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python333 · 4 months

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glass half-full, or half-empty? — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're trapped in a coffin, then you're not, then you're questioning your whole life- basically, buried alive trope meets found family and meets age regression and they all have a super messed up baby that has the occasional good quality.

relationships caretaker! price, caretaker! gaz & little! reader (gender-neutral).

characters cap. price, gaz, others briefly mentioned.

word count 8.0k

warnings reader was buried alive, implied drugging, implied panic attack, sooo much disorientation in the first section it's crazy, british slang that only kind of makes sense, second person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of both c/n [code name/call sign] and y/n [your name], wayyyy too long.

note hey!! sorry for disappearing!!! please accept this offering as an apology!!! I've finally gotten back the motivation for writing what i actually wanna write, so now i'm back to writing fics!! enjoy this new and improved interpretation of age regression!

Someone’s ribs are encasing your own.

Well, not really, but it feels that way. Though your torso is clothed, as is the rest of your body, the defined bones of the skeleton beneath you poke and dig into your skin the same way it would if you were naked. The rotted wood around you creaks and sand falls onto your frontside from above, where the lid of your coffin is kept together solely by hopes and dreams.

Only an hour ago, you blacked out. Fighting enemy soldiers whose fighting techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, especially when they happen to keep bleach and rubbing alcohol in the same place they’re fighting you in. The two mixed together, poured and soaked into a rag that was later pressed to your face, created a substance that knocked you out. You know the name of it. You know it. But you can’t think of it, because remembering is too hard, and the wood surrounding you is too suffocating.

Your limited air is becoming more and more apparent. There’s no light, no noise—well, unless you count the subtle static playing in your broken earpiece—basically, it’s sensory deprivation hell and you’ve committed one too many sins according to those enemy soldiers.

Your whole body is sore. You don’t know if those soldiers messed with you after you passed out, or if this is just the result of fighting them for a few consecutive minutes, but whatever happened caused a strange weakness to invade and overtake your body. The oligarchy in your body created by this soreness left you unable to move properly, save for the occasional twitch of your skin or the ability to move your fingers freely.

But fingers are useless when your wrists are bound. Maybe they aren’t physically bound to the floor of the coffin, but the invisible ropes made of the misuse of cleaning materials seemed to be enough to keep them down. It was irritating, and the mental ropeburn created pins and needles from your wrist to your elbow that only made you even more uncomfortable.

The static continues. It’s cold. Cold, quiet, and God, how did I even get here? What time is it? What day is it? Your uniform isn’t enough to keep you warm. The tactical gear only makes your body heavier, not in the comfortable way that it feels when you’re heavy with sleep and ready to rest, but in the out-of-body way that makes you feel both like you’re floating and being pulled down like an anchor at the same time. You recall vaguely algor mortis, the stage of death where your body begins a gradual decline into an inhumanly cold state.

Why you’re recalling it, you don’t— actually, no, you do know. The cold. That’s why. You’re cold. You’re cold. Don’t forget it. It seems hard to forget feelings, to forget the present, but you’ll find that it’s like breathing; inhale, you know that you’re cold, exhale, wait… you’re cold? How do you know? How can you feel? Inhale, you can feel things because you’re human, because you’re alive, exhale, you’re alive?

Are you alive? Have you made it this far? What have you done? Not much, honestly. Or, not much that you can remember. Though there’s an overwhelming amount of hopelessness clouding your mind, you can still make out a few moments that play like a shitty wedding slideshow at your distant relative’s wedding who you didn’t know existed until a few hours before the event. The time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. That other time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. Or, no, wait, was that Price?

That time that you chased after Soap while he had your unlocked phone, which, by the way, was a very normal response to that and was very valid. Yes, it was necessary for you to tackle him, even Gaz agreed with you on that. Ghost just enjoyed seeing Soap get tackled, for some very dark very strange reason that you would rather not think about too hard—assuming that you can even think any harder than a brick right now. Price, of course, disapprovingly shook his head and seemed to mentally weigh what the effect of a leash on the three of you would grant.

Static-static-static-stat— “H—o?”

You almost sit up, but your head bumps on the top of the coffin, and you groan. Oops. Thought a little bit too much there.

You’re immediately dizzy and it feels like all the blood has rushed out of your head, but you still manage to stay conscious and try to figure out how to respond to whoever’s talking.

“H—lo?” They ask again. You tilt your head ever-so-slightly so that the button on your earpiece can get pressed, and you almost start crying when you hear the small click and beep emit from the earpiece, signaling that it’s now on.

“Hello?” Your voice is hoarse and it hurts to talk but you couldn’t care less. You have an opportunity to get out. You’re desperate to get out—or, at least, you should be.

For the strangest reason, despite the claustrophobic environment you’ve been forced into, despite the sores that you know are forming along your stiffened spine from the rough wood you’re lying on, you feel comfortable in the most uncomfortable way. The fact that your memory is fuzzy and your movements are limited to twitching and stretching makes you uneasy, but at the same time, the absence of your typical nonstop stream of incomprehensible thoughts and feelings strangely lets you… relax. The lack of thinking, only lying down and staring up, puts you in a mindset that you don’t think is so bad.

The situation is awful, but for whatever reason, the results of it are— are… oh God, what’s the word? It’s on the tip of your tongue, you swear, and now you’re thinking, well, shit, maybe this isn’t the best mindset. The void that grows in your head was nice maybe a minute ago, but now you’re forgetting words and yeah, no, I don’t like this, but at least you aren’t constantly second-guessing yourself. You aren’t contradicting every other thought you have, there aren’t mental wars waging in your mind that keep you unfocused and almost lightheaded, you aren’t arguing with yourself on how you truly feel. You just feel. And hell, you fuckin’ forget what you were even feeling just a few seconds ago. Thoughts come and go, nothing more than fleeting, and a part of you wishes that there was something for them to latch onto because being absent-minded feels a little too empty but your usual mind feels too full.

You wish your mind was like that— that problem, with the glass, the… the glass… the one where everyone argues on something about it. Something about it. What do they argue about? What glass? There’s a glass, a drinking glass, that everyone argues about, and whatever side you’re on dictates how you think— what the fuck? What is that problem? God, if only you had a working phone right now to look it up.

Oh, shit, yeah, the earpiece. There’s someone talking. Only just now have you actually acknowledged their words. They sound muffled and far-away, not at all like there’s a small microphone shoved into your ear that plays directly into it.

“Private?” It’s crackly and still full of static, the sound is drowning in it, “Pr— a— —u there?”

“... Huh?” You question dumbly, sounding more confused than you ever have before. There’s a ringing building up in your ears, and the person on the other end—who is talking?―is talking again.

“Ar— —ou ther—?” They ask again, sounding… worried? Concerned? Wait, shit, those are the same thing. Damn you and your lack of a mental thesaurus. Wait, no, if you… if you use the same meaning in two different words… would that not— whatever. You don’t even care anymore. This ‘mindset’ doesn’t feel very nice anymore. You’ve been conscious for too long, you’ve started questioning yourself again, but in the worst way possible; usually, you can actually think properly when you question yourself. Now, you’re questioning your own knowledge without actually thinking about your questions first, so instead of the usual hellish loop of what does this mean? Why did I say this? What else could I have said?, you’re now stuck in the purgatory of, what was that word? What can I say? What did I just think? What? Huh?

“Yeah… genius…” You manage to scoff, despite the heaviness of your tongue and the cotton in your mouth and mind, “Where else… would I be?”

“Oh m— God,” The person on the other end breathes out, “Do y— kno— who you’re t—king to?”

You shrug—well, you move your shoulders the tiniest bit up and back down—even though they can’t see you.

“Priva—?” They ask again, like a broken record, making you groan without you even realizing it, “G—z. Sergea—t Ga—ck? Y’remember?”

“G’z,” You mutter, trying to sound out the syllables, “Giz… G— oh, shoot… Gaz? Sarge?”

“Yeah,” Gaz laughs, a little clearer now, “Sarge, sure. Y— doin— —kay?”

“Uh-huh,” You exhale, a little relieved that it’s just Gaz, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gaz sounds like he’s smiling, it’s audible in his voice, “Y’wanna t—l me where y—u ar—?”

“Uhh…” You look around the coffin with limited head movements, “I dunno, probably… probably a, uh… one a’ those grave things. Coff— coffin. In one of those. In a grave thing. Maybe. Wha’ are those called? The things?”

You sound dazed even to yourself, and mentally chastise yourself for the usage of grave things, even though you had no better words to describe it. You swear, you know the word. It starts with an “s”, you think, there’s a whole movie with it in the title by some guy named Steve-something. It has graves, coffins, the other thing that’s a coffin but not, graves, dead stuff, all that… hm. All that swing? All that… all that jazz, right, all that jazz. Wow, go ahead and clap yourself on the back for that one— oh, that’s right, you can’t, because you’re stuck in a fucking coffin.

What a day.

“You’re in a cof—n?” Gaz asks, shocked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Underg—nd?”

“Where else?” You deadpan, even though, for whatever reason, your instincts scream at you to be a little bit nicer. For that reason only, you tack on, “Respec— …respectfully.”

“Jesus,” Gaz lets out a shaky breath, his voice growing a little more faint, as are you, “Wh—e do y— rem—ber being last?”

“I don’t…” You mumble, eyelids growing heavy, threatening to droop down and meet the waterline of your eyes.

“Don’t… what?” Gaz asks, sounding almost… scared?

“Rember— rem’m… remember,” You reply, “Woof. That was… a toughie.”

“Oh my God, th—’re lo—ng it,” Gaz whispers to himself, or maybe to someone else, “Private. Do y— know at all w— you m—ght be?”

“Uhh…”

“D—” This time, you know this is Gaz cutting himself off, because he gasps right after he begins talking and starts a whole new statement, “Is your tr—ker on?”

“My wha’?”

“Tracker, the— the th—ng, it’s a—ched to y—r earp—ce,” Jesus, how much can this thing cut out?

“I don’t… what the— what are you tryna say to me?” You ask, for some reason… censoring yourself? What? Why… huh? You don’t censor yourself, you’re not five. Well, at least, you don’t think you are, not right now. Wait, when are you five? What are you saying? Or, thinking— what are you thinking?

“The— Captain,” Gaz calls out to someone else, “The t—!”

“Tra’ker,” You mumble to yourself, “Huh. I have one a’those?”

“[c/n],” Gaz says into his earpiece, the sound suddenly louder than before, making you jump and almost hit your head on the ceiling of the coffin, “Are you h—rt?”

“I don’ think so,” You respond, looking down at the shadows casted over your body, “Can’t tell.”

Gaz lets out some kind of pained noise and you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Your lungs hurt. Your lungs hurt? Oh, shoot, your lungs hurt. Gaz should probably know that.

“Actu’ly,” You take back, sounding almost intoxicated, feeling like you’re breathing through a straw, “My chest hurts.”

Close enough.

“Your chest?” Gaz questions, the static slowly but surely clearing up, “Your lu—gs?”

“Uh-huh,” You confirm. Your breathing was already a little shallow, but now its turning labored, and it feels like there’s rocks in your lungs, more and more appearing from God knows where, weighing down and taking up so much space in your lungs that the oxygen you breathe in must search for refuge within the cracks and crevices in between the stones.

Exhale, and the carbon dioxide that leaves you seems to find a way to invite more rocks into your lungs. Inhale, and there’s less and less room, exhale, there should be more room, but instead the room— inhale, there’s no room, try to inhale again, you can’t— inhale, breathe, breathe, gasp, hold your breath, don’t exhale-don’t exhaledon’texhale—

“[c/n]!” Gaz shouting your name startles you and forces you to exhale, a low whine coming out with it, making Gaz shut up. There’s a warm liquid dripping in trails down your cheeks, reaching your jaw and chin, the feeling of it sending waves of discomfort through your body and straight to your brain.

You desperately try to breathe in, try to inhale anything, even if it’s the sand falling from the ceiling or the carbon dioxide that you’ve tried so hard to keep inside.

“[c/n],” Gaz repeats your name, in a different tone this time, something more soft, something that resonates and echoes in your empty yet full mind, “We’re close, we— almo—t there, you s—l with me?”

You continue to struggle with your breathing. Exhale, exhale, inh— exhale, inhale, ex— ex— exhale, in— in— Jesus fucking Christ, just inha— in— in—

“I can hear you,” Gaz says, uncannily clear, he must be at least… at least something klicks within the radius of… of me… of me? Where am I? “You’re gonna be okay, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I need you to stop panicking, okay? I know that— th—t sounds easy to me, because I’m not in a coffin, but if you keep breathing like that, you’re gonna make it worse for yourself.”

