the time you arrive at your destination. you stand in front of the gate to mo art studio, that seed of worry already branching out and stretching through your entire body like a full grown tree.

still no text or call from rafayel.

you stand still, frozen in place by a heavy veil of doubt and ...

... fear?

will any amount of groveling and apologizing possibly fix what i've done? fix the pain i've caused him?

you notice your breathing start to grow louder and faster and try your best to calm yourself back down.

you were already here now. there's no going back.

you force yourself to push the gate open, stepping on the stone path towards the front door of his home. you stand there for another moment and decide to knock first.

*knock knock knock*

no answer.

*knock knock knock*

still no answer.

*knock knock knock knock knock knock*

silence.

taking a deep breath, you reach inside your purse and pull out the key rafayel had given you long ago when you two had first met. with shaky hands you insert the key, slowly and quietly letting yourself in.

your eyes almost bulge right out of their sockets at the sight of what you had just walked into.

the living room was a complete mess, as if a hurricane had came and swept through the whole place. paint tubes lay scattered around, various colors leaking from them onto the floor in streaks. paint brushes look like they were thrown against the wall, all laid on the floor in a pile under a big splat of paint made on the wall. canvases, some big or small, some blank or with a few strokes of paints struck across them, lay on the ground in several pieces, as if a wanderer had came and ripped them to shreds. the entire place just look completely unkempt and almost abandoned.

the only source of light allowing you to see anything was the glow of the moon shining through the open windows, faint wind blowing the loose sheer curtains inwards.

"rafayel?" you whisper, unsure if he's even awake or here at all.

you walk through the house, trying your best to remain quiet. as you continue on, you notice that it seems like some paint brushes and canvases and even parts of the walls have been burned? you reach your hand out to touch the scorched pieces, bits of ash and soot marking your fingers black.

this means rafayel was definitely here, but just what the hell happened?

you carefully step over and around all the mess, making your way through the home when you hear what you think is someone ... mumbling?

sounds like it's coming from his bedroom.

the door to his bedroom is slightly ajar, and before you make your presence known, you lean in and try to hear what's going on inside.

"she's gone. she's never coming back, and it's all my fault."

you immediately recognize the voice, and it's as if your heart was just ripped out of your chest and ripped to shreds.

"was i too clingy? did she feel suffocated by me? did i take my teasing too far? god, i fucked it up again, i can't lose her ..."

you feel tears start to pool in your eyes again, only this time its impossible to stop them from falling. one after another, the more you hear him spew on about what he must have done to drive you away, the more the tears flow down your cheeks like rivers.

in the midst of your breakdown, before you even realize, you instinctively let out a light sniffle. you were quiet, but the silence of the rest of the house only echoed the small sound even more. you heard what sounded like blankets shift before a small, weak voice spoke out.

"is someone there?" he mutters, his voice slightly shaky as if he had been crying as well.

you close your eyes and inhale, a sorry attempt to pull yourself together, knowing you had been caught. you slowly push the door open with a creak and reveal yourself to see rafayel, buried so deep under the covers that only his peeking head is visible. his hair is completely unkempt, as if he hasn't bothered to maintain it in who knows how long. as you slowly step closer you see his tear stained cheeks, the sight tugging at your heartstrings.

he looks like a shell of the rafayel you've always known. the rafayel you've known always had a mischievous grin on his face, like he had a trick up his sleeve waiting for you. the rafayel you've known always had a certain light, or twinkle in his eyes that brought him to life. the rafayel you've known always carried himself in a somewhat carefree and lackadaisical manner that made him honestly quite the joy to be around.

the rafayel cocooned in bed in front of you has lost that playful grin. his eyes as dark as the deep sea, and his carefree attitude has been replaced by a thick air around him akin to mourning.

you stand there, inches away from the bed, the two of you remaining in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

rafayel locked his eyes on you, a mixture of emotions evident in his eyes that he didn't even bother to try and hide. hurt, pain, disbelief, devotion. you could tell even he didn't know what exactly he was feeling right now. so you decided to take this moment of silence to speak first.

“rafayel i–”

you stopped, but your mouth remained opened, as if you were waiting for the rest of your words to load in your brain. and when they didn't, you could only find yourself beginning to sob yet again. your legs felt too weak to support you anymore, your entire body completely overcome with emotion as you sunk to the floor. you held your head in your hands as you simply let your tears flow like a faucet.

“rafayel i’m so sorry!” you began, shoulders rising and falling as you continued weeping.

“i got completely overwhelmed with work lately and everything has just been so stressful! i barely eat and i barely sleep anymore because work has kept me so busy and i’ve just been so tired every day!” you cry out, spilling your emotions out like a dam burst.

you paused for a quick moment just to catch your breath, the tears still not stopping.

“i’ve been wrapped up with work and haven't been able to be here for you and you have every right to be furious with me but please believe me rafayel, you’ve done nothing and could never do anything to ever make me hate you!”

you’re practically yelling at this point, trying your best to sound as sincere and truthful as possible to get him to believe you. you just can't stand to see him like this, it pains you to see the one person you love the most in this world convinced so deeply that you’ve fallen out of love with him.

when that's the absolute farthest thing from the truth.

you both sit in a tense silence for a few moments, your words repeating over and over again in rafayel’s mind. minutes pass and your sobbing finally seems to be coming to an end as you wipe your eyes with your damp hoodie sleeves.

the sound of your sniffles and choked, shaky breaths are muffled by the sound of blankets shifting around on the bed from above. you look up and watch as rafayel joins you on the floor, sitting only an arm’s length in front of you.

“do you still love me?” he whispers, so softly as if someone else could be listening in on you.

“with all my heart, rafayel.” you respond without a second thought, looking him directly in his eyes.

he takes a moment to gather his thoughts, looking off into the distance of the room as he then continues speaking.

“this past month, you became quiet all of a sudden. i’m not used to it. you stopped replying to my texts, stopped answering my calls. you wouldn't even come over to see me anymore. i thought i had done something wrong, that i must have hurt you. i really thought i had lost you, forever.”

his words grow softer and softer as he continues, almost fading out towards the end. he’s still unable to look you in the eyes as he attempts to put all of his racing thoughts into coherent sentences.

“i’m terrified of you losing you. of being abandoned by you.” he finally makes direct eye contact. “even the thought of it is enough to make me sick. when that terrifying thought seemed like it was becoming my reality, i lost control.”

you remember the current state that his home and studio is in. the paint splattered all across the floors and walls, paintbrushes thrown across the room, scorched pieces of the walls from his fire evol. he really did lose himself, because he thought i had left him for good.

he grows quiet again, fading out the last part of his sentence, but you’re latched onto his every word like a man dying of thirst reaching for water. you hear every word that leaves his mouth, as much as it still pains you to hear. it hurts you to hear just how horrible he’d felt this entire time.

you slowly reach for his hand, giving him time to reject your touch if he wasn't ready.

but he doesn't.

you grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and feeling the warmth from his palm envelop yours. he looks at you, the numerous emotions displayed in his eyes slowly melting into one.

love.

“rafayel, you will never lose me. and i promise you that. i’m yours, in this lifetime and the next. forever.”

the two of you remain still, hands intertwined, eyes locked on one another. rafayel is the first to move.

he lets go of your hand, instead moving both of his to cup your face and watches as shock momentarily washes over your face. you swear you see a glimpse of that mischievous grin return to his face before he leans in and locks his lips on yours.

you’re briefly caught off guard, but you quickly come to your senses and return the kiss with everything you have in you. your hands find their way to his hair, gripping it tightly and earning the tiniest of moans from his mouth.

time seems to stop as the two of you bask in each other's embrace. you're the first to pull away, only for the sole reason of needing air to continue the kiss.

as you breathe air back into your lungs, rafayel speaks, voice low and soft.

“tell me you love me.”

a small smile finds its way on your face, happy to do anything he asks for.

“i love you rafayel.” you say, planting a kiss on the mole under his eye.

you can tell that a light blush creeps its way onto his face, even in the dim moonlight that intrudes through his large bedroom windows.

“say it again.” he says, voice still low as a whisper.

“i love you rafayel.” you plant another kiss on the right on his nose, watching his blush intensify even more.

finally, he reconnects his lips with yours yet again, this time pulling you close into his lap, wanting to feel your body close and pressed up against his.

and when he kisses you, he devotes the entire ocean to his beloved.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel x mc #rafayel edit #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x you

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sylebs · 5 months ago

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a/n: allow me to just self-indulge, thinking about making out with sylus after a couple of drinks. as we all know, consent is so damn hot and maybe i'll indulge some more and write the spicy part another time.

word count: 1,033 (AO3 Link)

cw: mentions of alcohol, thigh-riding, drunk kisses - oh, yeah, not beta read... we die like men.

Yours and Sylus's steps were messy as hell; as messy as the kisses you two were giving to each other, hands roaming along your bodies.

Intoxicated. Not just by the drinks you two shared at that boring business gathering that Sylus couldn't blow off like he wanted to, but by each other's presence.

He could not keep his hands off you, wanting to feel every inch of your body, an annoyed groan escaping in between the heated kisses. You've lost count how many times the two of you stumbled throughout the base and how he had to trap you between his body and the wall every so often just so the two of you can catch some air before you're both kissing each other desperately once more.

His head was spinning, and so was yours, the liquor coursing through your systems only heightened the want and need the both of you had for one another.

"Stay with me, kitten, you know I won't go any further if you're out of it before we even start." He reminded you, a gentle hand resting against your cheek that you easily nuzzled against.

You almost forget to reply, your eyes half-lidded as you gaze up at him. You nod, digits curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, "Don't... underestimate my alcohol tolerance," you mumbled, easing up on your tiptoes to capture his lips once more.

An amused chuckle emitted from him, his arms wrapped snug around your waist as he held you close to his body, licking into your mouth with ease, eliciting a delicious moan from you. He lifted his knee up slowly, teasing you before his knee brushed against your clothed core as your dress rode up.

"So pretty, sweetie," he groaned as he eased back, watching as your hips began to roll in a smooth motion, creating that friction your body had been craving.

His hands flitted to your hips, holding onto you and guiding you as your hands rested on his shoulders. You pant as your eyes drifted down to watch your hip movements and how your body desperately needed more than what the friction gave you.

"Sylus—" You gasped and your eyes locked with his; you focused on his right eye, where he could peer into your desires. He knew what you needed and he would give it to you.

If you asked nicely of course.

"I know your desires, kitten, but..." He paused, trailing tantalizing kisses along your neck, his heavy breath fanning against your sensitive skin, his lips brushing up to your ear as he whispered into it. "I need to hear you say it."

It was to gain consent from you and for him to know you truly wanted this. His eyes would gaze into yours, his fingers gently cupping your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet with his. Albeit your eyes were half-lidded, he can tell you were still there with him.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss down to your clavicle, biting down onto it and causing your breath to catch in your throat. He guided your hips again and you grew even more desperate by the motion. The friction was good, but you always needed more.

Greedy. You were so fucking greedy. But hey, he told you to be.

