#is this. oc x canon? i have no idea how to tag | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlitdesertdreams · 8 months

Text

By the Sea (part 1/?)

A/N: Why am I on a True Blood kick in February of 2024? I have no idea, but please enjoy if you also are. Tags: Eric Northman, vampires, Eric Northman True Blood, True Blood Imagines, Eric Northman x OC, Eric Northman x mythical creature!reader, Eric Northman x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical swearing, overwhelming amounts of sweet, confused Eric Summary: Eric's been cursed to forget all his memories, but you stick out... and have to deal with the aftermath.

Word count: 1.6k+

You had no interest in meeting with the new King of Louisiana.

Bill Compton’s new position as King had given you nothing but pause, and part of you recognized his calling upon Eric as a power play.

So you lounged in the back office at Fangtasia, drifting in and out of consciousness. You could hear the faint arguing between Sookie and Pam in the other office, no doubt about relinquishing ownership of Sookie’s house. The same issue, you assumed, that Bill had requested Eric to discuss. You chuckled at the remembrance that it was your idea to buy the decrepit old farmhouse when Sookie went missing, both to keep an eye on the new King and have a safe haven for Eric away from Fangtasia.

Despite never being fully human, sleeping was one of your favorite indulgences. And tonight you were content to let Eric handle Mr. Compton’s silly requests while Pam argued with Sookie in the other room and you remained at ease. The couch in Eric’s office was worn and comfortable, and you settled yourself underneath one of his jackets, propped against the armrest. When Sookie’s annoying voice drifted away, you were left with the dull roar of protestors outside Fangtasia.

Dreams of blue seas and daylight walks with Eric plagued your mind. The warmth of the sun on your skin, and the golden dance of his hair in a Mediterranean breeze flitted by, and you relished in the fuzzy feeling it brought.

But the invigorating daylight suddenly vanished, replaced with a drab gray office and the annoying scream of a cell phone. You quickly realize it was not in fact your cell phone, but the Fangtasia office phone ringing obnoxiously on Eric’s desk. The sound of Pam and her… company through the wall gave you the idea she wasn’t getting to the phone anytime soon, so you yawned and climbed to your feet, having half a mind to let it ring till it quieted.

However, the newest anti-Vampire movement was raging, and everything at Fangtasia now was about saving face and playing nice. You picked up the receiver and tucked it in the crook of your shoulder, putting on your best vampire purr.

“Thank you so very much for calling Fangtasia. How may I be of service?”

“Y/N?”

You grimace, recognizing Sookie’s sing-song twang. “What do you want?”

“Listen, this is no time for your normal attitude-”

A snarl breaks through your lips. “Watch your mouth, brat. I’ll be on that doorstep before you draw in your next breath.”

“Y/N!” Sookie breathes heavily. “It’s Eric. I found him walking down the road on my way back.”

You stiffen. Sookie’s house was less than a mile from Compton’s, and the thought of what happened to Sophie-Ann at his mansion invaded your mind.

“What’d Compton do to him?”

“This wasn’t Bill.” Sookie’s tone was defensive in spite of everything he’d put her through. “I’m not sure who did this. Y/N… he doesn’t remember me. Or, much of anything. He keeps saying your name.”

Your slow-beating heart ticked up a notch. “You’re home?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

You call on every power you have, letting your eyes fall closed. Teleportation was more of just extremely fast flying, mostly manageable but just exhausting. Sookie’s front porch materializes in your mind, and shortly after you feel a warm Louisiana breeze on your face. The sound of screaming cicadas followed, ringing your ears to the point of a migraine.

Before you can get a hand on the doorknob, the wooden panel flew open. Six feet and five inches of blonde viking greeted you, big hands palming at your shoulders and arms as he drew you close in an instinctual embrace. Sookie’s scent caught your attention as well, but your face was buried in Eric’s bare chest, too busy reveling in his closeness to care. He hummed against your hair nonsensically, nose nuzzled into the roots.

“Älskling” Darling.

He murmured the Swedish word into your hair, pushing a soft rumble through his chest. You finally found it in you to return the embrace, rubbing what you imagined to be reassuring circles on his torso. His behavior was startling, as public affection was not his favorite. He wasn’t afraid of it, per say, but he was more brutish. Eric was possessive and pushy, grabbing onto you and nuzzling against your body to mark you with his scent before visiting vampires or their nests. Coddling and dotting outside of that was usually reserved for the bedroom and private rooms away from prying eyes.

“Eric?” You take a step back, and your heartstrings tug painfully on one another.

His blue eyes are wide, full of confusion and apprehension The air of calm and power he usually carries is missing, replaced with the naivety of a scared child. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek.

“What happened, my love?” You whisper, ushering him to sit on the porch swing.

As you walk away from the entryway, Sookie’s eyes meet yours. She nods briefly, and steps away before closing the door with a soft ‘click’. Eric reaches for you once he’s settled on the cushions. You allow him to have a hold of your hand, but maintain a bit of space and sit cross-legged facing him.

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, even though you saw him less than five hours ago.

The gush and fluttering of human emotions was something you haven’t felt in years. “I know. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The sea.” Eric takes your hand with both of his. “Where we met. You were so beautiful.”

His words were full of emotion and love, and you hated that your face blanched. When you met, when he could smell and taste the shore of the North Sea as it danced under sunlight, was the last few days of his humanity.

“Do you remember what happened to you tonight?” You implore him to continue, trying not to choke at the sight of his ruffled hair.

Eric’s face fell, far away from the contented glaze he had when speaking about the sea. “I know I am a vampire. You are mine. But I… I don’t-”

“Shhh, Shhh.” You hush him gently. “That’s okay.”

Eric shakes his head, gripping your wrist as if you could take his memories via osmosis. He mutters in Swedish, and you prompt him to speak up. The words he utters tell you of flashes he’d seen, but couldn’t provide any context.

“Det var hon, men det var inte hon.” It was her, then it wasn’t her.

The description is of a face morphing from older to younger, but nothing more.

What the hell had Bill Compton done to him?

Sure, Eric recalled a woman’s face, but there was nothing to say Bill didn’t set him up. You were suddenly pissed at yourself for not accompanying him to the new King’s hold. You hadn’t so much as asked why he was going. Pam was her normal stoic self upon hearing about him being beckoned, but you bet she had asked why.

“Eric?” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering and diligent.

“Yes, my queen?”

You almost blush at the pet name. “Can you go sit inside with Sookie? I just have to call someone.”

A lopsided grin stretches his face. “Anything for you.”

Eric leans in and meshes his lips with yours, and it’s the sweetest kiss he’s ever laid on you. There’s no possessive undertone, no domineering fangs brushing against your lips. It’s an innocent show of affection, driven by absolute base instinct and a loss of personality.

