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elizaxspears · 2 years

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How about some Seballiam 😏 (for the writing prompt hahahah) - anything of your choosing!

This ended up being one thing and then another and then another! regardless, hopefully you like the outcome of some SebWill!

It started out being a normal task. He’d been sent by his master to do a bit of recon while he stayed behind to entertain Lady Elizabeth. The case they were working one was nothing too out of the ordinary for London, surface and underworld alike; the errand itself something he could get done within a few seconds if he so wished but it’s these moments where he likes to take his time. The full moon is high in the sky, thick white clouds drifting past it, a few stars twinkling dimly behind. He stands utterly still on top of a smoke stack, simply watching. It wasn’t something he used to do, finding the act of nothing to be utterly boring, but he’d come to find some enjoyment out of it, if only because of one person.

A figure leaps across the light of the moon, catching his attention. Dressed in all black, they land inside Big Ben where Sebastian loses sight of them. Curious to see if that’s who he thinks it is, he follows their lead.

Sure enough, the moment he lands both feet on the surface, a scythe tears past him, familiar clippers embedding themselves into the wall just past his ear. “And here I’d been hoping for some peace and quiet.”

Sebastian merely offers a smile to the reaper, unaffected by the near decapitation. “Pardon my curiosity, but I couldn’t help notice you came up here. Rough day at work?”

The reaper adjusts his glasses, those narrow, icy eyes unblinking as they keep Sebastian in his gaze. “With your kind running amok, of course it is.” his eyes only narrow further, realising there’s no child with him. “And that master of yours, where is he? Surely you haven’t claimed his soul just yet.”

Sebastian takes a step closer to the reaper, only to have him take one step backward. “He’s sent me on an errand.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to him then? I’d rather not have you off your lesh.”

“Ah but William, you quite enjoy me when I have my freedom, don’t you?” The scythe aims for his head properly this time; Sebastian easily leans to the right and the scythe spears straight past him. “Now, now. You don’t need to be so hostile. We’re only having a conversation.”

“I’d rather not be having pleasantries with vermin like you.”

“Must you always act like this? I much prefer the William who’s quite-” He’s struck across the face, a little surprised but as he turns his head back toward the reaper, he can see his resolve slowly breaking behind those cold eyes. Well, if this was how he was going to break through that ice again, he’ll play along.

He cannot deny when he says that fighting William like this is a rush. The other reapers he’s faced, Grell, that blonde, they all had the same sort of technique when it came down to it; brute forcing their way through the fight but William had a different tactic. With a scythe that could extend its reach, it was harder to get close to the reaper, having to duck and weave around the pole. It was more of an effort for Sebastian then it was for William and he could see the enjoyment on the reaper's face.

When he finally is able to wrench away William’s scythe, hand to hand isn’t much easier. The reaper is still strong, hiding muscle beneath that slender body of his. That doesn’t save William from receiving his fair share of bruises, however. Sebastian’s able to keep up, landing a hard punch directly to William’s ribs then to his stomach. He nearly has the upper hand until William jumps backward, skidding to a stop just before he fell from the open arch. “I hate admitting this is rather what I needed.” William pants out, doubled over a bit with a hand over where Sebastian had struck him.

“Is that so?” asks the demon as he approaches, cracking his knuckles. “Shall we end this charade then?”

“Charade hm? Is that what you’ll call this?”

“That’s exactly what this is.”

William takes a deep breath then stands up straight. He peers over his shoulder, realising just how close to the edge he was. “I suppose you could prove that to me.”

“Prove it to you?”

“That this really is a charade. Put action to your words, demon.” says the reaper before he leans backwards.

In a blink of an eye, Sebastian’s right where William stood, lashing out to snatch William’s arm and grabbing tightly to his wrist. He’s holding William up, the reaper's heels on the very edge of the ledge while his body is leant all the way back yet there’s no shock or terror in the reapers eyes. He knew, just as much as Sebasitan did, that the demon would catch him. “Is this the proof you were looking for?” Sebastian asks casually, as if he’s not the only thing holding William up.

“Perhaps. You and I both know there is no true consequence if I’d fallen.”

Sebastian does know this and perhaps just to see the reaper sweat a tiny bit, loosen his grip just enough that Wiliam drops further back. “You’re right. I’m not sure why I don’t just let you go and see what a pretty mess you’ll make on the ground.”

Despite the threat, William doesn’t flinch. It’s almost like he’s content with Sebastian being his only stability up this high. “Yet you still refuse to let go.”

It’s then that Sebastian is done playing. With no effort, he yanks William into him, circling his arms around the reaper's thin waist and smiling down at him. “You’re right. I do.”

William isn’t receptive to the embrace at first, his hands pressed against Sebastian’s chest while he eyes the demon up and down until there’s barely a smile that breaks over William’s lips. His arms glide up and hook around Sebastian’s shoulders, taking a deep breath as he relaxes into the hold. “You put up with quite a lot to hold me like this.”

“You don’t make it easy, which I quite like. There’s thrill in the fight, isn’t there?”

“Mm, yes I suppose. But now I wish you’d shut up and kiss me.”

It takes no more coercion than that, easily capturing William’s lips. The reaper holds back a groan, pulling Sebastian closer so they were chest to chest. It’s easy to forget that they’re meant to be enemies for the time, that they’re meant to hate each other. Sebastian knows that William will always harbour hatred for him simply because he’s a demon but he cannot find that same hatred toward William. He’s chased after this reaper for some time now, slowly chipping away that ice of his until he was finally let inside.

He turns William around to push him against the wall, easily trapping the reaper there with his own body as he trails his lips from William’s and down his jaw, flipping the collar of his shirt to kiss over his neck. William sighs pleasantly into the affections, letting his eyes close and head tip back enough to allow Sebastian more access. His hands glide to Sebastian’s shoulders, grabbing tightly to him as Sebastian’s hands find purchase on his hips. It’s intimate. It’s warm. It’s something William had thought he dreamed up the first time he let it happen. To be touched like this, to be kissed with meaning was an experience he once accepted he’d never have. Yet now, he’s getting it from the one creature he should be spearing his scythe through. Sebastian’s distracted, his guard is down; it’d be easy to summon back his scythe and kill him, but he doesn’t. He lets Sebastian do what he wants, letting those hands travel over him, those lips sucking a mark on his neck in a location where he can barely hide it with his collar.

It’s the thrill of getting caught. Knowing that he’s been marked by the creature and that anyone could see it. Sebastian laid claim to his body many times now and each time he can never bring himself to stop and he knows, Sebastian cannot either. They're the same in some aspects, so swept up with their work and duties, they have little to no time for themselves so when the opportunity arose to lose themselves in each other, there were no questions asked.

William’s almost astounded that he was the one to initiate such a relationship. It’d been a combination of many things; frustration, pent up aggression, strict rules, useless subordinates. He just wanted one night to let go, to have someone else take care of things and when Sebastian found him that night, acting cocky as the butler does, William had been at his wits end. Underneath the shell of a reaper, he was still a human, despite how much he wanted to rid that part of himself. He was a human that needed a break.

William’s nearly about to let Sebastian have him on top of Big Ben when the demon pauses. William’s eyelids flutter open and he looks at Sebastian who’s looking over his own shoulder, as if someone had called his name. “Your master, hm?”

The demon sighs, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “Indeed. He’s called for me.”

“Is it serious, do you think?”

“He is not in danger.”

William pushes himself from the wall, straightening his back and letting the tips of his fingers rest on the sides of Sebastian’s jaw, coercing him back down for a kiss. Their lips move together, pressing softly against each other, letting it linger before William pulls back, offering the demon a regretful gaze, “I shan’t keep you then.”

Sebastian’s hands on him remain for but a moment before he steps back, letting out a disheartened sigh. “I apologise that this needs to be cut short.”

“We both have our duties, demon. I myself have probably spent too much time away from the office.”

He adjusts his glasses, summoning his scythe back into his hand as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. Just as he turns to leave, the demon speaks, “William?” The reaper barely turns back to the butler, offering him just a few moments more to say what he needs to, “I expect our next meeting to be much sooner than this one.”

William pushes up his glasses, turning his eyes to the moon as he hears Sebastian leave him behind. While their parting feels rather melancholic, the prospect of their next meeting sends a tingle down his spine and his fingers curl tight around the pole of his death scythe. “You have my word, Sebastian.”

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #william t. spears #william t spears #SebWill

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unknownjpegs · 18 days

Text

letters

Item select —> Letter

[A bundle of inexpensive parchment, tidily pressed, tied off with brown twine. Smells faintly of the sea. Fingerprint marks indicate where it’s been read and reread.]

Benji! [This is written larger than the rest of the neat, careful script]

I have found a quiet place inside the crypt, which means that I have found a moment to write to you. We’ve made camp alongside a sarcophagus that we’ve not been able to open—cannot help but judge the poor rogue (Lyana) doing her thief kitting, because Lark could probably get this done with his eyes closed.

Oh, right, you’re probably reading this and wondering where I’ve landed myself now. I’ve taken a contract to eliminate some undead (paladin duties, as you know, the code, oath, all that) with a new group of adventurers. And speaking of judging—Benji. Actually, I will get to the cleric in a moment.

Let me thank you instead for the recipe you sent for that tincture! You know how fucking rotten I am at potions and the like. You made it rather easy, though. Reading the instructions sort of felt like you were over my shoulder, telling me what to do. Admittedly, miss that a bit!

[an ink blot has stained part of the letter here, a smudged fingerprint]

Anyway, I need you to not be angry at what I’ll be writing next. Stop being preemptively angry just by that as well. I can picture you right now, with so much ease. Get that knot in your brow and tilt to your mouth. Might show off a cute fang with a curled lip. Well, the thing is, the crypt is dank and molded and I’ve definitely gotten a cold. Which, actually, you might be laughing at this part. Reading me talk about a cold (likely cramped up inside a tree, aren’t you? Half folded in on yourself, in weird ways. Never could sit right), probably a bit funny.

I guess you’ll be more annoyed that I haven’t spoken up about it. Or tried to ask our Cleric for some assistance. And I could heal myself probably (paladin!) but I don’t want him to see me doing it. Right, I can also imagine you rolling your eyes at me—like you aren’t just as stubborn. I just don’t like him, Benji. And I can’t let him win. He can’t know I’m suffering a common cold from dusty, moist crypts. One Healing Word on myself and he’ll see the blue flash and go ‘Aha! We should not have hired this paladin!’

Which, maybe is true…

Lyana, the rogue who cannot get the sarcophagus open (really easy work, Benji, promise, doesn’t look like alchemy, know what I mean?) is lovely really. Very sweet. I think she disikes me. Like, a lot, Benji. Tried to explain that I should hold the map of the place and she laughed at me. ‘Knights don’t hold maps’. Well. Told her, ‘I’m not a knight. I’m a paladin. And I should hold the map’.

I got a look at it, at least before we went in. So, you know me, memorized it pretty easy. Except, when I told her—and the fucking cleric—where to turn, they went the opposite way. We’re all stuck in this little crypt until someone starts listening to me. Or I lose it and kick the coffin over, wake up whatever’s inside and then maybe they will have use of me. Other than holding torches.

I think they hired me because I’m tall, Benji.

Made me miss [the sentence ends abruptly and the writer seems to pick up on a new page, as if the thought was interrupted or abandoned]

Hope you’re doing well, of course! Bet you hate when I get a long winded one out like this, huh? I traded some rings for parchment from a trader and he laughed at me over it, but I have to say. The rings probably were worth more, but getting to write to you is still probably the only thing keeping me sane on some of these journeys. I’m a bit tired of them. Of it, all, really.

I miss the fishing village. Missing a lot lately [another ink blot and furious smudges]

I’ll be waking up the undead in a minute. By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll have hopefully found a different party to travel with. Might try and find Lark again…

Anyway!

Your friend for as long as you’ll have me and my letters,

Xavier

[There is a crude, poorly drawn dog at the bottom of the last page. The words ‘bark bark’ are written next to it, perhaps to indicate that it is a dog, as the writer is not gifted with artistic talent.]

Item select —> Letter

[This single letter has a decisive, near violent but misaligned fold through the middle of it; as though the recipient read it once and tucked it away with haste.]

Benji, [the script is scratchy and messy and terribly lazy looking]

How are you, my fiendish friend? I’m writing you partially because I found out that you have been corresponding with a paladin we’re both acquaintances with; and yet I have never once received a letter from you. My heart is broken beyond repair. Hopefully you know how your cruelty has affected me. I wait, on a chaise lounge, tuning my violin and waiting for your reply.

[There’s a large, dramatic space.]

Actually, I am writing to you for a reason, not just to be a proper fucking annoyance. Though, you and I know, fond of that. Especially to you—but I’d like for you to be sitting for the next part of this letter.

When Xavier told me he’d been in regular correspondence with you, I felt I should be the one to write to let you know—once again, please be seated—that he was injured recently. Don’t get hasty, as he’s currently healing in a sick bed. Nice and well taken care of by a busty dwarf cleric that seems absolutely fond of the red head. Never seen someone lean over a man so frequently to check a fever.

Well, thought you should know! I’ll disclose the location in the way I always do when sending a secret through courier. I’m sure the man would like to see you. Groaned your name once or twice when they were straightening out those ribs to fix them.

You owe me, by the way.

Charmed as always,

Ben the Bard

#writing #hj #xw #bp #jlb #baldurs gate au #bp x xw

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babybluesquid · 10 months

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Session 3, Enter the Amalgam

Our Players this Week:

Hog 112, they/them, Weapon Thaumaturge, skirmisher warforged, the leader of the inquisitives agency and founding member, tends toward practicality and following a command structure.

Forward, he/him, Champion Paladin, infantry warforged, Hog’s second in command and founding member, follower of the Legionnaire Creed sect of the Sovereign Host and idealist.

Vestige, they/them, Bones Oracle, warforged placed into a human body, a healer and the agency’s fleshborn face, remains on the periphery with an individualistic streak.

Strategy, it/its, Empiricist Investigator, officer warforged, an old model who’s seen much action and uses the tactics they learned back during the war now under Sharn.

Samanta, she/they, Swashbuckler Fencer, skirmisher warforged, a spotter during the war who turned to spying for one of Sharn’s criminal families before joining the inquisitives agency.

——————

Molric subdued, but the case no closer to its resolution. Forward decides to return to the Agency with Molric, for safekeeping and questioning. Course, there’s also the matter of his four guards, one surrendered, two out cold, and one dead. Perhaps the Forged Fists can arrange their keeping. Cross wants to know about the case, seeing as they’re about to help with the matter. Forward’s peeved, though, telling them right off for being manipulated by the Blades and refusing to hand over any information which’ll just end up right with Shadowblack. Hog 112 cuts in to allay him, letting Cross know that in any case, it’s dubious Molric was the killer. Though disappointed, Cross promises to go about keeping the coppers off the sleuths, if they for some reason decide to care about the dead guard. Hog tells the lot of Forged Fists they know nothing. They salute and make off with Molric’s thugs.

Hog, Forward, & Associates Inquisitives Agency on Washery St, LLC, the industrial building retrofitted for its new purpose. It’s ugly, sure, but it’s home. Heading inside, Jhaala the secretary’s there. She scrunches up her nose, looking at the lot and their prisoner, and then asks. Hog says the party rescued him from mortal peril when the case got complicated. Sure. Jhaala asks whether she should prepare the cell or the guest room. Hog says the guest room would be appropriate, then sends Gentle, the group’s thug, to the Red Hammer to guard the prisoners there. Clever goes back to her office to rest and hopefully avoid a lecture.

Taking Molric to the guest room, Vestige suggests tying him up. After all, he’ll doubtlessly not be thrilled to be in custody. Forward rejects the idea, taking the guy’s gear will suffice for ensuring his keeping. A long argument ensues about what to do about him, who should get to talk to him. Samanta and Vestige shouldn’t since they’ve both already had contact. Strategy should tend to his wounds. It confirms it can, but notes that fleshborn biology is a bit different. Annoyed, Vestige volunteers to do it instead, they know better what they’re doing, medically speaking, and don’t appreciate the excluding. Forward acquiesces, then asks them why they he did it. Vestige says there’s no way it was just racism, seeing as he makes money off warforged laborers. Hog’s not too sure about that, revealing that the gnoll was hired by Slogar, and Forward believes it was Slogar’s doing as well. Still, it’s strange all the victims came from Molric’s business, and he may be involved if he’s not the mastermind of the situation. That gives Hog the lay of the interrogation method. They oughta express to him that he’s in over his head with this murder business and needs to cooperate to make it out alive. With that settled, Vestige goes about treating Molric. Soon enough, the manager comes to, and he’s none too pleased to find himself surrounded by peering forged. Demanding to know where he’s been brought, Molric curses and stands.

“Sorry about that,” Hog 112 says, “we came to help. There was a gang of warforged out from your blood due to this Jack-in-Irons business.” “You helped them and you hit me,” Molric points out. So, Hog reveals the Blades were en route. Plus, he attacked first. Was really nothing for it but to take him in. Forward hands over the HF&A business card helpfully. Molruc asks what the deal is, especially cause one of the agency’s men killed one of his. “That was an unfortunate accident,” Strategy offers. “Yes,” Hog agrees, “I’m gonna have a talk with that one. It’s difficult to be careful when you’re in danger. Your men weren’t holding back, neither were you. You looked about to kill over some angry words.”