"Kitten," his tone gravely, "stay focused."

You blink a few times, as to get rid of some of the haze. Your arms reach up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down so that your lips would brush along the outer shell of his ear. You give it a nip then whisper into it.

"I need you, Sylus."

Sylus closed his eyes, gripping onto your hips; whether you knew it or not, you had so much power over this powerful N109 Zone ruler and Onychinus's leader. He squeezed your hips and guided them to grind along his thigh more firmly now.

"Again," he commanded, lifting you up as he wrapped your legs around his waist, pinning you against the wall, his hands curling around your neck, not squeezing but holding you in place. "Say it again, kitten. Just for me."

You knew very well that Sylus loved the way you sound when you're hot and heavy for him, desperation gleaming in your eyes, your body yearning for more of his touches. And you loved to indulge him.

"I need you," you repeated without skipping a beat, your fingers finding themselves buried in his soft silver locks, "please, Sylus..." You plead, giving his hair a brief tug.

He sucked in a breath, letting out a breathy chuckle as he pulled you away from the wall, still holding you up in his arms whilst walking into the room.

He slid the knob of the lights up just enough to keep the room somewhat lit but dimmed, making long strides to his bed as he brought you down onto it, nearly landing on you when you pulled him down upon him easing back, making you think he would pull away. His eyes widened before they softened, the back of his fingers gently caressing your cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetie. I promise," he dipped down to kiss you softly, his hand gliding down your thigh to the back of your knee as he cupped it, lifting it slightly as his lips brushed against the skin.

The kisses he gave you were like a stamp of his reassurance. Your hands didn't grip his shoulders or arms in fear he would leave anytime soon. Instead, they held onto him tightly, pulling him closer as if it were anymore possible than he already was. And he seemed to sense it, kissing up your thigh, moving into the inner parts as he bit into the supple flesh.

He gazed at you for a moment, "look at me, kitten."

And you do, your chest heaving as your fingers card through his hair, your eyes locked on him.

"Do you want it?" He asked one last time.

You shook your head and you can see the shock on his face, even more so when you pull him back up to you, whispering against his lips.

"No, Sylus, I need it."

#divider by: strangergraphics #sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x you #sylus x reader #not beta read #ayo when did it hit 3am bye gnight aslkdfjsd #mine: drabbles

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p-seduonym · 2 months ago

Text

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Twelve)

A/N: Finally, we get some Batfam content. Sorry for the slow burn. I was procrastinating having to write from them. I just? don't know how to write the Batfam? I love em, can't write em. Hope you like this! Things will get a little better before it all hits the fan.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

[PHONE TRANSCRIPT – RECORDED LINE: 02:14 AM, WAYNE NETWORK SECURE CALL] Participants: Tim Drake (Caller) / Dick Grayson (Receiver) Interference Detected: UNKNOWN AUDIO SOURCE

DICK: Hey. You good?

TIM: Define “good.”

DICK: …What’s going on?

TIM: (Sigh) You know how Casey’s seeing a therapist?

DICK: Therapist? I thought it was just counseling.

TIM: That’s what it started as. Teacher said they needed someone to talk to. But get this—I got into Dr. Hoffman’s private files. The ones she didn’t submit to the Wayne Foundation reports.

DICK: You hacked her?

TIM: Light touch. Nothing traceable. I just needed to know what she wasn’t saying. And Dick... it’s pretty bad.

DICK: How bad?

TIM: They’re sleepwalking. Having nightmares. And it’s getting worse.

DICK: They’ve been wandering at night?

TIM: More than that. They got to the front door. And the garden. Almost went over the balcony, too.

DICK: What? [Rustling] When did this start?

TIM: Couple weeks ago. Right after their birthday. They haven’t been sleeping right since. But listen—

DICK: Shit, did I miss that? Wait, why didn’t you tell me?

TIM: I did. You said you would be the one to go.

DICK: Wait, forget that, what’s causing all this? This couldn’t just come out of nowhere, right?

TIM: [Sighs] That’s the thing. Bruce doesn’t know about any parasomnias on their mom’s side.

DICK: But you think it’s something else?

TIM: …I think it has something to do with Yaya.

[Brief static]

DICK: Yaya? Their little imaginary friend?

TIM: Hoffman mentioned her in some of the sessions. Dick, this is way beyond an imaginary friend.

DICK: What do you mean?

TIM: Casey talks like she’s real. Not just made-up stuff, either. I got the transcript from a hypnotherapy session.

DICK: She hypnotized them?

TIM: Yeah. It was just the one session. Alfred was there too, but still. Casey talked about Yaya like she was a real person. Described her clothes, her voice, how she holds them when they’re scared. It’s not just comfort—this Yaya... she teaches them things.

DICK: Like what?

TIM: Etiquette. Old lullabies. Stuff no one their age should even know. One of the songs—Bruce had it analyzed, asked a musicologist.

DICK: And?

TIM: The melody predates the Revolutionary War. They think it’s Puritan.

[AUDIO DISTORTION – FAINT WHISPERS DETECTED, FEMALE VOICE, UNINTELLIGIBLE]

DICK: Tim? That was weird—did you hear that?

TIM: Yeah. Hold on. [Pause] Checking my line. Thought it was signal bleed from the Manor system.

DICK: That didn’t sound like static. That... sounded like a voice.

TIM: [Quietly] I think I know what it was.

DICK: [Pause] You’re joking.

TIM: I’m not. I told myself Hoffman was right—that Casey’s trauma made her up. But then I found something else. Another file. From Constantine.

DICK: Wait—John Constantine?

TIM: Yeah. He was at the Manor a few weeks back. Alfred called him in off the record. His notes—he doesn’t think it’s just a haunting. He thinks Casey’s being raised by her.

DICK: What?

TIM: And he’s not sure we can get rid of her without hurting Casey.

DICK: Christ.

TIM: There’s more. Constantine thinks Yaya isn't just stuck at the house. He thinks she’s anchored to Casey. That whatever Nathaniel Wayne did to her... he turned her into a kind of guardian. Or parasite. Or both.

DICK: And we just left them there. Alone.

[Silence. Static builds faintly, then drops out again.]

TIM: I didn’t think it’d get this bad. I thought... they’d talk it out. That therapy would help.

DICK: We all thought that.

TIM: I don’t think therapy can help with this.

DICK: So what do?

TIM: [Sighs] I…I don’t know. Bruce has no idea what to do. Damian isn’t any help. Jason scares them.

DICK: He scares them?

TIM: Caught him once with Bruce. Lots of shouting. No clue why.

DICK: [Sighs] Why didn’t they just come to me? Or Alfred?

TIM:...I think they tried. We just…weren’t there.

DICK: Well, we can’t let this go on. They need help.

TIM: Look, I know, alright? But therapy can’t do anything against something that’s not human.

[Low static interference begins, growing louder]

DICK: Tim? You still there?

TIM: Yeah, I—wait. Something’s—

[UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE VOICE] "They were mine before you ever cared."

(call disconnects—line goes dead)

[END TRANSCRIPT]

A/N: Did it work? Maybe not? I'm better at making original characters than writing for canon ones. It'll get a little cute before it all goes wrong, so look forward to that :)

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere core #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #the light that got lost #original character #yandere reader #just let me ramble

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pinkteethmarks · 3 months ago

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omg.. wait for your valentines event could you please to like frat/playboy! katsuki x soft/nerd! reader (who could also look so fucking hot and gorgeous omggg😫)

so basically they’re just at a party and katsuki finds the reader hot but doesn’t know it’s actually the reader so he goes up to them asking them their name and stuff and then he realizes he knows the reader from their classes together and also realizes he’s in love /w her 😫😫

playboy…frat boy,,,katsuki…. i’m… ugh melting. i love this man so much IM MELTINGGGG. also… aha… sorry for taking this long.. SCHOOL OS ACTUALLY KICK MY BUM BUM SIXTH FORM IS GETTING SERIOUS GUYSS!!! but i’ll put my whole attention into tasks again guys.. sorry if this is really bad lowkey think i’ve lost my sparkle for writing but dw it will come back soon!! suggestive, references to corruption kink, gender neutral reader, use of pretty, sexy, succubus (lmao). 1.1k words!

stephanie; katsuki bakugou

katsuki should be at the library with you right now, you both had agreed to go to continue doing research for the project you were assigned to do together, but katsuki had other plans.

one that involved a hell of a lot of alcohol, cheap valentines decorations and someone to… relax him for the night.

in all honesty, he was avoiding you. something weird was happening, where everytime you grazed him with your soft skin, every look you gave him with those sparkling eyes, all of it, all of you, were starting to make him feel off. as though he wanted to protect you, but also ruin you.

you’re just so delicate, everything about you is the complete opposite of him, kind, loving, gentle, sweet, something about it made him so… possessive of you.

he didn’t know when this actually started to appear, he just knew that the last time you spoke to him in class got him sweating buckets to the point where even fucking shoto (the most socially inept) realised something was off with him.

so, here he was, blowing you off and ignoring your texts to come here. alone. how fucking fun.

katsuki’s carmine eyes whisked through the crowd, trying to find someone who will help him forget all of his woe’s about you and whatever this weird feeling that was bubbling inside of him, until they landed on…you.

well, yes you, but it wasn’t like he knew it was you since you looked completely different.

you were perfect, outfit way too tight and body way too perfect. you looked down right sexy, practically like a succubus waiting to suck his soul but one that had some form of gentleness to you.

regardless, he wasn’t exactly waiting to figure you out, he just needed a quick fuck for the night to get his stress out.

and so, he began to do his signature party trick, the bump and surprise.

he began walking straight towards you, making sure that his gaze was not fixated on you but directly past you until he bumped into you from behind, causing a cute little gasp to leave your lips.

‘reminds me of yn.’ he thought to himself for a split second, quickly trying to rid himself of that thought, of you.

“huh, you bumped into me.” katsuki scoffed, pretending not to be completely flustered as you faced him because damn you looked sexier up close.

those eyes though, felt familiar, they seem to sparkle innocently as he looked at you.

“no, you bumped into me?” you responded softly despite the loud bass of the music almost drowning you out, yet his ear was trained to listen to you.

“guess i need your number so that we can sort this out later.” katsuki smirked, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.

“you already have my number, remember? especially since you’re kinda blowing me off right now.” you pouted slightly as you sighed.

“wait, have we fucked before?” katsuki’s answered back confusingly, glancing between all the people he was blowing off right now on his phone and your face.

“what, no?! bakugou, do you not recognise me?” you scoffed.

“um, no?” katsuki gruffed out, tired of all these games. he just wanted to take you to his bed, set you down on the bed and ravage you.

“it’s me, y/n l/n?” you responded sassily, your hands on your hip as you rolled your eyes.

katsuki’s eyes widened, how, in any single universe did he approach you out of every single girl at this fucking function?

you didn’t look anything like you did in school, you were all dolled up, wore something that showed your figure and something that made you look so… fuckable.

not to say that you in school isn’t already a pretty little thing in katsuki’s eyes, but this party-look painted you in a whole different light that was intoxicating to him, dangerous even.