You finally inhale, but it feels so wrong, like hearing crunches while chewing what should be soft food. You gasp. You’re choking? What’s that other word for choking? Starts with a “c”, right? Wait, no, that’s choking. Dang it.

Gaz is yelling in your ears, and it almost sounds like he’s actually there, but the wooden walls encasing you and this stupid, very smelly skeleton underneath you tell a different story. You cough. You cough again. And again. And now you’re just forcing the bad air out of your lungs, which is great and all, but now there’s no air in your lungs, which you would like to argue is far worse but you can’t argue because you can’t think and you can’t think because you’re in some coffin with a stupid— what did you even want to argue, again?

There’s yelling. There’s commanding. There’s footsteps, heavy ones, ones that come from combat boots and men in tactical gear, the same gear that weighs you down like an anchor, that keeps you glued to this skeleton, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. Even though you’re wearing tactical gear, it still feels the same way it would if you were naked. The annoyingly present bones of the skeleton dig and poke into your skin, and there’s sand falling from between the planks of rotten wood above you, where the ceiling of the coffin is held together solely by hopes and dreams.

An hour or two or three ago, you blacked out. You think you did, at least. You think you might black out again. Fighting enemy soldiers who fight with techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, but fighting the invisible forces that prevent you from breathing in good air is even harder, because they don’t fight with guns or knives or fists; they fight with rocks that they shove into your lungs and vines that they tie around your already-tight throat.

There’s no light, but there’s sound. Sounds that would be useful if you could think. You don’t remember thinking. You don’t remember remembering.

But you’ll always remember this skeleton beneath you, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. The tactical gear you’re wearing does you no good, serving as the only barrier—the most useless barrier ever—between you and this skeleton and this coffin and the sand that's begun pooling around you. The skeleton, who’s ribs are— why are you repeating yourself?

Gaz is yelling in your ear. Someone else is— someone else is there? Someone else is there. Talking, yelling, screaming, commanding, running, searching, above you— above you? Above you. While you exhale, gasp, exhale, choke, gasp, gasp, try to breath, fail, exhale, exhale, there’s men above you digging, digging and lifting weight off of you, you think. There’s more sand coming through. The loss of pressure must be making it looser.

Are you thinking? Are you feeling? Can you remember? What is there to remember? There’s an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts in your mind, and you think, trying to control your thoughts, I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

It’s getting easier and harder to breathe. You can’t. You can… wait, no, you can’t.

You can keep your eyes open— you can keep them open, you can k—

“—eep your eyes open, Private,” Gaz begs you, pleads for you, his voice far but close, loud yet quiet, “C’mon, keep ‘em open, stay awak—”

—e, stay awake, stay awake, no, no, no, no—

—

You wake up to a stark white ceiling and some kind of electric beeping. Your head is clearer, fortunately, but still not clear enough to immediately remember what exactly happened. You remember a coffin, a skeleton, suffocating, talking to Gaz, and that’s about it. You shiver. A skeleton. You can still feel the phantom feeling of its ribs hugging your body, something you think your captors might’ve done to make you feel even more uncomfortable.

While you’re thinking about the skeleton, you don’t notice the sliding of a curtain and the footsteps that grow exponentially louder and closer to you.

“G’morning,” Gaz says, making you jump up and sit up instinctively, before you promptly lie right back down. Gaz snickers at you, and you turn your surprisingly sore neck to glare at him.

“Y—” You cough, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring an unstable and floppy hand to slap around your face, finding an oxygen mask nestled right on your nose and mouth. You take a few breaths, the task uncannily easy now, “You can knock that off. No laughing at the injured.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing at the injured,” Gaz clarifies, sitting down at a plastic chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, “I’m getting ready to yell at the injured soldier who gave me a heart attack about five hours ago after suffocating in a coffin buried six feet under in some cemetery in Derbyshire.”

“Derbyshire…” You muse, “What’s that? Or, where’s that?”

“‘bout forty klicks from Sheffield,” Gaz hums, before seeing your blank stare, and sighing tiredly, “The one with the cute houses and the pudding.”

“Ohhh,” You nod, now understanding, before joking, “At least I got buried there instead of, like, the bluejay one.”

“The bluejay one?” Gaz asks, confused, before pausing and asking you incredulously, “Jaywick?”

“Yeah, that one,” You hum. Gaz blinks at you, before groaning.

“Is this how you felt when I thought Las Vegas was in California?”

“Probably,” You grin at him, “It might be closer to when you thought NYC was the capital of New York.”

“If it’s not the capital, then why is it named after the city?” Gaz asks, exasperated. You shrug.

“Doesn’t change the fact that the capital’s Albany.” The room is silent for a little bit. The beeping, which you’ve now identified as a heart monitor, is loud. Your heart’s beating is fast and feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. Gaz looks down at his chest, fidgeting with his hands, wringing them.

“I, uh,” You start, making Gaz look at you again, “When I was in the coffin…” The mere mention of it makes Gaz’s gaze sharpen and his hands still.

“It was hard to breathe, and also really hard to think,” Gaz nods along, “But I was still thinking, I guess, and I wasn’t thinking too hard. Like, jellyfish type shit, y’know? Like no thoughts, but also thoughts, but like…”

Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, and you try to explain it better, “Do you remember back in like, ele— when you were five or six and you like, just got a conscious and you’re thinking but also not?”

Gaz’s face relaxes and he nods wordlessly. You continue, “That’s how I felt.”

“I’m sorry,” Gaz frowns, putting a gentle hand on the metal bar on the bed you lie on, “That must’ve been… weird.”

“No, no, I liked it,” Gaz’s face goes right back to confusion, “It was nice. Which is weird. But I didn’t feel weird. I felt, like, really calm in that sense, for the few minutes that I wasn’t panicking.”

“You… liked it?” Gaz asks skeptically. You nod.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“It was just…” You try to find the words to describe it, “I don’t know. I didn’t have control over it, which really bothered me. I felt, like, small, for some reason— like my mind is shrinking but my body is still the same, y’know? So it was really…”

After a few moments of you trying to find the word you needed, Gaz offers, “Disproportionate?”

“Yeah, that,” You nod quickly, “It was disproportionate and sucked, and it was obviously really scary, but I wasn’t processing stuff like I usually do. Which was great.”

“That sounds…” Gaz wrinkles up his nose, “... awful, but okay.”

“I think a lot,” When Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, you weakly slap at his knee and continue, “And earlier, when I was in that coffin, I wasn’t thinking. Everything was just going in and out just like that. It would’ve been nice to keep some of those thoughts, yeah, but when I can properly think like I am now, I keep too many thoughts and it’s like— it clutters up, and it just lingers for way too long.”

A small flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression. “So, you liked not thinking too much, because you already overthink too much, and being in the coffin and high on something happened to both help and not help with that?”

“Yeah, basically,” You hum, before realizing, “That’s way simpler than what I said. Huh.”

“That’s that overthinking,” Gaz muses, to which you respond with a frown.

“I’m not saying I wanna be all claustrophobic like that again,” You clarify, because you still see doubt on Gaz’s face, “But I liked thinking like that. The non-thinking-thinking. I think it would help with my stress and stuff.”

Another flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression, except this time, there’s a hint of something else in there. Realization? Curiosity? You’re none the wiser to it, getting a little more confused yourself.

“Oh.” Gaz’s slight frown disappears, the upturning of the corners of his lips now visible, “Okay. I get that. I actually think I know what’s happening.”

“You do?” You ask, confused.

“I gotta confirm it with the captain, though,” You’re more confused. It’s visible, you guess, because Gaz laughs at your expression.

“Don’t worry, it’s not bad,” He clarifies, still grinning, “I just have some suspicions. Y’mind if I let Price know what y’said?”

“... Sure?” You hesitantly say, to which Gaz responds by standing up and starting to speed-walk away from your bed, making you snort.

“I’ll be back in a bit!” Gaz calls out over his shoulder. You sigh and turn so that your whole back is on the mattress of the bed.

You were being honest, but at the cost of Gaz apparently “knowing what’s happening”, which is… disturbing, coming from Gaz, who you’ve affectionately titled a “D1 bird-brain”.

But whatever. It’s true, anyway, how you felt. It was uncomfortable, but it was somehow so much better than how you usually are. Or, well, not so much better, but at times when you’re overthinking or overwhelmed, you wish you could just turn off your brain, or something. Okay, maybe not turn it off, but turn off certain parts. You like thinking, and you do it all the time, but doing it all the time for you is like a full-time job on top of your already full-time job of being a part of the 141.

You don’t even make sense to yourself, but that’s okay. You make sense to Gaz, apparently, and possibly Price as well.

Speaking of—

“Hey,” Price greets you, his usual quokka-smile gracing his lips, Gaz following in right after him with the most smug look you’ve ever seen. What a bastard.

“What did you do?” You immediately ask Gaz, who only shakes his head and looks away, amused, making you a little annoyed. Price seems to know what you’re talking about as well, judging by the way his smile grows a tiny bit. I hate inside jokes. Only I’m allowed to have those with people.

“He told me what you told him,” Price hums, before sitting down into the chair previously occupied by Gaz, “And I have an idea you might like.”

“... Okay,” You look at him suspiciously.

“When I was still in the SAS—”

“Oh, so around the same time as the Trojan War?”

“Shut it, you.”

“Sure, Captain.”

Price sighs, exasperated, while Gaz snickers at his unamused look. Price, ever-so determined to explain this to you, proceeds, “Back when I was in the SAS, there was this other lieutenant who happened to be a good few years younger than me. Too young, in my opinion—”

“Look at yourself,” Gaz interrupts him.

“Bugger off,” Price sneers, “I’m tellin’ a story.”

Gaz puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Keep your hair on, Captain, jus’ pointin’ out that you were younger than them when you first joined the army.”

You blink at the two. “I think that’s the first time that I’ve heard British slang that I can actually understand.”

Price takes a deep breath, “However, it wasn’t up to me to decide if or when they joined. So, I got to know them a little better, and found out that the stress they got after assignments was so bad that they had this coping mechanism that they had thought to be fairly strange. I asked them what it was, and because we’d known each other for ‘round a year now, and I was to be moved to a different unit, they told me that they didn’t really know the name of it exactly but what they did was they would sit down in their jammies, ones that reminded them of their childhood, watch some cartoons, all that and some more. And I asked them how that helped them, because back then, I was a dense little shit who couldn’t think for more than two seconds, and they said that it let them think the same way that they did when they were a kid.”

You blink at him. “So the idea is… ?”

“Maybe you two are related,” Gaz muses, “And the denseness is hereditary.”

Price groans, “Put a fuckin’ sock in it, Kyle.”

You gasp scandalously, before comically whispering, “First name after telling him to shut up? You’re just gonna let that slide, Gaz?”

“I’ll shove a sock up your—”

“My idea,” Price interrupts the two of you, preventing what could’ve been a fifteen-minute long spat, “is that you do that. You throw on your jammies—”

“Jammies,” You repeat incredulously.

“―you watch some cartoons, play with stuffies—”

“We have stuffies?” You interrupt Price again, who pauses this time.

“We should, yeah,” He nods, “There’s a bin of ‘em around here somewhere, for emergencies.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Emergencies?”

He looks at you pointedly, “Emergencies.”

You blink at him. Blink, bl— “Oh, fuck off, I don’t need stuffies. I don’t think any of this would help me. I’m not five.”

“Yeah, but you wanna be, don’t you?” Gaz questions you, voice a little less joking, though it still has a little humor in it— a safety blanket, basically, in case you take his words the wrong way.

You stay silent. Price speaks up, “Tell you what; we’ll come back tomorrow, just me ‘nd Gaz, and you can let us know what you think of the idea. If y’like it, I’ll get you whatever you need to help you out. If you still don’t like it, you don’t like it, and we’ll figure somethin’ else out, alright?”

You sigh, “Alright.”

Price smiles at you and gets up to clap you on the shoulder, “Get some rest, soldier, up the wooden hill and off to Bedfordshire with you.”

“What the hell?” You immediately question, looking at Price like he’s gone mad, “Up the—”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s bad British representation,” Gaz hurriedly says, getting up and pushing Price lightly out of the room, talking to him in a theatrical whisper-yell, “You’re introducing them to sayings they’re not yet prepared for! Nobody says that to anyone above the age of twelve, Captain!”

Price simply laughs and lets Gaz push him away from your bed, not bothering to push aside the curtains obscuring the view of you as he pushes him out of the medbay entirely.

You blink at the swaying curtains.

“English people,” You mumble to yourself, turning over onto your side, “God damn English people. I’m never grouping Soap in with them ever again.”

—

True to his word, Price walks in with Gaz the next morning.

Price sits down next to you.

“G’morning,” He greets you softly, chuckling at the disgruntled look on your face, “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Woke up and thought I was six feet under for a second,” You mutter, making the smile on Price’s face falter.