“I love you.” He murmurs, breath fanning over your lips.

“I know.”

That amnesiatic smile twists his lips again, and he shuffles back into the farmhouse. You dwell for a moment on the odd behavior before withdrawing your cell phone and immediately dialing Fangtasia.

“Good evening, Fangtasia, Northern Louisiana’s most fang-tastic club. What do you want?”

On any other day, you would have laughed at Pam’s greeting. And you tried so hard to be nice.

“Pam it’s me.”

“Are you really callin’ me from the other office? I thought we talked about-”

“Something happened to Eric.” You stop her, “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The line goes silent, and you half expect her to come rushing onto the porch as you had.

“Elaborate.”

“Sookie called me… She found him wandering down the road on the way home from Fangtasia. He doesn’t remember anything.” You force yourself to keep your voice steady.

“What do you mean, anything?”

You sigh. Nervous Pam is not good for anyone. “The last thing he recalls is the last days he was human…. When we met. He knows what he is but not who.”

Pam’s voice quakes, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or fear. “Bill set him up.”

You raise a brow. “I had an inkling. What did he go there for?”

“Some new coven of fuckin’ witches in Shreveport. Rumored to have been practicin’ necromancy.”

Your blood runs cold. “And Bill sent him in alone?”

“Probably knew it was a trap, too. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get rid of Eric.” Her hatred of Bill is palpable, even through the shoddy phone connection. “If the AVL finds out, they might sign off on assassinating Eric.”

“Alright.” You scrub a hand down your face. “Thanks Pam. I’m gonna take care of him”

“Y/N… be careful. I don’t trust Sookie.”

Said southern belle is trying to covertly look at you through the window and you turn away.

“You know I will.” A pause. “And Pam?”

“You get all mushy with me and it’s just gonna piss me off.”

You laugh for the first time that night. “Just do me a favor and don’t worry.”

The line disconnects, and you know she’s worrying. From inside the house, Eric smiles at you, dopey face swaying ever so slightly in the window frame. You look at the sky, wishing you didn’t know there was no such thing as God.

“Fuck my life.”

-------

True Blood Masterlist | Send me an ask!

#Eric Northman x F!reader #true blood #vampire #imagine #female reader #reader x Eric Northman #true blood imagine #Eric Northman imagine #reader is some sort of mythical being #idk what #use your imagination #sookie stackhouse #bill compton #pamela swynford de beaufort

151 notes · View notes

tryan-a-bex · 2 months

Text

100 fics

Today I posted my 100th fic on Ao3!

My first was Pottery; or Function, Purpose and Heart on Mar 11, 2023. It was a retired Dreamling fic with Destruction (who I call Joe) as the main character.

I moved fairly quickly into my Spy x Family crossover series. Anya is so cute, and throwing her in with Dreamling and the Endless family led to a lot of fun shenanigans! (Generally you don't need to know Spy x Family canon to follow these.)

Next I started on my Sandman x Scooby Doo shenanigans! I really like the Scooby Gang, and there are definitely some mysteries to solve surrounding the Endless! (With awesome art by @sab-draws!)

Gaulcienne caught my eye next. Lucienne, my beloved librarian, and the shape-changing dream-fairy? Oh yes! A Quiet Love with Wings has most of my commissioned art, with pieces by @athymelyreply for Sometimes when You Fall, You Fly, @ibrithir-was-here for Fireflies and a Missing Person, and @designtheendless for The Dragon Rider!

King of Night and Prince of Day, for @nathanwonderwolf's wonderful art, has the second highest kudos of all my fics.

Then I invented an OC who is the preteen personification of the consciousness of humanity, aka Social Media. I thought this was pure crack but people liked it and now it's a series! Dinner and Play was created with @carnelianmeluha's food ideas in mind!

My Dreamling works tend to be short and sweet, often prompted by something on tumblr or discord, and are collected as Dreamling vignettes.

I have recently written (but not yet posted) my first honest to god smut, but early dabbles in the craft were mostly crack, like my Helm Fucking Crack series. I'm unreasonably proud of how cracked it is, and thank everyone who enabled me (notably @sleepsonfutons, @windsweptinred, @tickldpnk8, @zzoomacroom, read their fics!).

My obsession with Fuckboi Dream (mind the tags) is ongoing, and included creating a chapter index with notes so I can find things, a series about Murphy's childhood (somebody please read these, they are so cute), and others, fanart as well!

In The Dragon's Tongue, Lucienne takes on Titania! I commissioned @lostelfwriting to write the bdsm continuation of the scene, and she did a fantastic job!

A Reunion in the Dreaming (picnic recreated here) was the first fic in Walking with the Walkers, my series about Rose, Jed and Unity. It features Rose and Ara (Barbie transformed in Life is but a Dream), Rose and Jed meeting their Endless family members, Jed and Gault having adventures, and Unity throwing family parties in the Dreaming (with art by @ilya-halfelven).

Trials of a Shapeshifter in Love (in which Gault tries to surprise Lucienne with a romantic dinner) was my favourite fic from October 2023 -- Femslash weekend (by @sandmanfemslashfans ) and Monsterfucktober (by @seiya-starsniper and friends) made it a really fun month! I also wrote Chantal and Zelda, Johanna and Death, and zombie Lyta (my most angsty fic, I believe).

Just Get Me Off the Damn Mountain was written for designtheendless' contest and omg, I won! It is my most popular fic, at 185 kudos!

I also wrote an OG story for NaNoWriMo! At 23k, Wander Witch is by far my longest story (the next longest is under 9k).

After a bit of being stuck, I got started again by writing continuations of @gabessquishytum's asks! Thank you to Gabe and to all the anons and contributors who allowed me to post their parts of the story!

Asmi, @weirdly-specific-but-ok, argued that he does not have a fandom, so (with permission) I proved him wrong by writing fanfic where he meets Crowley and the Maggot Fam. I love you, Asmi and the maggots!

Heading on an Adventure, the story of Rose and Orpheus' road trip, led to a series of library adventures for Lucienne (often featuring Meowpheus), starting with The Library Cat and continuing in the Lucienne my Beloved series.

I wanted more Lucienne and Walkers content, so I started a side blog, @lucienne-my-beloved, and am open to prompts there! On ao3, the series is called ficlets for lucienne.

Hob Meets the Doctor June 7, 2389 and The line I will not cross and the line I will (Gaulcienne) are my space fics, and I am unreasonably happy about them!

I'm now writing for @augustwritingchallenge! (They got me over 100 in my wips a week or two ago!) I combined prompts so you'll see a fic every 2-5 days in various series and fandoms, including Good Omens (Aug 30) and Dead Boy Detectives (soon).