“there’s no way in hell, out of every girl i could’ve approached, it was.. you.” he spoke slowly.

“don’t make it sound like it’s such a terrible thing.” you cutely looked to the side, your face slightly falling.

fuck, even when you were upset you were cute as hell.

‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’ katsuki thought frustratingly.

you kept invading his mind, etched into his soul and locked into his heart. nothing ever overshadowed his constant thoughts of you and no matter how much he tried to look at other people, flirt with others and get into bed with them, he truly couldn’t because every single time, his heart would come back to you.

he fucking hated it.

but, more so, he was scared of it and thus, scared of you.

not like he would ever admit that, he’s katsuki fucking bakugou for crying out loud.

“are you ok?” you asked him.

“i.. don’t fucking know. why are you everywhere, yn? i keep.. seeing you and thinking of you.” katsuki responded, his blush intensifying.

“what.. are you trying to say bakugou?” you looked confused.

“call me katsuki.” katsuki looked to the side, his face almost completely red now.

“ok, katsuki, what are you trying to say?” you asked once more.

ok, that was a mistake, if katsuki was flustered before, now he was completely ruined hearing his first name leave your pretty lips.

“i.. don’t know. it’s valentine’s day or whatever and for some reason the universe brought us together right now so, take a fucking guess.” katsuki scoffed.

“you want me?” you said excitedly, smiling widely as your once unattainable crush seemed to finally feel within your reach.

“depends on what your answer, damn it, katsuki bakugou does not get rejected.” his confidence was now increasing as he saw how elated you were at the prospect of being with him.

“only if you ask me properly.” you teased.

“fucks sake, ok, yn l/n, these past few project meetings had me feeling a type of way i never knew i could feel. you’re gorgeous, and i think now i realise that you aren’t only cute but sexy as fuck. not just that though, you’re kind, you’re smart, you have a hell of a lot of resilience and will power, all in all, you are the dream person for me. so, will you like, be my fucking valetines or something?” katsuki smirked

“yes!” you squealed, running to wrap your arms around his extremely toned torso.

katsuki was slightly surprised, of course he had been touched before - a hell of a lot of times actually - but, this hug you gave him just felt different. a lot more personal and intimate, oddly enough, he loved it all the same.

“you smell so good.” you sighed, immediately pausing as embarrassment flushes your entire being.

“is that so? wanna see how good i smell without these clothes on?” katsuki smirked.

“we just got together! also, i need you to promise me something.” you rolled your eyes yet your tone changed to something more sincere.

“yeah?”

“that you’ll stop with kissing all these other girls.” you sighed.

“kissing- honey, i do a lot more than kiss-“

“don’t wanna hear it! just want you to promise me you’ll stop.” you put your palm up to signify that you wanted him to stop.

“i promise.” katsuki replied, looking straight into your eyes, all that the present was warmth, kindness and love.

katsuki was new to this but he would definitely try, anything for you.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #mha bakugou #katsuki x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x you #katsukibakugou #playboy katsuki

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writersblockiskillingme · 2 years ago

Text

Peace | Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader (fem!District12!Baird!reader)

Summary: Coriolanus Snow never thought that he would find peace, until he did.

Warning/s: Snow being in love, Snow being Snow, talk about death (reader is alive, don't worry), possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Inspired by one and only Taylor Swift.

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly the summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

Coriolanus Snow could swear that the rustling of the grass beneath his shoes couldn't be louder as he walked in the Meadow.

However, even though he felt an odd irritation towards that, he felt good. He was finally able to get rid of his Peacekeeper white uniform which he replaced with a simple white shirt and some gray pants that he found. His dog tag was still hanging from around his neck. He forgot to take it off from all of the haste when he was trying to find you as fast as he possibly could once his shift ended for the day.

The wind was dancing gracefully across the leaves on the trees surrounding the always oh so peaceful Meadow just a little outside of the border of District 12.

District 12.

Coriolanus Snow was still a little bit doubtful when it came to the loser District.

He could remember his hated towards, well, everyone and everything when he found out that he was going to be deported for the Peacekeepers. He could still remember that empty feeling when he sat at, what seemed like, the most uncomfortable chair in the world as someone started to cut his blonde locks away.

He lost everything. Every hope for the better.

That is up until it was reported to him that he could chose any District in all of the Panem that he wished.

Coriolanus could've been deported to a nice, clean District like 1 or 2. Yet he chose the poorest District of all. The words "District 12" left his mouth without the second thought when the authorities asked him where he wanted to be deported. He didn't even speare one single thought as he said it.

He asked himself, why did he do it? The question wouldn't leave his mind. It haunted him every day. It clouded his ever racing mind.

Why did he do it?

Yet now, he finally spotted a figure sitting on a giant rock, playing the guitar while muttering the words as she tried to write yet another masterpiece that he was going to cherish forever.

Your hair was flowing around in the wind as your fingers graced the strings of your guitar that Coriolanus got for you from the Capitol.

He tried to stay as quiet as he possibly could. He didn't want this moment to end. He didn't want you to stop singing so he froze once he got close enough so he could listen to you for a bit.

Even the mockingjays on the trees seemed to quiet down as you played the guitar. They were soaking up every melody, every note that you decided to grace the word with.

"And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me"

Your melodic voice rang around the Meadow. So quiet yet so powerful. Graced with softness and pure care. He didn't deserve you. He knew that.

Suddenly nothing mattered anymore. The only thing that truly mattered was the fact that you were alive.

Every doubt he had racing, cursing, his mind vanished forevermore as he listened to you sing and play your guitar, when he saw you performing with the rest of the Covey, your family, the night after he got deported to 12.

Right now, nothing was more important to him than you. He didn't care about his deportation, about Dr. Gaul, about Highbottom.

Maybe he was clueless. Maybe it was his fault for letting himself feel vulnerable in this very moment in the Meadow outside of 12. Or maybe he was just young and dumb for finally letting his guard down... but he felt like there was hope for him at last. Because you were here. You were alive, and if he had to mess up his reputation and lose everything once more just so he could here the sweetest of melodies leaving your lips he was sure that he would do it.

"No, I could never give you peace"

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues come

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Coriolanus felt himself freeze completely.

His brain nor his body was working anymore as he watched the screen along with the rest of his classmates that were chosen to be mentors for this year's tributes in the Hunger Games.

The scene was tough to watch. He wanted to look away yet he found himself unable to do so.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't rip his eyes away from the screen that showed reaping the tribute he was supposed to mentor.

A girl from District 12.

He felt uneasy the moment he found out who he was supposed to be mentoring, he felt like his hope was lost. His hope for winning the Plinth Prize and repearing his reputation was ruined. He was ruined.

But now, as he watched you step in after your name was called out, he felt unfamiliar feeling of pure warmth growing and spreading in his chest, consuming him completely. The feeling was unknown, it made him feel weak. Out of control. He hated it.

Yet, as Coriolanus watched your hair bounce as you stepped out of the crowd in the middle of the square, he felt like he would fight the devil himself just so he could make sure that you were safe, that you were going to get out of the arena alive.

He watched your expression and your posture. You were trying to appear as calm and unbothered as possible. You were successful in your attempt, but he saw right through it.

Perhaps it was because he found himself in the similar position as he watched you or perhaps he simply observed a bit too closely.

Whatever it was, it did not prepare Coriolanus Snow for what was about to happen.

Why am I here? What am I doing?

These are the questions Coriolanus asked himself as he unintentionally, yet at the same time quite intentionally, tried to seek some warmth from his red Academy's uniform in his pathetic attempts to warm himself up a bit in the middle of a very cold night on his way over to the zoo where you were forced to stay before the games started.

The food wrapped in a handkerchief that had his father's initials on it started to feel too heavy in the pocket of his uniform.

Feeling the cold shiver run down his spine he realized that it's not from cold or from the fear of the Peacekeepers blocking his way over to you in the middle of the night. No. It was something else. Something he was aware of, but couldn't yet admit it to himself.

He watched every step he took so as to not startle you in the cage of the zoo.

As he got closer, he realized that he saw a figure in the dark leaned against the bars of the zoo's cage.

It was you, of course. You were looking up at the sky as your hair slightly flew around in the light, cold night's breeze.

At first he thought that his plan to play star-crossed lovers was a dumb call. That it was bad. Mentor falling desperately, hopelessly in love with his tribute was just madness and quite a desperate attempt to draw some good public's attention to give you a shot at surviving in the arena was quite pitiful, truly. Where was his head at, at that moment? Who would ever fall for that nonsense?

But as he saw how the people thrived for a tragic pair of star-crossed lovers and as he realized that good citizens of the Capitol loved a good tragic story, he came to a conclusion that maybe all of this was actually worth it.

More importantly, as he called out your name quietly as to not startle you and alert other tributes he figured that it was a right call after all.

Especially when, even tho a part of him didn't want to, as he came over to you on the other side of the bars, gave you food that he smuggled from the Academy, wiped your long lost tear as it streamed down your beautiful cheek, as he soked in your beauty, admired your gentil kindness and finally as he kissed you like he needs you more than an oxygen that he has to breath over the empty space in the middle of the bars, he wasn't really pretending after all.

Yet when it was time for him to go home just so his absence doesn't go noticed by grandma'am and Tigris, he asked you one thing that was bothering him, eating him alive. One thing that caused him absolute despair from the moment he met you.

"Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?" He whispered in the darkness as he held his hand against your cheek like you were the most delicate rose.

Your integrity makes me seem small

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

I talk shit with my friends

It's like I'm wasting your honor

Coriolanus Snow was hurrying towars the room in the Capitol's Academy in which he will be able to monitor the games along with some of his classmates.

He had to stay at home to help his grandma'am much longer than the would've liked. He was in such a hurry that once he got to the door he literally pushed it open with full force.

He strolled down effortlessly over to his chair so he could look over you as he heard the voice of one and only Lucky Flickerman.

"Now that is an entrance I'm jealous of."

Coriolanus ignored him.

He sat down next to Sejanus Plinth as he reasted his head on his hand as soon as he did that, the look of pure stress overflow his features as his piercing blue eyes locked themselves on the screen watching you.

"I may be wrong." He heard the voice of Sejanus Plinth as he stared at the screen, not looking away. "But it seems to me that you actually, genuinely care about whether or not she makes it out alive."

Coriolanus felt himself freeze for a moment, but he quickly forced himself to gain his composure back.

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Coryo."

He kept his mouth shut after that.

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Give you my wild, give you a child

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother

Is it enough?

Coriolanus Snow could still remember the feeling of slight cold breeze as he hoped off of the train in 12 for the first time ever.

His boots stepped right into mud and he closed his eyes for a moment in slight annoyance. What an amazing way to alive here and do the things he was ordered to do.

He gripped more tightly just in hope to gain more confidence that he could actually pull through with this.

He stepped forward, letting out a puf of breath to steady himself.

Just as he was about to step after the rest of the new recruits as the one who is last in line he heard something that he hoped he would hear again. A voice which belonged to the person for whom he decided to go to the poorest District, paying the last bit of money he owned.