“Sorry,” Price apologizes, reaching out a slow hand—so that you can move at any second—to grasp your own hand and squeeze it gently, “Y’good now?”

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding, your gaze shifting to Gaz, who looks as disgruntled as yourself. You snort and ask him, “Are you good?”

“Someone,” Gaz snarks, glaring daggers at Price, “Woke me up two hours before my alarm so that he could force me to search for supplies with him.”

“I wonder who that could’ve been,” Price hums, ignoring the way Gaz shakes his head disapprovingly, “Anywho, have you given any thought to the idea?”

“The idea?” You question, before quickly realizing, “Oh, right, yeah, the idea.”

Price looks at you both expectantly and patiently, while Gaz forces himself to pull his glare away from Price and put his gaze on you, observing your expressions and response.

“Uhh…” You look at Price with hesitation, and he looks back at you without a trace of pressure in his eyes, making you sigh, “I’ll try it, but no guarantees that it’s gonna work.”

“Thank fuck,” Gaz groans, “My hard work hasn’t gone to was— ow!”

Gaz takes hurried steps back after Price stomped down hard on his foot, and the latter simply smiles at you at your response.

“Great,” He gets up, dusting off his army-green shirt and pushing his chair back, “D’you reckon you’re good to get out of bed now?”

“Probably,” You shrug, testing the waters by pushing yourself up into a sitting position. You wince at your still-sore back and your stiff legs, but otherwise feel okay, okay enough to feel confident in your ability to actually stand—though, you suspect you may need to grab onto something for extra support.

Oh well. You’re sick of this bed already, and if you can stand, you’re gonna stand.

Price sees this, however, and is quick to hold his arm out for you to grab onto as you swing your legs over the bed railing and hop off the mattress way too fast, making yourself dizzy in the process. You feel his concerned eyes burning holes into the top of your head as you try and succeed in regaining your footing, keeping a firm grip on his forearm in the process. Thank God for Captain Price and his too-muscly arms.

“You alright?” Price asks, to which you respond with an affirmative nod.

“Fine,” You hum, taking a deep breath before tentatively letting go of Price’s arm. He frowns, but doesn’t protest. Gaz looks at him questioningly, and Price shakes his head, nonverbally communicating to the sergeant that it’s nothing to get worried over.

Gaz decides to lead all of you out of the medbay, with you following after him and Price right behind you. You occasionally lose your footing, slipping on nothing, but you never fall, and even if you were about you, Price would catch you. You know he would. He’s been watching you like a hawk, hands twitching every time your footing is lost. But instead of begging for you to just take his arm, for fuck’s sake, he walks up so that he’s right next to you and starts talking.

“So…” He starts, making you look over at him, “Y’want me to go over the plan?”

“The plan?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, “Sure.”

“You get changed into your pajamas, we get on the bed, cuddle a lil’, you get a stuffie, we see what happens and then see what to do from there,” Price explains simply, “Any problems with that?”

“No, sounds good,” You hum. It sounds fucking fantastic, you think, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Good,” Price smiles down at you, before saying, “You remind me of them.” You tilt your head to the side a bit, “The lieutenant?”

Price nods, “Yeah. Really sweet person. Had a whole collection of stuffies and blankets.”

You smile, “Sounds nice. They just keep all those in their quarters?”

“Yeah.” You both fall into silence again, comfortable silence, and soon enough, the three of you reach your sleeping quarters.

You all walk in. Well, except for Gaz, who is stopped by Price at the door. You turn around to question them, but Price stops you before you can even open your mouth.

“You just go get dressed,” He says, nodding over to the drawers in the corner of your room, “We’ll be outside. Just knock when you’re done.”

Skeptically, you look between the two, before you nod and close the door, leaving you inside your room alone. You try not to give too much thought to it, trying yet failing to ignore every thought that crosses your mind, busying yourself by choosing pajamas.

Soon enough, you’re dressed in your favorite pajamas—fluffy pants and a loose t-shirt, as well as just-as-fluffy slippers to replace your boots—and knocking at the door to signal to Price that you’re done. He opens the door, and Gaz is nowhere in sight, but you choose not to ask about it. Instead, you step to the side so that Price can walk in and sit on your bed, closing the door behind him.

On the bed already is a fluffy blanket—it must’ve been set up earlier, considering that Gaz was apparently woken up at around four in the morning to get everything ready.

You sit down on the bed next to your Captain, your fluffy pajama pants and loose t-shirt already making you feel relaxed, as well as your fuzzy slippers. You don’t really wear this outside of going to sleep, but after wearing a medical gown for the past twenty-four hours, you’re more than happy to make one small change in your routine. Price smiles down at you, one arm hovering around your back questioningly, before you nod and let him fully wrap it around you and pull you into his side. You’re already pretty tired, despite the fact that you got a full night’s worth of sleep, so the pajamas are honestly pretty fitting.

You sigh, turning your head slightly so that your cheek is pressed to his chest. Gaz walks in just seconds later, your gaze immediately moving to him as he sits down on the bed right next to you, sandwiching you in between him and Price. In any other situation, this would make you feel claustrophobic, but it feels oddly… comfortable right now. You notice the stuffed animal in Gaz’s hands—a small, round, fluffy cow with a black and white coloring pattern—and look at him questioningly.

“That s’posed t’be for me?” You ask, strangely drawn to the small stuffie. Gaz seems to see your fascination with the stuffed animal and smiles softly at you, a weird sight, considering that the two of you are having kerfuffles every three seconds at the very least.

“Uh-huh,” Gaz nods, offering it to you, smiling even wider when you gingerly grab it, “Y’like it?”

“It’s cute,” You mumble, looking it over in your hands, rubbing your thumb against its soft fur and black beady eyes. You know what you want to do with it. You want to hug it close to your chest, like you used to oh-so many years ago, back before you had to force yourself to stop sleeping with stuffed animals out of fear that you would need them in order to sleep forever. It only partially worked; you never slept with another stuffie again, but instead found yourself waking up with a bunched up part of your blanket or your pillow in your arms, pulling tight to your chest.

You really wanna hug it. You missed stuffed animals. You miss stuffed animals, present tense. You miss their soft fur and the baby pink of their ears, the polyester trapped safely inside the confines of the felt and fluff, the sweetness and child-like wonder that you lost with them.

Both Price and Gaz sense the conflict in your mind.

“Hey,” Price softly rubs your arm with his thumb, with gentle circles and too many yet just enough callouses, “You’re thinking a lil’ bit too much there. You wanna hug the stuffie, go ahead and hug it.”

It’s easy, you think, so easy to just… think, but let go of my thoughts when I have him to ground me.

You hug the stuffed animal, pulling it close to your chest and wrapping your arms around it, your limbs too long for what you’re trying to do but doubt and stress in your mind slowly growing small enough to compensate for the lack of a smaller body. It’s frustrating, yes, but Price’s arm around your body and Gaz’s hand that cautiously rests on your shoulder makes your body feel the tiniest bit smaller, and it makes your mind the tiniest bit cloudier.

“There y’go,” Gaz coos, his voice a type of soft you didn’t even know was possible from him. Price only chuckles, and you should feel annoyed because they sound like they’re teasing you, like they’re a part of an inside joke that you’re not, but they’re not. They’re here right now, Price’s arm is around you and Gaz’s hand is on your shoulder and they’re speaking so softly and— and you’re letting your thoughts go.

They’re coming and going, some staying longer than others, but they never pile up, never clutter up like a messy desk or a disorganized folder. They’re neat and held up by mental thumbtacks, pinned to the corkboard of your cerebral cortex, sometimes melting into the beige board and other times staying, but never getting to the point where the thoughts are stacking on top of each other or where there’s no more room for anymore thumbtacks.

It’s something you never thought you’d be able to experience, but here you are, experiencing it, breathing it in like oxygen. Like an open field, bright and clear, with your Captain’s or your Sergeant’s arms—wrapped in blood and flesh, not stripped down to the bone, not poking and prodding at you—around you and keeping you grounded. Your very own anchorage; the perfectly crafted bumps and dips in their arms that fit around you like puzzle pieces when they pull you towards either one of them, as if your Creator knew that you would find refuge in them, as if They knew that you would know how perfect it is.

Because it is. It’s perfect, in the way that a salmon knowing its birthplace despite swimming so many miles away is. In the way that homeostasis works; your body finding equilibrium, that perfect balance between your internal systems and outside forces. In the way that the stuffed cow in your arms seems to seep through your chest and go straight to your heart and soul.

You don’t realize that you’ve zoned out until Price lightly shakes you.

“Y’alright, darling?” He asks, concerned, his gruff voice more gravelly than usual. You blink and look over at him, and you’re sweet again. Sweet and loved, and loving to love. Or, at least, you think you’re loved. You might be a tad bit delusional, but there’s something in Price’s eyes, some kind of light that reflects pink and green hues, some kind of nurturing-feeling that doesn’t go away when he blinks.

“Uh-huh,” You nod, the way your head moves up and down almost like a bobblehead figure, “All… sunshine ‘nd rainbows over here.”

Price breathes out a small laugh and Gaz raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah? All sunshine and rainbows?” Gaz teases you, “Are you sure there’s anythin’ happenin’ up in your noggin?”

You pout and lightly swing your leg at him to kick his calf, and although you’re only wearing slippers and are kicking about as hard as a pillow, Gaz makes a show of pretending to get seriously injured by it. He gasps dramatically and brings his knee up to his chest, hugging his calf to his torso and rubbing at the spot you kicked. He pouts right back at you, immature and theatrical, and you giggle—fucking giggle—at his antics. Gaz can’t help but let up the act, grinning as soon as your laugh sounds out, the noise music to his ears.

“You havin’ a laugh while I’ve gotten hurt?” He antagonizes you, voice light and fluffy, “Brat.”

“Noo,” You deny, voice growing just slightly higher-pitched, your movements a little less controlled by yourself, “I’m never a brat.”

“You sure?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, letting his leg down, “I think you’re lying, duckie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I cannot believe you’re both still annoying, even when they’re bein’ little,” Price sighs exasperatedly, making both you and Gaz laugh, your laughter more bubbly and light while his is knowing and proud.

“Lil’ kids aren’t an exception to my teasing, Captain,” Gaz snickers, reaching over to ruffle your hair while you squeal quietly and lean back into Price to hide away from your attacker’s hand. Price snorts and pulls you a little closer to him.

“All little ones, or just this one?” Price nods down at you. Gaz hums, thinking.

“Ah, just this one,” Gaz grins, making Price sigh. The latter brings his other arm around and turns so that he can pull you to him with both arms, while Gaz suddenly frowns.

“You’re hoarding them,” Gaz whines, while Price only raises an eyebrow at him. You feel oddly joyful at the thought of Gaz also wanting a share of your attention, or at least some of your physical affection.

“Shoulda gotten here faster than me, mate,” Price simply hums. He sounds so smug, voice full of smarm and expression knowing, because he’s more than aware of the fact that Gaz quite literally could not possibly get here faster than Price had.

“You made me get the supplies!” Gaz argues, though softer than he usually does, being more mindful of your newfound mindset, you assume.

“Ehh, you could’ve refused it.” Price says, blatantly lying as he does, watching in amusement as Gaz gapes at him.

“What?”

You like the attention, but what you like even more is the conversation Price and Gaz start up afterwards. They don’t take their attention off of you, no, not one bit, but they aren’t talking directly towards you, you’re just existing and it’s amazing.

Price begins asking Gaz about something, probably his reports, and Gaz responds positively, you presume. Price is talking calmly and slowly and Gaz is nodding along, his hand making its way to your own, his fingers interlocking with yours and squeezing your hand every now and then. Your pajamas feel awfully comfortable now. What did Price call them yesterday? Jammies? Usually, you’re an avid hater of English slang, but you can’t help but feel a little warmer just thinking about the word jammies.

You can feel your eyes going half-lidded, and you can hear someone chuckling. Probably Gaz. He likes laughing at you, but it’s never in a mean way. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable with the laughter. It reminds you of an older sibling, someone who’s basically programmed to tease and make fun of you, but still likes you. Or, at least, is expected to still like you. You enjoy the idea of a chosen older sibling more than a biological one, funnily enough, because the expectation of liking someone is so different from actually developing a liking to someone. With the expectation, there’s almost no choice; there’s still a chance of them not liking you, but it’s expected of them to like you, so they’re gonna try anyway, and it makes it feel less authentic, less real—but with choosing, they choose you to have that bond with them, they choose to treat you the way they do, not because it’s expected of them from birth, but because they see something in you that draws them to you.

Gaz is that person. That older brother that chose you to tease, to play fight with, to argue with, to laugh with, to hold hands with—he chose you. And because of that, his laughter is acceptable, and his teasing is never taken to heart.