And my 100th fic! Why are you whispering? a Jed and Rose fic for the late night call prompts. Woohoo!

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported my fandom journey! I'm the least depressed one in my long covid cohort, due to your support and friendship! I cherish every kudo and comment and bookmark and reblog, and the art and fics you all create as well!

#shameless self-promotion #100 fics #feel free to share/reblog #tryana find it back

51 notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 6 months

Text

Tie me up

After failing to make a romantic dinner, you're very upset. Hiromi volunteers to “help you out” with that frustration.

WC: 3.5K

Tags: +18 SMUT, Jujutsu Kaisen, Higuruma Hiromi x OC/f!Reader, little to no plot (finally), filth, fluff, movement restriction kink, f!top x m!bottom dynamic, she's a tease, he bottoms so well it hurts, consent and talking is sexy (do not change my mind). NEVER tie anyone right over their joints.

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Tag list: @g-kleran @redlikerozez @otomesass

"So, I believe we kinda suck at this." You said, defeated, staring at the pan. It had what was supposed to be your and Hiromi's dinner, completely charred, and smelling dangerously close to setting off the fire alarm. Earlier, Hiromi had tried cooking a small piece of meat with some rice, only to end up with a coal barely resembling food and mushy white paste.

"I think we should order some take out." He answered, sitting with his jaw on his hand, elbow on the counter top of his kitchen, while looking at you. "How about pizza?"

You nodded at him, then locked your eyes on the ruined food, grunting, displeased. "I hate doing things I'm not already good at. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea, this is no fun at all." Your arms were crossed in front of your chest, and your lip formed a pout.

The plan you both had for a stay-in cooking date went out the window. Hiromi told you he couldn't cook for his life, and you weren't the best cook in the world either, but still wanted to give it a try, believing it'd be a fun experience. Up until this point, it didn't quite feel like it. He noticed you were upset, and got up, walking towards you. He had his home clothes on, comfortably dressed with a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips.

Hiromi stopped right behind your body and embraced you, pressing himself against you. Then, he began planting some kisses on the side of your neck.

"Hey, come on. The night is not ruined. The way I managed to get spices all over the kitchen was kind of funny. It still stings, though." He had tried opening a small packet of mixed spices and ended up tearing the thing apart with his enormous hands, sending a painful powder throughout the air, eliciting a terrible cough from his lungs. After the debacle, Hiromi changed his previously more formal attire to his home clothes and tried washing the burning sensation away from his face, while you did your best to keep down your laughter while aiding him.

This robbed a chuckle from your mouth. "I guess. I was trying not to burst into laughter."

He hummed amused, nosing your neck, sliding his hooked nose up your earlobe, and down again. "I noticed, darling." Hiromi breathed warmly against your skin, a smile on his voice as he spoke.

You sighed. "I'm still a little angry at how things went south, though." To the sound of that, Hiromi turned you with his hands on your waist. Now facing you, he got closer, and began brushing his lips to yours, while pinning you against the edge of the kitchen sink. That instantly relaxed you a little, and he pressed a kiss on your mouth, breathing you in. You cupped his face, deepening the kiss, as you both stood there, taking in each other for a minute. As your lips parted, he seemed to have had an idea, and you waited for him to speak.

"Want to let some of that steam off on me?" You blinked, slightly confused. Does he want me to... hit him?

He noticed your puzzled face. "I meant in the bedroom." He chirped, spirited, taking a step back and pulling in you by your waist to lean on him. You could feel his taut muscles under the fabric of the shirt, grazing the tip of your fingers on his abdomen. Just the thought of him half naked from his waist up thrilled you, riling you up and making your heart skip a beat.

"Yes, please." You huffed against his mouth, sliding your hands up to dig your nails to the back of his hair. "Yes." Excitement had officially taken over you.

Hiromi let out a chuckle and began walking towards the room in reverse, pecking at your lips and face, never letting go of the embrace his arms had around your body as he did so, pulling you with him.

As you both finally made it into the room, you glanced at two ties he had hanging over his desk's chair, and that gave you some... ideas.

You both got to his bed, and you pushed him with one hand on his chest to get him on the mattress. Stepping deftly into the push, he fell on it, supporting himself on his elbows, as you stood before him with mischievous eyes. He took notice of that, and smiled.

"What is on your mind?" He inquired, curious.

You felt suddenly shy, and chuckled a little, diverting your gaze somewhere else before answering. "I think... I'd like to tie you up."

He was definitely surprised, tilting his head to the side, eyes slightly wide. "Like... To the bed?"

You were still looking away, smiling hesitantly. "... Not exactly. Take your shirt off, please."

Still not fully understanding what you meant, he followed your command, and tugged his shirt up his head, revealing his figure. He looked like a slender and statuesque Greek God, and you could perfectly see the definition of his muscles, his flesh. Your mouth instantly began watering at the sight, as you made your way to grab both the ties.

Now, Hiromi was completely at a loss.

You approached him and put one of his ties normally on his neck, letting it fall over his bare chest. He lifted a brow and looked at you, amused. "You keep getting more interesting by the minute."

You chuckled. "I sure hope so. Don't go getting tired of me just yet. Now, slide a little further in the bed and put your hands back."

Hiromi sat up, doing as told, and rested each hand behind him, beginning to understand what you were on about when you said you wanted to tie him up. You went behind Hiromi, folded his forearms over the middle of his back, and circled the open tie close to his wrists and around itself. Then, you gave it a basic knot, tugging at the tie just to be sure it wouldn't slip. After it was all well and secure, you crawled your way back to be in front of him.

With his shoulders propped back by the tying, he looked at you, smiling, but still a little puzzled. You pushed him delicately, just so Hiromi would be resting against the wall. That was when he stated, "Ok, now I understand what you meant by tying me up. However, I still don't get the point to this," he said, looking down at the tie you had previously put around his neck.

"Oh, that?" You answered, grinning slyly. You approached Hiromi, putting your legs open over his, and grabbed his neck tie, giving it a sharp tug to pull him closer. He instantly blushed, gazing at you like he was ready to become nothing but a puddle under your thumb. "For this. Like a dog collar."

“Oh” was all he mustered up to say, face flustered with a tiny smile forming.

“Will you do as I say?” After asking, you bit his jawline, having Hiromi trembling and nodding in response.

“Of course. I’ll get rewarded if I do, won’t I?” Hiromi purred, loving being tugged and pushed around by you. You chuckled softly, pressing him back towards his initial position.