"Coryo!" Your voice shouted and he turned around slowly, almost not believing that you're here.

You ran as fast as you could just to get to him as fast as possible.

Your hair was flying around as your ran, the back of your dress dragging itself after you. The lightness of your steps, the graceful way you carried yourself, your eyes, your lips, you.

You collided against him, throwing your hands around his neck as you gripped on his shoulders as tightly as you possibly could, afraid that he will disappear from your grasp once again.

You looked so out of place. You were like a finest, most beautiful rose of all, but that rose grew in the middle of the mud. It fascinated him.

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, gripping your body strongly yet at the same time gently as he brought you to his body even closer. You felt like if he pulled you any closer the two of you would become one person.

He hid his face into your neck, breathing in your flowery scent. It smelled like home. Home which he was forcefully ripped away from, but now he was finally able to return.

"How did you-? What-?" He stuttered, couldn't get the words out.

"Tigris told me you were about to become a Peacekeeper." You got out, still holding onto his arm, your gripp still tight, afraid of losing him again. "However, Sejanus told me that you would arrive to 12."

This took him a back a little.

"You spoke with Tigris?" He asked, his voice not hiding his utter, but non the less happy, shock.

"We wrote to each other." You answered with a smile. "She's amazing, truly."

He couldn't be happier at this moment, he was so happy that it scared him.

But maybe, as he watched your smile and took your hand into his, pressing your palms against each other, he realized that just maybe life in the poorest District won't be as bad as he was afraid.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west

I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best

But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me

One thing was for sure, life after the games was not easy.

You would have nightmares. He didn't know about them, you wouldn't told him. That is up until the rest of your family met up with him on a picnic day.

You looked so tired, so pale, you weren't acting like your usual self. It scared him.

That's when Lucy Gray pulled him aside after she saw his worried gaze on you the entire day. What she told him ripped his heart and shattered every piece.

"She's screaming at night." Lucy Gray whispered just so you wouldn't catch them, not that you could, you were so tired you were barely awake. "She has nightmares about the arena."

When he later on confronted you about your nightmares just so he could help you somehow you broke down.

You told him that maybe it wasn't the best idea for him to be with her. You were sad a lot more often, the screaming because of nightmares and everything else haunted you.

Before you could say anything else, tho. He kissed you like he would die without you.

"You're safe with me." He mumbled against your lips. "We can have a future here together, that is if you will have me."

"Of course I will Coryo, but-"

"No but's, then, my love." He told you, taking the handkerchief out of nowhere as he wiped away your tears that continued to stream down your face.

"Here, away from every harm, away from the games... maybe I could finally give you peace."

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

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the-avengers-not-the-nazis · 1 year ago

Text

Privacy privilege

Summary: Dean had started to invade your privacy more often after a hunt

Word count: 0.8k

A/n: I had some fun writing protective Dean in this one

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The last hunt was too much of a close call for Dean.

It’s been a simple vampire case, a in and out kind of deal. But, when you slipped up a little and were almost a vamps blood bag, he felt a need to protect you immediately afterwards. The thought of you ending up dead while on a hunt with him caused an itch in the back of his brain. Something he needed to get rid of or at least settle down.

So, he began to follow you around.

It started out simple enough, sitting on the same booth as you at a restaurant, watching you through the rear view mirror on a long drive. And, recently making you share the same bed as he did. The feeling of your body safely tucked against his calmed him.

But, then the more hunts you went the more worried he got.

The feeling that something would happen to you if he wasn’t around caused him to panic and start to hang around you more than ever.

What started as a simple watching you from the corner of his eye quickly turning into needing to be right next to you 24/7. He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, eyes darting around to find any potential danger.

You’d spoken to Sam about Deans behavior, and he had agreed that it was new and different than what he normally is. But, according to Sam, Dean is naturally a protector at heart. Probably coming from being the oldest and having to take care of his little brother all the time.

But, still, you appreciated Dean trying to protect you, but he had started to invade you privacy.

Often not leaving you alone when you’d really need to be. Kinda like right now. You were taking a shower in the motels bathroom, the water cascading down your body when Deans humming kept on bringing you out of your peaceful state.

You didn’t really know when he entered the bathroom, but when he did you know it was no use in trying to kick him out. He sat patiently on the toilet, the lid down so that he wouldn’t ache from sitting in the same spot for twenty minutes.

A small magazine rested in his hands, the sound of the turning papers mixing with his humming caused you to finally stick your head past the shower curtain.

“Dean.” You called, in the nicest voice you could muster. Slowly growing tired of his protective attitude.

“Yes, princess?” He asked, the magazine he’d been reading tossed onto the counter as he focused solely in you.

Pasting a quick smile on your face, you pulled the curtain closer to your naked body. “Could I have just a couple minutes to myself in here?”

Dean furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because, it’s kinda weird how I’m naked in here while your out there fully clothed and humming a rock song.” You stated, hoping that telling him you were slightly uncomfortable with the situation would be enough for him to leave the bathroom.

“Would you like me to join you then, so you’d feel less weird about this?” He asked, standing from the toilet seat and making his way towards you, his flannel quickly coming off and into the piles of clothes you’d already made.

“No! No, Dean.” You started to shout, more than likely grabbing both your neighbors and Sam’s attention whilst doing so. “Put the flannel back on and get out!”

“Why?” He asked confused. “I’d have my back turned the entire time, or if you want I could even help you shower-“

Dean stopped talking when a soft but wet object connected with his face. “Did- did you throw a loofah at me?”

“Yes, and I’ll throw something harder next time if you don’t get out of here!” Your face was hot, and not just from the boiling shower you were taking but because Dean freaking Winchester was trying to hope in the shower with you like it was a normal thing.

He held up his hands, reluctantly making his way to the bathroom door. “Look I get that it’s weird, but it’ll help protect you.”

“Dean, I’m not going to die in the freaking shower.”

“Who knows, it’s a strange world, but I’ll be here if it happens and I’ll be able to-“ His eyes widened as you made an attempt to throw your soap bar at him, missing him by a hair and sending him running out of the bathroom.

A breathy laugh came from one of the beds, facing the noise he saw his brother with newspaper articles and his computer laid out in front of him. “I told you she would not have appreciated you going in there.” Sam told his older brother, a smug smile playing in his lips as he watched Dean taking a seat at the small table.

“Shut up.” He told him, now waiting for you to leave the bathroom so that he could be glued to your hip once more. “She’s gonna thank me one day.”

“Yeah, but definitely not any time soon.”

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milchig-de · 8 months ago

Text

Caught

Pairing: Lighter x Reader

Summary: You just want to chill and jerk off but Lighter catches you in the act. What will he do?

Warnings: It's sex guys what can i say. Read at your own discretion, 18+ etc. Reader has a dick but is kept gender neutral (do tell if i missed something)

Notes: I am sooo normal about him. Super, completely normal. Not freaking out about him or anything. Nuh uh. No way.... I say, writing smut fanfic abt him shsjhdks

i feel like i wrote him a bit ooc, but im excusing it with the fact we don't interact with him that much shsks

Part 2 btw

"Ugh."

You plop down on your bed while letting out a very unceremonious groan. It was another hard day of working with the Sons of Calydon. After almost losing the cargo you were transporting and getting chewed out by Lucy (followed up by Caesar telling her to chill, which then ended in another battle, pulling you in as a judge and in the end bringing more of Lucy's wrath upon you because of course she lost) you want to do nothing more than just relax and have a restful sleep.

With the utmost willpower you can muster up, you get up to change into some clean clothes, do your usual before bed routine and slip under your covers. Happily, you cuddled yourself deeper into the comfort of your sheets. Only...

Sleep doesn't come to you. At all.

Looking at the clock, you realize it's still fairly early. So naturally, your mind is still running at top speeds even though your body craves some respite.

So what can you do to either pass some time or make yourself sleepier?

Well, some good options include making yourself some warm milk or counting sheep, reading a book, the usual options one would go for.

But all of those options sound incredibly tedious. Not only would you have to get up and leave the comfort of your bed for some of them, they all just sound so... unappealing. Plus you've tried counting sheep and the like before, you know it doesn't work for shit.

So, you choose the worn and proven method of: Masturbating. It weakens your mind so it can easily fall prey to sleep- you have some tissues on your night table as well. Hopefully, cleaning yourself up afterwards won't cause you to lose the sleepiness.

You push the covers off of you. It would be even more tedious if you accidentally smear pre on them, which would mean having to change the sheets and wash them.

Since you're not hard yet, you start gently palming your dick through your pants. You try imagining something arousing that'll do the trick, remembering some porn you watched recently or just general sexy stuff. But... even though you try not to think of anyone specific, only one person comes to mind. The undefeated champion and your one and only long-time crush, Lighter Lorenz. Well, not that he knows that he's your crush, you've just figured he's probably not interested in you. It's not like you're proper partner material.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of your thoughts regarding Lighter. It's bad enough you can't stop thinking about him during the day, you don't want to also imagine him in the most vulnerable state. But it just seems impossible. The bad boy act he puts on captivates you, even more so when his nicer side shines through when he's flustered, not to mention his devilishly handsome face and his fat ass that keep circling around in your head until all your thoughts surround only him again. You wish you could just rail him into tomorrow until he forgets his own fucking name, slamming your cock into his hole and passionately sucking on his tongue- yeah you're beyond saving.

Groaning at your unsuccessful attempts of getting aroused by something other than who is basically your co worker, you rethink. Is it really so bad to desire him like this? After all, any thoughts like wanting him naked and the like won't ever come to his attention; it's not like he can read your mind. As long as you can manage to act normal towards him, it shouldn't be a problem to jerk off to your thoughts about him... Surely.

So you decide to just go with the flow. You pull your pants down to half of your thigh. Your dick springs up, throbbing eagerly at the thought of getting some much needed stimulation.

You lick your hand and then spit on it to have some lubrication, before you enclose your shaft in your fist, imagining it was Lighter doing this to you. A sense of relief washes over you and instinctively, you moan out Lighter's name, upon which you immediately slam your other hand over your mouth because you know the walls are not particularly soundproof. Technically, the others should be out but... there's still plenty of other people hanging about where they shouldn't be.

Keeping your hand clasped around your mouth, you start moving your fist up and down your cock again. Squeezing the top, you can't help but shudder blissfully at the pleasure coursing through you- until your door is suddenly thrown open.

"Hey, did you call for me-"

Your wide eyes make contact with Lighter's equally wide eyes through his sunglasses. For a moment, neither of you move or say anything, you with one hand around your dick and the other on your mouth, while Lighter stands at your door, still holding the door open.

Then you quickly scramble to pull your pants back up and Lighter quickly closes the door behind him, presumable to shield your dignity from even more humiliation.

Your face burns as you try to adjust to a position where your still raging boner isn't too obvious. Regardless of the obvious circumstances (and your very obvious embarrassment), you try to play it cool.

"So uhm, did you need anything from me? I'm too tired to do anything else today so you can also just tell me tomorrow... "

Clearing his throat, Lighter also tries to resume with his usual act of being aloof and uncaring, but his red face is a dead giveaway.