Your eyelids get a little heavier, and someone’s gently tilting your head so that it’s resting more comfortably against their chest. Probably Price. He likes physical touch, unsurprisingly, and shows it as much as you allow him to. He particularly likes to loosely wrap a hand around one of your wrists with his thumb resting over your veins, gently pressing inward to feel the beating of your heart. Why he does it, you don’t know. Maybe he likes the reassurance of your living. Maybe he likes how it grounds him, how it reminds him that you’re a tangible being with a beating heart and a working mind. how it might let him know that you’re real and here with him.

Or maybe it’s something deeper, maybe it goes back to that other lieutenant, maybe it goes back even further to when he was sixteen and had just joined the British military. Whatever it is, you accept it wholeheartedly, because when he does it, it reminds you as well that he’s alive and searching for proof of you being alive as well. Because you believe that living people will always search for other living beings, or at least you know that you always will, because the feeling of brittle bones and the sight of dead bodies haunts you in ways that you never thought possible.

Your eyelids droop down completely.

“I feel like I should say good night, but it’s barely no—” You think that’s Gaz.

“Shut it and let them sleep, for Christ’s sake.” That’s probably Price.

“I’m just saying—” Definitely Gaz.

“I’ll staple your mouth shut so y’stop sayin’ anything, how about that, y’muppet?” Definitely Price.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #price #gaz #platonic task force 141 #i love them guys #age regression YIPPEE #no beta we die like soap #sorry #python333 #i'm done with tags bro #too tired for this #too tired for tags

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prettymita · 1 year

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"jealousy"

KIM GUN-WOO - 6/10 on the jealousy scale

♡ gun-woo trusts you sooo much

♡ he knows you'd never cheat on him, so whenever you're talking to another guy, he wouldn't think much of it. he would keep an eye on you, though.

♡ it only really affects him if you start flirting with another guy. he thinks you're wayyy too good for him, even if that's not true. (no, bcuz this man only has eyes for you. he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the universe) so when you start spending more time with another man and prioritizing them over him, he would get so sad :(

♡ poor baby wouldn't even tell you. he would try to act fine and tell himself that he was just being stupid and overthinking, he'd probably blame himself for it 😭

♡ when you start to notice how he seemed down, he would finally open up and admit that he was jealous. he's so cute i can't

♡ even if gunwoo isn't very extroverted or talkative, he's actually good at communicating his feelings with you. when he's jealous of a guy you're talking to, he would shyly pull you aside and have a conversation with you about how he felt about you hanging out with another man. "hey, can we talk?"

♡ and when you reassure him that he has nothing to worry about and shower him in kisses, he's a timid, smiling mess.

♡ he's so babygirl omlll

♡ when it comes to possessiveness, it's leaning towards less possessive. sure, if a guy is making you laugh and all, gun-woo will join the conversation, linger his hand on your back or waist innocently and pretend nothing is wrong. but he isn't too over the top, there is a healthy amount of possessiveness.

♡ he doesn't care what you wear, you are your own person, and he knows and respects that. so if you catch the gazes of men, it doesn't make him jealous. i mean, you were so beautiful, how could they not stare, right? besides, he could fight if he needed to. (he will subtly glare at a guy if their gaze gets too explorative, though. not even glare, to be honest. its more of a disappointed look LMAO)

♡ if a guy is making you uncomfortable, that's a different case.

♡ he would notice and act immediately. gunwoo doesn't like to resort to violence, even if he is mad. he would gently pull you away from the person and step in front of you, politely (but sternly) telling the guy that you weren't interested. he wouldn't pick a fight, unless the opponent swings first. even so, he'd stick to defending only, not throwing any life-threatening punches. cause damn, he is strong asf. you're kind of glad he is so non-violent and gentle bcuz if he wasn't, he might've killed someone already.

HONG WOO-JIN - 8/10 on the jealousy scale

♡ woojin does trust you, but the twisted knot in his stomach can overtake his sense of rationality sometimes

♡ he is very clingy. so if he sees you talking with another guy, he will try to join the conversation because he doesn't want to feel left out.

♡ if he's jealous, he'll often wrap an arm around your waist or sling it over your shoulder, or making it very obvious that the two of you are dating. "Oh, how's my precious girlfriend doing?" and then pecks you on the lips. its a little embarrassing sometimes but its woo-jin so its okay

♡ its funny because sometimes he completely ignores the guy's existence and continues to talk to you until you glare at him for being rude

♡ if you ignore woo-jin and continue to focus on the other guy, he will do anything to get your attention. and i mean anything. he will start telling the most unfunny jokes, physically get on the table and do something goofy to make you laugh. this man cannot be stopped.

♡ also, he will not admit that he is jealous. even if you know he is, he wouldn't say it unless you really pry at him. "Okay, fine! I'm jealous, is that what you wanted to hear?"

♡ and then he'll sulk around like a sullen puppy lmaoo

♡ so when it comes to you wearing revealing clothing, i'm sure he loves it the most, to be honest. but he's a little cautious of you wearing it outside, he just doesn't want you to get hurt. he might've tried to get you to wear something else or bring a jacket a couple times. he isn't really fond of others seeing what's his. (!!!)

♡ he's possessive, but he doesn't like to admit it. he'd rather show it through actions, being superrr clingy

♡ if a guy's staring at you and his gaze begins to wander, woo-jin will wrap a hand around you possessively. he might even snarl at the guy.

♡ if anyone makes you uncomfortable, he makes sure to get you out of there, probably threatening the guy a little. he might shove him lightly and get a little aggressive if he's really mad. then afterward, he would make sure you're okay and shit-talk about how the guy was an absolute ass.

#kim gun woo #lee sang yi #woo do hwan #hong woo jin #hong woo jin fanfiction #hong woojin x reader #kim gun woo x reader #bloodhounds fluff #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds fanfic #bloodhounds #bloodhounds headcannons #gun woo headcannons #woojin headcannons

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kiraman · 7 months

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And so death comes calling for her, a supplicant throwing itself at her feet; then again, Mizu has known death too well now to fear it; has filled her hands with it, adored it, fiendishly, with such devotion and horror—no, she is not afraid of it. She isn't happy unless it’s lying across her path; so when the dark, violent fever overtakes her, swallowing her up in its flaming grip during the tenth month of her trip over the high seas, it is not fear that comes with it; no. It's something else; something furious, with teeth. She drags herself onto the docks and gropes for the gunwale, slips down onto her knees. When someone comes to help her back onto her feet, she is a caged animal, cruel, vicious , scratching to get out. She shrugs them off, shoves the cup of water forced upon her mouth away, hissing in japanese; get off me! she does not want their hands on her, does not need their help; her cold blood cannot be worked into a fever – her veins are full of ice-water, they are dark, death does not know how to live in them, the fever turns to tidal waves, she is ocean depth; she will be okay.

She does not know how, but when next she awakes she's on her back, swathed in layers of heavy woolens that have been unwashed for months or years, reeking like everyone, itching like everyone, like a hot stone on her chest, burning and she violently tears them off, tosses them aside, and tries to sit up, her blood pounding in her ears. She topples over and falls onto the floor, feels her chin crack against the floorboards; distant voices cut viciously through the damp darkness that envelopes her; she does not understand what they are saying; she blinks through the veil of heat that enshrouds her and weakly drags herself towards the window, parched for air, her throat is throbbing wildly, her skin feels like a coal, melting right off her bones, gods help her, she is is melting, her body bursts into flame, this must have been how it felt...back at Edo...all those people swallowed by her rage, gods, gods help her.

She blinks at her hands and gasps when blood spills down her wrists onto the floorboards, pooling all around her, swelling, like the tide; and she is trying to swim through it, back to her cot, but it keeps spilling and pouring, it floods the cabin, drips into her mouth and throat; red, like a flame, like murder, like her, in her crimson dress, like her mouth screaming her name as she was dragged away on that horse and Mizu gasps and gasps, she is feral now, she is furious, screaming as she gropes for the bed, her hands slipping; her eyes are the sharp glint of a sword held to Akemi's throat, glittering in the light of the sea lantern.

She lays on her back and lets the flood sweep her under into its furious flame. She dreams of her at night. When she opens her eyes (dark, feverish eyes, eyes with teeth, like two angry waves in a storm) she sees her there, robed in silk, her dark, ebony curls sprawling all over Mizu's fevered face as she leans over her, urges a cup of water to her lips; she sees her, with some kind of hallucinatory clarity, and, all night long, she calls out for her, she is not sorry, she will not say sorry; she cannot; she is something else, something feral, with claws; she clings to her wrist when she tries to pull away, Akemi, Akemi, she whispers her name like an apology like a prayer for something they cannot have, will not havs, but she pulls away and she is left alone, drowning in fire.

She sinks in and out of fever sleep for so long— how long has it been now, is she dead? Alive? She loses count; but every time she opens her eyes, she is there, golden and radiant, wrapped in a veil of shimmering heat, and Mizu feels her hand reach out towards her but she can't touch her, she is air, she's fire and incense, an altar, she turns into smoke, consumes Mizu all to an ember; she touches her sleeve, all that silk, like flames, burning through her fingers and does not ask her to stay, she will not beg, she does not know how, does not even want her to look at her; but when the cup is brought back to her open mouth, she closes her eyes and feels her mouth on hers too; she is fire and flame but her lips are cold like the ocean, she has a taste of tempest on her tongue and a kimono red as blood, as the death on Mizu's hands, it spills like silk through her hands, she fades away and she does not scream but something inside of her is howling, don't go, don't go, come back. Akemi is shadow and light, something secret she keeps so deep inside of her she can never reach it, she will never touch her, she will never hold her, her hands are stone, they are a blade, it will cut her open, her touch. She shivers when Akemi pulls away and her throat is raw, she is parched and desperate, and everything inside of her is numb and dead, she does not know how to love, she is the edge of a knife and darkness, the scream of a woman held underwater, drowning, she will not touch her.

She sees her face, in the gold of summer, burning with fierce loveliness as she passes by her in a cage, like a memory, like a sliver of sunlight, threads of golden beads in her dark hair; her carnelian eyes meet hers, but only for a second, and she sinks into Mizu like a flaming arrow, sudden, deep, inescapable; she is the taste of the night, she is fever and fever and flame; and then she is gone.

When the fever abates, the mean, bitter coldness returns where her flame has burnt itself into her veins, scalded her to the bone, and Mizu furiously tears her out of her mouth her mind her hands; gods she has never hold her, and she wonders how can someone miss something that she has never had so much? She buries that thought, too. The sea before her is fire-water and silver froth, a roric flame; outside, the winds howl, savage, squalling with the storm, dark, secret.

She does not listen to it. Her eyes grow dark and unseeing, all she sees is her rage; ruthless and cold, beseeching at her feet.

She does not think of her, but sometimes, in her sleep, she thinks she can hear her voice screaming her name as they drag her away.

Somewhere in Japan, Akemi lays down near her husband, and all of her fire is snuffed out; when she closes her eyes, all she sees are his eyes, blue as iron and cold as sea-washed silt, furious waves in a storm crashing themselves against the shore of her body. She wakes up gasping, thirsty for the ocean; it makes her sick, wanting the sea. It makes her sick, how everything around her becomes drenched, her neck beaded with sweet sweat, the air, stifling, throbbing as she thinks of him, the salt of his skin, how it had felt, holding onto him as he shielded her with his body from the Claws; somewhere between sleep and awareness, she thinks of the dark cold shelter of it and how he had smelled, all salt water and bitter, like the ocean as she had stood behind him in the brothel.

She does not speak of it to anyone, lest of all to herself; she is frantic and flaming, a wildfire roaring: she shuts it away desperately, but it comes back to her anyway. Akemi wonders where he has gone. She does not know if she wants the answer. He lives in her head now, and even drinking a cup of water makes her sick.

Somehow she survives it.

#.......bye :((#mizu x akemi #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #mizu hallucinating akemi on the ship to london while in fever? more likely than u might think!!!#more mizu pov bc im bad :( at writing akemi :(#my writing #writing tag.#mizemi #akemi x mizu #:)))

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aaivii · 3 months

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Sooo, this my take one the Canadian Grand Prix, and as an OP81 supporter it will mostly be focused around Oscar's race and some of the people around him, so if you're expecting a race de-brief here, don't!! Also if you're an Oscar fan, do read the whole thing, I don't think you'll be disappointed.

So, he qualified P4, and again in his own words, not bad but not great either. But what's done is done unless luck decides to favour him at least fucking once and make someone else ahead of him make an error and get their penalty but they don't 😤🤷‍♀️. Some good drivers they are so.