Then, cradling on his lap, you pressed your clothed sex softly right under the edge of his sweatpants, as you could feel the pulsing barely covered by fabric. Hiromi let out a soft moan, shuddering with relief from some friction. You began grinding your hip over his, and in response, he involuntarily squirmed underneath your legs, grunts stuck in his throat, bucking his hips up, pleadingly looking at you. You were gasping softly, using his shoulders as support for your hands.

"Behave," you said, smiling at him in between pleasured sighs, using one of your hands to grab his face, nails digging into his cheeks, "or I won't kiss you when I'm touching you."

That elicited a whimper from him, as Hiromi tried earnestly to still his hips and let you lead the dance. "I’m doing my best, I promise" he said, biting his lower lip in a delicious anticipation.

Ah, just the sight of him starting to break apart for you was breathtaking.

"Good boy."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, relishing in the sensation this praise washed over his body, no witty comeback this time around.

You got off from him and stood just beside the bed. "Now, open your eyes, or you'll miss the show." You cleared your throat. “I mean, not a show, but you get it.”

He chuckled softly and promptly obeyed, opening his eyes to gaze at you. First, you began to slowly slide his pants and boxers down, with him swaying his hips side to side in order to make the task easier. As you were finished, you saw his cock splayed over his belly, already leaky and flush-red. Then, looking at him and not breaking eye contact, you began to lift the edge of your shirt, watching as his jaw slightly dropped. Hiromi's eyes glazed over your body, and began following your hands.

You pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside on the ground, revealing a simple black bra. Then, you began sliding your pants down your legs, making it possible to see you had a somewhat matching set of underwear — at least in color. You didn’t have many sets of underwear — it was definitely not a priority for you as a jujutsu sorcerer — and tried to at least have the colors match for this date.

Hiromi couldn't care less, completely hypnotized, thinking how sensual and erotic it was to simply watch you undress in a perfectly ordinary way.

After taking off your clothes, you looked at him, and he seemed like the boy that got exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Delighted, you said, "open your legs", getting back on the bed, still covered by your underwear. Hiromi immediately did as you told him to, and you kneeled right in front of him, in between his limbs.

You put your left hand on his left thigh and began slowly sliding your way towards his groin, making sure you were pressing firmly on his skin as you did. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, opening his mouth in a soundless whimper. As your fingers clasped around it, giving a few soft pumps just to acclimate your touch and check how sensitive he was, he jolted his head down with a groan, looking at you eagerly. He was definitely sensitive with all that foreplay.

You giggled softly, leaning over him, while still striding your hands up and down at a steady pace. He began wriggling under your touch, making every humanly possible effort not to fuck into your hand. Regardless, he failed, and began bucking his hips, desperate for it to be quicker, stronger. You clicked your tongue behind your teeth disapprovingly, and looked at him. "What did I say?"

"I-I'm sorry," Hiromi replied, trying to halt his movements as much as he could.

Abruptly, you got a hold of his tie and pulled him, unceremoniously. "No kissing, then."

You heard the man grunting in complaint, and smiled lustfully, eyes flickering with delight. Without warning, you removed your hand from his cock, putting your middle and ring finger tips on top of his bottom lip, as you ordered, "open up."

He did, and you slid both fingers inside his mouth, pressing them against his tongue, as you still had a tight hold on his neck tie, pulling him into a sitting position. "Now, suck on them."

Hiromi whimpered, completely in the undertoe of your commands, and began sucking on your fingers. You let your other hand go off his tie and grabbed his length again, resuming the pumping around his cock with a tight grip. He moaned and whined with lips locked around your fingers, sending vibrations that traveled down your whole body.

You picked up the pace, having him sounding progressively more desperate, before you took your fingers out of his mouth, stopped pumping him and put those same fingers inside your mouth, just to taste his mouth indirectly. His entire body stiffened up, as a frown took hold of his face and he dangled his head back, despairing for relief.

It felt good to finally be in control, doing something you were very good at.

“I’m edging us both today, you won’t regret it. I promise.” You kissed his forehead as he opened his eyes, looking at you. His eyes begged for more.

“Woman, you will be the death of me,” he said, panting lightly, with some sweat starting to form on the surface of his body.

You laughed, content, and slid yourself back on the mattress, having another joyfully wicked idea. He must’ve seen the sparkle in your eyes, because he instantly said, “how else are you planning to torture me today for us both ruining dinner?”

You covered your mouth, blushing a little at the thought of it. His face was just looking so gorgeous, his lips, his hooked nose, his perfectly messy black locks falling a little over his forehead, his angular jawline. “Can I sit on your face?” You asked. “I mean, I’d like to sit on your f-“

“Please. Sit on my face. Now.” Hiromi said that taken by some kind of unknown urgent desire of smothering himself while tasting you.

You were pleasantly taken aback at such urgency and grinned at him, amused. “ Okay, then. But I’m not coming just yet.”

You pulled Hiromi gently by his tie to put two pillows right behind his body, just so his upper back and head would be comfortable and not pressing his hands tied to his back as he laid down.

You got up and stood by the end of the bed, poking fun at an idea you entertained.

“I’m going to manhandle you now,” you warned.

He was confused for a few seconds. “What do you m-“

You gripped his ankles and pulled him, having his whole body slide down the mattress, and landing his head and upper back on the soft pillows.

You could distinctly see him sighing before he let out a satisfied groan. “I really enjoyed that.”

You laughed and took off your underwear while he waited for you. “Did you, now?” You asked, slowly climbing on Hiromi, extremely amused at how thrilled he seemed to be with this entire thing.

You put each shin beside him and sat on his chest for a moment, caressing his hair, brushing your nails delicately against his scalp. It felt wonderfully soft. “If you need a moment to breathe, bite my leg, okay?”

Hiromi smiled coyly, as he gazed at you from the bottom, face softly blushed at the sight of your entire body completely bare and exposed to him. He also quivered at the sensation of your wetness smearing over his chest. “Oh, I definitely won’t.”

The way he said that, sounding like a ravenously hungry animal, had you shuddering. You propped yourself forward, putting one hand on the wall directly in front of you for support. Your other hand, however, traveled down his pitch black locks on the top of his head, and entangled in them, giving it a firm tug at the roots. Hiromi moaned, his mouth nearly touching your folds, bottom lip trembling with bated breath.

Adjusting your legs, you began descending on his face, and as soon as you were in range, he projected his mouth forward, latching his lips around your clit. You gasped, and he began lapping at it with the tip of his tongue, now opening his mouth to graze his entire face with you. Hiromi was effectively making out, in the messiest way possible, with your dripping cunt.