Morlic demands to know where he’s at, and Forward says he’s being kept safe, since the Blades have framed him for the murders. That frightens him a bit, and then the talk’s able to begin in earnest. Turns out, Molric knows less than he was suspected to. He wasn’t much bothered by the dying, happens all the time in the Cogs, and had picked up a link of gold chain as Slogar took off one of the bodies. Figured by sympathetic magic, what would protect him from Jack-in-Irons. Molric also says the Canniths are suspicious, the agency oughta look into Andrea d’Cannith, came snooping around the Foundry earlier. Hog agrees to look into it, amused. Molric agrees to stay safe at the Agency, out of Blades’ reach. Forward promises to compensate for the dead man’s family.

It’s far too late to continue chasing leads, so the inquisitives get their rest. Morning, the Red Hammer, both prisoners are present and accounted for, and Gentle even remembered to feed them. Hog questions the goblin, and the guy’s story checks out. The accent sounds local, not Droaam. Forward thinks the party outa send him to the coppers, but Hog disagrees, gotta just let the guy go cause that’ll be too much trouble. This confuses Forward, who doesn’t wanna just let him go after he attacked the party, but also doesn’t wanna kill the guy. As the two get to bickering, Vestige pipes up and offers to give the guy a thrashing before they send him on his way. The two agree, so Vestige launches a painful, but nonlethal, assault on the goblin’s mind, insults him, then unties him once he promises not to mess with the party ever again. Gentle gives him a sandwich on the way out for his trouble.

The goblin problem being settled, Hog goes to speak to the gnoll alone. “I hope we treated you well enough,” they say. “Bout as well as you could, given the situation,” the gnoll grumbles in reply, then sighs, “Slogar wasn’t my employer. Lied bout that.” Curious, Hog presses him for the real information, but the gnoll refuses to give that up unless Hog will help him in return. See, there’s been some murders down in Khyber’s Gate, he needs the help of Inquisitives to solve them. Then, to go about proving his veracity, he tells Hog his name, Mognyr of Barrakas. That’s not good enough for Hog though, who asks who the employer is, why’d he lie and say it was Slogar of all people, how’d he get the business card? Most importantly for ensuring trust, why’d Mognyr change his mind and break his pact now? He reveals that his real employer is a bad sort, planning something that’ll bring everyone danger, including Znir. Fair enough, if Mognyr told the truth, Hog’ll be able to help him find better work, but if he lied, he’d better leave Sharn and never come back, lest Hog’s retribution come down on him. To punctuate this, Hog draws their knife, then cuts three slits into the gnoll’s ear, whispering, “you’re mine now. Don’t forget it.” Mognyr growls, “Znir have no masters.” Hog scoffs, “sure buddy,” then unties the guy and leads him upstairs to explain the lie.

Mognyr proceeds to detail his case to the sleuths. Over the past month, there’s been a series of similar murders down in Khyber’s Gate. His companions, Thyrn and Yrych, both were killed, and even an ogre was as well. All the bodies had strange symbols carved into them, which Mognyr draws. The first is a crown and sword overlapping, and the second is a bear. Strategy inspects the crude designs closely, concluding that the bear must be for Breland, but the crown and sword is more obscure, a symbol for the Rage of War, Rak Tulkesh. Hog 112 tells it not to say that name, it’ll call the darkness right to them. Forward’s not too bothered though, saying there’s no need to fear the darkness. Hog sighs. Forward asks to know who hired the Mognyr, but he doesn’t want to give it up, it’s the only payment he could provide the party for their services. Forward swears that facing the servant of an Overlord is payment enough, and gives a promise in honor of the sovereigns. Amazingly, that works. Mognyr reveals that his employer was actually a warforged. He draws the ghulra, but nobody in the party’s able to recognize it. “Seems we’re making more enemies everyday,” Hog comments. Mognyr wants to move to a more private place to reveal the rest of what he knows, so the party heads back to the agency.

There, the rest of the details spill. Mognyr’s employer was a big warforged, blades all over the guy’s body. He’d introduced himself as Aggregate, said that the inquisitives would get in the way, gave Mognyr names, physical descriptions, and the business card. It’s disturbing, this Aggregate fellow knowing so much about the agency when none of them know a thing about him. Mognyr goes on to say that he was gonna do a he was told, framing Slogar for the ordeal, but then he recalled something thinking late last night. A warforged by the same name had been to Greywall a few months back, seeking some Cannith prototype weapon left over from the Last War. Realizing the potential danger to Sharn, Mognyr opted to break pact, as one of the folks who live there. With him being so upfront about the whole thing, Forward offers to hire him on as an informant on Kyber’s Gate. He takes the deal, along with three galifars to purchase a new weapon.

It’s time to follow up on Copper, see if the party can’t get any additional testimony outa them. Only problem is their apartment is empty. Though, something doesn’t smell right. Hog pushes on the back wall. It’s wood, painted like stone, and it’s not quite solid. They step aside as Forward easily smashes through. There’s a tunnel, dark and narrow of loose stones. The air is uncharacteristically cold and smells of rot. Metal scraps are strewn about the floor. It’s such a small space that Forward barely fits, and the inquisitives have to take it single file. Hog hands Forward their bullseye lantern and he leads the group down, Hog, Vestige, Strategy, and Samanta following behind. Hog peers about the tunnel ahead, searching for anything suspicious. Yep, floor’s trapped with blades. Samanta squeezes to the front of the group to disarm it.

Eventually, the tunnel widens into a large cavern. It’s full up of metal scrap, weapons, armor, chains, and more. The sleuths head in to get a closer look, then, the scrap rises into the air. It coalesces into two whirling masses of rubble, which advance and threaten to batter the group. Springing into action, Strategy determines there’s nothing specific to target within the clouds of metal. Hog makes much the same conclusion. It’s on. The swarm envelopes Samanta and Vestige. Caught in the middle and struck by pieces of flying metal, the two see limbs, warforged limbs. One matches one of Jack-in-Irons’ victims.

Fortunately, some attacks work, coming against the animating force, it seems. The piles discorporate and fall back down. A warforged arm, cleanly cleaved from its previous owner, bearing gold and iron rings, falls at Forward’s feet. The arm of a Legionnaire. Forward turns to ask Vestige if they’re alright, seeing as they took the brunt of the swarm’s ire, and they say they are. Hog wants to continue ahead, but Strategy thinks searching the room first would be advisable. In all, there are no other identifiable parts, but seven scraps are definitely pieces of forged bodies.

Samanta finds the exit, a locked door, so she sets to picking it. The lock clicks open, and she slips through. There’s a short hallway with a turn in it. She slinks along. Coming up on the bend, she peers over. It’s some kinda lab. Copper’s there, so’s a tall lanky figure in a black cloak. They’re agitated, scared, Samanta realizes Copper is begging for mercy moments before the figure stabs them through the chest with a dagger! No more time to do this the sneaky way. Samanta shouts down the hall for help and rushes in to interfere. Copper drops to the ground with a hard thud. The cloaked figure runs to the wall, and it opens up. Secret door. It shuts promptly behind them. Before she can pursue, there’s a stirring behind a black curtain. A thing emerges.

It’s as big as an ogre, but that’s where similarity ends. It’s an amalgam, a horrific patchwork of livewood, flesh, steel, and exposed bone. Several bodies make up its form, and its forehead bears a patch of skin with an inert Mark of Making in a grim mockery of a ghulra. On one side, it bears a massive arm. The other has two smaller ones affixed to its torso, one being two warforged arms attached end to end, the other a bugbear and human arm sewn together. The human hand bears a Cannith signet sing on its bloody fingers.

Vestige is the first to run into the room. Rightly surmising this juggernaut has neither mind nor soul to target, they place a rock in their sling and fire it into the thing. It seems to have no effect against the hulk’s armor. Forward rushes in behind, reaching Copper and infusing them with holy healing. But to no avail. The poor scrapper’s already dead, killed in an instant just as all of Jack-in-Irons’ other victims. The thing lifts a brick off the floor and launches it toward Strategy, but misses. Samanta rushes the thing, stabbing her blades in deep. A dark mixture of blood and alchemical fluid, smelling of foul ash oozes from the cuts. Hog determines the thing’s construction is far from stable, some acid could take it apart at the joints. They hurry at preparing some.

The vile construct charges. It raises a fist, which alights with flame, and slams it into Vestige. They’re knocked back hard into the wall, and fall still. Blood trickles from their hood. The forged hurriedly intervene. Forward takes advantage of its lumbering imbalance to trip it. Strategy pulls the healer’s kit of Vestige and hurriedly tries to patch them up, but they can’t seem to stop the bleeding. Meanwhile, the other agents struggle to get strikes in past the thing’s confusing anatomy and heavy armor. As Hog flings acid on it, it reaches out and grabs him, then punches him hard with an iron fist. Forward is able to knock it back over and Strategy fires on it with its force rod before continuing to tend to Vestige’s wounds. Miraculously, though it is unsure what to do for a fleshborn body, their breath grows steady and the blood stops. It seems Vestige’s will to live has overcome the draw of Dolurrh.

——————

Notables:

Jhaala, she/her, a local goblin who was brought on to be the agency’s secretary. She’s a no-nonsense sort.

Gentle, they/them, though they’ve got no inquisitive prowess, they’re useful to the agency as a guard or a thug. Their name’s true, they do treat folks with kindness.

Molric, he/him, the manager of the Tain Foundry. Seems to be compliant now that the fear of the Blades is in him.

Mognyr, he/him, sure, he tried to kill the party, but given he broke pact, there’s a place for a Khyber’s Gate informant among the HF&A’s ranks. Maybe his murder case is connected.

Aggregate, he/him?, Mognyr claims he was hired by this fellow. Too bad none of the agency have heard of this forged, by name or ghulra.

Copper, they/them, poor fellow got murdered by the mystery figure, Jack-in-Irons. Though it begs wondering, why was the lair of the killer connected to their apartment?

Mystery Figure/Jack-in-Irons, unknown pronouns, only Samanta got any sort of look at the guy before they fled through a secret door, leaving the party to fight a horrific construct of flesh and forge.

#pf2e #pathfinder campaign #pathfinder story #my post #my writing #hf&a llc #eberron #ttrpg story #ttrpg recap #session 3 #dnd campaign #vestige #hog 112 #forward #strategy #samanta #warforged #steel shadows

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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Note

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

#eren yeager x reader #bully eren yeager #toxic eren #eren yeager x you #yandere eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x fem!reader #eren yeager x reader fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #dubcon tw #tw noncon #tw abuse #tw drinking #tw drunk driving #eren yeager fanfiction #dark content #dark fic #tw trauma #tw depr

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loopy-froots · 3 years

Text

Childhood Friends

Brahms Heelshire x afab!Reader

Author: @loopy-froots

Word Count: 3261 (WOW wtf…)

Slight request by @leahromanof : small age gap (Brahms is 26-28 and the reader is 20)

Summary: The Reader grew up very close to the Heelshire family, as their parents were business partners with them. However, after the fire incident, Brahms and the Reader took some space from each other. While the Reader knew Brahms was still alive, they didn’t know under the circumstances he was. When a sudden tragedy strikes their family, the Reader is left with no home. The Heelshire family offer their home with welcoming arms, but much has changed between all of them since they have last seen each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, swearing, slasher x reader, smut, virgin/unprotected sex (masc and fem), abusive parents (fem), insecurities (on both parts), slight age gap (6ish years?), a slight size kink (if you squint?), etc.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t too sure what to write for the age gap so I hope this is good enough!!! I also threw in a lot of personal needs I’ve been having, so I hope y’all don’t mind! Feel free to let me know your thoughts!!!

~~~

*2nd Person POV*

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were finally going to see your beloved childhood friend, Brahms Heelshire, again after close to ten years of separation. You wished this was not under these circumstances, as you never intended to cause your family such turmoil.

“Y/n! Come in, why don’t you?” Mr. Heelshire exclaims as he opens his front door. He must have seen you walk up their driveway. You can see Mrs. Heelshire inside, but she shares a concerning expression. Trying to brush it off, you step inside and am greeted by the warmth of the house. It was a terribly chilly winter day, and the walk there exhausted you.

“Come, dear! Let me get you a cup of tea to warm you up! You look rather frozen!” Mrs. Heelshire snaps out of her funk and laughs al0ng with her husband. Their jovial attitude makes you feel rather welcomed and loved.

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire… I… I’m terribly sorry that this all happened… especially so suddenly…” You look down with embarrassment.

“Nonsense! We’re always happy to have you, Y/n! Our home is yours!” Mr. Heelshire smiles at you, but you get a somewhat urgent vibe from him. You’re not sure how to feel about it, but you figure since they’re being ever so kind you were in no position to question.

“Now, dear… why don’t you tell us exactly what happened… Perhaps we may help with your parents’ situation?” Mrs. Heelshire gently suggests, but you shake your head in disagreement.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s possible… you see, I recently came out to my parents as non-binary… they’ve never been overly supportive of that kind of stuff, but I knew I couldn’t hide myself any longer…” You explain shamefully.

“Oh my… that is a rather difficult predicament, hm? However, we want you to know that we fully support you… in fact, our own Brahms considers himself genderfluid,” Mrs. Heelshire shares, which honestly makes you feel less alone.

“Really? I… I had no idea… Thank you, but speaking of which… where is Brahms…? Does he still live with you?” You wonder.

“Oh, um… yes… he does, but he’s grown to be rather… timid… so he doesn’t always come out when people are visiting…” Mr. Heelshire explains swiftly, and you try to understand. You don’t fully know what he’s been through, so who are you to judge his social anxieties?

“That’s alright. Well, I just hope he knows how excited I am to see him again…” You confess, causing a surprised reaction from the Heelshire couple.

“Really? Well, that’s certainly wonderful! I’m sure he'll become more open to meeting you after he gets used to you being in the house…” Mrs. Heelshire states with a gentle smile, and you nod your head in agreement.

With that, you are then taken on a tour of the house. You’re shown areas you can and cannot wander to, and you mentally note each location that’s off limits. You’d never want to make the Heelshires uncomfortable, despite how curious you were. They show you to your room, which you immediately recognize as Brahms’ childhood room.

“Oh wow! This looks exactly how I remembered it!” You giggle.

“I’m glad you’re fond of it still, as Brahms insisted you take his room for your own… comfort…” Mr. Heelshire shares, but something tells you he’s not entirely being honest. However, you ignore the feeling bubbling up in your stomach.

“Well, feel free to unpack your things dear. As we mentioned before, we are planning on going on a trip within the next few days. So it will be just you and Brahms for a while…” Mrs. Heelshire reminds you, and you shiver slightly for some reason.

“Oh, yes… Well, I hope the two of you enjoy it!” You politely respond.

~~~

“Goodbye, dear! And remember, follow the rules and you’ll get no trouble from our dear Brahms!” The Heelshires bid you farewell and leave in their cab. Closing the door, you sigh in relief.

“Alright, follow the rules… I can do that… it’s the least I can do since they were so kind as to let me stay for a while…” You motivate yourself.

“Y/n…” A sudden familiar, childlike voice echoes through the house. You looked around to see who it came from, but you saw no one. It had to be Brahms, right? Who else could it have been, but where was he?

“B-Brahms?” You sheepishly call out. You hear no answer and suddenly feel quite stupid. Maybe you just heard the shifting of the house or imagined someone was calling your name?

“Alright, focus… first things first, making some lunch… hopefully he’ll come down to eat with me…?” You hope. You could’ve sworn you heard another childish giggle somewhere, but you try to shake the skittish feeling building up. You quickly make whatever you feel like for lunch, desperate to finish so that you can call Brahms down to eat.

“Um, Brahms? I… lunch is done… if you want some?” You yell throughout the house, but you hear no answer. Finally feeling defeat, you turn back to the kitchen and notice that one of the plates of food has disappeared.

“How did he get to it without me noticing?” You ask out loud. Every instinct within you tells you that something was wrong, but you tried your best to give the man some time to adjust to the new living situation.

“Y/n…?” In the middle of eating, you hear a now more adult version of the voice you heard earlier. You drop your fork in surprise and frantically look around for the source. You then see a tall and scruffy looking man standing at the end of the dining room. He was holding the plate that is now empty, and you figure that must be Brahms. He was very odd looking, in all honesty. He wore a porcelain mask that resembles the type of little dollies you used to keep as a kid.

“Oh, um… h-hello, Brahms…?” You try to be friendly towards him, despite the creepy feeling you got from him already. However, him not answering causes the suspicion to form again.

“Um… did you enjoy the meal I made for you?” You try to spark a conversation, but Brahms nonverbally nods in response.

“That’s good! I’m… glad…” You smile awkwardly at him, but his masked face remains expressionless. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and Brahms notices the tense state you’re in. He begins to step closer to you, and sets his plate on the table. Sweating profusely, you wonder what he’s doing. He steps closer and closer to you until he’s directly in front of you. While you sit, he towers over you. You’d never admit it, but he’s very intimidating. However, you try your best to be polite.

“Is… everything alright, Brahms?” You ask innocently. He just stares at you, though, never saying a word. When you were about to get up and try to walk away, he grabs your arm and pulls you into him.

“B-Brahms…?!” You exclaim as he squeezes you in his broad arms. He’s rather warm, but trembling. Your heart relaxes when you realize he only wanted a hug.

“Y/n… nice to see you again…” He finally peeps out. Your cheeks heat up, but you lean into the embrace. The two of you just hold onto each other for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Good to see you, too! I was worried you were upset with me for coming back after such a long time…” You try to pull away and look him in the eyes, but his grip keeps you there.