"I was walking past and heard my name so I thought you called for me... I really didn't expect to find you like this though."

No fucking way he heard you moan his name. Holy shit. You need to leave the Outer Ring, change your identity immediately. There's no way you can live with him knowing what you truly think of him. Just thinking about how awkward it would be- not to mention the chaos it would bring to the Sons of Calydon. As a gang, you need to work together like clockwork, there's no space for weird tensions. You could live with the shame, but you're not sure if he'd even want to hang around you anymore. Your mind runs at 100 miles an hour as you scramble to work some excuses up.

"Lighter, listen it's- it's not what you think-"

He raises an eyebrow at you. Yeah he clearly saw you jerking off- there's no way you're getting out of it. So you jump to plan B. You straighten up, trying to look as serious as you can, even with your still flushed face.

"Lighter, I'm... I'm sorry. I know you don't see me that way and that this is a super awkward situation. I know you're probably super grossed out at me, but I really hope this conflict won't affect the gang. I'm.."

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm at your next words.

"I'm ready to leave the Sons of Calydon if I make you uncomfortable."

Lighter flinches at your words. You and him have shared a few of your struggles- so he knows this isn't an easy decision for you. After the gang picked you up when you were at your lowest, leaving it would mean leaving your only home behind. With nowhere to go, what would happen to you? The Outer Ring certainly isn't a place where it's easy to find one's footing. But more importantly...

" You've got nothing to apologize for. I'm not uncomfortable with... this situation, and uhm, you."

You stare at him, stunned. It'd be a lie to say you didn't half expect him to just start punching you.

He clears his throat and looks off to the side, a light blush covering his face.

"Actually, I'm very interested in what you were doing before I came in."

Huh?

"I-In fact, I want to know just what you were thinking about to get you to moan out my name... if you could tell me?"

HUH???

Not only is he not grossed out, it seems like he's enjoying this?? You can tell he has a smile on his face from the way his eyes seem to crinkle, even with his hand covering the lower half of his face. You sputter out a startled reply.

"W-well, I was imagining us making out and touching each other... I was thinking about you stroking my dick and- wait!"

You're sure you were as red as Old Daddy right now. Is this really okay? Is it really fine for you to just tell him your disgusting fantasies? Is he really... not upset? You squeeze your thigh before voicing your concerns.

"Are-are you sure you want to hear this? I mean, it's pretty gross for me to think these things about you and even more so to voice them so uh, I'm very sorry again"

A short silence engulfs you. Then, Lighter starts walking towards you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the impact of his fist, but it never comes. Instead, you only feel him sit down at the end of your bed and gently put a hand on your leg. Composed as he seems, you still feel the slight tension in his hand. You cautiously open your eyes.

"If I had been uncomfortable, I would've made this clear by now. I definitely wouldn't stay around to hear someone being horny about me if I wasn't interested. And I also don't think you're gross. Actually I-, uhm"

He starts stammering and his face heats up again. He is pretty cute like this. You wish you could just snatch him up and kiss him so he wouldn't have to try speaking anymore.

"I think you're..."

He takes a moment to clear his throat, collecting himself.

"You're wonderful. You always care for me when I do end up getting into a fight. It... it helps me immensely in dealing with... the aftermath. To tell you the truth, I've also had significantly less nightmares because of you. And you're just... so pretty and handsome... It'd be hard not to like you."

Ah. You want to think he's lying- it's hard to accept anyone could ever think of you in a positive way. After all, you don't really have anything to offer. You're not funny or interesting to talk to, you don't have an important job in the gang and you most certainly aren't the most handsome person you can imagine. All in all, you're just an average joe!

But you know Lighter wouldn't lie to you- plus, all of these things are subjective judgments from you. Who's to say he doesn't see you differently?

Clenching your fist, you shuffle closer towards him, bringing your face near his. You reach up to take off his glasses, but hesitate. You know that they act as a sort of barrier against the world around him. Seeing your hesitation, Lighter gives you a short nod. So, you gently pull them off, your hands trembling. Gazing into his eyes, you reply.

"I... Well, you've probably already figured this out, but I also find you quite attractive. I mean, not only your body I just think you're so cute and I love the way you care for the other gang members..."

He gazes at you, with a love in his eyes that make you feel like you could burst at any moment. If there's anything you wish for, it's to keep this moment burned eternally in your memory. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek.

"May I kiss you?"

You nod and he pulls you closer until your lips touch. Feeling his warmth on your lips is like a dream come true. There's a faint smell of oil and sweat coming off of him- it only makes you all the more hungrier for him.

Hesitantly, you decide to take the first step- since he has shown you that he truly desires you, it's time for you to step up to the plate.

You open your mouth and slide your tongue out to worm your way into his. He quickly lets you in, greeting your tongue with his own. They dance and wrestle with each other. You taste his spit and savour the taste, groaning into his mouth.

A string of spit connects you as you pull off with a wet sound. You gaze into each other's eyes as you pant, both utterly flushed.

Ligther regains his composure faster.

"Do you... think you could continue? With what you were doing before?"

You raise your eyebrows.

"You... want to watch me masturbate?"

"Yes."

"Well... I was going to do this anyway."

You return to your previous position under his heavy gaze. The way he drinks in every movement of yours leaves you utterly exposed- moreso when you start taking off your clothes. For the sake of him getting to see something, you undress completely.

Your dick already stands at attention again, having temporarily deflated during the serious talk with Lighter. Letting out an anticipating sigh, you grasp your cock again and squeeze it before starting up with the familiar up and down movement.

Moans fall from your mouth, partially influenced by Lighter's gaze on you. Glancing up at him, his flustered state encourages you.

You decide to put on a show for him. Sliding your fist up, you swipe your thumb across the head to collect the bead of precum, but then continue to tease the head and rub the spots which are the most sensitive. This naturally makes you let out more sounds, which seems to please Lighter, as he even sneaks a hand down to palm himself through his pants.

His watchful gaze leaves you feeling utterly exposed and incredibly aroused. Staring into his eyes, you can't help but imagine again that he's the one twisting his hand around your cock. Just the thought makes you unconsciously speed up, building up a feeling in your stomach that makes you curl your toes. Closing your eyes you let your head fall back, barely able to handle being watched.

After a few more strokes, you tilt your head down to look at him again. The sight is downright divine. He's panting almost as much as you, face flushed and still palming his dick. His elated expression brings you over the edge, ropes of cum shooting out onto you.

Seeing that you're finished, he stares at you, watching your chest rise from your heaving breaths.

Something in him snaps and he rushes forward to hungrily connect your lips again, shoving his tongue in your mouth once more. With barely any time to react, you try your best to reciprocrate, eventually managing to sneak a hand down to grope his ass. Lighter lets out a moan, his tongue still in your mouth. You use this opportunity to suck on it. His eyes flit to yours in surprise before they roll up at the wave of pleasure you managed to solicit by groping his very visible bulge.

But it's not enough friction, not enough of your touch for him, so Lighter separates from you and starts stripping. Although he only does it with the main goal of getting his clothes off, you can't help but be entranced by his body. His muscles flex and stretch while he undresses, a few scars decorating his body. It's obvious he fights for a living, but in the most positive sense.

You're so distracted with gawking at him that you don't even notice Lighter has finished undressing. So he decides to take the lead instead. Grasping your hand that's still covered in cum, he licks it off all while maintaining eye contact. You moan out at his actions, your dick twitching to life again at the erotic sight.

Encouraged, you immediately move to pleasure him after he lets go of your hand, but Lighter instead grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss.

His lips are somewhat chapped, you can smell motor oil and sweat on him. It feels so good to have his warmth against your lips, to move in tandem with him. It only gets better when he opens his mouth and licks at yours. You follow suit, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue. You can still taste your cum on it. The sensations of it make you groan into his mouth, eliciting a shudder from him.

But still you decide to focus on the more important thing: Lighter's cock. You gently push him back. Understanding your intentions, he moves back and adjusts to sit comfortably.

Grabbing his dick in your hand causes him to let out a hiss of relief. Seems like he has really needed this as well. Massaging it gently, you spit into your other hand for some much needed lubrication. Then you start stroking it, earning yourself a few moans from him. It doesn't take too long before he starts panting in earnest, hot puffs of breath leaving his mouth intertwined with occasional groans.

"Mmh... Very good...Ngh- I like that..."

You swipe at his tip when you reach it a few times, before deciding to duck down and kiss it.

"Ah! Y-you don't need to use your mouth for- ahhnnnngh...."

You had opened your mouth and taken his tip into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his tip, playing with his slit. Lighter can't help but let out a series of moans and whimpers, sounding like an angel sent straight from heaven. All the while, you of course haven't stopped stroking the rest of it with your hand. You consider just deep throating him, but you're not really feeling up to the task. So instead, you focus on the tip and even swallow around it. This earns you a well-deserved whimper. To test the waters, you carefully graze his dick with your teeth. He bucks his hips up at that, accidentally thrusting his dick further into your throat, causing you to pull off of him out of reflex.

"Ah shit, sorry I didn't mean to- NGHHF" He starts reaching for you, but before he can do anything, you're back on track already.

You speed up your hand. This combined with you sucking him works him up faster than expected, his moans growing louder and louder until you notice he's trying really hard to hold back from thrusting into your mouth again. Instead, he grips the back of your head to have something he can hang onto. His head falls back, his eyes closed. It doesn't take much longer before you can feel his thighs tense beside you and suddenly he's filling your mouth with your cum. Diligent as ever, you swallow everything he gives you.

When you think he's done, you pull his cock out of your mouth. But it turns out he still had some cum left and he shoots one more rope of cum onto your face.

His dick softens in your grip, but that's only until he tilts his head forward again and catches a glance of your face- like magic, his dick is hard and throbbing again, the sight of your cum-covered face working wonders for him.

He pulls you up towards him, swiping his cum off your face with his thumb before forcing it in your mouth. You eagerly lick his thumb clean of his cum, playfully nibbling on it lightly. Lighter lets out a moan, pulls his thumb out of your mouth and smashes his lips against yours again.

While he's busying himself with your lips, you carefully adjust your position so he's laying down while you're on top of him. Since both of you are still hard, you figure he might want to go again- and you definitely aren't wrong.

So you line up your cock with his and grind into him. He moans into your mouth at the unexoected pleasure. You start out gentle with your grinding, making sure to use the leftover cum on both of your dicks as lubricant.

Meanwhile, you sneak a hand up to his chest, grasping one of his tits and kneading it. He gasps out at your actions, already overwhelmed by the pleasure. It only gets worse when you busy yourself with his nipples, giving them the occasional flick.

At this point both of your dicks are sufficiently lubricated, so you remove your hand from his chest after cupping his tit one last time and move it down to embrace your dicks together. You form a sort of hole around them, keeping them touching each other constantly. Then you start thrusting into the hole, all while rubbing up against Lighter's dick.