And then in the first half of the race, my heart bloomed everytime the commentators (the Crofty and Brundle one) were like the McLaren drivers are preserving their tyres, and I was like, yes bitch!! Of course they are. I understand that these were cooler conditions so it was albeit easier, but on a situation where George was absolutely sending his tyres, these two were maintaining it. And Oscar is definitely not there yet, but the progress graph says he'll be there absolutely 100%. Cut him some slack, second season guys, remember.

So, they maintain their tires nice and good and some safety car shenanigans later, we come to the last part of the race, where I genuinely feel the McLaren strategy department fumbled a win. Might have not been a 1-2. But would definitely have been a 1-3. During the last safety car, they should have switched to hards just like Mercedes as a response because we already saw Gasly putting some serious 1 or 2 laps when the conditions were favorable. So, that was a genuine fumble.

And as for Oscar Piastri, how !! I mean, I saw some people in ig being all like, mclaren remember you have two drivers, lando should have given the drs. Golden boy blah blah. But that was a good call by Oscar to not switch. Because rarely have I seen a driver being like that. Everyone always jumps at the prospect of replacing their teammate who is clearly ahead. But he obviously played the longer game. And correct call, because Mercs were absolutely after him, so if they had fumbled that switch even by a second it would have been two mercs on that podium. So, I fully agree with his decision to not switch and also it was him fighting with mercs the longest that allowed Lando to not be jumped by Lewis or George because they were clearly the fastest.

And as for that drs call, asked by him, have to agree with that, even if it felt like swallowing a bitter pill because had Lando given him the drs it would have been sooner rather than later, getting jumped by the mercs because again they were the fastest car this weekend. And this is not some closed wall street circuit, and I know many were thinking of that Singapore moment, those were overtake is difficult, so Lando prioritising his own race was correct in my opinion, it allowed him to keep building on that gap which was crucial. Because imagine had he given that drs, mercs would have overtaken both of them and mclaren would be left with zilch.

Also, a salty and cunty part of me is all like, alright mclaren made a fumble with their drivers in terms of tyre changes and calling them to the pit at the correct time, but hey!! At least their drivers were all slick n clean throughout the whole weekend. Not same could be said for mercs whose both drivers and management fumbled a win together. Suck it!!!

And the hottest moment of the race was when George decided that he would do hard racing, around the Wall of Champions hoping Oscar would back off. But what this pootling, and hunky dory and whatever words using man forgot, that he would be racing against a man who has not once in his life lost his calmness and coolness. Fuck the Wall of Champions George Russell because before that, you'll have to face the unfazed Wall called Oscar Jack fucking Piastri who went like no sir. You are not gonna do that. And you know what the best part was, George's whole vibe during the last segments was like that all muscled up dog, but it all went nada against Oscar. He was like this is my corner, and it is going to be my corner. Yoy want to go ahead of me, use your car which is clearly faster than mine. Which he managed. But guess what, it remained his corner at the end. Whoever has decided to race hard against Piastri, we all know, it has blown up on their faces at some point, by their own mistakes btw, because Oscar races hard, but most important, he races clean. So of course, this cost George a few seconds with not enough time with him to catch Lando. So see!!! Karma bitch!! For me, that was THE moment!!!

All in all, a good weekend for the papaya fam. Please don't be like those some people on ig, like Lando vs Oscar, because in the long term, it was a good decision at the end. Times like this I am glad that I'm not twt, because if ig comments are like this really don't wanna know what's going down there.

#op81 #oscar piastri #ln4 #lando norris #canadian gp 2024 #mclaren #george russell #mercedes amg f1 #f1 #formula 1 #race rant #i had to get this out of my system

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quinloki · 4 months

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Birthday Request Event v2024

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: she/they afab (little over average height) Character: Eustass Kid Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: A/B/O (modern vibes) Prompt: Long-Term established relationship Gift Giver: @captaintrio

Summary: omega to Kid's Alpha, you're in dire straits by the time he gets home from work, but it's okay. The house is built to hold up.

Content Notes: fingering, vaginal sex, a/b/o dynamics which should be painfully obvious before you got to this point, cream pie

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

Your scent.

It was a smell that had driven him near to madness from the first time the two of you met. Something so alluring, so intoxicating, so impossible to ignore that he’d been on edge ever since.

At first it had been painfully sharp. Part frenzy, part fear. If it had such a powerful hold on him, then how was it for everyone else? Anyone else? It didn’t seem to affect his closest friends, but it had taken Killer sitting down and assuring him before he could relax a little.

Only a little. Just the slightest relief of tension in every cell of his body.

You hadn’t run when he’d approached. You hadn’t even looked at him with the slightest hint of fear, and you were so small. So tiny compared to him. It didn’t matter that everyone was, it didn’t matter you were a little taller than most, he knew he had a presence. Being 6’9” wasn’t hurting anything, but he wasn’t lanky.

Eustass Kid looked like a beast, and around you he felt like one.

Some ravenous creature ever on the edge of tearing you to pieces and bathing in the aftermath, left to lament for eternity that he’d ruined the one perfect thing in this world.

The smell had hit him when he’d gotten home the second he opened the door.

His boots were off so fast the laces tore, and the door was shut and locked with almost enough force to crack the frame, but it had long since been replaced with metal and reinforced with concrete. Wallet and keys were left on the counter, and he pulled his shirt off with enough care to keep from ripping the buttons off. You’d have to fix that if he tore it, and he didn’t like giving you more work to do.

You already did so much for him.

Opening the door to your bedroom, he finds you, sweating and shivering, naked and already dripping onto the hardwood floor. Strain and frustration melt away from your face when you see him, desire and relief overtaking you.

You barely manage to reach out to him before he’s covered the distance from door to bed, big, rough hands lifting you up easily and setting you onto the bed. The strength that ruined laces and nearly broke the door is so impossibly gentle with you, that you forget how strong he is until he moves you like you’re air.

“Don’t worry Mouse,” he husks, thick fingers pushing into your dripping cunt as his other hand pulls his belt free. “I got you.” His lips are against your skin, hot words and breath breaking against your neck.

Having his fingers inside you was a wash of relief, and your hands scramble to hold onto him. You need him closer, deeper. No matter how desperate you are he never rushes, not even the first time when he was nearly delirious with his own need, his own scent nearly clawing the skin from your bones.

You practically growl as his fingers curl inside you, hitting your g-spot as though he could see through your body. Your legs shiver against his arms, held wide by his sheer size.

“Don’t!” You gasp as he pulls his wet fingers out. “Just, please - please,” you stammer the words, but you know he’s following you.

“Alright, I’ll have my dessert later then.” He grins, lining up his dripping rock hard cock with your entrance. “I won’t make you wait.”

Kid pushes his tip in and you nearly cum from it. You’d been fighting against your heat for almost two hours, and nothing had been giving you relief. You hadn’t wanted to interrupt him at work, but you were nearly to the point of needing to when he came home.

He grabs your legs, just under your knees, and pushes them back and wide, stretching you and pinning your body to the mattress. Feet driving into the floor he pushes into you, filling you up and pushing your own needy slick out of your pussy as he leaves little room inside for it. For the first time your desperation starts to abate at the sweet relief of being full.

Kid puts his weight onto you, rubbing the coarse hair of his pubes against your clit as he sinks in deep. Pleasure jolts against your skin like lightning, the combination of stimulation making your muscles flex and tense. His grip on your legs is just enough to keep you steady as he begins to move, the creaks of the bed lost to the sweet sound of your voice.

It was the only thing better than your intoxicating smell. The sound of your voice was a hymn of praise at the relief and pleasure that he gave you, and he would hear you sing verses for him without rest if such was possible for you both. Instead he drank in the sights and sounds of you while he could.

The sting of your nails against his skin, fingers desperate to hold onto him even as your body spasmed in pleasure. The squelch of need that leaked from your cunt with every heavy thrust. The break in your song as he pushed the air from your lungs. The shiver and convulsions of your limbs and muscles as pleasure robbed you of control.

Pleasure he pushed into you.

Pleasure you begged him for.

Pleasure he wished to give no one else but you.

You scream his name, the first clear words you’ve spoken since it began, as your body reaches the high it’s been chasing for hours. Swears paint the spaces between his name, tears slipping down the sides of your face as he prolongs the orgasm for all he can, his heavy thrusts becoming faster and faster until grunts of exertion and pleasure forces the bed to shift.

Hot cum leaks from you along with your own pleasure, breaths full of gravel and relief fall over you as he moves slowly inside you. Still hard. Still needy.

“Don’t worry, Mouse, I’m not done yet.” His hands wander over your skin. “You’re mine, and if you were needin’ me for hours, it’s my job to make sure you have me for just as long.”

#birthday request event #birthday request event 2024 #one piece drabble #reader insert #x reader #eustass kid #a/b/o #mdni #oh man Long term relationship with a/b/o dynamics?#fuck YES

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nethhiri · 4 months

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Siren Charms: Chapter 7

Zoro x Siren!Reader

Warnings: sexual themes, blood

Pantyless

Luffy requested that you let Chopper tend your wound before you did anything else. You waited impatiently on the little cot you had woken up in. There were hushed voice outside the door. Yet your ultra-sharp senses could still hear.

A high pitched voice that sounded scared started, "C-can you come in with me? I saw her teeth when I examined her and they're s-so sharp. What if she decides to e-eat me?"

"Luffy said she won't." Your ears perked up at the second voice, which you recognized as your green snack.

"Please, Zoro."

"If Luffy says she won't, she won't." He sighed. "But I'll be right outside the door, okay?"

There was a sharp knock before Chopper entered the room. Curiously, the doctor was a little deer. You consciously made your teeth and eyes as close to human as possible. People were very unnerved when they saw your yellow irises and slitted pupils. And they were very uneasy if they caught sight of your elongated canines. Your eyebrow quirked up. This was the one that smelled like an animal but also somewhat human, and of devil fruit. His hooves made soft clopping noises as he walked over to stand in front of you.

"Hi, I'm Ch-chopper and I've been taking care of you."

"Hi, Chopper. You're a deer? But you smell human, too?" Your head tilted with curiosity.

He visibly brightened. "No one ever calls me a deer on the first try." He blushed, "I always get mistaken for a raccoon."

"That's stupid. You're clearly a deer."

He looked closely at your wound before running off to get a salve from the counter. "I smell human because I ate the Human-Human fruit." He handed it to you. "Just keep putting this on it and you'll be fine."

That explained both smells. "Thank you." You did your best to smile at him without showing too much of your teeth. "I'm not gonna eat you."

Chopper rubbed his antlers. "Oh? You heard that? I'm sorry."

You nodded. "Devil fruit users don't taste good. And animals don't do enough for me."

Somehow that was not fully reassuring. To him, maybe, but in general, not really. "You're all done here."

You dipped your head and left. As soon as you stepped over the threshold, his smell hit you, the green one, Zoro. You froze. He was leaning near the doorway, seemingly asleep, though his heart rate told you he was still awake. The instincts within you were screaming at you to pounce on him and rip his throat out. Bloodlust creeped in. It was apparent that you needed to feed soon or it would completely overtake you. Every fiber in your body wanted you to pin Zoro down and sink your teeth deep in his flesh. No! You shook your head. It was forbidden. The namegiver assigned you 2 rules: Do not feed from the crew (unless they agree) and do not use The Voice on them. You would not disobey him.

In your culture, it was your mentor who gave you a name. As soon as you were old enough to form attachments, you were handed over from your parent to a different siren, and they would become your mentor, to teach you how to hunt and survive. They gave you a new name, reflective of your skills or personality, to replace the temporary one given by your parent and when you were deemed ready, they released you to the world. This name giving served to sever any bonds between you and your parent. As for bonds with your mentor, they always treated you coldly enough that they never developed in the first place. You obeyed them without question or you would face harsh consequences. Sirens, though lonesome, were protected this way. They were spread so far and wide, save for the times they gathered to swap offspring, that no single event could wipe them out.

It wasn't quite the same, but by naming you, Luffy inadvertently sealed your loyalty to him. It didn't sever your bond with your siren identity, yet you felt like this was your pod now. Namegivers were to be respected and obeyed, which is the only reason you could restrain yourself in this moment. You had been conditioned this way. So as much as you wanted to devour the man two feet away from you, you would have to convince him instead to offer himself up to you to get a taste. You pulled yourself from the trance, looking for somewhere to sit alone until you could dispel the hunger.

Zoro sensed the bloodlust rolling off you. He didn't miss the way your hands balled into fists and how you had to swallow more frequently because of how much you were salivating. He didn't know what you were or what kind of devil fruit you had, but he knew you were dangerous. The trust of the crew, him especially, was not bought cheaply. He watched you shake your head and walk away, seemingly overcoming your animalistic urges.