“Mm, no… not upset… lonely…” He breathes into your ear, sending a chill down your back. He was… lonely? That makes you feel bad… really bad… how could you leave him like you did after the incident?! It wasn’t completely your fault, as you parents were the main reason you stayed away. They told you what a dangerous person Brahms was, and they forbid you from being influenced by him in any way.

Additionally, your parents never liked how fond the two of you seemed towards each other, despite the slight age difference you had. Brahms was only six years older, and to you it didn’t matter for terms of friendship. However, your parents saw the attraction Brahms had towards you right away. As children, it only developed into a little crush, but the older the two of you got the more obvious it became, to the adults at least. You seemed quite oblivious to his attempts to woo you, as you had just thought he was being friendly.

“I…I’m sorry, Brahms… I should’ve… I wish I’d have… I’m sorry…” Tear well in your eyes as you look down from his gaze. Your focus then shifts to the ever growing bulge in his pants that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s alright… happy you’re here now…” Brahms strokes your hair with his free hand, and he leans into you. You feel him stroke your neck with his nose, seemingly trying to get a reaction out of you. Completely frozen, you felt unsure of what to do. All of the sudden, your head’s ideas clicked and made you realize the years of yearning he’d been doing for you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still have feelings for the boy you grew up with. You always admired how protective he was of you. You never admitted your affection towards him, though, as you thought he might react negatively. To you, the age difference acted as a barrier, but to him, it seemed he didn’t mind in the slightest. All he’s ever known was his love for you, despite the age gap. However, is this still the same boy as before? You probably barely knew him anymore. Then why were you getting so flustered over this simple interaction?

“Brahms?” You look back into his eyes with a curious glint. What was he planning with you?

“Hm?” He nonchalantly answers.

“Are you…?” You start, but then feel too embarrassed to finish.

“Yes,” He agrees without needing you to explain. You feel him jerk his hips into your stomach softly, desperate to get some friction between the two of you. As intoxicating as he was being, you still felt unsure of your stance with him.

“I’m not sure I want to… I mean, this is so soon… don’t you think?” You try to reason mainly with yourself to try and stop this from happening. With that, Brahms stops and pulls away from you with a pout.

“No?” He questions with sweet eyes.

“I… yes…?” You try to stand your ground with yourself again, but it’s no use. Brahms’ heartfelt pleading turns you to putty in his hands.

“Please?” He begs. With that, you finally agree, and he’s onto you. Groping all up and down your sides, front, and back, he feels every inch of your body as if he’s desperate to find something in you.

“Brahms… wait…?” You stop him again, realizing you hadn’t seen his actual face yet. You politely ask him to remove his mask, but he visibly slumps.

“Why…? You… don’t want to see me…” Brahms insecurely explains, but you shake your head.

“I do! Please…?” You whine as he continues to feel up your back. Brahms hesitates slightly, then agrees. With that, he slowly removes the porcelain from himself. This leaves his bare, burnt, and uncertain face into your view. You’re unsure of what to say at first, as your feelings are conflicted. However, you quickly decide to go with what your heart felt.

“You’re so handsome, Brahms…” You confess with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t respond, though, almost as if he’s debating what to say as well.

“Mm!” You moan through a sudden kiss he placed on your lips, making Brahms smile to himself in the kiss. He loved the way you reacted to his touch. He quickly realized you were feeling the same towards him, and that gave him the confidence to continue. You rapidly grew a certain heat in your pelvic area, but the feeling was still unfamiliar to you. Only on the rare occasion did you allow yourself the pleasure, but you felt guilty for it every time.

“Slut… whore… useless daughter…” Your parents’ past words radiate in your head, and a panic washes over your body. Brahms senses your inner conflict again, and stops once more.

“Y/n…?” He gently asks to see if you’re alright. Tears well up in your eyes as the guilt of disappointing your parents consumes you.

“I’m sorry, I just… my mom and dad would be so upset… I just feel so… lost…” You admit, and Brahms wipes your cheeks with his calloused hands.

“Mm, screw them…” He chuckles darkly.

“But…” You try to argue, but he shushes you instead.

“They’ve never been good to you, Y/n…” Brahms shares, and it confuses you at first. They’ve always given you food, shelter, and anything else a child would need.

“But they… they mean well…” You try to reason it out, but he still disagrees.

“I’ve been watching, listening to how they treat you your whole life, Y/n… the way they scream at you, gaslight you, disappoint you… that’s not love… that’s abuse…” Brahms whispers with a broken heart for you. The pain of realization hits you, but you try to muffle your cries with your hands over your mouth.

“I’m so sorry… I know how hard it is… but I… I want to love you… really love you…” He kisses the top of your head sweetly. His words fill your heart with hope that you might not be miserable the rest of your life.

“Really…? I mean, I would love that… but I don’t want to force you into anything…” You self doubt yourself.

“Absolutely. I mean, hell… why do you think I was doing all of this?” Brahms wonders, and you suppose he’s right.

“Yeah, true… I’m sorry, I just feel bad… but thank you, I’d love to… y’know…?” You admit with a shy grin, which he immediately returns.

“Good,” He smirks and kisses you again. This time, the kiss was much more desperate for the sweet result. Brahms shows no mercy for you this time as he begins biting your lips. Your little gasps invoke a strong sense of pride within him. He was making you feel this way, and he alone would make you feel good.

“Hm,” His deep voice rumbles in his chest. Your eyes flutter open and shut, unsure of how to go about this situation. Squirming around awkwardly, you then feel Brahms grab your waist as he lifts you up and onto the table.

“Ah! Brahms...?!” You yelp in surprise.

“Take off your shirt, Y/n.” He demands, already sliding his hands underneath. You timidly follow his instructions, removing your shirt and bra from your body. Brahms looks down from your face and onto your breasts. He adored them, so he ran his hands over them as he gave each nipple a cheeky pinch.

“Oh, Brahms…” Your eyes close in bliss, but he snaps your attention back to his eyes.

“Look at me,” He suggests sternly.

“O-okay…” You do as he wishes and stare deep into his icy eyes. He’s tender and gentle, but he still makes you feel so small next to him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/n… I’ve always loved you…” Brahms brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, giving him a better view at your beauty.

“I have loved you for the longest time, too, Brahms… I just never knew how to tell you…” You try your best to express your feelings, but your past experience with doing so has never been easy for you. Each emotion you shared ended in an argument with your parents.

“I’m so glad… please…” Brahms pleads, leaning his forehead against yours. He didn’t have to finish for you to understand what he wanted.

“C’mere…” Your sudden burst of trust hits the two of you like a train. Brahms roughly attacks your neck with his lips and teeth, nipping at all your sensitive areas. Exploring each and every inch, he scopes out which areas you like best.

“Mm, Y/n…” He whimpers, rubbing his needy cock against your body. You had neglected it for far too long, and you wanted to give it some love too.

Lowering your hand down to his member, you stroke him through his pants. Pre-cum leaks from his tip and soaks through his underwear slightly. His moans fill your ears with sweet misery. The lack of being inside of you was killing him, but he wanted to take things slow for you.

“Ah, Y/n…! Please! I’ll be a good boy!” He begs you to allow him entrance, and you agree. Instantaneously, he pulls his clothes off and prepares his painfully hard cock to slide into you.

“Oh! You feel… so tight…!” He didn’t tell you, but this was his first time as well. The first feeling of being inside of someone, especially when that someone is you, was the best feeling he’s ever felt. He couldn’t help himself but pump in and out of you. He tried his best to go slow, but his selfish excitement got the better of him. However, you were far from upset by this.

“Ah! D-don’t… stop…!” You plead with him, and he obliges. Slapping his body into yours in a rhythmic motion causes you to quickly feel that coil in your stomach tighten around him.

“F-fuck…! You’re gonna make me…!” As quickly as it started, your love making ended. The two of you came together simultaneously, and everything felt perfect to you. However, Brahms felt a wave of guilt.

“I… I’m sorry… I wish I had lasted longer… and I shouldn’t have pressured you into this…” He goes on and on about all the things he could’ve done better, but you then stop him with a chaste peck on his lips.

“You were perfect. Thank you,” You lovingly look into his eyes. He searches for any sort of regret, but when he finds none he settles into your arms.

~~~

MY REQUESTS FOR DRAWING AND WRITING ARE STILL OPEN!! FEEL FREE TO SEND AN ASK/MESSAGE WITH YOUR IDEA!!

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

let it bleed

summary: you’re on your period, and harry just wants to make you feel good.

warnings: smut, shower sex, period sex, clothed sex/grinding, fingering

word count: 6.8k words

song inspo: let it bleed - the rolling stones (aren’t i funny)

Waking up on Saturday is generally a blissful experience - sleeping in until the day feels nearly gone, lounging with Harry around the house or heading outside when the weather permits it - sure, every day in quarantine could be chalked up to just another Saturday but there’s something different about the actual day itself. Harry’s usually awake entirely too early during the week, sitting at the kitchen table with his headphones in, suffering through meetings with producers and managers for much longer than what could possibly be bearable. And you’re generally holed up at your desk, trying not to fucking die of boredom as you sit through useless Zoom sessions and assignments given by superiors who don’t understand technology - needless to say, you’d rather waste your days wrapped in Harry’s arms than sitting through that.

This Saturday, though, wakes you up a few hours later than you usually would, Harry’s head pressed into your chest, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers clutched tight on the oversized t-shirt you’d donned to bed. Chestnut curls brush the end of your nose and a sleepy smile tilts your lips upwards as your eyes crack open, squinting up at the ceiling of your bedroom, only dimly aware of the low stream of early morning light shining through the window beside your bed.

You never usually wake this early, do you? No, you don’t, and you tilt your head to glare at the clock mounted on the wall across the room from you. It’s 4:56, a whole 5 hours before you’d ever even consider getting out of bed, and, yet, your body had forced you awake for seemingly no reason. You could be curling yourself up in Harry’s arms, legs around his torso and arms around his neck as his snores ring in your ears like a lullaby, except -

There’s a dull pain in your abdomen, right above your belly button, twisting your insides with just enough force to rip a soft groan from your lips. It’s a feeling you recognize entirely too well, cramps throttling your uterus like they’re trying to fucking murder you and you’re sure that, whenever you muster the energy to pull yourself out of bed and waddle over to the bathroom, you’ll see the physical proof of exactly what’s causing it.

Harry stirs against your chest, arm tightening around your waist until his forearm is pressed to your abdomen, face pushing further into your boobs as though it’s intentional. You stare down at him for a moment - perhaps he’ll crack an eye open, lips turning up, just to see how you’d reacted - but, no, he’s truly asleep. Dead asleep, you’d assume as you lift a hand to run through his messy hair and he doesn’t move at the motion.

You hate untangling yourself from him, almost always forcing him awake, but you suppose it’s repercussions for him being such a damn cuddler - not that you’d dream of complaining.

Slowly your fingers wrap around his wrist, his fingertips still held tight onto your shirt (or is it his? You never truly know, sometimes) as though it’s some sort of lifeline - still, it’s easy enough to pull his hand from your clothes, reaching over to rest his arm against the side of his body and he hardly stirs at the disruption.

Of course, the next part is destined to be much less graceful and significantly more disruptive to your loving boyfriend, resting like a sleeping angel, practically on top of you - you press your palm to the side of the bed next to you and use it as leverage to roll out of his embrace, pausing once you land on your back to see if he wakes.

(At the same time, you feel a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of your tummy that - isn’t pleasant, to say the very least, and you scrunch your nose up at the feeling.)

That seemed to do the trick - Harry drops flat on his face on top of the mattress and wakes with a jolt as though you’d doused him with water, pushing himself onto his forearms just as you stand up, stretching your arms high above your head with a sigh.

“What’reyoudoin’?” he slurs out, voice dripping with raspiness and sleep and you look back just as he drops his head back onto the pillow. You could fool yourself into thinking he’s gone back to bed until he lifts his head up, eyebrow raised just so. “Come back, babe - s’so early -”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell him, sliding your feet into your Santa slippers before making your way across the bedroom towards the bathroom, its door creaked open just so. You pause once you pass your dresser and open the top drawer, grabbing a fresh pair of panties and balling them up in your fist. “You can go back to bed - I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll wait,” he insists, eyes already drooping shut as you close the bathroom door behind you, shuffling over to the toilet as you wince at the discomfort. You certainly hadn’t needed any sort of confirmation to affirm your suspicion but you still get one - blood stains your panties, your sleep shorts mercifully spared, and you kick them off your legs, balling the blood-soaked panties with a grimace.

It takes only a minute or two to clean yourself up, and when you’ve put in a tampon and pulled on your new panties and sleep shorts, you rifle through the bathroom cabinet searching for the small bottle of painkillers that your abdomen yearns for - there’s few pills left, used mainly for this time of the month, and you shake three into your palm and pop them into your mouth. It’ll take a while to kick in - twenty minutes, usually, and that’s if you get lucky - but you’ll hopefully be fast asleep in Harry’s arms during that time. They’re not horrible, anyway, your cramps - usually they’re worse, and you’re sure they’ll pain you more as the day progresses, but at least you can take pills now to settle them.

You flick the light switch so the room basks itself in darkness before heading back into your bedroom, eyes landing on Harry’s figure, duvet pushed down to just above his hips, arms stretched high above his head. Even in the dim light of the room, illuminated solely by the rising sun that peeps through the window, you can see the way his eyes follow you - instead of walking around the bed to your side, you stop beside him, reaching down to run your fingers through his curls.

“Tha’s nice,” Harry murmurs, moving his head up further into your grasp and you grin. “Are y’comin’ back t’bed, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, voice soft, and hardly one minute ago it had been your intent to crawl into bed beside him and sleep off the first morning of your period but you’re feeling an entirely different urge, now, gaze locking with his for just a moment, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah - scoot over.”

Harry scoffs with a lazy smile but obliges, shifting to the side so you can clamber into bed beside him. One bare arm lifts to wrap around your waist as you curl into his side, tilting your head upwards to land a light kiss to the underside of his jaw. Your palm goes up to the side of his face, cold fingertips pressed to his cheek as you tilt his head towards you, suckling light kisses into the delicate skin on the column of his throat, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your lips as he exhales.

“What’re you doing?” your boyfriend questions softly, fingertips fiddling with the ends of your hair as you lift your leg to throw across both of his, kisses trailing further down his neck and your palm smoothing up and down his bare chest, nails scratching his skin softly. “Tryin’ t’make me horny - you’re the devil.”

“I’m not,” you murmur against his skin, which is a lie and a pathetic one at that, as your calf dips higher to caress the bulge in his boxers that seems to harden with every pucker of your lips against his neck.

“You are,” Harry insists, hand sliding down your back until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts, and before he can duck his fingers beneath the fabric your face heats up and you push yourself to straddle him, core situated directly over his cock, and he groans, the noise guttural and raspy. “What’s got you so worked up, hmm?”

You don’t answer - and it’s not as though it’s embarrassing to admit that you’re on your period, because you’ve certainly been with Harry long enough to know that he’s not a man with masculinity so fragile that it breaks with the mere mention of menstruation - but you’d rather not shatter the moment you’ve created by announcing that it can’t go on further than it already has. Instead, you roll your hips against his, spurred on by his soft moan as your hands slide down his arms until your palms press to his and you interlock your fingers, using it as leverage to rock your body against his with more force.

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, head digging backwards into his pillow and you drop your head back, grinding your clit against his bulge and even through the layers of fabric between you, the stimulation is good enough to pull a whimper from your throat - you hadn’t thought you’d been that needy but perhaps you were more desperate for him than you’d suspected. His hands untangle from yours and slide up your thighs, landing on your ass, fingers spreading to encompass as much of your fabric-covered skin as he can, rocking you deeper against him.

You moan softly, bracing your hands on his chest as his grasp on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts and you can feel his cock twitching in his boxers against your cunt - his hips buck gently up into yours and if you were like him, you’d tut and murmur for him to stay still, baby, but you’re nicer than that. “God, Har -”

Large hands slide from holding the globes of your ass up to your waist, fingertips smoothing circles into your skin through your shirt and the motion helps to ease the cramps still throbbing in your abdomen, though significantly lessened by both the Advil you’d taken and the pleasure building in your body as you grind against your boyfriend. Orgasms always help with cramps - when you were younger you’d spend hours in the shower, fingers toying with your clit and bringing yourself to cum over and over again. And now - well, you still do that, though grinding against Harry is much more pleasurable than doing it yourself. “I’m gonna cum, Har,” you breathe, and you lean your body forward, palms pressed into the pillow beside his head until you can dip your head down, lips pressing to his in a heated kiss that he moans into, holding your waist tighter against his dick. “Just - just a little more -”

“Don’t,” Harry grunts, which is what you’d expected him to say, and you push yourself back up, detaching your lips from his as you rise to sit above him again, hips still working against him with ease. “Wanna be inside you, baby - need t’fuck you -”

You bring your hands to his wrists when he reaches for the waistband of your shorts, preventing him from tugging them down your stomach and he looks up at you, brows furrowed and lips parted with desire as you breathe, “No - can’t -”

“Please -”

“I’m on my period,” you tell him, feeling heat creep up your neck and tainting your cheeks, and to compensate you grind further down on him, dropping your head back at his responding groan.

His tongue darts out to lap at his lips briefly, hands smoothing back down to palm your ass and he doesn’t look nearly as weirded out as you’d expected - you hadn’t thought he’d push you off but you didn’t think he’d start rocking you against him with a new intensity that rips a whine from your throat. Harry doesn’t waste another moment before responding, as though you’d merely told him the weather instead of the current state of your menstrual cycle, “I don’t care, need t’be in you -”

He’s horny, your brain tells yourself. He would care if you hadn’t been grinding on him for nearly ten minutes. And you could accept his declaration of carelessness at face value and strip down and take him but he wouldn’t want it if he was thinking straight, and he’s decidedly not, now, brain muddled with sleep and horniness, even as his hands begin smoothing up the fabric riding up your ass. Fingertips graze your ass beneath your shorts and you jolt -

You’ll suck him off when you’re done, and you’re so close - it’s just another roll of your hips as Harry’s hands grasp your ass, digging into your skin so tight you’ll surely see bruises later that will do unspeakable things to your menstruating brain -

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as Harry moans beneath you, grinding yourself vigorously against him with a desperate whimper, and you’d cringe at it in any other instance but God, it feels so good, better than anything your fingers could do in the shower, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed as your orgasm washes over you. It’s fast and brutal and your body jerkily attempts to maintain a rhythm against your boyfriend’s clothed cock but it’s difficult, arms shaking with the force of holding yourself up as your thighs tighten around his hips, and finally you lean forward, crashing your lips to Harry’s so he can swallow your needy moans.

His palms slide up your ass to your back, pressing against the small of your back as you lazily roll your hips over his, riding out the last aftershocks of your release until you’re done, dropping your head to his chest as heat floods your face. Perhaps he can tell you’re feeling embarrassed - he can read you like a book, generally - and his hands move up beneath your shirt, hands warm against your bare back as he breathes heavily.

(His dick is still throbbingly hard beneath you, and it’s a wonder he’s not bucking his hips into yours to chase his release, but he is, first and foremost, a gentleman.)

“Please -” he murmurs as you move your head so your cheek is pressed to his chest, feeling his heart thumping against your face. “Need t’fuck you, baby - little blood doesn’t bother me -”

Well, he’s still horny, and you ignore the way your stomach flips just like you ignore his words, sliding down his body and laying kisses against his skin as you tug the duvet fully off his body. You’ll consider his words later - debate how much he means it, and maybe he’ll mention it again later - but, for now, you can’t go on leaving him so painfully hard under you, especially when the thought of sucking him off sounds so appealing -

The topic goes, for the most part, unmentioned throughout the rest of the day - the two of you fall back to sleep after your early morning ministrations but only for a few more hours, venturing into the kitchen at 8 to have breakfast out in the garden. French toast amongst flowers is an unmatched experience and one you hadn’t had before quarantine, but you and Harry try to take advantage of the weather before it starts to get too chilly to spend time outside. You still had to run inside to grab cardigans for you both to don but - well, it’s the principle that matters.

And after breakfast comes movies, searching through Amazon until you find something you both haven’t seen, and Harry heads to warm your heating pad as you sacrifice the $3.99 to watch Almost Famous, and he returns with your pad just as you clear a space for him to curl onto the couch behind you. It’s such normal period protocol that you could nearly forget his eagerness to bury himself inside of you, blood and all -

Nearly.

You haven’t forgotten, even when Jason Lee and Billy Crudup fight in a crashing plane, how Harry had begged you to let him fuck you - and he was horny, only a blind man could deny it, but he’d never made claims he couldn’t keep no matter how hard his dick was. The first time he’d confessed that he loved you, he’d been balls deep in your cunt, back pressed tight to your back as he landed biting kisses to the back of your neck, and he’d murmured the words against your sweaty skin - and, later, when you’d asked if he meant it, he’d told you that he’d never lie t’you when you’re tha’ close t’my bits.

It isn’t the most eloquent promise, but he’d mostly kept it. Still - what kind of dreamboat would someone have to be to be willing to fuck you on your period? You’d dated enough people to know what how much of a rarity that is, to have a man so cool with menstruation he doesn’t care about having sex with you and you find it hard to believe Harry truly would be willing -

His arms are crossed over your body, forearms holding your heating pad to your abdomen, palms resting nearly absentmindedly against your boobs through your shirt. His lips lay lazy kisses against the back of your neck, so gentle you’re sure he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, fingers every so often flexing gently against your chest. His curls tickle your shoulders through your tank top, cardigan discarded on the coffee table in front of you, and a chill rolls through your body at the feeling.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you - or maybe he does. You can’t decide which option you prefer.

Harry pauses, breathing gentle against your skin. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Sometimes you forget how well he can read you. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He hums, thumb moving in gentle circles against your boobs, grazing your nipple through the thin bra you’re wearing beneath your tank top, and you can practically hear the way his eyebrow quirks as you inhale softly. “Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re horny.”

You huff, and Harry drops his forehead against the back of your scalp with a low laugh. “Well, obviously - fingering my boobs like that - it’s the period hormones -”

“Period hormones.”

“Yes!” And you push yourself to sit up, glaring down at Harry lying beneath you, heating pad falling along with his arms to your lap, and his hands land on your thighs, palms smoothing up and down your skin. “Come on, you know I get horny on my period -”

“More than usual, you mean?”

“More than - I’m not the one who wakes up in the middle of the night with love boners!”

“Did that today, though, didn’t you?”

You, truly, don’t have any sort of response for that, mouth opening and closing a few times before you cross your arms over your chest, decidedly ignoring his smug smirk. “At least I have an excuse.”

He shrugs, drumming his fingertips up and down your thighs before raising one arm to slide beneath his head, tattooed arm gazing up at you and you want to - God, you want him to fucking rail you and you swallow thickly as his gaze never leaves yours, grin still toying at his lips. “So horny, an’ you won’t let m’fuck you.”

Heat burns at your face as you stare at him, eyebrows furrowing. Is he kidding? You can’t tell. He’s wearing that shit-eating smile that he dons when he’s fucking with you but you can’t see why he’d mention it again unless he was serious - it seems cruel. “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not serious.”

Harry shrugs, pushing himself onto his elbows, staring up at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “‘Course I’m serious.”

You reach down, fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt covering his chest. “You don’t think it’s - gross? Come on, Har.”

“Do you think s’gross?” he asks, and you shrug, even if you really want to shake your head in a vehement no, glancing back up at him when he lifts his head closer to yours. “I don’t think it is -” and as he sees your doubtful, quirked eyebrow, he exhales a laugh. “M’serious! Remember when y’had the stomach bug, an’ I was cleaning up your puke an’ -”

“Okay,” you cut him off, reaching forward to place your index finger against his lips before he can finish reminding you of exactly what he’d had to clean up - he puckers his lips to land a light kiss against your digits. “But that’s different.”

But you can tell that he can tell that he’s wearing you down - “How’s it different, babe? M’fine gettin’ m’hands a little dirty.”

The expression makes you cringe and you drop your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes at Harry’s barking laugh as he reaches his hand up to rest against your waist, other hand pressed into your thigh. “Sorry, sorry,” he grins, dropping his head into your lap, and you instinctively smooth your nails against his scalp. “But m’serious. Can’t have you gettin’ yourself off by grinding - what kind of boyfriend would I be, hmm?”

A normal one, you want to reply, but the truth is you don’t think you’ll ever look twice at a normal man again if you seriously accept this. How could you go to a normal boyfriend knowing Harry is more than willing to bury himself inside of you, blood and all?

When your fingers abruptly stop scratching his scalp Harry lifts his head, pressing his cheek against your thigh, and you lower your eyes to his with your bottom lip tucked tight between your teeth.

“S’that a yes, then?” he questions, and he sounds so excited at the prospect that your stomach flips.

“A maybe,” and he doesn’t deflate at the half-rejection - you’ll come around, and the both of you know it. “We can - um - we can try it.” As a larger grin spreads across his face you playfully hit his cheek, feeling your own heating up. “In the shower tonight. So - you know - it’s less messy.”