You were actively trying not to hump his face, but his relentless licking against your folds was turning it into a nearly impossible task. What broke you, however, was the moment he nuzzled against your clit with his nose, digging his tongue inside your entrance as far as it could go right after. Trembling, you involuntarily began grinding against his face, and Hiromi noticed it, letting out a feral groan that reverberated all throughout your core, sucking desperately at you, intent on making you reach your tipping point before you could escape his mouth.

Your mind was hazy enough for you to almost ignore the moment your body began tightening, getting ready for the snap. But, you had said it — you were edging the both of you tonight.

Realizing you were about to climb out of his face, Hiromi tried his last desperate attempt, starting to suck intently at your nub as he grazed over with the tip of his tongue. You let out a cry, and projected yourself behind, body convulsing from your near orgasm experience. Hiromi groaned in utter and complete frustration, as if you had interrupted the meal you both hadn't had the chance to eat tonight, yet.

“Smart ass,” you said, sitting on his abdomen while panting, trying to regain the air for your lungs as you felt the need to support yourself with both of your hands on the bed.

“I was top of my class,” he huffed, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth, “I guess I do come with some brains along with the pretty face.”

You laughed, and reached for the condom, opening it up and quickly sliding it over his cock, having him gasp softly when you finished rolling the rubber over his length, giving it an appreciative squeeze. Both of you were edged enough, and the desperation to fall apart with him inside, filling you up completely, was now an all-consuming fire.

You motioned over and began sitting on him. Then, you grabbed his tie, bottoming out instantly, at the same time you sharply tugged at it to seat him up. As he violently jolted forward, Hiromi let out a loud — emphasis on loud — mix of a groan and a moan, staring at you, glassy eyed and out of breath. He had your wetness completely smeared all over his face, and his debauched looks were rosy tint flustered.

You just knew you both wouldn’t last long at all.

You began riding him, mewling and moaning as you bucked your hips skillfully, having him sliding lusciously inside you. He motioned his hips too, as best as he could under the restriction he was currently under, desperate for his release tightened by the plush of your walls.

You drove one of your hands under your body to rub on your clit, and both of your arms accidentally pressed against the sides of your breasts, perking them up. Hiromi was completely enthralled by the view, and began trying to lean himself over. Noticing it, you pulled on the tie to help him reach your breasts, and he took full advantage, immediately sliding his tongue over one of your nipples, pressuring it with a tang.

And it was all just too much. Your verged pleasure, your fingers rubbing your core, his hot and wet mouth over you, all intensely tipping you over the edge as you came with a cry out for his name, desperately. Your entire body jolted and seized on top of him, while you still kept a firm hold on his tie, now completely crumpled and disheveled.

At the ungodly tightening around his cock, along with the tugging, the breathlessness, your taste, your smell, the relentless teasing, Hiromi came with a shout, all of his muscles getting impossibly tense against their restraints. Following suit, the man felt all of his limbs weaken as he pumped sloppily into you, nearly whimpering — from release, desperation or bliss, he did not know.

“We’re so much better at this.” You said, huffing and laughing softly at the same time, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. You could still feel your essence on his mouth, and shivered in response.

“Mm-hmm…” He answered, nodding, trying to regain his strength.

And then, panting into each other, a memory started tickling the backside of your brain.

"Hiromi..." You said, slightly lifting yourself and parting your bodies for a moment, pulling him closer to untie his hands on the back of his body, while his face cradled in the small of your neck. You did, and lightly pressed over his skin, feeling the markings dipped over, massaging them softly.

He was still coming back to Earth after biblically orgasming, wondering if he ever came this hard before in his life. "What, love?" Hiromi asked, still in that subspace of blissful stupor, as he brought both of his hands to hold your waist, sinking his digits on the plush of your skin, pressing soft, breathless kisses on your neck and chest.

"Did we ever order the pizza?"

End notes:

If you'd like to be a part of the taglist, just leave a comment below or send me a message :)

#jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk x you #higuruma smut #hiromi smut #jjk smut

133 notes · View notes

mahs-dumpster · 22 days

Text

a/n: I don't have a title for this one and for some reason I'm kinda shy about this so. I'll just post this and move on. Yup. Uhh tagging @4necdote bc I mentioned this to her

cw: fellow honest should be a content warning tbh; oc x canon (Maisie x Fellow); possibly ooc because I still haven't read Playful Land

words: around 1k

He couldn't take his eyes off of her, not after hearing her sing so beautifully on that stage. Her voice was high pitched, but it was soft and almost heavenly, it almost never went off tone, whenever a mistake was made she covered up so masterfully and wonderfully that it made it seem like the song was being improved. Every word seemed to captivate the audience — captivate him — and make them hypnotized, in awe of what they were experiencing at the moment.

That's why, to Fellow, he couldn't help but stare at the jazz singer who was currently drinking all the way across from him at that bar. A few minutes ago she looked like an angel, — in a way, she still does — almost ethereal… but now, she seemed human, like she could be reached, and Fellow wanted more than anything to talk to her, to use the charisma he had been building over the years to his advantage, not for a scheme like usual, but to get her attention, to make her beautiful blue eyes look at him.

He needed to hear that voice directed towards him.

As Fellow got up, with an idea as to how to approach her in mind, he saw that another man apparently had the same thought as him. He clicked his tongue and sat back down, not wanting to be pushy and try to fight for her attention, not wanting her to have this view of him before he even spoke.

The redhead glanced at them ever so often, curious as to how their interaction was gonna go. He saw as the man’s words seemed to make the cat beastwoman cringe, a wrinkle showing on her delicate features, and a twitch of her fluffy white ears; he tried touching her waist, which caused her to push him away, seemingly making the man angry. It was then that Fellow decided to take action. He walked straight towards the two after asking for another drink, a plan to shoo the man away, but before he could reach closer to them both he heard a loud groan, followed by a sound of satisfaction that came out of the singer’s throat. She had stepped on his foot, irritated with his advances and tired of repeatedly saying ‘no’.

Before Fellow could laugh though, he saw how the guy lifted his hand, his eyes widened in shock and anger as he quickly left the drinks there and ran towards the two, his hand holding the man’s wrist.

“Now, there. That isn't very gentlemanly, is it?” Fellow said, his joking manner present as ever but his voice was firm. He pushed the guy, standing in front of the smaller woman who watched the situation with curiosity and shock at the audacity of the guy for trying to hit her. “I suggest you better leave. You wouldn't wanna get in trouble here.”

It was a threat. Fellow’s fangs showed as he pronounced every word, his eyebrows furrowed with irritation. The guy grumbled something he couldn't care less about and walked away, then, Fellow finally sighed and looked behind him, a bit of worry in his eyes.

“Are you, uh… are you alright, miss?”

“Oh.” The singer came back to reality and slightly bowed, a sweet smile on her lips as she nodded. “Yes, I’m ok. Thank you for helping me out, mister…?”