You sat near the bow on top of a crate, letting the salty sea air clear your senses. Being upwind, you didn't smell his approach, though you could tell someone was behind you. You turned, letting out a breath. It was the skeleton. No flesh to entice you.

"Excuse me, Miss. I don't believe we've met. I'm Brook." He held out his hand for you to shake. You shook it, at least you knew some human customs.

"I'm of the ether. I mean Ether."

"Nice to meet you Ether of the ether." He paused, getting serious. "Now I have an extremely important question for you. This could make or break our friendship. May I please see your panties?"

"Oh." You frowned, looking a little sad. Does this mean he wasn't going to be your friend? You didn't wear panties. They would be destroyed every time you formed a tail. "I'm sorry." Brook looked forlorn. "I don't wear any." You lifted the fabric of your skirt enough to see there was a lack of fabric underneath, but your knees were together so there wasn't much else to see.

The skeleton's face lit up. "Oh my. We're going to be best friends, indeed!"

At about the same time, you could smell blood suddenly. You looked to see a pair of legs in black pants splayed on the ground behind a nearby barrel. You rushed over to investigate, and, more importantly, maybe get a little sample. It was the blond one, passed out with a nosebleed. If the blood is outside the body already it doesn't count as feeding. With your thumb, you wiped the blood from his face and licked it from your hand. If you were allowed to use your voice, you could make him wake up. You leaned over him and slapped his face. "Hey." He opened his eyes, but almost immediately gushed blood again and passed out. Your barely hidden breasts happened to be dangling quite close to him. You swiped that blood away, too, and licked it. You looked around for help, "Your friend is leaking! Someone!"

The dark haired woman approached, "I can see why." Robin saw how close you were to him and offered you a hand. "Come with me. He'll be fine."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's got a brain-eating amoeba and every time it eats, blood leaks from his nose!" The long-nosed one piped up as he came to investigate.

"Poor thing." You mused. So that was why he was so easy to manipulate. Robin laughed at your comment but didn't elaborate.

"Brain-eating amoeba called lust maybe," Name muttered under her breath.

#yeah she takes everything literally #she loves to lie but can't tell when people are lying #not enough communication practice with humans unforch #one piece #roronoa zoro x reader #x reader #siren charms

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gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

As Good a Reason - seven

pairing: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️ x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️, cursing, blood, more character deaths, smutty moments but not full spice

word count: 2.6k

Tag list @kandis-mom @casa-boiardi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @cakesandtom @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn @emerald-writes

a/n: AHHHH HERE'S THE FINAL PART OF AS GOOD A REASON!!!! I know I went MIA for a minute but I'm back. I started a new job and moved states so it's been an absolutely crazy week for me. Going forward, I'm going to be slower with updating and fics will probably only come out once a week. I've been focusing on editing Divine Violence and catching up on my reading stack (my poor kindle is overloaded) but I promise I won't forget about all of you on tumblr <3 <3 <3

six | series masterlist

Victoria is silent during the drive, keeping her stare ahead and out the front window without so much as a single glance to her sister or brother. Y/N keeps shooting glances at Niklaus for explanation but he offers nothing.

“Vic,” she says softly, touching her sister’s shoulder and she flinches at the touch, “Vic what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer at first but the second time that her sister asks, she briefly looks back at her and whispers something.

“What did you say?”

Clearing her throat, she says the unthinkable, “Brock made me do it.”

“What did he make you do?” Niklaus says as he leans towards the front seat.

“I didn’t have a choice. He….he said if I loved him, I would do it.”

Steve glances over in concern from the driver’s seat, “What is she going on about?”

“I know just as much as you,” Y/N scoffs before turning to her sister, “Vic what did he make you do?” “He said that if I was a good daughter, I would do it,” she mumbles to herself as she pulls something from under her loose sweatshirt. Steve looks over at her again and slams on the breaks in efforts to stop her from pulling out the weapon. The sudden stop sends everyone flying forward as well the knife Victoria had started to pull out. Steve snatches it up before she can with one hand and has a gun pointed at with the other. The car behind them, the one that Sam and James are in, slams to a halt as well as the two men clamor out.

“What the fuck?” James hisses when he approaches the driver’s side. He narrows his eyes at everyone inside the car and lets out a disappointed sigh when he sees the knife and a shaking Victoria.

“I expected more of you, Victoria Marie,” he scolds her as if she is a child and nods to Sam and Steve. Sam rips the backseat door open and pulls the other two triplets out as Steve hands him the knife.

“What are you doing?” Niklaus sneers at Sam and James but neither of them answer. Y/N tries her hand at getting an answer but again gets nothing aside from a stern look from James. Steve exits the vehicle next as the two are dragged back to the second car. He grabs hold of Y/N who fights him tooth and nail to get out of his hold but it’s useless.

As they’re shoved into the car, they hear a gunshot. Both gasp and let out cries of anger, rage, pain, sadness, anything at all that they’ve felt in the last six years. James joins them in the car, cleaning the barrel of Steve’s gun off on his pant leg. He says nothing as Sam drives off.

The car where Victoria should be in is starting to smoke as flames try to lick up the sides. Y/N looks at him in horror but no reaction.

Two Rumlows gone in the span of two hours.

Who is next?

Five days pass before Y/N leaves her room.

She guarded the door with any piece of furniture she could find and refused to open it unless absolutely necessary. Niklaus, of course, had been the only expectation however he too rarely left his room.

That was until Steve pounded on their doors, demanding that they be downstairs in 15 minutes for a reunion dinner. Y/N scoffs at the idea of having a reunion dinner when all her and her brother want to do is grieve.

Another pound on the door brings her attention back and she takes a sharp breath in before opening it. A black box sits on the ground in front of the door and it takes everything in her to not stomp on the fragile lid. She picks it up and tosses it onto her bed, staring at it as she sits on the floor. It’s similar to the box she got that first night days ago.

Weeks ago.

Months ago?

Honestly at this point, Y/N couldn’t remember how long it had been since she was dragged back to this hell hole of a city and had her life turned upside down. All she knows is that the grip that James had on her is growing tighter everyday. It’s becoming suffocating, squeezing out any breath that she tries to take and that box on her bed is a physical reminder of the hand that’s always wrapped around her throat.

She climbs to her feet and hesitantly takes a seat next to the box, contemplating whether or not she should let the hand control her even more. A thought crosses her mind, one that chills her to the bone.

What would James do to Klaus?

Her fingers quickly flick open the box and the lid slides back to reveal a gold necklace sitting on black tissue paper. She lets out a deep sigh at the theatrics that James puts into everything that he does. Picking up the necklace, Y/N scoffs as she looks it over. Of course, he would ask…command her to wear a necklace with his name on it.

However as her fingers pick it up, they catch on the paper to show a bundle of black gleaming fabric. She pulls the paper back even more and takes out the dress he’s also silently demanding that she wears. It’s a mid length square neck dress that will no doubt show off everything she wants to hide from men like James.

Sneering at both disgusting gifts, she throws them back into the box and shoves it off her bed. It clatters to the floor as she stares at it in anger, a deep feral anger that needs to be released. This anger accepts only one payment though and that is blood. More specifically that of the White Wolf’s.

Only the sounds of clanking silverware and the occasional conversation between James and his men. Niklaus and Y/N stayed silent from the moment they saw each other in the hall. He glared at the dress and necklace she wore and she wanted desperately to tell him it was all a facade but she couldn’t without tipping off the men around them. She could see the palpable anger in his eyes, the hurt that flashed when he read the name that claimed her throat. She tried to convey with her eyes that it would all end tonight but he looked away too quickly and went back to eating.

The dining room is much like the rest of the house, black and devoid of any emotion. She wants to make a remark about it mirroring the inside of the owner’s heart but one quick glance to the head of the table keeps it locked behind her painted lips.

James, ever the regal mafia leader, is leaning back in his chair as he watches over his subjects. Surprisingly he’s only wearing a half buttoned black short sleeve and black slacks. Y/N pretends to trail her eyes over the tanned skin that is on display and when she lands on his face, there is a smirk welcoming her heated gaze. He takes a swallow of his favored amber liquid without breaking eye contact with her. A shiver of disgust wants to wash over her body but she suppresses it as Sam speaks. He drones on about whatever useless business he and Steve dealt with today, no doubt so insignificant that if Klaus or Y/N tried to use it against them, it would do nothing. She knew this routine well; dangle pieces of information before their enemies in efforts to get them to strike. Brock had done it time and time again to the point that the remaining Triplets knew it well. Well enough to not take the bait.

Dinner slowly comes to an end as servants take away the empty places, leaving all of the guests to glare at each other. Y/N’s fingers tap lightly on the steak knife that remains, drawing attention to it and Steve motions for it to be taken away. James chuckles under his breath as he watches the interaction but says nothing. Y/N smirks on the inside but puts on a face of frustration.

Both her and the White Wolf knew that if she was going to try something, she wouldn’t have been so obvious as to grab a steak knife. No, James knows that it’s a distraction but he wants to watch her plan unfold before stopping her.

His sharp eyes meet hers again and they pin her to her seat. She sees his mouth move but she can’t hear the words that come out. She guesses that he dismissed everyone from the way that everyone clears out of the room , leaving them alone. Niklaus shoots her a glance before Sam pushes him out and she gives her brother a small nod.

I’ll be okay.

Niklaus doesn’t fight Sam because he knows that she will be but it does little to calm the rising fear. He nods back.

Be careful.

She smiles at him, covering her sinister plan with sibling love.

Once the door is closed and they are finally alone, Y/N settles her gaze back on James who had been watching the interaction. He sits his glass on the arm of his chair as he looks her over. A twinkle of something positively feral flashes in his eye when he takes in the necklace and dress she is wearing.

“I figured it better to comply,” she offers as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Comply?” he questions, “You make it sound like I’m a tyrant.”

“You’re far worse.”

James lets out a deep laugh that’s more animal like than human, “If I were then your brother’s head would’ve been served for dinner.”

Y/N takes another slow sip of her wine to hide her seething anger at the suggestion.

“And then I would’ve taken you in front of the others.”

She turns to narrow her eyes at him, “What if I said no?”

“You won’t have.”

“How can you be so sure?” The glass of his cup clinks on the table as he sits it on the table before him, “Look at what you’re wearing. I’d say that is a pretty good indication that you wouldn’t say that to me.”

She rolls her eyes at him and sits her own glass on the table. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for her next move. Before James can say another vile thing, she quickly stands and walks to the head of the table. Perching herself on the table just beside him, Y/N gently pushes at the arm of James’ chair. Taking the hint, he moves back an inch and takes her by the hips to pull her in front of him. She had only been this close to him a handful of times but every time it’s just as terrifying as the last. His cold attitude extends to the air that circles him and now her. His scent of leather, guns, and blood engulf her and caress the sides of her face as he watches her every move.

In another life, she knew that she would’ve fallen for him. She could see the charm and confidence that he would use on her to get her into bed. She could see the way that he would shower her with gifts to the point where she would have to beg him to stop. She could see how he would laugh when he kissed up her neck, claiming that she would never have enough and would never stop giving her the world.

However now with the predatory look in his eye, she’s not sure that he would ever be the James that she pictured in her head. This man, the White Wolf, is the image of pure evil down to the way that he lazily smiles up at her, a dark look swimming in his equally darkening eyes.

“Don’t pull anything stupid, little snake,” he murmurs to her as he drinks in the way his name lays on her breasts.

“Who said I was going to do anything?” she murmurs back as she leans down into his space.

“I know that look.”

She bats her lashes at him, fiending innocence and he laughs again, that deep rumble in his chest squeezing the air from her lungs. His right hand makes a slow climb up her arm as she leans down and finds its place on her throat, just above where his name sits on its golden chain. His thumb rubs her jaw, tipping her face down by her chin so he can look at her better. His tongue swipes his bottom lip as he appreciates the red painted on hers.

“We both know you’re not some stupid innocent doll,” he whispers to her, “You’re my little snake, clever and deadly.”

“Are you my White Wolf then?”

James smirks at her question and draws her closer, “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you plan to keep trying to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers against his lips before kissing him. His soft lips move against hers in a slow but domineering way, control every slide and move they make. The hand around her neck slips into her loose hair while his other hand pulls her by the hips onto his lap and slips up on her lower back. Under her, she can feel the hardness forming in his pants and she stifled a moan at the feeling of him moving against her. One of her hands tangles into her hair, pulling at it so his head falls back and she descends upon his neck.

Y/N leaves wet kisses on his jaw and down his neck as they move against each other, gasps and moans leaving both of them. In their desperation to devour each other, James didn’t notice that her other hand was nowhere to be felt on his body nor did he see the flash of silver in the fire light.