Both of you moan out in pleasure. You originally meant to start slowly and speed up over time, but when you look down at Lighter's expression, you just can't help yourself anymore. Seeing his eyes half-lidded and his tongue hanging out just the tiniest bit makes something within you snap, urging your hips to thrust faster and harder.

Lighter notices this, his eyes widening. However he actually enjoys you going rougher on him, so he lifts his arms and embraces you, pulling you closer to him. You oblige, touching his chest with yours.

"Yes, that's good, ah, keep going, hmpf!"

Feeling his warmth makes the knot in your stomach build up faster and faster. You groan into his shoulder, biting into it to let out your emotions somehow. He calls your name at that. It's obvious he's getting close as well, since his hips have also started thrusting against yours, not to mention his moans.

Retracting yourself from his neck, you instead plunge towards his lips again. Sliding your tongues against each other, the feeling builds up more and more until you come with a squeal, spilling ropes of hot, sticky cum against your stomachs, with Lighter following suit.

Once both of you have spilled every last drop, only your panting can be heard in the room. For a moment you gaze into each other's eyes. You were scared that Lighter would be disgusted by you now that he's used you to get off. But it's quite the contrary. His eyes shine with nothing but his love for you, it almost takes your breath away.

You let out a laugh and collapse on top of him. Cleaning up can wait until later, you decide, sneaking your arms under his torso in a somewhat awkward hug.

He chuckles as well, wrapping his arms around you. Gently, he kisses the side of your head. You think you hear him whisper an "I love you", but your exhaustion catches up with you before you can think about it any further and you fall into a deep slumber.

#lighter zzz x reader #lighter lorenz x reader #lighter zzz smut #lighter smut #lighter x reader #lighter lorenz smut #sub lighter #sub lighter zzz #sub lighter lorenz #well tbh not too much of a sub but more on the sub side #zzz smut #unmilked #milky writing

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dpspcehntr · 7 months ago

Text

XAVIER: An Introduction

Pairing: Xavier x Reader

Zayne | Sylus | Rafayel

Word Count: 0.5K

Warnings: wet dreams, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving)

Welcome to part 4 of this series! This series is me introducing you all to how I write for them. Requests are open and feel free to leave a comment cause I love them and read them. It also keeps me motivated!

A/N: I had way too much fun writing this one. I kinda put some of my own fantasies in this one so it was really fun to write. I wanted to post him first originally but I am glad I waited! This idea came to me when I finished my Halloween asks. Anyway! Enjoy!

"I had a dream about you last night but I'm too embarrassed to tell you what happened."

You snuggle into his chest while a movie plays on low volume. His arm was snug around you tracing circles on your back.

"No fair! I tell you all my dreams, especially the ones about you!"

You pout and squeeze his waist a little tighter. He clears his throat and grabs your arm. He lightly pushes you off his chest so you can look him in the eyes. His face was a bright shade of pink and he couldn't look you in the eyes.

"Oh it was that kinda dream. Well now I'm more curious."

You lean into him, inches away from his face. Your breath hot on his face as he blushes deeper.

"I want to recreate it."

He finally lifts his eyes to yours, his breath coming out in pants. It must've been some kind of dream for him to be so worked up.

"Y-you were standing over me and ah- uh you were r-rubbing yourself right in my face. I-I was jacking off and you licked my cum of-off my chest."

You at him in his ruined state, already getting hard, lost in the recollection of his dream. You slide off the couch and stand in front of him. You slowly slip off your shorts and underwear. His eyes growing more and more desperate as you revealed yourself to him. You kneel on the couch.

"Like this?"

You stretch your leg over to the arm of the couch, positioning yourself right in front of this face. You slowly start to rub your clit as a whimper leaves his lips.

"Yea just like that."

He quickly rids himself of his shirt, reaches in his pants and pulls himself out. He grips himself in his hands and slowly begins to pump himself in time with you. With your other hand you slide your shirt over your breasts and roll your nipple in between your fingers. You toss your head back with a wail and increase your speed. He follows suit pumping himself faster. Here you are locked in pleasure with each other lost in thought of the other. You slip a finger inside of yourself nearly buckled over in pleasure as he whimpers your name over and over.

"Xavier, I'm close."

"M-me too."

You pump your fingers harder into you, your orgasm teetering right on the edge. You feel his face inch closer to you, his breath hitting your clit. His tongue licks a stripe from your clit to your opening and you clench down on your fingers. You groan out as you gush over your fingers and his face. Feeling you cum over his face he blows his load over his stomach with a whimper. You collapse on the couch next to him and catch your breath. You look over at him, pupils blown, his lower lip swollen from biting it. You lean over and hover right over his stomach.

"Like this?"

You stick your tongue out and lap up the cum on his skin with a hum. He tasted sweet and you made sure to clean up every drop.

"Fuck. Yea just like that."

You sit up and pull his face in for a kiss, letting him lick the inside of your mouth and you moan. He pushes you back onto the couch and hovers over you. He kisses down your body, ready for round two.

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theonotti · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Years have past since the Battle of Hogwarts, and through his grief and desperation, Theo fights to get back every second lost since then.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo), it's just angst lads

Notes: Been a while! But I'm back with some writing! This fic will be 3 parts in total. Shoutout to @classyartisanpizza for letting me write this idea! <3

Masterlist

The nightmares are the worst part.

It's always the nightmares.

Theo wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he abruptly sits up. It takes a moment of his eyes darting around in fear for him to realise he's simply in bed. No battle. No green bursts of light flying inches from his head. No bodies dropping around him.

He closes his eyes, running his hand down his face to rid the beads of sweat rolling down his skin. Though he forces himself to take deep breaths, his heart continues to race. The room feels so warm. Why does the room feel so warm? His chestnut curls fall over his eyes, slightly matted to his forehead, and for the briefest of moments, he considers shaving his head.

The vivid technicolor of the nightmares always gets him. Blaring realism and exaggerated memories have him waking in a panic without fail.

A hand runs up Theo's lower back, followed by a soft voice speaking in tongues and distortion. A chill runs up his spine as his fight or flight kicks into high gear, causing him to jump off the bed and point his wand directly at the perpetrator.

Daphne Greengrass stares back at him, looking mainly annoyed yet mildly confused as she wraps the sheet around her naked form. There's a long, tense silence as the two of them stare at each other, and despite knowing there's no threat, Theo doesn't bother to lower his wand.

"I thought I said no sleeping over."

His voice is clipped, a stark contrast from the sultry tone he had taken with her the night before. Then again, he doesn't ever have to work in order for Daphne to become putty in his hands. Not really. Him putting on the show just makes him feel better about using her.

She sits up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Even in the dark, the blush that fills her cheeks is unmissable.

"You fell asleep and I-"

"That's not an invitation."

You're such an asshole, He tells himself. But he can't help it. The point of the rule was so that he'd never have to wake up to Daphne. She's not ugly, or entirely terrible to be around. But his care for her only extends to the point of what she does for him. A means to an end. And the end is to distract him from the never ending abyss of his mind and the standing void in his chest.

Besides, that spot in the bed belongs to someone else.

Belonged-

No. Belongs.

Another beat passes before Theo realises that his wand is still raised, and he finally lowers it to his side. Although he should feel worse about his overreaction, he's only a slight tinged embarrassed. It's being overshadowed by his annoyance.

Daphne takes a moment to stare at him, her eyes searching his face for the humour that never comes. A quiet sigh of relief escapes his mouth when she finally climbs out of his bed and starts to get dressed.

"What are you doing later?" She asks while pulling her shirt over her head.

The clock on the wall reads quarter till three in the morning.

Theo tries to hide his smug irritation at the fact that she's already trying to plan when she sees him again, despite his complete disregard for her only moments ago.

When he doesn't respond right away, Daphne looks over at him, throwing a sock off his floor right at his face. In another life, with another person, Theo would've found this gesture amusing, but right now, he just stares at her in exasperation.

"I'm busy."

Merlin, you're a fucking asshole.

But Daphne remains unfazed as she pulls her jeans up her legs and fastens them.

"Maybe next week then? I'm working all weekend."

And despite his self awareness, Theo just can't fucking help himself.

"I'll call you."

Now he's done it. The sting ripples through her face as she pauses all movement, her eyes falling back on him. Under her confused gaze, the temperature in the room falls, but Theo keeps his expression neutral. For a long moment, they just stare at each other in tense silence, before finally Daphne breaks the prolonged eye contact to finish putting her trainers on.

"I don't understand why we keep doing this, Theo," She says in a low voice as she ties her right shoe. It's clear she's trying to be more confident in her words than hurt, but she's failing. "You clearly don't want to commit to me or even care about me. Why do you keep phoning if you can't be bothered?"

Theo leans his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing the door frame of his bedroom. The words leave his mouth before he's able to process them, or to consider not saying them.

"Because you always come running."

Twenty years on this planet and you still don't know when to shut your bloody mouth.

Daphne looks appalled as the words hang in the air. Despite the fact that Theo's guilt is radiating off of him and filling the room at a suffocating rate, he continues to say nothing else. An eternity later, she snatches her coat off the floor and storms out of the room, slamming Theo's bedroom door so loudly that he flinches, followed by the slamming of the front door of his flat.

Silence.

Theo pushes off the wall, walking over to his bed and collapsing on top of the covers.

Silence.

As he buries his face in the pillow, desperate to go back to sleep, his mind starts to drift back to the nightmare that started the domino effect events of the evening. A chill runs up his spine for a second time as he dives head first into the dreams that haunt his subconscious damn near every time he closes his eyes.

The falling bodies.

The walls crumbling down.

The flashes of bright green flying passed his head.

The set of eyes. His favourites. Watching as the life drains out of them.

Theo abruptly jumps out of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he walks briskly to the door and throws it open. His flat is dead silent, save the sound of his footsteps across the hardwood floor. Through the darkness, he can make out the faint outline of his black cat moving quickly across the floor towards him.

"Piss off, Shadow," He mutters to the cat. She doesn't seem to notice his hostility as she continues to move between his legs. But he's quite rehearsed in this dance at this point, and manages to cross the pitch black living room without tripping over her and falling on his face. He makes his way to the spare bedroom, the room that used to be where he worked on his potions.

That is, until more important projects grabbed Theo in a chokehold.

Unlocking the door with his wand, he quickly goes inside quickly, making sure the cat didn't follow him through before shutting the door behind him.

"Mattheo, I'm fine."

"Is the kidnapper in the room with you and forcing you to say that?"

Theo rolls his eyes, rubbing his right eyelid with his free hand as his other one stirs the brewing potion in the cauldron in front of him. His phone rests on the desk next to him with his best friend's display name taking over the screen, the call on speaker.

"You think a kidnapper would willingly keep me?" He asks as he lets his free hand drop back to his wooden desk, accidentally into a puddle of spilled potion that had toppled from the cauldron. Making a face, Theo instinctively wipes his fingers off on his jeans. "They'd return me before you'd even realised I'm gone."

Mattheo lets out a quiet laugh before saying, "You're right. I'd say we could use the break, but no one's seen you in weeks."

Theo lets his other hand drop to the desk, sighing exasperatedly.