~~~

Harry runs off to start the shower nearly immediately after your late dinner while you begin loading dishes in the dishwasher, shaky hands holding tight onto each dirty plate so you don’t drop it. And you aren’t - nervous, per se, at least not as much as you’d expected yourself to be. Harry had hardly been able to keep his hands off of you all afternoon, palm resting firmly on your thigh during dinner and mouthing open mouthed kisses to your throat while you started your second and third movies of the day.

He wasn’t nervous - not at all. He seemed pretty damn excited, too, and that should make you less hesitant but your stomach still flips as you hear the shower turn on, followed by his footsteps padding down the stairs and the hallway until he emerges back in the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips and shirt riding up his torso, and you swallow thickly as he leans against the doorway.

“Shower’s running,” he tells you as you shut the dishwasher, taking a step closer to him.

“I hear it.”

“Y’okay?”

You shrug, dragging your nails against his chest softly through his shirt, and Harry wraps his hands around your wrists with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fine,” you tell him, smiling lightly. “I’m nervous, but I’m -”

“Horny?”

“Yeah.”

Harry drops his forehead against the top of your head with a laugh, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you to him. “It’ll be fine,” he says against your hair, puckering your lips to land kiss after kiss to your head. “Anyway, don’t periods stop flowing in water?” You furrow your eyebrows. “No - what?”

“I saw tha’ online -”

“That’s not true!”

“Okay, okay!” Harry holds up his hands in surrender and you grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Well, m’lady, can I take you upstairs, then?”