“Fuck,” he chokes out when that flash of silver hides a place in between his sixth and seventh rib. Y/N quickly pulls the small dinner knife out and plunges back into the same area. The shock of her attack and the pain that is growing hot in his side stop him from pushing her off or defending himself in other ways.

She pulls away, still sitting on top of him with the bloody knife in her hand and gives him a small smile. He breathlessly chuckles at the sight, “Wouldn’t dream of it?”

“It’s not a dream anymore,” she offers with a small shrug.

James drops his hands from her body as she slides off and lets her knife on the table just out of his reach. The attack on his spleen will cause him to bleed out slowly enough that he will feel every moment of it but fast enough that there would be nothing anyone could do to help him. They both know it and he wants to laugh again at the situation but the pain prevents him from doing so.

“Why?” he asks, almost too quiet for her to hear but she does. She pauses at the door to answer him.

“Spite.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #mob au #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #as good a reason bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader

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thatonebirdwrites · 3 months

Text

Chapter 1 was Lena's Tale. Now we see how Lena is rescued and view Kara's Tale. I really wanted to dig deeply into Kara's trauma and grief for this chapter. Hopefully I showed that and her alien nature well. This was technically meant to be part of the first chapter, but that got too long, so I cut them into separate chapters. I decided to go ahead and post this instead of waiting too much longer. I'm eager to hear y'all's thoughts.

EXCERPT:

Kara Zor El sees Lex fall. Sees how he refuses to let her save him. How his hatred consumes all reason. She sees him collide with the ground. It breaks something in her. Her rule to never kill, and here she fails that one rule. His fall is due to her hand.

She thinks of Lena, who fought so hard to escape the Luthors. And yet it inevitably came to this final showdown, where Kara risks everything to stop Lex and protect Lena. The one person who doesn’t deserve this. She closes her eyes and whispers part of the Kryptonian prayer for the dead.

Lex isn’t Kryptonian, but she can amend it so it fits a more human background. It is something her and her parts devised after each death they fail to rescue.

It is inevitable, Red Daughter’s thoughts pierce her own. The newer part invokes a shiver of pain around Kara's mind at the intrusion. Alex does not stop.

It’s still not okay. How will Lena take it? Kara Zor El hates the thought of hurting her favorite person, especially like this.

Red Daughter has no words for that. During the fight with Lex, the Supergirl clone had merged with Kara, fracturing her carefully integrated mind yet again. But even absorbed as she was, Red Daughter does not hold the memories of Lena’s light in Kara’s life. Her only frame of reference is Lex’s words and the journal she stole from Kara Danvers. It'll mean another session with Brainy and J'onn, to help integrate Red Daughter into her system.

When she opens her eyes, the crater where Lex fell looks strange. Kara Zor El flies closer, and a dread eats through her. Odd scorch marks line its edges, but there is no sign of Lex’s suit. No crumpled metal, which if an object at high velocity impacted and exploded, there would be debris.

She lands baffled. “Alex,” she says as she taps her ear mic. “I think Lex escaped.”

“What? That’s impossible." Alex snaps, her stress masked by anger. Between the fight with Lex and the prior one where Red Daughter temporarily killed Kara — she still wonders at the use of sunlight to jump-start her heart. Alex said only that Lena made the device ages ago — both Alex and herself are exhausted. "He had no jets, no power left. There’s no way he’d survive that fall.”

Kara-Z takes a breath to steady her nerves. She will not let anger overtake her. It is not her at which Alex fumes but Lex. “That was my assessment, but there’s no sign of the debris. Unless he vaporized right when he hit the ground, he must have activated portal tech. We know prototypes of it were stolen during Mercy's attack on L-Corp. Do you think Lex miniaturized it?”

“Let me ask Brainy.”

Brainy clips into their channel. “Yes, I calculate a 99 percent chance he miniaturized it. I am doing a sweep of the area for the signals originating from the suit. It would still give off heat signatures due to the nature of your fight.”

It’s the best they can do. Kara-Z closes her eyes and focuses on her superhearing. She sorts through the overwhelming barrage of noise and zeros in on the heartbeats of her loved ones. That source of comfort keeps her mind still.

Alex and Brainy are safe at their meeting point. Dreamer and J’onn are rescuing the aliens at the power plant with Guardian and an DEO team. Kelly is at her apartment. Lena — where is Lena? She can’t hear her anywhere.

Fear clenches Kara-Z’s stomach. In the rush to stop Lex, Kara isn't entirely certain where Lena went. Her Danvers self had dealt with that conversation, and there hasn't been time to meditate and fuse each's memories into one timeline.

“I must check on Lena,” she tells Alex. Before her sister can protest, she blasts toward the upper layers of the atmosphere. There it is easier to hear far beyond her usual range. Ice forms on the suit and her hair. She stops and closes her eyes.

Still nothing. No, Lena cannot be dead. Kara’s heart constricts, and a rising panic grips her.

Think, Друг-Я, Red Daughter says, using the Russian for ‘friend-self.’ Does not lead hide signals?

Right. Lead definitely would. Hope blooms. She still has a chance to find Lena.

Meditation and mind curating were skills taught to her on Krypton, honed in the temples, utilized in the endless void of the Phantom Zone, and perfected under J’onn’s guiding hand. The safe space in her mind is a garden on Argo, full of her favorite plants and creatures. There her Danvers self rests, and only rouses when Kara-Z imagines herself gently touching her other self's shoulder.

Danvers, I need your knowledge. Where did Lena go?

Zor El? Kara-D’s thought is laced with uncertainty and worry. Sure, yeah, I'll share the memory, but you're not going to like it. I really did try to stop her.

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara zor el #alex danvers #red daughter #angst #trauma recovery #healing journeys #grief #dealing with grief #loss #grief journey #Kryptonian lore

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farrahda5hywrites · 2 years

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Sin Nombre

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov(a) x Implied!Moon Summoner!Reader

Summary: Your life as a vagabond changes rapidly as you encounter a strong force.

Warning: None, I can think of. Can be read as a standalone drabble

Hey, so this ficlet was originally a little gift to @marvelmusing until I decided like a dingus to write a little sequel. Heads up, everything I know about Shadow and Bone is from Marvelmusing's writing and the vibes I picked up along the way. (Ben Barnes' depiction of the Darkling was very in line with one of my original characters from 2019, so I fell into this rabbit hole the gifs, my homie.)

Anyway, please enjoy this little drabble

When your kind fled, you couldn’t find fault in them. No one was left to be a voice for your people, and your people would most likely be the first to be captured and executed. So much had happened that you couldn’t tell what was rumor and what was truth. But still, you refused let fear keep you from finding a way to survive.

The guilt, however, swelled in your lungs as if you were being held underwater. You were cursed and blessed at the same time: Grisha blood, but couldn’t summon. Deep knowledge of powers, but could never manifest your own. Potential, but no outlet. You could be a great help to your people if only had something more to offer: a safe haven, food, or a warm cloak. You were a vagabond, a situation that left you cold but protected you at times.

What you could give was advice. Travel at night or at early dawn. Keep the little ones and your elderly in front of you so they don’t fall behind. When you get your powers, don’t use your powers unless absolutely necessary. Always keep your head up.

The advice wasn’t much, but it was what your mother and grandmother told you when you were young.

You got nervous when a family approached you, but something inside you immediately told you that they were Grisha. The Mother was the one who stepped forward and asked a question concerning travel.

You looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain soon.” You said, smelling the scent in the air and examining the clouds. “Probably won’t be too bad. I’d keep going if I were you.”

With a small thank you in the form of a piece of bread, the family was off with the little ones walking quickly in front of their parents.

A few days later in the next town, a young couple approached you at night. Both of them looked ragged, and that nervousness filled you again. If the wrong people knew found you, you’d be dead. You knew down in your spirit they meant know harm, but you weren’t sure how much you could afford to risk your own safety for rest of your people.

After a brief stare down with the couple, the young man spoke to you. “We keep running into trouble, and we got separated from our group…we don’t know how to travel at night.”

You didn’t question him further on what exactly he meant. Instead, you pointed up to moon in the sky.

“If the moon is high, play it low. If it’s a Harvest, go slow. But if it’s full, then go. Everything in between will guide you. If you can’t see the moon in the sky, then you best stay put.”

The moon itself was full moon, and the couple spared a coin and quickly departed in the other direction.

The last of the winter wind was determined to toss you around like a leftover dry branch. You survived on the gifts from the various people you’ve helped and the advice you have given. Unfortunately, you never learned what do in the midst of powerful storm. The moon quickly disappeared while you were walking in the early morning way before dawn, and an impossible storm was chasing you down ready to overtake you to go about its destruction.

You make the mistake of looking down at your feet, and your body is thrown against a tree by the strong wind. The pain in your body rivaled a knife’s blade to the chest, hindering you from calling out for help from the Saints. The darkness overtook the area so quickly you almost couldn’t tell if your eyes were closed.

“What is your name?” The voice sounded so soft, yet deep that you swore you were hallucinating.

“I have no name.” It took you a moment to reply, but in the moment, you knew you were going to die.

With what ever strength you had in you, you were going to attempt to fight. You refused to be used an example to incite fear in your people.

“I heard that you’ve been helping Grisha, little one. Can you tell me when the storm will pass?”

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “This is not an ordinary storm. It will be short, but its effect will last for decades. No one will out run it.”

“I will find you again when I need you.”

Your vision returned as if the darkness and the wind hadn’t overtaken you. You stood in an empty field, moon shining directly on you. You looked around for any trace of what just occurred, but you found nothing.

You had a few hours until dawn, so you made your way back to your destination. The wind pushed by, causing you to put your hands inside your cloak. You felt a piece of loose cloth, and you pulled it out briefly and paused to take a look at it. The cloth was embroidered with a moon in eclipse: at least that was what you assumed it was. You swore you recognized the emblem, but you tucked it away and went about your journey.

It wasn’t until dawn that you realized you didn’t just meet an ordinary grisha, but one of the most important.

#shadow and bone au #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling au #aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone x reader

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xojennyboo · 8 months

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Hey everyone. Here’s a small update. I hope you’re enjoying my writing. I think I’m going to start posting on Mondays and start a little set schedule for this. Don’t forget to submit your requests. Thank you and Happy Reading!

Harry was angelic. A sex god. When he performed on stage, he had everyone at the palm of his hand. The way he commanded the stage and had every fan screaming his name was a sight to see. It turned you on in ways you couldn't explain. You were very fortunate that you were able to travel with him and watch him perform almost every night. You always stood on the side of the stage, dancing and singing along to his music.

One thing that you and he did after every show was go up to your hotel room and order room service. He was always hungry after his shows. One thing he didn't do during the tour was drink. He tried not going out to clubs, unless he had to, and drink or stay up super late. He enjoyed his quiet time and tried to rest the most that he could. You tried to make that possible for him the best you could. Your relationship to Harry has been a secret for quite some time, the only people who knew were his closest friends and family. You liked it this way, you didn't have to worry about meeting a certain perspective to the world. His fans were always sweet to you, thankful that Harry had a "friend" to look after him. That's what you were to the public, Harry's best friend.

Today you were in New York City where he was playing at Madison Square Garden. Today was an important night due to him being recognized for selling out a certain number of shows. You couldn't be prouder of the man that drove you crazy. After the show, you stayed behind and went to his dressing room to get his belongings ready for when you left. He was having a bit of a photoshoot taking pictures with colleagues and the banner that had his name on it. You enjoyed the quietness that filled his dressing room, making cleaning up enjoyable in a way. You packed his cologne, shoes, chargers, and all his things in his duffle bag. After that you decided to sit on the chair in front of his vanity and wait for him.

As you sat there in silence, you could start hearing an increase in volume coming from outside his room. "Sorry guys but I'm a bit tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and rest up for tomorrow. Maybe another time?", you could hear him say. You guessed some of his colleagues wanted to go out and celebrate his new accomplishment. "Has anyone seen y/n? ", you hear him ask. After a couple of mumbles that you couldn’t hear, the door opened revealing a sweaty Harry. His eyes searched the room until they landed on you, a smile immediately overtaking his face. He came in, closed the door, and walked towards you, standing in between your legs that were hanging on the chair due to the height, accommodating his height instead of yours.