"Mate. We've just hung out. At the Leaky Cauldron, yeah? When Malfoy got so piss drunk, he fell in the toilets and smacked his face on a sink."

The memory causes a ghost of a smile to form on Theo's face, but the silence on the other end of the phone causes it to fade just as quickly.

"Hello? Did I lose you, Riddle?"

When Mattheo speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"That was two months ago."

Every single muscle in Theo's face slackens.

"What? No. That can't be right. It was just two weeks ago, yeah?"

"No, Theo. It was two months ago."

Shaking his head, Theo grabs his phone, switching to check the date as he stammers whispered denials, more to himself than anything. But Mattheo is right. Two months have passed since that last hangout, and besides the occasional mess around with Daphne, which he assumes are now over since the debacle a few nights prior, Theo hasn't seen anyone else since.

Where did the time go?

You know where the time went.

"We're really worried, mate," Mattheo says in a soft voice. "I know it's been hard, but-"

"Don't," Theo barks, almost instinctively as he sets his phone back on the desk. He knows where this conversation is going, because this is where the conversation always goes.

"It's been almost three years, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, his eyes closing as the air slowly starts to syphon from the room.

"It's not- Surely I can't be expected to just forget."

A quiet sigh rings out from the other side of the phone, as Theo fights to keep his rising emotions in check.

"Of course you wouldn't forget. We just-"

Theo quickly shakes his head, not wanting to hear the same things he always here's when one of his friends decides to play therapist for him.

"Oh shit, I've just remembered I have better things to do than have this conversation."

Theo lifts his hand towards his phone, with the intent to hang up, when he heard Mattheo's desperate voice quickly calling to him.

"Meet in the Three Broomsticks tonight!"

Theo pauses, staring at his phone as his brain starts its usual war on itself whenever someone wants him to do anything that isn't rotting at home. On one hand, going out with his friends would placate them for long enough that they won't have yet another conversation like this one. But on the other handâ€¦

He's close. He's so close to figuring it out. And any time that isn't dedicated to figuring it out is, in his eyes, a complete waste.

But as he stares down at his best friend's name on his phone, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Piss off."

He can practically hear Mattheo's smug grin in his voice.

"See you there," He says, before promptly hanging up the phone.

A heavy sigh forcing its way out of his mouth, Theo turns back to the cauldron in front of him.

You need a break.

Maybe stepping back for a night and coming back will trigger an epiphany.

Theo lets out a resigned sigh. The last thing he wants to do is step away. When he's away from the work room, he feels like he can't breathe. When he's not working or researching or planning or even contemplating, he feels like he's drowning.

In his head, he's running out of time. But with every centimetre closer he gets to the finish line, he gets another centimetre closer to getting every lost moment back.

The remaining butterbeer swishes circles at the bottom of the glass as Theo twists it with his wrist. A quiet yet fake laugh comes out of his mouth, if only to mix in with the loud, howl-like laughter surrounding him from whatever funny thing Blaise just said.

Merlin, I should've gotten a firewhiskey.

Though, he knows it would've been a bad idea. His tolerance for alcohol has grown concerningly high over the last few years, and he doesn't want to explain why he would've been fully functional after seven hard drinks while his friends would be well beyond wasted.

So he sips his butterbeer under the guise that he has an early morning the next day. If he had more observant friends, they would see through this excuse, but fortunately for him, they tend to miss a lot when it comes down to the quiet, chestnut haired lad whose mind is rarely on planet Earth.

"Oi. Space Cadet. Can you join us for a moment?"

Theo takes a casual drink from his glass as his eyes land on Malfoy.

"Give me something worth joining in on," He quips as he gently sets the glass back down on the table. The blond rolls his eyes as Mattheo and Blaise both let out a chuckle.

"We were just talking about the Harpies. Whether they'll make the cup," Mattheo explains just as the barmaid approaches with their refills. The fresh butterbeer is set down in front of Theo at the same time as he lets out his own laugh. A genuine one, this time.

"The Harpies will make the Cup the same day Malfoy stops bleaching his hair."

Now it's howling laughter from the two other lads as Malfoy slams his mug down on the table, pointing at Theo maliciously.

"Don't start your bullshit, Nott."

"I saw the bottle in your trunk, Malfoy. Third year. One never forgets."

"I don't bleach my fucking hair, and if you say it again, I'll make sure you can't see it ever again."

Theo doesn't miss a beat.

"Is that a promise?"

As Riddle and Zabini keep giggling, the alcohol already to their heads, Theo keeps his wits about him as he stares at the tip of Draco's finger that's still only inches from his face.

"Stand down, Malfoy," Blaise finally interjects. "You've become entirely too serious since getting hitched."

The silver band on that left fourth finger glints in the dim lighting as Draco pulls his arm back down towards his lap. Despite his recoil at the scolding, his eyes don't quite stop glaring their daggers towards Theo, who takes another unbothered sip of his drink.

"Maybe it helped me grow up. Someone should take a page out of that book."

Theo feels his fingers tense around the glass, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Prick.

Absolute wanker.

Dead man walking.

If my life hadn't fallen apart, I would've been married by now. Maybe I'd even have kids.

A wave of nausea hits him at the thought. Instinctively, his eyes shift to look at the door, as his mind searches for his excuse to leave. If his shift in demeanour isn't obvious to every person at the table, it definitely is to Mattheo, who quickly clears his throat.

"Anyone hear about the hunt for whoever's trying to replicate the time turners?"

Theo's entire body ceases, his throat trapping any sound or breath from escaping, meanwhile his brain starts to race at speeds he has never experienced before. The conversation shifts to this topic as Theo desperately tries to remember how to breathe.

"What's the hold up?" Blaise questions before he empties his glass. Mattheo does the same while lifting his shoulders into a shrug.

"Whoever is doing it, they've covered their tracks quite well. But the Ministry has their best people trying to find them before they're able to muck up anything."

A quiet murmur fills the silence of the table. Sweat beads Theo's forehead as he accidentally chugs his entire glass. No one appears to notice, to his relief.

"How are they able to track that?" Malfoy asks curiously as he drums his fingers against the wood top table.

"A time turner has an Hour Reversal charm encased in the centre," Mattheo explains. "The Ministry is alerted every time one is cast, but whoever is doing it has protected themselves so much that their location is damn near impossible to track." Mattheo pauses to take a drink before he continues. "If it wasn't so infuriating, I'd be impressed."

A slight smirk crosses Malfoy's face before he says, "I take it the 'Ministry's best people' includes your team?"

Mattheo rolls his eyes, though the slight pink hue that covers his cheeks is unmissable. Despite him being nothing like his father, Mattheo has always been slightly embarrassed by his position in the Ministry. While Zabini, Malfoy and Theo all view it as a growth and a middle finger to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mattheo sometimes views it as a betrayal, though he only mentions it after he's hit a certain point of inebriation.

"It is a job for the Misuse of Magic department, in my opinion. So yeah, the best people include my team."

Silence fills the table as everyone takes a sip of their drinks. Theo swallows the lump in his throat.

And then he speaks.

"Any evidence that they've been successful?"

The table turns to look at him, and he does his best to appear casual when he shrugs.

"Just curious."

Mattheo shakes his head.

"We'll be alerted if they actually go back," He explains. "Which will lead to their arrest, if they continue to use the Hour Reversal charm."

"Doesn't that only go back five hours?" Blaise asks, receiving a nod from the curly haired man to his right. Theo can feel the impending panic rising in his chest, but he swallows it down.

In theory, it's only five hours.

But with a little tampering, it's longer.

Not that I would know.

No sir.

"Not unless they do something to strengthen the spell," Mattheo says casually. "Like some sort of potion. Or enchanting the sand in the Hourglass."

Theo's face goes slack, and it feels like his entire body grows hot.

There it is.

That epiphany.

His eyes fall back onto Mattheo, the room glowing in a new light as a chill slowly trails down through his extremities and his fingers and toes.

Instinctively, Theo tries to stand before he realises he's in the corner seat of the booth. The rest of the table looks at him in surprise.

"Nott?" Malfoy asks as Theo uses the table and the ledge behind the seat to launch himself over Mattheo and the booth, out into the aisle, only making their shock grow further.

"Fuck, sorry I forgot. I need to- I have-" He stammers, knowing full well nothing he says will be able to explain his sudden change in demeanour. The looks on their faces are the same sort of looks they'd have if he had stripped down in front of them and started screaming like a banshee. He closes his eyes, putting his hands out in front of him as he takes a second to calm down. When he speaks again, it's with less urgency. "I need to go."

And with that, Theo turns and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks.

Before the door swings shut behind him, he can make out Mattheo's distant voice shouting his name. But if any of the lads make any attempt to follow, Theo moves too fast for them to have any sort of success. Once out of the village, Theo apparates back home.

Where he stays for almost ninety six straight hours.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He barely leaves his office to use the bathroom. And he definitely doesn't shower.

Theo's marathon is filled with work. The spell strengthening potion alone takes sixteen hours to brew, needing close management. And that was after all of the work he needed to put in in order to put the potion together. Meanwhile, he does an appalling amount of research, scouring text upon text about how one would enchant the sand. When he comes up with next to nothing after twelve hours worth of reading, he moves on to Plan B.

He starts to create his own spells.

It's not the first time Theo's dabbled in spell creation, but it is the first time it's something that's more serious than trying to make Malfoy's farts come out as actual bubbles. (A failed experiment, much to his thirteen year old self's detriment.) But this time is different. Hanging over the desk where he works is the picture of his motivation. And every time he starts to feel like he's failing, he looks up at the picture and a new resolve fills him.

Because he can't fail.

Failing isn't and never will be an option.

Every botched attempt leads to more research. Every new piece of information brings him that much closer.

Until, after almost ninety six hours of what he thought was going to lead to nothing, the moment is here.

He pulls the time turner out of the cauldron, and he can feel it. Despite having used the tongs to pull it out from the potion, Theo can feel the silver metals vibrating with magic, and that's how he knew.

It worked.

His hands tremble in the same manner as he reaches to touch it, almost hesitant from the anxiety that is running rampant in his head. But when his fingertips graze the warmth of the metal, nothing happens. Nothing changes. He looks around the room for a brief moment before looking back down at the makeshift Time Turner in his hands.

Spinning his chair around and leaning back, he examines the creation. His mind is quick to resume his doubts that it didn't work, despite the pure confidence he had just a moment before. Couldn't have worked. Because nothing he's done in the last few years has.

And yet.

There's only one way to find out.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he props it up on his knee before he turns the screen on.

And then, he gives the spindle in his hand a turn to the right.

Theo can feel his heart stop as he watches the minutes on his phone go down with every tick of the Time Turner.

It worked.

It actually fucking worked.

A tsunami of emotions runs through Theo, overwhelming him so strongly that he has to turn back around to lean on his desk. For a moment, he lays his head on the desk, in the cradle that is his arms, basking in the darkness as he takes three long, deep breaths.

And then he looks up to the picture on the wall.

To his motivation. To the one he's been working for.

To the picture of you.