“Fellow Honest at your services, your ladyship.” He bowed playfully, making the woman giggle. It was music to his ears. “I have been keeping my eye on you ever since I saw your performance a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, I see. And what did you think of it, mister Honest?”

“I can hardly speak my mind without knowing the name of the lady I talk to, can I?” Fellow said, his hand extended in a silent encouragement for her to introduce herself. The girl took his hand a bit hesitantly, but curious nonetheless.

“Well, alright." She started. "My name is Maisie Bows. Thank you for listening to my singing earlier today.”

“Maisie.” He tried, and realized he loved how the word rolled off his tongue. He hummed as a smile showed up in his face, then he brought her hand to his face, kissing gently the back of her hand. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Maisie let out a laugh, a more genuine one, and he noticed her cheeks getting red. She seemed to be delighted with their interactions, not being able to contain the smile on her face even after she stopped laughing.

“My, aren't you quite the charmer, mister Honest.” The woman joked, and Fellow couldn't help but chuckle, his hand never leaving hers. “Now, your opinion on my performance…?”

“It was one of the best I’ve ever heard.” She lifted an eyebrow as if she didn't believe him. “I promise, or my name isn't Fellow Honest.”

“I guess with a name like that you really can't lie.” Maisie sat down again on one of the benches at the bar, retrieving her hand from his grasp, and Fellow immediately missed her touch. “So. You came here just to play hero and compliment my singing?”

“Actually, I was coming here to offer you a drink.” He confessed, walking towards where he left said drinks, offering one to the woman sitting in front or him. “That is, if you would let me.” Maisie stayed quiet for a moment, as if thinking it over.

“I… don't really accept drinks nor food from strangers.” Is what she said, but he could see there was more in her eyes, a certain yearning he couldn't quite comprehend. He’d be a fool to simply give up when he saw that.

Fellow left the two drinks at the bar and called the bartender, looking at Maisie once they came closer. “If not, then let me pay you one. Your choice.” Maisie smiled and leaned against the bar, looking over at the options of drinks and pointing to one specifically. Fellow immediately ordered it and started drinking the one he already had in hands, not before curiosity struck him. “May I be so bold and ask for a dance as well, miss Bows?”

Maisie turned to Fellow, she tried to contain a laugh but failed, she bit her nails as she pondered over his question, then she looked at him.

“We’ll see how this conversation goes.”

“Fair enough.”

•••

Maisie stirred in bed, the sound of her alarm clock bothering her sensitive hearing. As she turned it off, she sat up on her bed, a hand on her face as she remembered her dream, or better yet, her memory.

Her hands went to her phone, quickly opening the gallery and finding the small folder of photos she was not able to delete. A finger went over a picture of her and Fellow on a date, her wearing his stupidly big jacked as his arm was around her shoulders.

Maisie's eyes stung.

"Liar."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #oc x canon #💌! mah writes #💌! maisie #💌! mellow #fellow honest #fellow honest x oc

24 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 8 months

Text

Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

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

October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

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

Band of Brothers Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters x oc #dick winters imagines #dick winters imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #tw sa implied #tw assault #tw sa

137 notes · View notes

oncewhenalongtimeago · 17 days

Note

i like the side characters the reader is around that you implement in ur stories . im assuming they’re just ocs but it makes y/n feel more real rather than an insert to be purely attached to hiccup .

this isnt necessarily an actual request , but id like to see reader interact more with other characters , like how they did w snotlout in the jealous one ! if ur fine w small suggestions ?

Wildflower pt 2

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 3,628

The forge is dark. Your heart feels darker.

Tags: Mild age difference, unrequited, requited, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

There was a mood to your stride, one that could only be held by someone who was certain that they were alone as you crept into the darkness. It covered you like a thin film.

What was once blazingly bright was now tame, the fires from outside now resting and nearly dead. It was quiet sans the occasional crackling and the sound of sizzling and sputtering, fires being tended to by not just your peers, but the rest of the Berks Vikings, primarily the proletariat, as often the more noble found themselves too above those sorts of ordeals.

The sooted inside of the smithy was not at all different to the outside- it was just as sweltering though perhaps filled with less of the festering smell of blood and carnage, though the air remained uncirculated- it felt just as musty as it was thick.

This last raid had been a difficult one, the work you’d need to spend rebuilding spanning many days. The idea exhausted you. You and your fellows would have your hands full. Bjorner, the bastard, would make himself scarce.

You’d seen him doing it a number of times, skulking through alleyways, walking with a mix of confidence and twitchy, hunched shoulders, striding and grunting and checking past shoulders when forced instead of talking to the others. He always made his way to the arena after a raid.

He lurked there just as Jorvik Jorgenson often spent his time training on the rare occasion he was let off on his lonesome, though Bjorner preferred to make himself most scarce if he and Jorvik were ever forced into the same space.

With a scoff that came from low in your throat, you ran the side of your hand down the side of your face, your other arm taut, carrying by the blade one tarnished shortsword.

You let it fall to the ground with a deep clatter.

It was not your own- it was a one that had been embedded in the side of the building which you’d dismounted with a vicious shout. You could tell quite obviously why it’d been there, blade cracked and nearly shattered against the thick neck-skin of a Nadder as you’d beaten it back with one blunt metal end.

In the place where there usually was a stack of thick logs, there was nothing more than sticks.

Skulking, you eyed the dying light of rounded, chipped coals, slightly orange around the edges. The furnace had been left unattended- that would not bode well, now or ever.

You could do the same- sneak off, go for some more training… Battle-practice was preferable to building, though most of you all had gone through the likes of dragon-training quite early on- it was all very much a casual affair now, yet it was also no less vicious for it.

You felt the taut press of wood against the small of your back, what was once a sharp edge nearly dull as you rested against it, ready for some deep thinking. You always were.

The world of Berk was one in which children were used like cows when it came to physical labor, so there was likely no escape.

Childbearing had been rare in those few years where the raids had been hardest. Yours was almost the last class to be of use with the buckets. Your class had already been saddled with them much longer than any of you would have liked, from your twelve winters until fourteen, when most gave up the job in pursuit of other things.

You suspected that your fiance’s lot would have to spend much longer in the brigade than yours had, which, in most eyes, must have been a good thing. Hiccup was still small and scrawny and not so capable of taking care of things on his own- reckless.

He was willful, though that wasn’t so much of a fault as it was something to hone, same as any of the blades that had passed or would ever pass through the forge, pressed against the smithy’s sander’s belt. That was fine- he’d just need the extra room to grow. In retrospect, it was probably his father’s goal to temper him and to provide him something which might actually become of use before he reached an adult age and you were to be married, because he was certainly -in the eyes of his brethren, surely- not fit to be Chief.