Without speaking, he cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you. It was a gentle kiss, slowly moving your lips against one another due to feeling neglected the whole day. He pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours and wiping your bottom lip with his thumb. "Hey", he whispered, his tired eyes looking into yours that weren't as tired as his. "Hey", you say back giving him a small smile. "Ready to go to the hotel?", he asks, simply nodding your head as your answer. "Come on then ", he says, taking your hand in his until you walked out of the quiet dressing room and into the busy hallway. You withdrew your hand from his and walked in front of him, keeping your distance as you walked out of the venue and into the black car that was waiting for the both of you. You got on first, waiting a couple minutes as Harry bid goodbye to his crew. With the door still opened, he climbed in right next to you, putting an arm against your shoulder, and pulling you to his side, placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

No words were exchanged between the two of you. The car ride to the hotel maintaining a comfortable silence. You occasionally looked up towards Harry, his eyes meeting yours the first couple of times but the last time you did it you saw his head resting back against the seat with his eyes closed and his lips ajar slightly. You couldn't help but smile to yourself, admiring how peaceful he looked in this very moment. The ride to the hotel took a bit longer than it should've due to the traffic. Considering how late it was, you were always surprised that these streets stayed busy no matter what time it was. You closed your eyes for a bit, still awake so you knew when you would arrive. What felt like half an hour was only 10 minutes that passed until you had arrived at your destination. "Baby we're here", you whispered at Harry, patting his arm a bit to not startle him from his nap. His eyes slightly opened and looked side to side realizing we were here. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and nodded. He opened the door to get out first, going around the vehicle to open yours. He always opened the door for you, a gesture of his that you've gotten accustomed to.

When he opened the door, he stuck out his hand for you to take, gladly doing so as you got out. He thanked the driver before closing the door and making our way into the hotel and up to the penthouse. Since you were staying in New York for a while, he decided to get you guys a comfortable room, a penthouse being his preference. Once there, you immediately took your shoes off making yourself comfortable. "Are you hungry?", you ask your tired boyfriend as he plumped himself on the coach in front of the TV. "Starving", he mumbles. You grab the room service menu and decide on what to get. "Any preference?", you ask him, walking over to the couch and sitting on his lap so he could see the menu too. He skimmed it with you until he pointed at something he wanted. "A burger sounds good right about now", he says. " Ooh that does sound good. Burgers it is then", you say grabbing the phone and placing the order. As you waited, you decided on unpacking some things from his duffle bag, like his shoes and charger. The food arrived quickly as there was a knock on the door. You opened the door, rolled the cart inside and thanked the employee. "Foods here babe", you announce. You placed the meals on the kitchen island, the food making your mouth water. You feel Harry's presence behind you as you were placing napkins on each side of the plates, his arms sneaking around your waist. "Can we shower after we eat?", he mumbles against your neck, his curls tickling your face causing you to giggle. "Yes, we can Harry. Now sit down and eat before the food gets cold", you say, placing a simple kiss on his cheek before sitting down on the stool.

You both sat and took a bite of your burger. It was so good, your head falling back, your eyes closed, and a moan of satisfaction coming out of you as the burger tasted heavenly. You looked in front of you, opening your eyes to land on Harry who was staring at you with a smirk on his face. "Sorry", you mumbled, getting slightly embarrassed at your reaction from a simple burger. "It is good", he chuckled taking a big bite out of his. For the rest of your meal you sat in silence, enjoying each other's company. Once finished, you gathered the empty dishes and placed them on the cart before taking the cart outside and leaving it by the door. Harry was cleaning the island counter when you walked back. He looked down at you, so you hugged him and looked up at him. You took this time to admire everything about him. He was the definition of someone who was imperfectly perfect. No one was perfect, but he was damn close to being it. "What?", he chuckled at your staring. "I didn't get the chance to tell you before, but I am extremely proud of you Harry”, you genuinely say to him, giving him a tight hug and burying your face against his chest.

He didn't say anything, he knew that your words met the world to him, and you knew that. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a few seconds, embracing you. "Thank you", he silently says his hold on you becoming tighter as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you; you know that right?" he says to you, pulling away slightly to look at your face. “Yes, I do. And I love you", you reassure. He smiles at you placing a small kiss on your forehead this time. "Come on, let's go shower ", he says pulling you upstairs into your shared bedroom. He disappears into the bathroom, turning the shower on so that the water could heat up. You discarded your clothes, placing them in the dirty hamper and putting on the silky robe over your naked body. Harry walked into the room, removing his own clothing as you walked into the bathroom, the heat of the water making the bathroom steamy.

You tied your hair up into a messy bun, refusing to wet your hair tonight. You felt his hands grip your waist from behind you as you finished tying up your hair. "I could never tire from telling you how beautiful you are", he says kissing your neck. You hummed in response to his kisses loving the way his lips felt on your skin. You turned around in his grip facing him. Your hands immediately going up to his face, pushing back a curl that was hanging by his forehead. He took your hand in his, pulling the palm of your hand towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. You loved his gentle affections; they made you feel special and made you feel like you were the only two people in the world. He let go of your hand, gently putting it down, his hands going towards the front of your robe untying the small knot. Without breaking eye contact, he gently removed the robe from your shoulders, exposing the naked skin, and moved it down your arms until it was completely off, the silky item pooling at the bottom of your feet. Your naked body was exposed in front of him to do as he wished. He stepped closer to you, reaching down to your naked thighs, picking you up, your legs wrapping around his naked waist. "Let's go shower darling", he lightly says, walking both of you into the spacious shower.

As soon as the door opened, you were engulfed in steam, your muscles instantly relaxing. Still in his arms, he walked towards the water, his curly hair getting drenched and drooping his face causing you to laugh. He put you down to your feet, his hands going up to his hair and pushing it out of his face. While he did so, you took your time and admired his tattooed body. You loved the tattoos he had, each one having a different meaning to him regardless of him getting some when he was under the influence of alcohol. You stepped closer to his body, your lust speaking out, wanting his affection. Your hands moved up his abdomen to land on his pecks. Harry looked at your every move as you kissed between his pecks, leaving small delicate kisses. Your hands moved upwards to his collarbones, tracing each swallow that adorned it. He hummed at the feeling of your gentle touch, watching as his eyes closed taking the feeling of your touch in. Your hands moved upwards again, tracing up his neck until your hands cupped his face. His eyes reopened, a small smirk playing on his lips waiting for your next move.

Your breathing slowly started to pick up, one due to you initiating what you both were craving for, and secondly due to the steam. Your lips parted as you were both silent, the only noise was the sound of the water falling on Harry's back and now, your heavy breathing. You looked at his eyes and then down at his wet lips. He knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to make the first move. He knew that you were nervous, your eyes speaking for you, you never initiated anything and that was due to your lack of confidence. You saw his smirk become more prominent as his hands were placed on your hip. "Kiss me y/n " he whispers. You looked at his eyes and immediately closed yours as you learned up on your toes and crashed your lips to his. He leaned down your lips, savoring one another's, and picked you up, your body slipping a bit due to the wetness. Your arms dropped around his shoulders, hands gripping his wet curls, he pushes you against the tiled wall, pinning you to it with his body weight. Your head leaned to the side as you deepened the kiss, your tongue exploring his mouth as his did the same.

You occasionally sucked his lips, taking turns with his top and bottom lip. He bit your bottom lip, pulling it with his teeth a little as he withdrew from kissing your lips and venturing down to your neck. He kissed down your neck, lightly biting your earlobe in the process. He sucked on your neck; right below your ear creating a small red mark that will eventually bruise. He licked down to your shoulders, kissing across your collarbones and kissing your other shoulder. His lips kissed down the valley between your breast, his grip on your hips tightening. Your eyes were closed feeling his lips all over your body, savoring every moment. Before you know, you feel his hot wet mouth attach to your sensitive nipple causing a gasp to come out of you at the feeling. He swirled his tongue around the nub, biting it slightly with his teeth as he pinched the other. Your hands went down to his head, caressing it as he took your other nipple in his mouth. Every swirl of his tongue creating tingles in your now wet pussy. He kneeled down in front of you, your eyes opening and anticipating his next move.

You looked down at him, him looking up at you, giving you some sort of confidence within you. "What do you want baby tell me", he says kissing your thighs, his lips dangerously close to where you wanted him the most. "You know what I want Harry. Don't make me say it", you say between gasp, the anticipation starting to be too much. "Mmm honey but I want to hear it come out of those delicious lips of yours", he teases sucking on your thigh causing you to whine in pleasure. "Come on baby, tell me what you want", he encourages you. You don't know what possessed you to do what you did next, but you grabbed his head and buried his face in your aching pussy, your fingers gripping his hair. "Eat me, Harry. Make me cum with your tongue", you pant. Your words caused a growl to emit from him as he spread your pussy lips to suck on your clit. The second his tongue started lapping on your pussy your head leaned back against the wet wall. He leaned his head to the side to get a better angle, his tongue swirling around your entrance collecting your excitement. "Mmm honey you taste so good", he grunts against your pussy causing your small whines into moans. He spread your lips sucking on your clit creating the small bubble to start forming in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Harry, just like that baby, don't stop", you moan out.

He moaned against your pussy the vibration bringing you closer to the edge. He flicked his tongue on your clit a few more times sending you into a world of pure ecstasy. Your thighs trembled against his head, his wet curls tickling your skin. As he licked you clean your pants started to slow down. He stood back up and kissed your lips tasting yourself on his tongue. Your hands roamed his wet body until they landed on his erect penis. You slowly gripped the base and lightly tugged on it, your thumb sliding across his red tip. He lightly groaned against your lips, slightly thrusting into your hand. You wanted him in your mouth but before you could kneel, he stopped you. "No baby, I want to be inside you", he panted against your lip. He picked you up, your legs wrapped around his waist, and pinned you against the wet wall. Your hands were around his neck for leverage. Wasting no time, he grabbed the base of his cock and slid right in. Your head leaned against the wall, your mouth agape as a small moan came out, him groaning of the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick.

Immediately Harry's hips started to move, the angle that he was holding you in made the tip of his cock hit your cervix with each thrust. The grip of his hands on your hips tightening as he rammed into you. The mixture of his thrusts and the hot steam was taking a toll on you, your breathing becoming heavy. Harry's face was buried into your neck placing small kisses as you did the same on his shoulder. His dick felt so good in you, a feeling you haven't felt in a while due to his hectic schedule. "Fuck y/n, your pussy feels amazing wrapped around me”, he panted. All you could do was moan in response feeling your second orgasm approaching. His own orgasm was approaching too, the change in position giving you a hint. He put his arms under your legs your lower back lifting from the wall and began to thrust harder and faster.

The new angle was heaven, making your moans become louder and louder as your orgasm was closer. "Oh fuck, on fuck Harry", you panted. His grunts turned into moans, the grip on your thighs tightening definitely leaving a mark. "Cum with me baby", he said, his forehead against yours as his thrust were becoming sloppier. For the second time your thighs were shaking, and soon both of you were cumming, his thrusts becoming too much as you squirted on him. Your body was very sensitive right now, the heat mixed with your powerful orgasm sending you into a bliss leaving you dumbfucked. This has only happened a handful of times, usually happening when you've had an intense orgasm.

You couldn't stop panting as Harry rode out your highs. Your body became limp, Harry noticing your state of mind. "Fuck baby", he kissed your temple, slowly putting you on your feet, but not letting you go. "I'll take care of you baby", he says. Your body felt weak as he washed your body and then his. After he was done, he dried your body and carried you into your bed. You didn't feel his presence for a bit, your eyes closing as you tried getting out of this state. You felt a dip of the bed next to you as he wrapped you both in a huge blanket. There was no need in changing into clothes, both of you liking sleeping naked. He cuddled you, his fingers running through your hair that was now loose. When did he do that? "Come back to me beautiful", he whispers against your ear. "Mmmm", you managed to say. "That's right baby, talk to me" he encourages.

Slowly, and little by little you started coming out of that bliss. You started feeling his fingertips more, his voice was clearer, and your body moving. As soon as you were out of it you turned around in his grip, opening your eyes up to meet his green ones. "There she is", he says smiling at you. He leaned in and pecked your lips. "Sorry. it was the heat", you apologized, hiding your face against his warm naked chest. You hear him chuckle, his fingers still running through your hair. "You have nothing to apologize for baby. It was very sexy in my opinion", he says making you smile. "How are you feeling now?", he asked, sounding a bit concerned. You looked at him and smirked. "I feel better now", you say. "Are you tired?", you ask. Your hands went up to his damp hair and ran through it, his eyes closing, loving the feeling. "Hammered", he mumbles. "Go to sleep baby", you whispered. “What about you?", he whispers back. "I'll go to sleep too. I'm tired as well", you whispered. You leaned over his body, turning off the lamp on his side, then leaning over your other side to turn off the lamp. The room now engulfed in pure darkness. "Goodnight darling", he mumbles, pulling your body closer to him. "Goodnight baby", you say back closing your eyes. "Thank god I decided not to go out", he clearly says making both of you to laugh before your sleep overlook the both of you. Definitely worth staying in, you thought.

#harry edward styles #hslot #harry edits #harry fluff #harry smut #harry styles #smut #1dsmut #harry styles one direction #harry fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harrys house #harry styles one shot #hary styles #harry's house album #wattpad

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