Your stomach still rolls with nerves, even as he holds a hand out for you to grasp, and his palm is warmer than yours, skin soft and damp from the shower - “‘Course you can.”

~~~

Harry’s fingers are expert at undoing the clasp of your bra, letting the cups fall away from your boobs and he lowers the straps down your shoulders, dragging his fingertips gently down your skin and smiling as goosebumps pop up over your skin. Your hands, in turn, travel downwards to the front of his sweatpants, pulling the tie until they come undone and the slightly-too-big pants droop down his hips until you slide your hands into the waistband and lower them all the way down into a pool by his ankles.

His shirt has long been discarded, thrown lazily on top of the toilet seat, and your tanktop and shorts have faced similar treatment, abandoned on the floor of your bedroom until you’re both just in your underwear - you’re both itching to be free of them, though, and just as Harry’s hands slide down your waist to the waistband of your panties you grab onto his boxers and tug them down, freeing his half-hard cock from their constraints.

Your hand wraps around his length like a vise, thumb swiping over his head and his hands falter, fingers tight on the hem of your panties, and his eyes drop shut with a low moan. You’re solely interested in feeling him harden in your grasp and your wish succeeds, feeling him throb against your fingers until he’s fully up, sliding his hands up to your breasts and rolling your nipples between his thumbs as some sort of punishment. Your lips part with a whine and you rest your head against his chest, inhaling shakily.

“Y’ready?” Harry questions, pinching your nipples lightly, and you arch your chest into his hands - he knows how sensitive your boobs get on your period and he never fails to take full advantage of your increased responses to his touch. “Panties off, baby.”

You pause, and then move your hands up to his chest, taking a step away from him. “Go in the shower,” you tell him, biting back a grin as he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Are y’serious?”

“Yes - go in the shower and - and close your eyes so I can - wash myself.”

Your cheeks heat up as Harry raises his eyebrows, clearly trying to see whether you’re being serious - after a moment with neither of you budging he sighs, trailing his fingertips down your hips before taking a step back, and you get just a moment to stare at his backside as he turns to step into the shower, sliding the door shut behind him until all you can see is his silhouette in the frosty glass.

You hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your thighs as you can hear Harry humming in the shower - you kick them to the floor and gaze at yourself in the mirror, just for a moment, before reaching down to the unshaven apex of your thighs, hooking a finger in the string of your tampon and pulling it out with one fast yank. First day of your period and it’s mercifully bright red instead of the end of the period brown that you can’t stand to look at, and you open the trash can with your toes to drop the tampon in.

When you look back at yourself in the mirror briefly, you can already see red staining your inner thighs, and your cheeks flush but you don’t give yourself time to ponder on it for fear of backing out on the whole idea. You merely turn, sliding open the door to the shower and stepping inside, and Harry stands, hand pressed dramatically over his eyes as the water washes over him, and you press your hands to his shoulders, moving around him so you can be in the direct line of the water. The stream washes away the remnants of blood between your thighs, disappearing down the drain until you’re sure there’s nothing left, and you tap Harry on the shoulder.

“You can open,” you tell him, and the fingers clamped over his eyes separate so you can see just a band of green peeking between his digits.

“Can’t believe you’re this bothered over a spot f’blood,” Harry says, and before you can venomously retort by telling him that it’s much more than a spot of blood, and he should know, considering how often he has to go out and buy you tampons, he presses his hands to the side of your face, lowering his lips to yours in a clashing, deep kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth without a moment to spare.

You nearly slip, then, taking a slippery step back until your back is pressed to the shower wall, hand reaching behind you to grab onto the railing installed into the wall for this very purpose - it’s ideal to grab onto you when he’s railing you from behind, and the little alcove dug into the wall for toiletries is the ideal place to perch on while Harry goes to town between your legs -

Now, though, you simply loop your free arm around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours with a soft moan into his mouth as one of his hands leaves your face to trail down your body, palm cupping your boob and squeezing the soft flesh. It pulls another whine from your throat, pushing your chest into his hands and he grins against your lips, dragging his thumb across your peaked nipple. You get so caught up in the kiss and his hand on your boobs that you could nearly forget about the circumstances that led you to this specific scenario, fucking in the shower instead of the comfort of your own bed -

Until his hand cupping your breast moves farther down, fingers trailing through the sodden curls between your thighs before dipping between your folds, and you jolt, arm tightening around his neck and his head drops between your neck and shoulder. Your face burns as his fingertips circle your clit, pressing into the sensitive nub as you groan before he slides them back down your folds, pressing one gently into your hole until it slips in with an embarrassing amount of ease.

“Oh fuck -” you exhale, and Harry lifts his head slightly, suckling a hickey into the side of your neck as his finger pumps in and out of you, curling upwards to hit the spongy spot inside of you that has you pushing your hips into his hands. “Come on, Har, babe - just fuck me, really fuck me -”

“Wan’ me t’fuck you, don’t you?” he exhales into your skin, soaked curls dripping moisture onto your chest, and the warm water dripping down your skin has a chill rolling through your spine like a goddamn tidal wave. “Don’t want m’fingers, d’you?”

You do want his fingers, though - and his mouth - and his cock - and the need is so overwhelming it makes your legs feel shaky. For a moment you don’t know what to say, mouth parted in a silent plea for everything and anything he’s willing to give you and Harry simply stares, thrusting his finger in and out of you before adding another.

Eventually his pauses, fingers twisted to graze the spot inside of you that makes your vision go hazy, and you know he needs you to speak but you can hardly think of anything to say. “Please -”

“Please wha’?”

“Please - I need to cum -”

He hums and lowers his lips back to yours, and you cry out directly into his mouth as his thumb rests against your clit, rubbing slow circles entirely too soft into the nub but even the slightest bit of stimulation has your hormone ridden body bucking up into him, squeezing onto the railing behind you for dear life so you don’t collapse with need. “Need t’cum?”

“Yes!”

“Do it then, baby - cum f’me, cum on m’fingers -”

You roll your hips against his fingers, dropping your head back against the wall of the shower with a whine, and Harry continues his steady face penetrating you with his fingers - normally you’d never cum this fast, hardly five minutes with his fingers in your cunt but this isn’t a normal situation by any standards, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed over how close you are.

Harry’s teeth close on your bottom lip, nibbling on the skin gently and you’re nearly crossing your eyes to maintain eye contact with him - you know how much he loves watching when you come undone - and all it takes is one more measly pump of his fingers into your dripping pussy for you to topple over the edge. Your body trembles beneath him as his fingers still, your eyes rolling back into your scalp as you shake in his arms, cunt fluttering weakly around his fingers. His breathing is heavy in your ears, low and raspy as you whimper violently with your orgasm wrapping around you like a fucking vise and when your vision finally clears up he’s staring at you like you’re a piece in the damn Museum of Modern Art.

“Fuck, Har, felt so good,” you exhale, and Harry reaches down, one of his forearms going beneath your thighs to lift up, and you look down just as he pulls his fingers out of you. The blood on his digits is immediately washed away by the stream of water but you still cringe watching the water turn red as it disappears into the drain, and you can tell he notices your sudden shyness - fingers grasp your chin, angling your head up to stare at him. “What -?”

His lips press to yours once more, a soft, lingering kiss that doesn’t go anywhere at all, before he pulls away, hands sliding up and down your hips. “I guess eating your cunt s’out f’the picture, then …?”

You roll your eyes with a giggle as he drops your leg again, nails digging crescents into your hips as he turns you around, hips pressed flush to yours and his chest to your back, and you instinctively hold tighter onto the railing. “For now,” you groan in response as he thrusts his hips against yours, cock sliding against the sensitive folds of your cunt, and you can practically feel the way he perks up at your half-rejection. “Just fuck me, Har - please, missed it so much -”

Harry laughs at that - a dry one, void of humor, and you whine, pushing your ass back against him before he indulges you, grip landing on your hips and pulling your ass tight against his cock. “S’only been one day without my cock,” he breathes, one hand leaving your hips, presumably to line his dick up as you feel his tip poking at your folds, and you drop your forehead against the shower wall with a whine. “Look how needy you are.”

You are needy, rocking your hips against the tip of his cock that he drags through your folds, and you can’t bring yourself to care about it one bit. “Please -”

“Tell me.”

“Harry -”

“Tell me.”

You groan as he pulls the tip out, and his length smacks against your ass once and even if it’s gentle it still makes you thrust your hips back towards him, and his arm on your hips tightens until you can’t move at all. “I’m - I need you so bad, Har - need you to fuck me - fuck me like you -”

Your sentence is cut off with a loud, drawn out cry as Harry pushes himself into you, cock filling you to the brim and your mouth opens and closes uselessly before he pulls out and thrusts back in with a loud groan, water droplets flicking onto your skin as you hold tight onto the railing. Your knees feel weak as Harry fucks into you, his hands holding tight onto your hips and surely leaving bruises on your skin, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to complain as you drop your head forward with a sob.

“Fuck, Har!” you moan, pushing your hips back against his as he pumps into you, his groans nearly overpowering the slap of skin against skin but you can still hear it like music to your ears, and you gnaw on your bottom lip to try and silence some of your desperate cries. “Please, please -”

“Oh, god,” Harry grunts, holding your hips tighter to his as his pace increases, hips slamming into yours as though he hadn’t fucked you for weeks instead of one measly day. Quarantine truly had spoiled both of you - days spent without fucking each other all over the house seemed to be days wasted, aren’t they? And the week per month you’d had to spend without having sex during your period was a miserable one, and an era you’re more than glad to see gone - “fuck, baby, so - so tight, ‘round m’cock, squeezin’ me so tight.”

Your hand slips on the railing and for a second you fear you’ll fall - but then Harry’s arms slide upwards, forearms wrapped tight against your stomach as he leans forward, chest pressed to your back as his hips slam into yours over and over, lips pressing biting kisses into the wet skin of your neck. You can feel rather than hear his moans, their vibrations reverberating through your skin and you reach behind your head, dragging your nails through his hair as he leaves bites down your skin.

You can already feel your release building, pressure rising in your stomach as your cunt clenches and unclenches around him, gasping for air in the shower, humid from the hot water and your body heat. You’re sure all you need is his fingers, just circling your clit one time and you’ll snap, cumming so hard you’re sure you’ll see stars, so hard you won’t be able to hold yourself up -

“Play w’your clit, baby,” Harry breathes, so quiet you nearly can’t hear it, and you inhale shakily as you oblige, letting go of the railing with one hand to trail down your wet stomach until you reach your sensitive clit, and it throbs against your fingers. “Yeah, good girl - give it a pinch f’me, baby, make yourself cum on m’cock -”

Shaky fingers circle your clit and then press down before pinching it like he’d instructed, and your back arches into his chest, feeling his peaked nipples dragging across your skin. His body blocks most of the water’s stream onto you but you can still feel droplets soaking your skin, trailing down and meeting your fingers at your clit and it only adds to the pleasure mounting, spreading from your clit throughout your entire body -

“Fuck!”

Your knees finally give out as you sob out, squeezing your eyes shut as you hit your breaking point for the second time - your body shakes desperately, tilting your head to the side with a cry as Harry lunges forward to attach his lips to yours, every whine going directly into his mouth. His arm around your waist is the only thing holding you up but you can tell he’s close, thrusts losing their steady pace and growing jerkier, and as your cunt flutters around him you can feel his cock throbbing -

“God,” Harry moans, and you can hear his voice growing higher in pitch, and it’s a telltale sign that he’s so fucking close you’re sure he can feel it on the tip of his fingers - “clench around me, baby, come on -”

And you oblige, cunt tightening around him as you rest your forehead against the railing, and it only takes a few more jerky thrusts before he grabs hold of your hips, bringing them tight to his. The sensation of being filled with his cum is one you’ve grown so used to but it never fails to make you moan, tilting your head to the side so you can get a glimpse of his face in your peripheral vision as his eyes shut, lips parted as he groans, and hot ribbons of cum fill your cunt as he releases.

Your breathing is shaky when Harry grabs your hands, tugging you around so you’re facing him, and you glance down at the floor of the shower, watching the water beneath you tint itself red with your blood. You expect a rush of embarrassment to wash over you as he glances down to see what you’re looking at but it never comes - you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed when you’re so relaxed, finally satisfied, watching his cum drip down your thighs.

Harry turns to shut off the shower, the stream of water abruptly stopping, and you cross your arms over your chest, trying to preserve the humid air sure to escape as soon as he opens the door. But he doesn’t - not yet, at least - his hands, instead, coming down to land on your upper arms, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he stares down at you.

“How was tha’?” your boyfriend questions, voice soft and sentimental and you can’t help yourself from pushing yourself onto your toes to land a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Not as bad as y’thought, was it.”

It’s not a question - he knows the answer already. “It was amazing,” you confess truthfully, reaching up to move his wet curls out of his face, and a smile tilts your lips upward as he grins. “Not bad at all.”

“Not bad at all,” he echoes, and you can tell he’s resisting the urge to say I told you so or something of the sort, but you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to - he was right. Knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes, and it should scare you but it just makes you love him more than you thought you could. “An’ next time, we can do it on the bed.”

“On the -?”

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #one direction writing #harry styles drabble #so unedited but when do i edit anything i write

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secret-treasury · 3 years

Text

Dad!Sirius

little blurbs about sirius being the best dad ever. Also includes some sirius X reader, Marauders.

Babysitters

Atlas loves when Lily babysits them. He is just smitten with her and he especially likes her hair. She’ll hold him and he would just stare at her with awe. He would pull a little on her hair and would get pouty when told off for it, especially from James. He isn’t a fan of James' because he always takes Lily away from him at the end of the day and he doesn't like that, but eventually he’d grow to like him... a little.

Neo on the other hand enjoys hanging out with James. She follows him everywhere and wants to be with him when he does random things, she is like his little shadow. She gets pouty if she doesn’t get to play with his glasses and he always tells her to be careful with them so as to not break them. She has an attitude, she rolls her eyes at him. “Well… she's a pads kid alright!” he’d joke. To which she responds with an excited “Padtoot!” and laugh while running away with James' glasses to get her dog plushy.

Remus is however Neo's favorite babysitter and for one reason only. He has a beard and she loves beards and just wants to grab at them. Luckily both Sirius and Remus keep their beards trimmed short so there isn’t much for her to grab. Sirius did the prank on her where he hid the lower part of his face behind a towel, then when he revealed his clean shaven face, Neo was SO upset she wouldn’t stop crying. Whenever she saw him until his beard grew back she’d cry at the sight of him. When he finally had his beard back she had missed him so much. She’d have a similar reaction to remus shaving but milder. Neo loves hanging out with her uncles but daddy is still the best. Remus and Atlas get along great, atlas loves to sit in uncle Remy's lap while he reads, and most of the time he falls asleep, Atlas is a very cuddly and sleepy boy so it works out well.

Regulus is a decent babysitter but confuses the twins slightly when they are very young for the simple reason that he looks similar to their dad. Before they eventually learn the difference, he would be kind of an ‘imposter Sirius’ because they are aware that isn’t dad…. But he really looks like dad….

Bath time!

Both Neo and Atlas LOVE bath time, especially with their dad. They both just can’t stop laughing when Sirius makes himself a bubble beard and causes bubbles to fly everywhere when he talks. He’d create fun narratives with pirates and priateship and sea monsters.

The only thing Atlas doesn’t like about bath time is washing his hair, he cries so much because he doesn’t like getting shampoo in his eyes or when water runs down his face. Luckily Sirius is super gentle with him and makes sure he feels safe the whole time.

“Close your eyes” the little boy does as his father says and shuts his eyes really hard. Sirius puts some shampoo in his palm and rubs his hands together before massaging it into the boy’s hair. Atlas starts whining a little bit. “It’s alright buddy” sirius comforts. When it’s time to wash the shampoo out he gets pouty again. Sirius tells Atlas to lean his head back while he supports the little boy’s back with his hand.

“Are you keeping ‘em closed?”. Atlas nods and again focuses on keeping his eyes shut as hard as he can. “Here comes the water,” Sirius warns. He would never do anything to break his son’s trust, especially not for a laugh. All three of them sing a song together, usually some type of nursery rhyme, to help distract the little scared boy from the water.

Neo was easier to handle albeit a bit wild. She loved singing the song whilst water was running down her face and it sounded like she was underwater. She’d laugh a lot and then accidentally breath in some water. She’d be upset for a moment and cough a bit but in no time she’s singing happily again. Sirius often found himself singing nursery rhymes in the shower when he would wash his own hair, just a weird habit he had when the kids were little.

After bath time he would help them into their cute little bathrobes and then the two kids would run to their mama looking like little jawas. Sirius would join them moments later, clothes splashed with bathwater and bubbles still in his beard. He didn’t mind though.

Bedtime

Sirius would teach them to brush their teeth by themself as soon as possible. He would seat them on the bathroom counter, give them their little toothbrushes and portion out the tooth paste. Neo was the most troublesome in this area, she didn’t like brushing her teeth so he’d tell her an elaborate story of why she needs to brush her teeth. Unfortunately she didn’t believe him. Atlas did though and always pointed out that they need to brush their teeth every morning and evening like the sweet boy he is. Because of Neo's brother pestering her with the importance of brushing her teeth she’d do it. So it worked out for Sirius eventually… in a roundabout way.

After all the teeth had been brushed, including Sirius’, he set them back down on the floor and the twins rushed as fast as their little legs could carry them to their shared bedroom. Atlas would get his blankie and his deer plush that he got from auntie Lils when he was born. Neo would get a book and her very loved dog plushy also called padfoot or as she ‘padtoot’. They would wait for Sirius to join them and he would take a seat in the armchair they had in their little room, he would place the twins in his lap and they would get comfortable. Atlas would share his blankie and they would place their plushies in their laps getting ready for the bedtime story.

Sirius would read to them and also educate them on different topics, making the twins question what happened in the story and why. While also keeping it lighthearted and fun. He’d give the characters different voices, some were funny and some were silly. After they finished the story they would beg him to read another one and it would break his heart telling them no, but he knew they were exhausted and needed their sleep. “There will be another story tomorrow”

Puting Atlas to sleep was the easiest thing in the world. As soon as his head hit the pillow he would be asleep, holding onto his blankie and his plush. Sirius would pull the covers up and lovingly caress the boy’s cheek and place a kiss on his forehead wishing him goodnight.

Neo was more troublesome, she wanted Sirius to stay with her until she fell asleep. He’d tuck her in, kiss her forehead and also give ‘padtoot’ a goodnight kiss. Then he’d sit on the floor by her bed and caress her cheek til she fell asleep. Sometimes he’d fall asleep on the floor leaning onto the side of her bed.

Food habits

Atlas is a picky eater, veggies are his number one enemy and he’ll do anything to not eat them. Sirius understands this because he himself hated veggies when he was little although his punishments for not eating them was very uncalled for. It takes a lot of coaxing to get atlas to eat them and he is always the last one at the table. Sirius has tried everything but it's still a struggle.

“Just eat 3 more broccolis and a cauliflower, then you can go play” Sirius tried to convince the boy but he just shook his head and scrunched up his face in disgust. He couldn’t help but sigh at the cute but stubborn little boy. “Eat two and then we’ll go play afterwards, okay buddy?” Sirius tried to bargain. He saw a glimmer in the boy's eyes.