You had to admit to yourself that he was much too flighty to do well there; too thoughtless, though that was just fine for your purposes.

You rested your hand against the table as you shifted, leaning your weight and adjusting.

Your palm could have met the sharp end of some hot tool and you would not have been bothered by it much. You hadn’t been since you were five, now fifteen. Instead, it met the fluttering edge of a paper, something you just barely felt past the aches, pain rendering your fingers all numb.

Instead of plain wood, you felt the thin, nearly unregistrable flutter of parchment against your palms, covering most of the wood behind you in layers and folds.

You grasped backwards, grabbing the corner slip of one small piece.

You eyes it, its face covered in an even array of smudged charcoal etchings. They were organized in a way that wasn’t quite neat, semi-smooth lines offset by uneven scribbles and messy chicken-scratching rune-work. It was ungainly, yet there was a purpose to it.

Projected clearly across the paper in the way the spear was drawn loaded into the barrel, spring and launcher lined and detailed meticulously- it was a spear-launcher, not yet named, though you were sure when it would be, it would be just as asinine as any of his other ridiculous, dull-minded names; bonecrusher, jaw-wrender, the bloody fandangler.

You admired it, though it was not without its flaws.

A thick metal coil installed into the barrel behind a plate with rotating gears along the inside, connected to a hefty lever- compared to his usual models, all shelf-mounted model figures, it was an ambitious project. You were sure he’d never attempted something nearly as complex, either.

Your fiance was quite unusual by most standards. What he’d drawn up today was unlike anything anyone else could have come up with, you thought, which wasn’t so bad. There was something here for you to find pride in, at least- to be able to grow older and to marry a man with some skill, if a boy like him could ever become a man.

You couldn’t see what was so appealing about him now, not that many could in the first place. He was much too baby-faced- or, perhaps, you were much too prudent to conceive of him in any other way. You knew Stoick and his wife held many years of distance between them, and yet you still couldn’t picture it.

You sighed, though not at all exasperated. It was barely an expulsion of breath, more just the parting of lips.

Hiccup’s work had always been made to be quick and done hastily, boxy fingers addled by what was probably the natural, budding recklessness of a teenage boy. However, the world would rue the day he learned to use an even unit of measure- his preferred unit was the length of his arm, though that never bode well.

He was smart, a kindred spirit in that he did what you occasionally thought but never entertained- he had an innovative mind, a creative one, if one not so dictated by fancy and color, more guided by logic and print, yet he was more prone to flaw, practice poor when it came to exercising the objective.

The design of the shell was simple and yet the measured lengths were different. Three lengths of an arm for the base and three and a half for the shell would make it much longer and wider than anything else, which meant that the frame would have been made looser, offset by his poor math.

If this was to be his passion, he could do better.

The measure of the barrel's coil, marked by the hasty sketch of a circle, was most definitely too thin. You were sure it’d snap under most pressures even if it hadn’t already been wound so tight. The placement of a chain-and-clip along the bottom was quite inappropriate though not so dangerous. Its awkward angle and occupation of space meant that everything else had to have been moved to compensate for it in a way that would hinder the rest of the gears and wedges, though you weren't quite sure if he’d caught on to that yet.

You were sure you’d hear of it later when you bothered to listen, which, if measured by instances, were also few and far between.

You rolled your eyes back slightly, tilting your head to the side as you did, brows furrowing.

It had the added consequence of bringing your attention away to other things- the mess of tools laying in a pile across the way left to molder, the crumbling, half-shattered stones by the base of one wall, the thin, discarded shell of some machine just by your foot.

There was mismatching lever-base jammed quite recklessly into the hole of the side of it, nearly brushing the floor -it didn’t even stand up to your knee- wood split slightly along the side of the hole.

Detachedly, you nudged it aside with your foot, raising a brow.

Scuffing against stone, shedding distance, not excessively heavy, not too light, wholly measured- A hearty grunt, somewhat familiar, yet not worthy enough to draw your attention. The shift of furs against skin, a stilling; another grunt.

Surely soon there would be more, arriving hastily after gathering their assets and their wits.

You kept your eyes trained on your hands, the parchment between, at what you hoped had just been a smudge, “Speak your name.”

“You jest.”

You raised a tired eyebrow with no small amount of amusement, eyes still trained on the paper in front of you, “If I do, I’ve also forgotten your name.”

You feigned ignorance still- you knew him well, if only vaguely, not all of your disinterest had been feigned- he was Hrolfer. One of the Hoffersons, also some winters older as well, though the last in your group to be such an age, in your class with a head of dashing blonde hair, a band and a tie keeping it tidied up at all times, and a lean set of evenly muscled shoulders, exposed as his sleeves were burnt and torn from battle.

“You’re the only one who could.” He spoke, voice smooth, not too hindered by the thick air, though almost not recognizable.

You raised a brow to yourself. The Hoffersons weren’t so egotistical a clan- not in ways that were outright, more obsessed with winning and betterness than bloodshed and bragging.

In terms of politic, though they were a major house, the Hoffersons were quite neutral, though not because they were particularly benevolent. If any group could be called ‘warriors,’ it would be them, though their lack of dalliance in any other field left them quite poor.

In terms of your own relations, you were always on the opposite sides of the arena- you’d never spoken, the both of you more the silent type than anything else, though you’d had a few chance dalliances.

Often, you took care of your needs on your lonesome, filling your belly in the hall, most often skipping meals when you had to, practicing out with an axe in the arena, throwing and beating metal through hay dummy.

You could recall maybe a nod in the midst of battle or a shared sideways glance- the few times you’d both been late enough to feed together in the Great hall, still keeping largely to yourselves. It happened more often than not. Perhaps that was what he meant to play on.

Either way, he didn’t seem to care much, so you offered no sympathy in return.

“Woe.” You spoke again, droll, half-lidded, lazy eyes languishing their way over to him and back. Pithy words for pithy questions. A coin for the poor, not that you had coin with you.

As always, over his shoulder was an axe with a head nearly larger than his own, though now it was covered in soot and scratches and fractured by the blade where a chunk of metal had been taken from one mighty side. It would have to be replaced. The handle was just as scratched, dark wood with leather wrappings, though you could tell that before the battle, it had been well-polished and carefully taken care of. A damaged heirloom, most probably- a great disappointment to have it so broken yet also a point of pleasure to know it’d been of use to such an effectual warrior.

He hummed deeply before going silent, stoic, waiting, shoulders tall and face stiff with an expression just as blank to match, brows slightly furrowing as if he too understood- to mingle was to indulge in bother, time wasted that could have been better spent doing what was better, what was needed. In that way, you were two of the same. Which begged the question- where was your wayward fiance?