"Did you see that, pretty girl?" He asks in a gentle voice.

The spell hits your chest.

And the life leaves your eyes.

His voice is a little choked as he raises the Time Turner to the picture on the wall, wishing once again it was actually you and not just a moving idea behind a piece of paper.

"I'm coming for you."

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction

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nekomacheercaptain · 8 months ago

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Day 5: Forced proximity

This is my first time writing for Zoro…

Zoro thought it would be fun to go on a hike in the snowy mountains, saying something about "needing firewood". You, for some reason, didn't question him when he took the lead?? Oh no... what are two people supposed to do to keep warm when they are lost in the cold?

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x fem! reader

Rating: explicit mature content (18+), NSFW

Word count: 2,1K

Content: female reader, forced proximity, oral sex (fem! receiving), very tiny bit of nipple play, slight body worship

"Remind me why I let you lead?"

Zoro shrugged his shoulders, "'Cause I know where we're going."

You looked down at the snow only to see another set of identical footprints, "...Really?"

"Yeah," the swordsman kept walking, not detecting the question in your voice.

This had been an entirely avoidable situation, and to make it worse, it was getting dark and there didn’t appear to be a shelter anywhere, only the two of you surrounded by snow and a mountain, “…and where are we going?”

Zoro grumbled in response, “To the ship.”

“I know the Sunny has a tendency to stray, but I can’t really see any water nearby,” you grumbled back, the cold freezing your normally cheerier attitude.

Zoro merely looked over his shoulder, giving you a small side-eye as he walked, his hand relaxing on the handle of his sword. You decided silence was for the better until you would at least got some heat back into your body, feeling the cold starting to bite at your face.

Collecting branches as you went a while longer, you noticed a crack in the mountain wall, pushing a reluctant (only for show) Zoro towards it saying you finally found some sanctuary, the Sunny and proper sleep be damned. Zoro was glad for some respite too, but remained silent. The crack proved to be more of a cave, not too deep so you knew there weren’t any animals occupying the shadows, and just deep enough that snow didn’t reach all the way in, providing a dry ground to lie on. Zoro wasted no time in proving that, heavy body on the ground with his hands resting under his head.

“No complaints from you, then,” you chuckled before kneeling beside him, making quick work of the branches and magically getting a small fire going. Trying with all your might to ignore the smell of smoke filling the small cave, you looked to Zoro, seeing him already somehow comfortable, while the cold was still deep in your body. The tiny little campfire wasn’t enough to warm you up like you needed to, so it couldn’t be too wrong to ask your dear crewmate if he could share some of his body heat with you? Although, it was a request you had never made before.

“Zoro?”

A small hum came from him, his eye closed.

“I’m cold.”

Without even missing a beat, Zoro offered an arm and opening his coat, waiting for you to lay down at his side. He was used to being somewhat of a heater for the crew; and though he didn’t show it, he was delighted it was finally your turn. Yet, when all you did was lay flat on your back with just his arm as a pillow, the swordsman couldn’t help but look at you, his deep voice catching you off guard, “Not getting any warmer like that, are you?”

“….Not really, no,” at your response Zoro wrapped his arm around you to push you closer, your frame now glued to his side, his hand resting on your arm. And you sighed at how lovely it felt being so close to him, one of your hands laying on his abdomen - the placement making you feel almost needy. Small shivers born from excitement shot down your spine when you could feel the firm muscles hidden beneath his shirt, and your body started heating up, an ache forming in your core. And nothing had even happened.

You tried to close your eyes to force some sleep upon your exhausted body, but as you very well knew, once the ache start, it’d damn near impossible to get rid of. And having Zoro so near and so close… and so warm and damn muscular… your imagination ran wild with all the places one possibly could let your hands roam on a body, and what places the swordsman would enjoy feeling you. Better yet, what places he could touch you, and not limiting his resources to his hands - he had a more than capable mouth on him, accompanied by a tongue. Oh, he would get creative, wouldn’t he? His jaw had to be strong, if he could carry a heavy sword with it, what else could he slobber up with-

“Gonna stare all night?”

Apparently you had been too immersed in your thoughts to notice how you had been down right ogling him, and he gave you a small smirk, “Don’t stop on my account, seems like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Well, uh… there isn’t much else to do in a cave,” you laugh lowly, “have to find some form of entertainment, y’know?”

He quirked a brow at that, smirk growing, “Oh?”

And shit. The same damn smile and tone whenever you agree to spar with him; however, his eyes held an unfamiliar passion… no, hunger you hadn’t observed on him before. Before you could question him, Zoro had you trapped beneath him, his knees resting just beneath your rear, your legs slung over his hips.

“Getting restless with me, pretty girl?” Zoro teased down at your bewildered expression, “Didn’t know you found me so boring.”

His eye was half-lidded, full of desire, and having Zoro look down at you like that made the dull ache between your legs transform into a pulse, suddenly unbearable. And from the unexpected situation you found yourself in, your voice was small as you took in the sight of him, “Could never find you boring…”

Zoro hummed at that and leaned down, teasing you with how his lips were oh so close to yours, “Want something, sweetheart?”

He was relishing how easy it was to fluster you, glad you weren’t stopping his advances. And yet, he liked how fun it was to tease you. To see how your eyes flickered to his eyes for mercy, to his lips for passion, and down in impatience, your hands gripping his coat like it would vanish at your touch, “Zoro…”

“Hm?” he let out a small sound, humor clear in his gaze, “That’s not much of an answer.”

One of his hands cupped your cheek and you leaned your weight into his calloused palm, sighing loudly at his touch, excitement bubbling inside you at the otherwise wholesome contact, “I want you, Zoro… isn’t that obvious? Haven’t it been obvious for so long?”

If your confession surprised him, he didn’t let it show, instead he tilted your head, your breaths mixing and hot on your cheeks. Your eyes locked with his, his thumb softly caressing your bottom lip while he pressed his body tightly against yours, like it could never be close enough. And for someone who was wearing three layers more than he wanted, Zoro would probably want nothing more than to get rid of every- and anything separating you. And with a weak tug at his coat, Zoro chuckled before enveloping his lips with yours.

As his lips moved softly against your own, his musky scent filled your senses, making your mind foggy with desire for him. One that had been harboring and suppressed for so long finally escaped, making you unable to hold back the moans just from kissing him, your back arching off the ground to meet him better, moaning when his tongue swiped over your lips, eager to taste more of you.

“So needy, huh?” Zoro teased with a grunt into your lips, his hips grinding softly into yours, adoring the noises you were making for him. His hands fumbled with your coat and when you noticed, you joined in on it too, wanting to feel his touch on your bare skin, wanting him so impossibly near he could melt into you.

When enough skin was exposed, Zoro broke the kiss, both of you panting before he trailed kisses down your jaw, before continuing down your neck, helping you get your arms out of the coat. His warm tongue and eager lips sucked and licked on your skin while grunting, groaning as he humped softly against you, his bulge pressing deliciously against your still clothed cunt.

“Fuck, Zoro,” you gasped, hands brushing his short hair.

“Yeah, sweetheart? That feel good?” Zoro murmured into your neck, his hands pulling off your shirt, before his lips were attached to the slope of your breasts, pressing hungry kisses against your skin while taking struggling with the clasp of your bra.

You breathed out a small laugh, arching your back to help him, sighing when he finally got it off before you moaned loudly as his lips and hands worshipped your breasts, changing between suckling and palming them. You rarely saw Zoro so eager and curious, but each new reveal of skin, Zoro seemed to fall into an abyss of pleasure - gaining satisfaction just from touching you. He was also playful, his teeth lightly tugging at your nipple just to see and hear your reaction, growling lightly as your sounds met his ears.

When his hands reached your pants, Zoro leaned a little back on his heels, looking at you intently as he started unfastening them, looking at every single inch of newly revealed skin - planting a small kiss on the inside of your thigh while pulling your pants off completely.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your leg as he trailed his kisses, “been driving me mad…”

Zoro folded you in half, ignoring the throbbing in his knees from pressing into the ground, an almost wicked grin on his face as he eyed your underwear slick with arousal, “Such a dirty girl.”

Zoro licked at the wet spot, inhaling the smell of you, just as he had wanted to for so long. You moaned loudly, bucking your hip in instinct, hands finding his hair once more to tug at what you could. Zoro continued to work his tongue and lips against the cloth, stimulating your needy cunt enough to feel the pressure build inside you. Zoro hummed and chuckled against you, his chin glistening when he departed, “Fuck, you taste so good, sweetheart, and absolutely drenched for me.”

Zoro was drunk on lust, the taste of you better than any sake or drink in the world, any drop he could lick from you like pure nectar he was already getting addicted to. His fingers hooked themselves on the band of your panties, pulling them off while slobbering kisses on your thighs just close enough where you actually wanted him, making you whine his name and tug at his green strands. And not before your panties were thrown to the ground with an almost embarrassing slap due to being so drenched, Zoro didn’t give you a chance to breathe as he devoured you whole - his tongue flicking over your clit while his fingers played with your folds and teasing your entrance.

Writhing against your coat, you were whining and moaning at the sensations, adoring how his lips and tongue could barely decide how to worship you, switching between laying his tongue flat while licking through your folds, or using the tip of his tongue to tease, playing with patterns, before suckling and kissing on your folds, his thumb circling your sensitive nub. With Zoro experimenting with your pleasure, you wondered who was actually annoying themselves more; you or Zoro, him letting out just as many sounds of enjoyment as you were. Yet, when you felt yourself getting close to the edge, you were desperate for more, for everything that Zoro could give you.

“Please, Zoro,” you whined loudly, sweat starting to cover your body, “I-I’m getting close!”

Zoro gave no response, but plunged a finger into you without remorse, humming and grunting when you moaned as your walls contracted around him, continuing to kiss and suckle on your cunt, his tongue relentless on your clit, leaving your legs shaking as you neared your peak.

With each passing second you grew more sensitive, writhing and thrashing beneath his strong grasp as he forced the pleasure on you, adding another finger that reached and stretched so far you could only cry at the pleasure, feeling a string threaten to snap in your core at all the things Zoro was making you feel. His name was just pathetic blabbering rolling off your tongue as you were dazed in pleasure, yet his name had never sounded better.

Zoro continued the near-assault on your sensitive cunt until he felt your body shake and your walls pulse uncontrollably around him, your moans and scream silent as your orgasm washed over you, Zoro slowing down his movements to help you through the intense pleasure, groaning at the deathgrip you had on his hair. When you fell limp, Zoro’s mouth and fingers left you with a wet sound, before he dressed you well enough to lay you on his chest, his coat wrapped around you.

Getting lost wasn’t all that bad after all… getting back to the ship could wait until morning.

Note: As I said, this is my first time writing for Zoro, I'm sorry if he's very ooc.... Also I'm doing VERY shit kinktober this year and I'm so sad about it FUCK... Anyways, thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed it! If you want to join my taglist, you can find it here! Dividers by @/benkeibear

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro #one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #dear moots #my work #sinful #kinktober 2024 #cheer’s kinktober 2024

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