“You play too?” he asked hopefully and Sirius nodded. Atlas unwillingly picked up the fork and poked at the veggies. After a while he picked out the two smallest veggies and ate them one at a time. “Done!” he declared after forcing them down. Atlas slipped off the chair and rushed to join his siblings.

“Daddy will play with us” he cheered happily, veggies long forgotten. They spent most of the afternoon playing hide and seek. Atlas was the first to get tired and decided to hide under the covers in his parents bed. As he crawled under the covers Neo and Zagreus noticed his genius hiding spot and went to join him.

“Here I come!” Sirius called out as he began looking around the house. Not finding them in the usual hiding spots he began to feel worried even though they couldn’t possibly have left the house. When he passed the master bedroom he noticed 3 child sized lumps in his and his wife's bed. As he got closer he could hear some giggling. He carefully peeled up the covers to peek inside to see his pups. “I found you” he chuckled as he began scooping them up in his arms as they laughed and giggled happily.

When Y/N came home later that afternoon the house was quiet. The plates and cutlery, long forgotten on the kitchen table much to her annoyance. However, the sight she was greeted with in her bedroom of her husband and three little children sleeping together in a pile on the bed, tangled up in the covers and blankets. It was enough for her heart to swell with love.

Neo generally isn't a picky eater, she eats well and healthy meals. She does however love ice cream though. the strawberry, vanilla and chocolate mix also known as neapolitan ice cream. Neo is a tough girl to bargain with as she’s not as easily fooled as other children, but ice cream is her weakness and Sirius does occasionally use that to his advantage.

“Neo, sweetie. Please it’s time to sleep,” Sirius would almost beg as he was seated beside her bed on the floor, being as tired as he wished his daughter was.

“No.” Neo said stubbornly and crossed her arms over the covers. Sirius had tucked the children into bed almost half an hour ago and both boys were fast asleep and sailing off to dreamland. “I don’t want you to leave me daddy” she sniffled and her eyes were glossy with tears. Overwhelmed by emotions she suddenly sat up and threw her little arms around her fathers neck, holding him tight. His arm wrapped around her little body and he caressed the back of her little head with his free hand. He remembered feeling a similar feeling when he was very little. When his mother seemed to love him.

“Of course I won't leave you, puppy.” he said comfortingly as his heart ached in his chest. Neo pulled back to look at him, tears running down her chubby little cheeks. her hands still on his shoulders and her fingers played with his long dark hair.

“Promise me daddy” she demanded with another sniffle. Her words tore him apart within.

“I won’t leave you, ever.” he promised. He knew it was a lie, that one day he would have to leave her alone on this earth, even though it seemed far til then. He dried the tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Now go to sleep sweetie”

“Only if I get ice cream for breakfast” she argued back with a little giggle as he crawled back under the covers. Sirius tucked her into bed once again.

“Not for breakfast, but sometime tomorrow we can have ice cream, okay?” he said and poked her nose gently and giggled along with her. She lifted her little hand and held out her pinky.

“And strawberries” she said as Sirius wrapped his larger pinky around her little one. It wasn’t strawberry season, Neo knew that but she cleverly made him promise her to get her favourite fruit too. He couldn’t simply go back on a pinky swear.

“And strawberries,” Sirius sighed with a smile on his lips. His little girl was so clever, he knew he got it from her mother but the way she used it, that was all him.

Zagreus eats pretty much anything even if he doesn't like it. He accidentally took a bite of a bar of soap once. It was shaped as a cinnamon bun and the poor boy thought it was real.

“Dad?” he said as he pulled on his fathers sleeve. The potters were over for dinner and Sirius was out on the porch chatting with James over a cold beer.

“What is it boy?” he said and crouched down to the little boy's level. The boy looked puzzled and showed his father the cinnamon bun soap with a child sized bit in it.

“This bun tastes weird, dad.” James couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Ah, oh it’s not a cinnamon bun, boy” sirius tried to explain but the boy looked at the bun soap and up at his father again convinced that his father was indeed mad. Sirius couldn’t hold back a chuckle “It’s soap.. In the shape of a bun”

“Oh…” Zagreus said finally trying to make sense of his odd food experience. Sirius ruffled the boy's hair. “Here” the boy said and gave Sirius the bun and then wandered off back into the house.

On Sundays it's always pancake or waffle Sunday at the Black’s house and the pups demand having their favorite fruit as a side. Atlas does a lot better with fruits and Sirius takes whatever wins he can get with the boy honestly. Blueberries are Atlas’ favourite fruit or well berry. However he doesn’t like fake fruit flavours in fact he hates them almost as much as he hates his sworn enemy... veggies.

Neo of course enjoys the sweet strawberries and often gets her way which means ice cream instead of whipped cream.

Zagreus loves pomegranates which doesn’t really go well with either pancakes or waffles but he is determined to have it anyway.

#sirius black fluff #sirius black #dad!sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #the marauders #james potter #remus lupin #regulus black #lily evans #lily potter #sirius fluff #sirius imagine #sirius blurb #sirius black blurb #sirius black headcanon

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omgreally · 3 years

Note

Hi there!

Could I please make a little request for Din?

"I didn't know where else to go"

Thank you, hope you're doing ok today! ❤

Hey lovely! First off, I am SO SORRY this took so long. I know it's been months and I have nothing but terrible excuses. Hopefully this makes up for it at least a little?

Shelter M, Din Djarin/Smuggler F!Reader, 2.1k words Warnings: Angst, drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing, Helmetless!Din, lil bit of making out, brief almost-but-not-quite questionable consent, unresolved sexual tension (but who knows, maybe I'll do a Part II?) Summary: Mando has nothing left, nowhere to go. Except to you.

He stands on your doorstep, a soaking wet mass of metal and muscle. The rain falls in rolling sheets, sliding through his hair, down the back of his neck, underneath his cloak and in shining rivulets over his Beskar breastplate.

Without the helm, the Mandalorian looks...smaller, somehow, deflated, but maybe that’s just the defeated look lurking in the dark space behind his eyes.

He looks drained. Empty.

It’s him, though - nobody can fake pure Beskar armor, much less the set he wears. It’s mirror-finish, reflecting your stunned expression in rain-blurred steel.

You open your mouth to say something, but fail to find the words. They all seem so inadequate to address Mando standing in front of you, maskless.

He’s not quite looking at you, his gaze alternating between the ground and somewhere beyond your left ear. You resist the urge to glance behind you, instead taking him in, cataloguing the changes since you last saw him.

It’s been months, but it usually is. His circuitous route of bounty hunting doesn’t intersect with your parts of the Rim very much, which is fine; this way your businesses don’t overlap. As a smuggler, you’re far too likely to be on the wrong end of a tracking fob, so you stay away and so does he.

Once, you were a useful connection. You’re not sure when you crossed the line into ‘ally’, much less ‘friend’. Yet here he is, staring at you through the pouring rain. Helmet off, tucked almost protectively underneath his arm.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, dully, and his voice sounds so different yet familiar that you experience a sense of disorientation, of the planet’s surface tilting beneath your feet as you re-orient yourself to this strange new reality where the Mandalorian comes to you for help.

Once, you would have asked for credits first. Now, all you say as you recover from your shock is, “Are you all right?” He shakes his head mutely as you step back and allow him access into your planetside flat.

It’s small, so small that his arm brushes you as he steps over the threshold. You resist the odd urge to put a hand on his shoulder; you’ve never had to comfort him before, save for buying him a round at some space dive or other after a job gone bad. This is something different. This is something else entirely.

You don’t ask what happened. You doubt he’ll give you a straight answer anyway. And you don’t ask about the helmet. He takes a seat at the kitchenette counter and sets it down on the counter in front of him. The black, empty visor stares at you silently as you fetch a bottle of something cheap and strong and hand it to him, knowing he won’t need a glass.

Mando uncaps it and takes a long drag without a word. He makes a face - so strange to see the expressions that are usually hidden by the mask of the helmet - and suppresses a cough as he hands the bottle back to you. You shake your head and set it down next to the Beskar headpiece.

You’re not known for your empathy, and neither is he, so you settle on practicality which you know he appreciates. “Are you injured?” you ask, businesslike as you examine his face a little closer. There’s the bloom of a bruise on one temple, underneath the damp plaster of his dark hair.

“Not permanently,” he says, that trace of dry sardonicism that you usually find irresistibly hilarious now making you frown. “I’m fine,” he adds gruffly as he reads your expression. You huff, crossing your arms, but he says nothing more. Just picks up the bottle again and swigs with an audible “Ahh,” from his throat.

“Why are you here?” you ask, at last, after watching him drink for a minute in silence. Mando looks at you, at your eyes, and holds your gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally answers.

“I lost him.”

“The kid?” It feels like you’ve been hit, the air punched from your lungs. You assumed he was back on the Crest, asleep, not - gone.

You had only met the little gremlin twice, once when Mando needed fuel and ammo on the cheap, another for a place to lay low for a day or two. The weird green creature...grew on you, like a very cute fungus. His nonsensical babbling, insatiable appetite, and obvious love for the Mandalorian was infectious. You admit it; you were weak. You got fond. And, in turn, fonder of Mando himself.

And now…

“You found his people?” you manage, and it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat and Mando offers you the bottle. You take it, tossing your head back for a deep swig. It burns going down and warms the suddenly-cold cavity inside your chest.

“Yeah,” Mando says. “He’s...he’s safe, now.” The he was never safe with me is unspoken but you hear it anyway. You pass the bottle back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mean it. “I know...I know it was never a permanent arrangement, but he clearly meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his helmet before fitting the rim of the bottle to his lips, tossing his head back and draining the rest of its contents in several long gulps.

You watch the shape of his throat bob in his neck above the wet snarl of his cloak and look away quickly. A buzz is building in your veins already and he’s had most of the bottle - you’re surprised he’s still upright.

“You holing up in your junker tonight?” you wonder, after casting around for a change of subject. An expression of pain crosses Mando’s face, a grimace not caused by the alcohol, for just a second before it’s gone.

“The Crest is gone. Melted to slag and dust.” He says it without inflection, and that’s how you know it’s hurting him.

“Fuck,” you summarize elegantly. Mando nods.

“I haven’t got anything left,” he states. “No ship. No credits. No more favors to call in. Nothing.”

You reach out, more out of anger than anything else, and grab his hand, squeezing so tightly that the wet leather squelches. “Stop it,” you say harshly. “You have everything you need. You’re a kriffing Mandalorian.”

He snorts, pulling his hand away - with some effort. “Not anymore.” He stares down at his helmet, and beneath the scruff and fuzz and rain, his lips press together in a tight line.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I broke my Creed,” he shrugs, setting a hand atop the smooth dome of Beskar. “More than once. Didn’t matter at the time. All that mattered...was saving the kid. Making sure he was safe.”

“Mission fucking accomplished, then,” you say, shaking your head. “You pick yourself up. You rebuild. You move on.”

“How can I?” He meets your gaze, and you flinch at the dark intensity of his - something molten, furious there that you’re suddenly afraid of. You haven’t forgotten the promise of violence coiled in his every limb. “I have nothing to go back to. Nowhere to go. That’s why I’m here.” He waves a gloved hand with obvious disgust, and for some reason, that hurts, a sting behind your breastbone like something almost physical.

Mando must see the look on your face, for he wilts like damp lettuce. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” you say brusquely, your words clipped. You take the empty bottle from the counter, your fingers curling around the neck and squeezing, hard. “You come in here, beaten-up, drink my alcohol and drip all over my floors - but I’m the last place you’d go. I get it.”

He rises to his feet, and you forgot how tall he is, how broad. And despite - ormaybe because of - the unfamiliarity of his helmetless appearance, Mando is still intimidating. You don’t shrink back, though; you square your shoulders and your jaw and lift your chin in challenge.

“You’re the last person I’d put in danger,” he says in a low voice, a voice that stirs a strange sensation in the pit of your guts that you haven’t felt in a very, very long time.

“You forget what I do for a living?” you manage, your mouth suddenly dry. You swallow past it, tasting the aftertaste of alcohol and your own misplaced nervousness.

“I’ve been hunted from one end of the galaxy to the other,” he continues in that same husky baritone that makes your knuckles go white. “I wasn’t going to bring that down on you.”

“I appreciate that,” you manage, diplomatically - but he’s not having it, staring you down like his life depends on keeping eye contact. “But I’m a big girl. I can handle things myself.”

He looks you up and down - just once - but with such practiced ease that it makes you wonder how many times he’s done the same thing from beneath the visor. You shiver despite yourself.

“I know,” he says, and then before you can move or react or think, he lunges into your space and kisses you.

If you were shocked by Mando’s sudden appearance, you’re fucking floored by this. You don’t know how to react at first but he proves quickly to be competent enough at this to coax your lips apart with his and get you to kiss him back.

He tastes like a distant hint of blood and smoke and his body is solid as his arm snakes round your waist without you noticing and he pulls you to him. He holds you so that you’ll have to twist away to escape and with the confidence that says he knows you won’t want to.

And you don’t.

Instead you let the bottle fall and it clatters forgotten to the ground as you grab him by the pauldrons and let him lick into your mouth with the answering surge of your tongue and your hips pressing to his.

Mando kisses you like he needs to, and you realize that he’s half-hard already, impatiently nudging a knee between your thighs and pressing you to the wall. You break from his mouth to breathe and wonder if he’s ever had anything but this - a wild, fervid fumble of hurriedly-parted clothes and tangled limbs.

You don’t want to be this for him - a receptacle for his despair, his rage. You have too much of your own to deal with. But you can’t deny that you’ve thought about this, imagined something similar to this very scenario - but you never counted on the weight of emotion that comes with it.

“Stop, Mando,” you say as he sucks bruises into your neck, the edges of his teeth making your breath catch on nothing. He goes still, but his hands are tight on your hips, holding you to him. You can feel his breath, heavy and warm in your ear.

“Not like this,” you tell him. “You can stay, but we’re not doing this. Not like this.”

At first you think he’s not going to let you go, and the thrill that passes through you from the thought is unconscionable. But then his grip loosens and his leg withdraws and he steps back, out of your space. You rub your face with hands you can’t admit are shaking before finally looking up at him.

He looks wrecked. Broken. Staring at the ground, damp hair hanging over his forehead, and you catch the trembling twitch of his bottom lip even as he ducks his head to try to hide it.

“You can take my bunk,” you tell him. “We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

For a second you think he’s going to argue, or just...walk out. Relief blooms in you as he nods. He turns without a word to retrieve his helmet before he retreats down the hall.

You watch him go, and the slump to his shoulders breaks your heart. But he’s staying, and that’s something.

You never thought you’d have a broken Mandalorian sleeping in your bunk.

And you’re not sure if you regret the fact that you’re not there next to him.

#request #din djarin/f!reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #mando/you #mando/reader #mando/f!reader #mando x you #din djarin x you

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the-bugs-under-ur-skin · 3 years

Text

Yandere Kel, Sunny, Aubrey and Hero affection HCs - Omori

i finally finished the request! i hope you like it :)

[yandere Kel x reader]

-Kel’s PDA rating is a 9/10

-his obsession with you clouds any embarrassment that he gets from being so affectionate with you in public

-he’s naturally very affectionate with you, so he doesn’t worry or overthink anything

-so his PDA affections is basically the same as if you were just at his house, a lot of hugs, kisses, and even full out cuddles

-Kel would love to rest his head on your lap while you both are just sitting in the park

-if you were to tease him for it, he’d either laugh about it and continue to hold you or get really embarrassed and stop doing it

-but when i say he stops, i more just means he pulls away for a moment and then he just ends up showing you affection after a day at most

-if someone else were to make fun of the both of you, he’d immediately get defensive

-even if it was a friend, he’d roll his eyes and puff out his cheeks, he’ll also probably throw in a “get lost!”

-he doesn’t see anything wrong with him loving his partner and he’s going to get upset if someone thinks they can just try to make the both of you uncomfortable

-Kel also wouldn’t mind initiating affection if you’re too shy or nervous to try

-even if you aren’t shy, he’ll still probably initiate affection before you even get the chance to try and do it first

-but he doesn’t mind either way, it actually makes him really happy when you initiate any sort of affection!

-but you’re not going to stop getting affection from Kel anytime soon!

-he’ll cling to your bones and never leave you alone, but he already knows you don’t mind!

[yandere Sunny x reader]

-Sunny’s PDA rating is a 5/10

-it’s not that he doesn’t like PDA, it’s just that it’ll take some pushing to get him to initiate it

-but he doesn’t mind any sort of affection you give him in public, he actually likes that you want to show all the people who pass by that you love him

-if he were to try and initiate affection, he’d just go for some hand holding... maybe a kiss on the cheek

-he really does try to be more affectionate with you in public even if you can’t tell

-the easiest way to get him to be more lovey-dovey in public is by getting him jealous, and getting Sunny jealous is one of the easiest things to do

-if you were to ever tease him about it, he’d get even more shy and maybe a little insecure

-but he doesn’t mind it too much and will just try to assume that you’re teasing him because you like the affection he gives you

-but if someone else were to tease the two of you about it, Sunny’s pretty pissed off

-he doesn’t immediately jump up and stab them or anything, he’ll just glare at them as they walk past

-he’ll only attack them if you start to distance yourself from him or if you’re very embarrassed about what they said

-Sunny doesn’t want anyone upsetting you, especially if it’s ruining you’re relationship with him

-he probably won’t kill them, but a good beating would be given

-though if you suddenly break up with him within the next week or two, guess who he’s going to blame and take his anger out on...

-hopefully you aren’t too shy because Sunny can’t initiate affection well

-he would try his best to be more bold if you’re just too nervous to give him any affection because Sunny is a very touch starved person

-and he would do absolutely anything just for something as simple as a hug

[yandere Aubrey x reader]

-Aubrey’s PDA rating is 6/10

-she’ll mostly just use PDA when she’s being protective or feeling smug

-but she’s still pretty shy so she doesn’t do it too much outside of that

-every time she gives you any sort of PDA, she’ll start out by focusing on whoever she feels threatened by

-she wants to see every single look they give, whether it’s anger, sorrow or disgust, she loves to see how they react because it’s probably not going to be a happy one

-but after she gets bored of them, she’ll sneak glances at you to see if you’re enjoying it or not

-if you were to tease her about it, she’d roll her eyes and push you a bit

-she wouldn’t push you hard enough to actually push you off of her, she doesn’t want to send the wrong message after all

-but teasing does hype her up in a sense; she’ll try to be more bold and make her acts of affection look more smooth

-she doesn’t mind the teasing that much; she likes it better than no response!

but she would mind the teasing if it came from someone else

-it really hits a nerve with her and she won’t hesitate to act

-she’ll start by yelling and screaming at them, not hesitating to tell them every aggravated thought that comes into her head

-and if that person tries to defend themselves or fight back in any way, they’re coming face to face with Aubrey’s bat

-she’s a protective person, so someone even playfully teasing you makes her go insane

-not going to guarantee that no lives will be taken, but i will guarantee that you are going to see a lot of blood on her bat afterwards

-Aubrey doesn’t need to initiate any affection, but she’ll certainly go for it

-although, despite her new tough attitude, she’s still pretty soft inside

-the one consistent thing about Aubrey’s affection, no matter who you are, is that she’s protective of your affections

-even a wrong look can spark an argument between her and a complete stranger

-and that protectiveness will definitely also include you never giving her affection

-she’ll admit this to you and only you; Aubrey needs you

-even if it’s just a greeting hug or holding hands while you’re walking to the shop, she needs that attention

-it’s better not to let her get to touch-starved, because then she’ll get paranoid

-and once she’s paranoid, she’ll start blaming people for the lack of contact

-and we all know what happens when Aubrey get’s agitated with strangers over you...

[yandere Hero x reader]

-Hero’s PDA rating is 9/10

-he’s known to be a charmer, and a charmer like Hero would never let his darling go without affection for too long!

-but the reason he’s a 9 and not a 10 is because of how easy it is to fluster and embarrass him