He wasn’t allowed away from the forge, not during a raid- yet he was absent. Just as absent as he was very much needed. He must have snuck out, though, to do what you weren’t sure, leaving you on your lonesome, breathing in the dust and lying in wait in the dark, nursing your own cuts and bruises.

You hoped you’d not have to deal with another instance with an axe or a spear. You thought he might have had enough with the humiliation, the manhandling, the failure. However, he was a determined thing, and determination was just as odd a drive as he, fueled by the most backwards circumstances.

You’d turned as Hrofer settled against the closed forge window, eyes overshadowed, the side of him half-lit by the open smithy shutter door.

The table was completely crowded, full of odd bars, nails and other tool-like ends.

You settled one hand aimlessly, grasping ahold of one end of another parchment, slightly dusty across the surface and uneven as if the wood hadn’t been pulped properly before it’s been set. You paid it no mind.

You were wholly aware of a hefty set of eyes on your back as you did, something in the air urging haste. You ignored it, scouring deeper into the darkness of the forge, though you didn't have to look so hard.

The long end of one charcoal stick rolled against your fingers as you picked it up, shedding dust against the wooden desktop between the wooden handle of a quaint-looking hammer and the hand-end of a prong.

Its dust-like feel was in great contrast to the ribs in the wood scratching against your other, paper lumpy yet smooth where there should be divots. It was a nice feeling, only mildly despaired by the shuffling of dirt outside, the slightly muffled sound of conflict, deeper baritones clashing against a squeaky voice, high in the nasal that hadn’t quite begun to drop.

Facing the darkness, you smudged at the charcoal with one thumb, drawing a larger three over the spot where it had lain plus half, frowning slightly as you rested your hips forwards against the table, thick wooden face pressing into the soft meat of your upper leg. Remove chain.

By the corner, where there lay one half of a blotted circumference, with your pinky finger resting against the table, the rest clutched around the stick, you drew the tiniest of words onto the paper with smooth, looped lettering; make it thicker.

You could already hear his protests already through the walls. Some, “-ome on, Dad,” and some stuttered, “I can- I can-”

You sighed again, sharper and more exasperated this time, just as hissed as the now near-dead fires outside.

They’d go at it for a while longer, Hiccup with balled fists and folded elbows and a determined, aggressive lean as he attempted to make his case. His father, in contrast, with a towering, exasperated, gruff expression- he wouldn’t be so pleased, even less so to see you’d caught the tail-end of it all. In a situation so violate, it really would not do to add any unneeded stress to the mix.

In that moment, your irritation got the better of you, your fingers crumpling discarded paper. You glared at the ball of it in your hand for a moment before, in a moment of indecision, shoving it deep into a back pocket, sewn hastily into the back of your skirt, pulling it out, then tossing it to the side.

You shook your head, eyes half-rolling as you blinked, soles of your leather boots padding soundlessly over stone, moving with an ease of practice, leaving the stick of charcoal to roll back onto a table full of various knacks, clattering hollowly, lightly against wood and tapping against metal.

There was a way out back, where the sky peeked in from many bottled windows and doors, easy enough to move through before Hiccup was left to stumble-storm in, before you’d be brought to awkward confrontation with his father, who had always had a hard time figuring what to do with himself before and after dealing with his own spawn.

The feel of thin stems against your fingertips, slightly wet and dull-wilted, the slick of the fog tingling against baby hairs, the hound of the forest, so quiet and uninhabited- you’d do nearly anything to be back there.

Not in the village, tiny and full of those left aging, with not nearly enough women to make more than a single family, but in the forest, where things were quiet, and where, though few, if you knew where to look, there were plenties of small, wild, budding flowers.

If there was a word you could ever think to use to describe him, it would have been ‘child,’ for even if you were young in both name and stature, he was much more of both. You were worlds apart, though you could not find it within yourself to hate. You couldn’t find much in yourself at that moment.

His height was not comparable to yours at all. His head ended where the top of your chest began, and even to you, who was the smallest and youngest on your tiny isle, he looked so young, cheeks cherub and shy-quiet.

To love and to be loved in turn was a privilege, one you were now sure you’d never be afforded, for how could you partner with someone so unlike you, so small and hapless?

You were enough to be almost cherished but not enough to be wanted. It hadn’t been enough to sustain you, to keep you, to promise life and marriage- It was a lonely life, on that island. It was okay.

The worn bottoms of the small child’s leather boots scuffed against the wooden floor as he wrung his fingers together past large sleeves, stained and speckled with snot, both belonging to a shirt that was much too baggy and bright to be anything but frivolous and ill-fitting, yet was much newer than your own worn, dirty, fisher’s kin’s clothes. A small bit of snot peaked down from the bottom of his nose like a fouler version of the morning’s freshest, coldest dew. It was a muddled, sour color. His head was tilted downwards though his shoulders were at a normal angle if not slightly hunched.

He brought one sleeve up to his nose, smearing it against fabric, something in you recoiling as he did, causing your nose to wrinkle.

“Hi,” The boy said in a voice that was both small and moppish. It was just as wavering as it was sound.

You were hesitant to respond.

There was a man standing a ways away and yet somehow still towering over the both of you. Though you didn’t care much to pay him any attention, it was a fact of the matter that his presence was overwhelming, nearly stifling. He was a monolith, heavy in the most muggy way plausible.

A sharp whisper of breeze sputtered in from the outside, brushing up against your back, slicing through your close, moving, chilling and yet not fast enough to push the hefty front door open any further.

You past the feel of fog, of weathering time, you felt the shifting of heavy brown furs, cloth layered over and over, covering the frame of a wooden bed, thin enough to shake over the chilling floor as you crawled into it, to squeak and squeal, to wobble precariously, but still somehow enough to carry both you and your mother.

You were very aware of a lack- the lack. The one that spoke of crumbling foundations, of old pillars, temples made of blood and forged through bone, the bond of family, the realization that you might not have ever had any at all, just open, grassy clearings and biting, cold air where there should have been cities. The feeling was… isolating.

It wasn’t well lit at all inside of this hut, a world of growing darkness in a place that felt wholly empty. Still, like a rash, from the open door, a sash of light glanced over the boy’s face, starting where your shadow ended. You weren’t standing nearly close enough for it to cover you whole, small dust pieces and speckles dancing in the cool luster.

You waited, though for what, you weren’t sure. Not words, not change, but with the time, you realized quite simply that you had nothing to say.

You nodded.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #hiccup x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #fem reader #httyd imagine #female reader #toothless #you're going to enjoy the coming chapters #this story relies heavily on the reader being her own person

20 notes · View notes