-i could imagine him going through his morning routine and overthinking how he’s going to show you affection throughout the day

-also seems like he’d experiment with PDA to see if you prefer stuff like hand holding or if you want to hold him while walking around

-if you were to tease him about it, he’d try his best to laugh it off but he’s pretty embarrassed

-like i said, he’s taking in all of your reactions to try and become the best man for you, but he can’t tell if you’re uncomfortable or just playing with him

-he’ll actually feel pretty happy if you’re just playing around (and not just because you aren’t actually mad at him)

-there’s just something that makes him happy about the fact that you’re comfortable enough to tease him

-if someone else were to tease you both, he’d have a pretty similar yet extremely different reaction

-he’d still give a little awkward chuckle and there would still be some confusion on his end

-he doesn’t know if they’re being hostile or if maybe they’re just a friend of yours that’s trying to make you laugh

-but either way he doesn’t like it

-Hero would like to think he isn’t an insanely jealous person, but there’s something about the strangers tone that he absolutely hates

-he probably won’t do anything to the stranger but you can tell how uncomfortable Hero is whenever they walk by

-when it comes to initiating affection, he actually doesn’t have a problem with it

-sure, he might have thought over and trained himself for a hug that he gave to you for an hour when the hug itself only lasted a few seconds, but he can still actually give you affection without hesitation if it’s clear you want it

-it’s actually more surprising to him when you give him affection

-he plans all of his days around giving you love, but he didn’t really plan out what would happen if you gave him love

-but he doesn’t hide his giddiness whenever you initiate any sort of affection

-he replays the moment in his head over and over again, he’s sure that he’ll never forget it

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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

Text

Give her the life I never had; Harry Potter x child reader

*Author’s note*

So this came from my Wattpad requests and this is my first Harry potter (character not fandom) fic that I have written so I hope I didn’t mess this up for any hardcore Potterheads out there. So this takes place during the Battle at Hogwarts so expect some death and violence involved, other than that not really much anything really. I know it’s been awhile since my last update but I hope to pick up the pace and post up some more stuff and then HOPEFULLY open up requests here since I know you all have been waiting patiently for that.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@ixchel-9275

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

_____________________________________________________________

It was finally over. All of it. Voldemort was now dead, the Death eaters defeated, and now the Elder wand was destroyed and lost to the sea. I looked towards the ruins of Hogwarts knowing that the stone and walls can be rebuilt, some of our friends would be able to heal their physical wounds, however some mental wounds won’t.

The Weasleys they’ll always have to live with Fred’s death for the rest of their life and grieve over the fact he’ll never come back, especially George. I had seen just how close their brotherly bond was, even when they had nothing they had each other, now George was gonna have to make do on his own, if he could.

And Hermione, while she doesn’t want us to know I had a feeling at what she had done to protect her muggle parents, thankfully with her and Ron seeming to repair their growing relationship, I know the Weasley’s will welcomingly be the family she needs now more than ever.

As I walked along the school grounds that’s when I came across (Y/n) getting looked over by one of the healers. When she looked towards me, she gently smiled and I smiled softly back at her thinking back on how I found her in all this chaos.

The battle was pure hell. Spells and curses being blasted, bodies dropping like flies, and rubble from the school walls crumbling down as repercussions from the spells firing out.

I had pushed back a Death Eater with an Stupefy spell which sent him flying all the way across the Great Hall. Another death eater soon came right at me but I quickly disposed of his wand first before giving him the paralyzing spell.

That’s when I heard it. The sound of a young girl crying. I quickly ran around the corridor and saw just down the stairs where I once found the Mirror of Erised, a young girl around maybe her 1-2nd year hovering over an older girl who looked almost like her but had longer hair. The young girl with shorter hair was weeping hysterically as she kept crying.

“Liz? Lizzie. Get up sis. Oh please get up.” From the pale skin and the soulless eyes that Lizzie had, I knew immediately she had been hit with the Killing curse. Cautiously I walked over to her and said.

“Are you alright?” the young girl looked up at me and she sniffled.

“Yes. But my sister she—she won’t wake up yet her eyes are open.” Knowing how I hadn’t learned of the 3 unforgiving curses until my 4th year at Hogwarts, she must’ve not known what exactly happened to her sister.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/n). (Y/n) (l/n).”

“Well (Y/n), I…….I’m afraid to tell you this but……..your sister’s—she’s dead.”

“What? No but….if she were dead her eyes would be shut, the spell that hit her just made her collapse. Like the paralysis spell.”

“But it wasn’t a blue light that hit her, was it?” she looked back down at her sister and touched her cheek. “I’m afraid it was the most dangerous of all unforgiving curses. The Killing Curse.” She sniffled and hugged her sister’s corpse and choked out.

“But—she was…..she’s all I have left!” I looked around and two more Death eaters spotted us.

“Get behind me.” I urged (Y/n). Without question she got behind me and I held out my wand and as they charged toward us I called out, “Stupefy!” which sent one Death eater flying backwards but then I felt a shock to my hand which sent my wand flying towards the second Death eater’s hand. She sneered at me but then a voice exclaimed.

“Petrificus Totalus!” the female Death eater soon went stiff and fell to the ground. I turned and saw that it was (Y/n) who had casted the curse. I ran over and took my wand back from the witch and told her.

“Come on. We can’t stay here.” She took one last look at her sister. I knew she was hesitant to leave her but if she remained here, she’d be a sitting duck. “Your sister would want you safe (Y/n).” she turned to me and nodded before taking my hand and we raced out of the hallway.

Together the two of us worked together to fend off the oncoming Death Eaters, but one Death eater used an Inferno spell which burnt (Y/n)’s arm pretty bad. I shielded her from the next oncoming Inferno attack but the heat of the flames was almost too strong for me to hold back. That’s when a wave of water came and extinguished the flames and the Death Eater was flown backwards till his back hit a column and he collapsed dead.

We turned and there stood Professor McGonagall.

“Professor.”

“Harry, Ms. (L/n) are you both alright?”

“I am, (Y/n) however got burnt on her arm.” She walked up to us and she examined (Y/n)’s arm. She let out a painful hiss and the Professor said.

“I’ll take care of her from here Potter.”

“Thank you Professor.” Just as I was about to leave, I felt a hand grab the sleeve of my shirt and I saw that it was (Y/n).

“Thank you, Harry Potter.” I smiled down at her and nodded to her. She released my sleeve and I ran off to finally end this once and for all.

I walked over to her just as the healer cleared her off and moved onto the next student that needed medical treatment. I sat down beside her and asked her.

“How are you doing (Y/n)?”

“Shaky but—alive.” She softly scoffed. “But at what cost? My sister’s dead. She was the only family I had left. Now the ministry will probably put me in the Magic for Orphans facility, and with me almost being a teenager, no one will want me.”

I was probably the only one who knew what she must be going through. Even though we were orphaned in different circumstances, we still lost our loved ones to Voldemort. Now I must be crazy because I had no clear idea of what to do next but what I did know was that I couldn’t leave (Y/n) alone anymore.

“What if—” I started off by saying. “What if you…had someone to look after you?”

“But, but Harry I—I have no other living relatives. It’s always just been me and my sister since our parents died three years ago at the Quidditch world cup.”

“I know, but what if there was someone who wanted to help you out. Give you a home so that you wouldn’t have to suffer any potential abuse or neglect.”

“And just who would that person be?” I sighed softly before telling her.

“You’re looking at him.” Her eyes softly widened before she let out a soft gasp.

“But-but why? I mean no offense Harry but…..why would you want to help me out?”

“Let’s just say, from one orphan to another I know how lonely it can be. I had no clue about the magic world till I was just your age, and though I may not know how the Ministry of Magic deals with orphaned wizards, I do know a thing or two about living in terrible conditions. I lived practically my whole childhood in a tiny hall closet in my aunt and uncle’s place. And I wouldn’t want you to potentially go through that type of abuse in a stranger’s home.”

(Y/n) was silent for a moment, taking in what I just said. Weighing out her options before thinking about what answer she would give me.

“If not I’ll understand, I’ll check in whenever I can. But just know you won’t go through the rest of your life alone.” She looked up at me. Her eyes that were once filled with tears, but now filled with courage and strength as she said.

“If it won’t be too much trouble with you, I’ll go with you.” I softly smiled at her and told her taking notice of her robes.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor.”

After that, the Weasley family, Hermione, myself and (Y/n) returned to the Weasley’s old home the Burrow and decided to rebuild it, a symbol as a fresh start to all our lives after this whole war.

We also had a memorial service for both Fred and (Y/n)’s older sister, each of us speaking for both Fred and (Y/n)’s sister before finally burying them and summoning a beautiful garden around them of their favorite flowers and plants.

As the sun was starting to set I saw (Y/n) still standing over her sister’s grave. I walked out to her and said.

“Mrs. Weasley’s prepared supper for all of us. She says you best come in before it’s all gone.” (Y/n) remained silent. I softly sighed and without another word I just stood there beside her. She may not want to talk, but she should at least know that someone was there when she was ready.

“I—never thought I’d have to face this world without her. Even through our fights, especially after mom and dad died, she was always there for me. She especially liked to tease me about my crush on Joey Matarazzo, saying we’d get married one day and have kids of our own. Now she won’t ever see me grow up, or achieve any dreams I’ll have for the future.”

“Let me tell you something my Godfather once told me. He told me that the ones that love us never really leave us. And we can always find them, in here.” I pointed to her heart.

She looked up at me and finally for the first time I saw a true, genuine smile. She came closer to me and wrapped an arm around my waist and rested her head against my ribs. I wrapped an arm around her and we stood there for a few more minutes before walking back inside the Burrow to join the Weasley’s for dinner.

*FF 19 years later.*

It was like any other year, but this time it was my second son’s first time doing this. I could already see from the look on his face that he looked anxious about his first year going as we came up to platform 9¾.

“Together.” I assured him as we took hold of his cart and we both ran straight through the brick wall and found ourselves right by the Hogwarts Express. As we walked closer to the train, we soon found Ron and Hermione with their kids, I spotted Draco and his wife and son bidding their goodbyes. He and I looked at each other, neither of us speaking a word but he gave me a point nod, and I nodded back to him.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to write my own brothers up for detention already.” A female voice soon spoke up and coming right towards us was (Y/n), all grown up and in her Professor robes.

Since the battle she continued on her Hogwarts education and excelled in both Magical creature knowledge and potions making. By the time she was in her 4th year at Hogwarts, Ginny and I had agreed to legally adopt her as our own child and she was beyond thrilled at the news. After graduating, she worked with me at the Ministry of Magic to focus on potion brewery before enrolling to be the next Potions Professor and this would be her second year teaching that class.

I’m told she’s kind but firm when it comes to students goofing off in that class, but she is always there to make sure no student messes up a potion and causes injuries either to themselves or others.

“Not in the slight.” I assured her.

“Good. I would hate to have to write them up to Headmaster McGonagall.” She told me. She looked down at her brothers and asked them, “So boys, you ready?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed James while Albus was more reserved and didn’t really say anything. Instead he walked away and sat down with his arms hugging his legs close to him. (Y/n) and I looked at each other and I told her to get James onto the train as well as herself while I talked to James. She nodded and guided James as well as his things over to the train while I walked over to Albus and knelt down beside him.

“Dad,” he spoke. “What if I am put in Slytherin?”

“Albus Severus Potter. You were named after two Headmasters of Hogwarts. And one of them was a Slytherin. And he was the bravest man I had ever known. But if it means to you, you can choose Gryffindor. The sorting hat does take that into consideration.”

“Really?” I nodded. “But how would you feel? If I was sorted into Slytherin?”

“Then Slytherin will have gained the best wizard they could ask for.” He smiled and embraced me and I hugged him back. “Now come on, off you go.” We then walked towards the train and Albus got himself situated inside with his brother and Ron and Hermione’s kids, and riding alongside them to keep an eye on them to Hogwarts was (Y/n).

As I stood by my friends and we watched the train leave the station, waving goodbye to our kids I couldn’t help but feel like we had done it. The war ended almost 2 decades ago and now our children can learn magic in a better world, a world without Death Eaters, a world without darkness and death, a world without a Dark Lord.

A peaceful time in our world.

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #harry potter x child reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fluff #harry potter and the deathly hallows #ron weasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #fred weasley rip #george weasley #harry potter x ginny weasley

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA:

youtube

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn.

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

#bnha 328 #stain (bnha)#tsukauchi naomasa #all might #stars and stripes (bnha)#all for one #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #eta: how did I forget to type 'bnha' in the title sob

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Dirty ABCs | Namjoon and Vixen

Pairing: Namjoon x Vixen (OC)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Genre: headcanons

Rating: 18+. Minors, do not interact.

This just me having a little bit of fun in between collabs and commissions with an NSFW alphabet, so I can also get to know my characters better (yes, they're just characters. Do not assume the boys like/dislike any of the things I mention). A new drabble should be out soon, but just in case you missed it, here's Jimin's post-Soowoozoo smut! Please, read the trigger warnings carefully 🥺💖

Here's my masterlist! enjoy!!!! 💜✨

Trigger warnings: cumshots, cumeating, creampie, marking, unprotected sex, switch!vixen, switch!joon, daddy!joon, DDLG, lapdance, stripping, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, roleplay, homework within a professorxstudent roleplay, positions (doggy, missionary, reverse cowgirl, bend over), intimacy kink (?), bondage (hands tied, gags), impact play, oral sex, oral fixation, biting, casual mention of foot fetish, food play, choking kink, erotic massage, jealousy (kink), sapiosexuality, size kink, mention of infidelity and sharing partners, mention of outdoor sex, sex toys (dildo, vibrator, manacles, cockring, paddle, buttplug), edging, orgasm denial, orgasm control, overstimulation, BDSM club, uhm...bicuriosity ig?, thickdick!Namjoon, bubblebutt!Vixen impressive sex drive (?)

Aftercare: Namjoon is the kind of guy who’d gladly collapse in bed after some good, nasty fucking. He puts plenty of energy in it and he isn’t content until he’s barely alive before calling it a night. Yes, both him and Vixen need to force the other into heading to the bathroom and cleaning up before falling asleep. When he goes especially hard on her, aftercare becomes a way to relax for both of them: he needs to pamper her to even things out, and she in return likes spoiling him, giving him cuddles, letting him fall asleep with his head on her chest while she strokes his hair. Yes, his favourite cuddle is her touching his hair and chatting about how they felt during sex.

Body part: He most definitely has a thing for legs, hips and ass. Vixen is all about his chest and arms — but, truth is she’s absolutely crazy about his neck.

Cum: He either cums inside or on Vixen’s ass. No other alternatives for him. He hates cumming in her mouth, mostly because her cunt is soooo much better to him; and then again, that means he can eat her out right after — or mark her up and shove his cum back inside. Vixen is a fan of him cumming inside, she’s pretty much traditional about this.

Dirty secret: Namjoon loves when Vixen doms him. He’d never admit that out loud but he’s praying for her to tie him up and strip for him before performing a lapdance and fucking herself with that glass dildo he bought her… He’ll just wait… hopefully… Vixen wants Namjoon to give her homework on some impossible topic and then punish her for every mistake she makes while he’s dressed in a suit and glasses.

Experience: We know all about Joon’s and Vixen’s bodycount. Joon had four, possibly five partners, one of which broke his heart. He wasn’t entirely vanilla with them, but Vixen is most definitely the spiciest he’s been with — and the most rewarding. Vixen had two partners before Namjoon and her first boyfriend was way more experienced than Namjoon is, but that is not an issue to her. She knows if she ever asked him, they could try out pretty much anything.

Favourite position: Namjoon is mostly about doggy and missionary. Doggy for enthusiastic fucking with that teenage eagerness that characterises them both. Missionary when he needs to make love to her slow and steady — though he admits Vixen on top of him in reverse cowgirl is also a hot topic for him. Vixen likes good old missionary since she likes Namjoon’s body shielding hers. She also enjoys bending over for him — especially on the back of the sofa.

Goofy: neither of them is that goofy when it comes to sex. For them is a moment to get rid of tension and gain more intimacy. It’s a moment of communication and connection, and a very spiritual one at that. There might be little giggles and laughs here and there when they’re in a playful mood, but even then they’re more happy than goofy.

Hair: Namjoon trims his hair slightly, just to keep things neat and tidy. Vixen used to shave at the beginning of their relationship. She waxed a few times, to try something different and to feel Namjoon’s tongue better when he goes down on her. She switched to trimming when she found out Namjoon enjoyed a more natural look.

Intimacy: Nothing isn’t intimate between these two. Brushing their teeth together before going to bed? Religion. Getting dinner ready? A ritual. Making love? Therapy. Fucking like gorillas? Relief. These two share one single soul. They’re each other’s temple, and their bedroom is their church.

Jack off: These two? Masturbation galore. They’re the literal proof that being in a relationship should never stop you from taking care of yourself. They masturbate together while they watch porn, they masturbate to the sight of the other one doing it or just watching them. Namjoon is a huge fan of watching Vixen touch herself. He can do it with his hands tied, untied, or stroking his cock. He really doesn’t care as long as he can watch. Plus the fact that the wall dividing his bedroom from the shower is made of glass really gives him the best view when he has morning wood and Vixen is washing herself. And that goes both ways. She likes watching him while she showers, putting on a bit of a show. Vixen also likes watching Namjoon masturbate, though she prefers putting her hands on him. And Namjoon prefers her hands to his own, especially since she’s so fucking good at that.

Kink: We all know these two are the resident DDLG freaks. Other than that Namjoon suffers from a pretty severe case of voyeurism. On the side, all giving, we have oral fixation, impact play, marking, biting, cumplay and cumeating, and a very mild, very experimental foot fetish. He’s also into roleplay, especially regarding school/university environments. To that, we need to add on Vixen’s end exhibitionism and food play, and then, all giving, choking kink, exhibitionism, bondage and gags, erotic massage.

Location: these two need someplace private, since they can’t get in the mood unless they’re 200% sure they can take their time and relax and be as loud as possible. Namjoon would never stand the idea of them getting caught: he needs to protect Vixen. And Vixen would never try something in public. She knows he’d be too focused on the possible dangers to properly enjoy the experience. That doesn’t mean that they don’t tease each other in public. Vixen likes when they talk dirty in public so once they get home Namjoon rips her clothes off her.

Motivation: Namjoon gets turned on whenever Vixen looks incredibly refined and elegant, completely out of his league. Pair that up with someone flirting with her and he goes out of his way to remind her why she got his ring on her finger ten months after they first met. He also gets hot under the collar when he’s reminded of how fucking smart she is; that makes him both proud and horny. On a baser level, she just needs to grind against his thigh, rub her ass on his crotch, kiss his neck or suck his fingers to make him instantly hard. Vixen gets horny very easily when she sees him exercise power — which happens pretty often with him being the leader. Also watching him tower over someone who isn’t her makes her a little volatile — that’s her daddy, he’s her protector.

No: easy. Sharing. Even simply her moans being overheard by someone would make him nervous. Once he used to share everything about his sex life with his friends, but after he and Vixen got engaged, everything involving her without clothes on became a 100% restricted topic. He still happens to talk about sex with his friends, but he must be in need of desperate help in order to share details. Vixen agrees on sharing being a hard no. She also thinks doing stuff in public is absolutely a hard no: she’s far too attached to her job to risk a scandal ruining it. And of course she would never stand Namjoon’s career and reputation going downhill.

Oral: Both fans, Namjoon both on the giving and receiving side, though he prefers giving by far. Vixen is also a fan of receiving. If Namjoon weren’t so damn intimidating, she would enjoy giving more, too.

Pace: depends on the mood. Playful or angry? Then he’s fucking her like she’s nothing but a cocksleeve, straight up jackhammering his way in. Loving and emotional? Then they’re going slow and steady so they can feel every inch of their flesh meeting and parting and squeezing and squelching and sliding.

Quickie: yes, but not excessively. Vixen can only consider a quickie as a form of foreplay. There’s no way to satisfy her unless at least two rounds are involved. Namjoon is more than happy to take his time with her. If they don’t have that much time, they prefer masturbating together — quick, efficient, delectable.

Risk: No? The only risk he would take would be fucking her out in the open, but someplace where the possibility of getting caught is lower than 0.1%. He’d book super secluded villas for their holidays and fuck her until she’s begging him to give her a break.

Stamina: Namjoon hasn’t got too much stamina and Vixen doesn’t either, they just deprive and tease each other when they want to make it super special, otherwise they would be lazy and take naps in between a round and another. And they can truly deal with that brilliantly since they are great at foreplay and that makes up for their rather weak stamina.

Toy: These two are shameless about their toys. Vixen has a thing for dildos, and Namjoon loves spoiling her with those. She has a couple vibrators too, but she’s not that much of a fan: she has a practical one, when she needs things done quick and easy and another one that looked way too cute for her not to have it. In addition to that, they have manacles, a cockring, a paddle and a quite interesting plug.

Unfair: Being with Namjoon is all about the pleasure. He’d much rather overstimulate Vixen rather than deny her. Also because he has very poor control over his instincts and he can’t deny himself. He would tease, edge or deny Vixen only to punish her and make sure that she actually reads that as a punishment and not as some sick way for her to get exactly what she wants (aka spanks). Vixen is more on the teasing side, and she enjoys controlling Namjoon’s orgasms, but she’s very fair. They like to play dirty, but they make sure everyone gets what they need.

Volume: Namjoon is all about low and deep. His moans, groans, growls and grunts all come in a very quiet, although very eloquent way. He prefers keeping it quiet so it feels more intimate. Vixen on the other hand is very vocal, especially when Namjoon goes down on her or is trying to overstimulate her. She’s still considerate about the people living next door, but at the same time, she has a thing for doing it in the studio so she can be as loud as she wants, much to Namjoon’s — and his private tracks’ — chagrin.

Wild card: if it weren’t for his jealousy and his position, Namjoon would love to fuck Vixen in a room full of strangers, just to show how good he can make her feel, and to enjoy just how deranged she would get once adrenaline started kicking in. Claiming her in a semi-public context would help him sate his possessiveness for a good while. Vixen instead would love to go to a BDSM club with Namjoon and watch scenes from other people — maybe, potentially, join? — she most definitely wishes she had done stuff with a girl before getting with Namjoon.

X-Ray: Namjoon is packed. Length is not exceedingly more than average. But match that with more than impressive girth? That’s a wild ride. It most definitely takes a stretch. Vixen has rather small boobs — but she’s more than stubborn to make up with a full, round bubble butt.

Yearning: at the beginning they go pretty wild. Vixen is used to getting at least an orgasm before falling asleep — every night. Of course that tones down once she gets with Namjoon, especially since she learns to prefer quality over quantity and he refuses to get stuff done in ten minutes. She easily slips into a two to three times a week regimen, but deprive her for longer than ten days and she’ll feel neglected. Of course she’d take care of herself, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t start drifting away as she’d feel emotionally neglected too. Namjoon considers himself happy as long as he can have a full weekend of fucking: he tends to cram all the sex in days where he can relax since during the week he’s often too tense to initiate anything sexual. But he wouldn’t deny it if the fancy struck him.

Zzz: He falls asleep like a bear. He goes positively lethargic the moment he hits the bed after cleaning up. Vixen finds it extremely endearing. She usually takes longer, but not too much. She likes cuddling him while he’s sleeping.

#Namjoon x vixen #namjoon headcanons #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon alphabet #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon scenarios #namjoon x yn #bts headcanons #bts headcanon

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witchlyboo · 3 years

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

#ben hardy imagine #michael b jordan fc #tom holland x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #pedro pascal #logan lerman fc #definitely maybe #fluff #angst #timothee chalamet #Tom Holland #Ben Hardy

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Love Birds

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Some meddling from the BAU helps Reader and Spencer come to their senses. Category: FLUFF Warnings: None really, just brief mentions of sex, some kissing, implied smut, mutual pining, and the word ‘damn’ at the end I guess? Word Count: 3.2k

Full Request: “...a blurb? Where the sexual tension between reader and spencer is very high and everybody is like ‘get a room’ so when they finally do it spencer tells penelope and reader tell emily so the next day penelope gives him those strawberries in chocolate that say ‘best dick ever’ and emily gives reader a cake that say ‘i finally get sex’ and reader and spencer are so embarrassed” —Anonymous

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: Gotta love some good, ol’ fashioned BAU meddling, am I right? 😂 I took the prompt and made it just a little different, but I hope it’s still okay! Hopefully the overall vibe is still what you imagined 🥰

***

Everyone was watching them. Truthfully, it was a wonder they hadn't noticed by now, but that was most likely to be expected from two people who were obviously in love with each other and still hadn't done anything about it yet.

Three years now. That's how long it had been since Y/N joined the team, and from the first day, she and Spencer were glued at the hip. She was the only one who actively listened to and laughed at his long, obscure jokes, and as their friendship blossomed, he stared following her around like a lovesick puppy. It was sickly-sweet, truth be told.

And the longer it went on, the longer they danced around the inevitable, the more fed-up the BAU got.

Currently, Spencer and Y/N were reading a book together. Like, they were actually reading together, sitting side by side while they took turns reading aloud. They did it every day when they came into work, and when they finished one book, the other person would pick the next one.

"I want to say it's annoying, but it's actually kind of sweet," JJ pointed out, peering through the blinds in Hotch's office, where they all gathered to spy on their friends.

"Yeah, but they've been doing it for almost two years," Emily stated. "You'd think that by now they'd have at least kissed..."

"Maybe they have and they just... haven't said anything?"

Penelope piped in this time, shaking her head. "No, Y/N would have told me, she tells me everything. And I mean everything."

"Well, what about Reid? Has he said anything to you?" JJ asked, turning to Derek.

He sighed. "No. But you know how he is, if he could avoid telling me anything at all about his love life, he would. And he has."

"Well, maybe you should say something to him," Emily suggested.

"You know he'll just shut me down and deny it."

"Then Garcia should do it."

She thought about it for a second before turning to Derek. "I am excellent at getting information out of people."

Suddenly the door opened, and everyone turned around to see Hotch entering his office, stopping for a second to take them all in before closing the door behind him.

"Sir, we can explain—" Penelope started.

Hotch held up a hand and made his way to his desk. "You're spying on them, aren't you?"

A quiet chorus of mumbled 'yes' and 'yes, sir's sounded through the room before he actually sat down with the most miniscule of smiles.

"I'd say to make sure you all leave one at a time so they don't catch on, but something tells me they wouldn't notice anyway."

***

A few hours later, the team made their way to the jet in little groups.

Firstly, Penelope pulled Spencer away into her office for a 'special meeting' that he was only slightly concerned about. But when she finally closed the door, he found it was nothing like what he expected to hear.

The first words out of her mouth were, "When are you going to tell her?"

"I'm... I'm sorry?"

Her face scrunched as she pointed a finger at him. "Don't play dumb with me, 187, I may not be a profiler, but I know love when I see it. You and Y/N are perfect for each other, and you guys are literally driving us mad with the sexual tension."

"I—Garcia, we're just friends, I... I don't..."

"Look, you've got a plane to catch, so I'm not gonna keep you any longer, but everyone can see it, Reid. You two? You're practically soulmates."

He really didn't know what to say after that. So he wordlessly turned and made his way to the jet alone, thinking the entire way there about what Penelope had said.

Soulmates? Love? Sexual tension?

Of course he'd always thought Y/N was pretty. And there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was the one person on the team he knew he could come to when he had something he was excited to share, because she was always down to hear him talk. And... he never really realized it until now, but it always warmed the deepest parts of his soul when he saw how her eyes lit up at the chance to hear him talk—to just listen to what he had to say.

He thought back to every time they read together, how her leg always brushed against his and how it always seemed to comfort him. How her voice when she read aloud always seemed to put him in a trance, like a lullaby. She was his warm place, his safety net...

But... that was totally normal for friendships, right? More often than not, platonic friendships carried that warm familiarity that also came with romantic ones. It wasn't uncommon.

Still, it set off an explosion of fireworks in Spencer's stomach to just think about sitting next to her on the jet.

Meanwhile, everyone else was there, going through some files on the case when Emily sat down in front of Y/N and cleared her throat.

"What's up?" Y/N asked politely with a small smile.

"Nothing, it just... I saw you and, uh... Dr. Reid looked pretty comfy this morning."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, uh... Were we reading too loud? We've been trying to keep it quieter because we figured it was a bit unconventional—"

"No, no," Emily laughed, thinking to herself how absolutely perfect they were for each other. "I mean... You were really close... Like maybe you're... into him."

"O—oh... Well, I—I don't... Um..."

With another laugh, Emily reached her hand out to reassure her. "I'm not trying to put you on the spot, Y/N, it's just that we've all... noticed how close you guys have gotten over the years and it looked like maybe you two..."

"Oh! Oh, no, uh... We—we're not together or anything, I... He's my best friend. That's all."

By the redness that colored Y/N's cheeks, Emily wasn't buying it one bit. Yet, she indulged her, nodding and patting the little table in front of her before getting up to move to a different section. "If you say so."

She walked away, leaving Y/N with a newfound... tension within her that she couldn't really shake. And it only amplified when Spencer walked onto the jet and took his usual seat next to her.

They greeted each other with small waves, but something felt off. And when his hand brushed up against her leg on accident, she felt a light buzz course through her veins, like some type of switch had been flipped.

It's only because of what Emily said, Y/N thought. She just got in my head, that's all this is.

But the longer the day went on, after landing in Idaho and setting up at the precinct, the buzz only amplified. Every time he said her name, she felt it kick up, and likewise, whenever she said his, he felt the thrum of his chest get heavier.

Everyone could tell, too, though they seemed rather amused by it all. While Y/N and Spencer were out at the ME's office, Emily, JJ, and Derek sat at the table in their temporary office and talked it over.

"I actually feel kinda bad," JJ said. "I mean... It seems like they're just being awkward around each other now..."

"That's not a bad thing... It just means they're finally starting to come to their senses," Emily countered with a wave of her hand. "They'll be fine."

Derek scoffed with a smile. "Yeah, I give it 'til the end of the case. Without work to distract themselves from each other, there's no way they won't say something."

Sure enough, the topics of conversation walked through the door just then, immediately putting distance between themselves on opposite sides of the table. And before anyone could say anything else, Spencer jumped the gun, going into detail on what they discovered about the case.

***

"We won't be heading home until tomorrow morning, so I booked us all rooms at the hotel on main street. I'll give you your keys when we get there. Good work, everyone, get some rest."

Hotch disappeared into the night, leaving the rest of the team to pack up a few things in their office before following him.

Y/N chatted happily with JJ, but deep inside she was nervous. Because everyone had been acting strange all day, pairing her and Spencer up every chance they got, and it was impossible to miss all the fake 'I wasn't looking at you guys' stares into space that they all constantly adorned.

Not to mention the fact that ever since Emily even brought it up to her, Spencer also seemed nervous around her. Their whole dynamic had been thrown off, and now she could barely look at him without immediately looking away and wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Now that the thought has been planted in her head, it's all she can think about, and it's very distracting. And knowing how... interested her friends seem to be in her predicament, the biggest fear she has at the moment is that she and Spencer will be rooming together.

As they got into separate cars and headed to the hotel, she fiddled with her thumbs, picking at the chipped nail polish and hoping that she'll get to rest easy.

And as Hotch handed out room keys in the lobby, she felt her heartbeat pick up, Emily and JJ sharing a key and Derek walking off with his own.

And then he said the one thing she was afraid of, and it almost froze her completely.

"I was only able to get two rooms with double beds, so you guys will have to share, if that's alright."

At that point Y/N would have rather shared a bed with Rossi, because that would have been less awkward. But she and Spencer both nodded, he took the key, and they both silently made their way to the room, keeping their heads low.

Even as they finally stepped into the room the air felt fragile, like one wrong move could break it and send them into space, where there wasn't enough breathable oxygen to keep them alive. And much like in the office today, they kept their distance on opposite sides of the room, separated by the bed.

It was Spencer who broke the silence first.

"I can take the floor if you want..."

The small, sweet way he said it almost made her heart shatter. "O—oh no, you don't have to. That would be silly."

"Are you sure? Because I can—"

"No, it's okay, really. I don't mind."

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, before Y/N's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she turned around to answer the call.

As she walked into the bathroom, answering, "Hi, Mom," before shutting the door, Spencer let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes, wondering how he was going to get through the night. He also wondered if Penelope had talked to Y/N as well, because this awkwardness they were experiencing was most certainly double-sided. And if that was the case, did that mean... she was in love with him, too? Firstly, was he even sure he was in love with her in the first place?

Maybe a little, he decided, thinking back to practically every single moment they've ever spent together. And as he quickly changed into pajamas and situated himself in bed, he thought about what it would be like to kiss her. Is that something he would want to do? Could he see himself kissing her over and over again for the rest of his life?

He had his answer when she walked out of the bathroom, wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair out of its ponytail and cascading down her shoulders as she plopped her phone down on the chair in the corner of the room and walked to the bed.

He tried to look away, but he couldn't. And he was thankful in a way for this newfound uneasy air between them, because she refused to look at him, and it gave him all the clearance he needed to follow her trail around the room.

But when she finally settled into bed, and as he felt her weight dip beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap. He was afraid the close proximity would give him away.

She cracked open a book and read in silence for a few seconds before she turned to him. "Did... Is this distracting? I can stop and we can just go to sleep if you're tired..."

"Oh, n—no, it's not distracting. You're fine. I was, um... I was going to grab a book of my own anyway."

He swung his leg over to get out of bed, but Y/N stopped him. "Well, um... I, uh... I know we're already in the middle of a different book, but if you wanted to, we could, um... read this one together? I—I think you'd like it, it's about the—"

"Sure. I—I'd um... I'd like that. Whatever it's about, I'm sure I'll like it. Y—you know, since you said it was good. You have good taste, so I t—trust your judgement."

He was just rambling now, and hearing Y/N laugh a little, he internally berated himself for letting it get awkward again.

Nevertheless, she opened up the covers to get underneath, and slowly scooted closer to him. Once their knees touched, they both jumped a little, but Spencer cleared his throat and Y/N busied herself by trying to find the first page, neither of them commenting on the obvious shock of butterflies that shot through both of their insides at the tiniest contact.

"Do you mind if I start?" she asked softly, turning her head slightly to the side so she could see him. He nodded, giving her the go ahead, and she turned to the page, focusing on the words in front of her.

Unsurprisingly, it was easy for them to get into a familiar groove. They took turns reading each few pages, and stopped in between to discuss things they'd read. It also wasn't surprising to find that they gradually got closer, their arms and legs now completely touching side by side and their faces dangerously close as they leaned down to read.

Spencer had just finished reading a chapter, reaching out to turn the page, and Y/N seemed to have the same thought, because her hand collided with his in a way that left no room for subtlety, or drawback to avoid that it even happened. Their pinkies interlocked, and Y/N found herself entranced by the curves and peaks of his hand. How each of his fingers slightly twitched at the contact, and how prominent the veins in his forearm were.

Her heartbeat picked up, and his did, too, as he focused on how tightly her pinkie was curling around his own, desperate not to let go.

"Y/N," he whispered. It wasn't a question, nor a warning, but it rolled off his tongue softly as if it was the sweetest word he'd ever had the pleasure to say. It was just one little word, her first name, conveyed with such adoration and obvious pining that he was afraid he'd scared her away.

But she held his pinkie tight, the book resting open beneath them on their adjoined knees, and then looked over at him.

And her eyes held the same weight as her name on his lips.

It was unclear of who moved first, but it happened so fast that surely it didn't matter. In a flash, their lips were joining in soft desperation, and rather than locking pinkies, Y/N shifted her hand to weave all their fingers together. The squeeze he gave her hand made her sigh against his mouth, and it was all the most relieving thing in the world.

After she pulled away, he chased her face for a second, not wanting it to end. But his eyes flew open and when he saw her staring back at him, her lips slightly puffed and her eyes almost hungry, he knew he didn't have to worry about the moment ending any time soon.

The book was long forgotten right then, tossed across the room somewhere as their clothes soon followed.

***

"So, how do you think the love birds got along last night?" Emily asked to no one in particular as the group gathered in the lobby.

Derek snickered. "If they came to their senses, I'm sure they got along just fine."

Everyone laughed at that, just as said love birds made their way to the lobby.

"Sleep well?" JJ asked, obviously trying not to smirk.

"Mhm," they both mumbled in response.

They were going to leave it alone, but that's when Rossi showed up, peering over in Spencer's direction. Then he pointed briefly to his neck. "You got a little something there, genius."

Everyone clapped excitedly, Emily letting out a low whistle and Derek rounding it off with a loud and proud, "Atta boy!"

The redness on both Y/N and Spencer's faces didn't clear up the entire way home.

And after the text that Emily sent out to Penelope, it was looking like it might get even worse.

***

"Welcome home, my beautiful family! Come on, I have something special for everyone in the round-table room."

Penelope led the way, Y/N and Spencer bringing up the rear.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she whispered. "I really didn't even notice I'd made a mark, I—"

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I... I guess they kinda knew we'd get to that point eventually anyway."

"Yeah... I just wish it wouldn't have happened so soon, you know? We're never gonna live this down."

She wasn't expecting him to lace his fingers with hers, and the action made her smile.

They'd fallen a bit behind, so when they finally caught up to everyone in the room, it was terrifying to see them all with knowing, mischievous smiles. And before Y/N could explain, Spencer started speaking.

"Okay, okay, yes. Y/N and I... finally... got together last night. But you can't make it weird, and I'm not going to let you make it weird, because—"

"Ohh, it's a little late for that, boy wonder," Garcia said, giggly and holding out a cake box.

Spencer and Y/N looked at each other briefly before taking a look, immediately gasping and going red.

It was a small cake, shaped like a heart with a red trim of frosting around it. And right in the middle, in pretty red cursive, were the words, "We finally had sex!"

"Penelope!" Y/N whined and shoved her face into Spencer's chest, the heat radiating off her face like a space heater on high blast.

The howling laughter that erupted from everyone else in the room was something neither of them would forget.

But even through the curtain of embarrassment, Y/N and Spencer both knew that beyond it awaited a very promising relationship, especially with friends who supported them. Even if that support manifested in rather... enthusiastic ways.

And, despite the initial embarrassment of it all, the cake tasted pretty damn good.

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