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chosok-amo · 10 days

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HELP ME, MAN! : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

you, their little girlfriend, scared the shit out of your boyfriends. they don't know why, how, them, the strongest jujutsu sorcerers in the modern world are scared of their girlfriend.

warning. established relationship! satosugu, fem! reader. anger issues mentioned, you scared the shit out of them. fluff.

wc. | ( 𝜗𝜚 ) masterlist

( 𝜗𝜚 ) art belongs to the artist.

being the strongest sorcerers in the modern world, gojo satoru and geto suguru didn’t know fear. they had faced countless curses, fought against the worst of the worst, and never once backed down. no matter how dangerous, no matter how terrifying the curse, they’d come out on top, especially when they worked together. their bond and strength were unmatched. they could take on anything the world threw at them without flinching.

but there was one thing that shook them to their core. something even worse than a thousand cursed spirits combined.

you.

their fiery, sarcastic little girlfriend, who had more rage bottled up in her than any curse they’d ever faced. when you were angry, it wasn’t just explosive—it was terrifying. your sharp tongue, your piercing glares, and the way you could tear them apart with a single, biting comment. they’d rather face off against the worst special-grade curse than deal with your wrath.

and right now, they were both standing in front of you, like guilty children caught red-handed. you were pacing back and forth, arms crossed, the air thick with tension. they could handle anything… anything but this.

“so,” you started, your voice cold and sarcastic, “which one of you wants to explain this mess?” your eyes flicked between them, daring one of them to speak up.

gojo, never one to shy away from a challenge, opened his mouth, though his usual cocky grin was nowhere to be seen. “babe, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” he tried to play it off, but even he knew he was walking on thin ice.

you stopped in your tracks, slowly turning to face him, your eyes narrowing dangerously. “wasn’t that bad? really, satoru? because to me, it looks like you completely ignored the one thing i asked for.”

geto stood to the side, looking like he was praying for some sort of divine intervention. he knew better than to jump in too soon, but he also knew you were right. they’d messed up. and badly.

“idiot, stop talking,” geto said quietly, placing a hand on his friend’s arm, though his own nerves were clearly showing. then, he turned to you, his tone soft and apologetic. “we’re sorry. we really didn’t mean to mess this up, it just—”

“oh, so you’re both sorry? well, that fixes everything,” you cut him off, your sarcasm biting. “i guess next time i’ll just expect the bare minimum from the two of you.”

gojo winced, trying to shrink into the background, and even geto, usually calm and composed, was struggling to keep his cool under your stare. the two of them could take on anything, but this? this was something entirely different.

you could feel their unease, but it didn’t soften your mood just yet. “i ask for one thing,” you continued, pacing again, “and what do you do? exactly the opposite.” your voice rose with each word, your frustration clear. gojo shot a glance at geto, mouthing, “what do we do?”

geto shrugged helplessly, though he knew there was only one way out of this—admitting they were wrong. completely and utterly wrong. “look, we really messed up, okay? we’ll make it right, i swear. just… don’t be mad at us, alright?” he sounded genuine, his usual stoic tone now laced with concern.

you stopped pacing, your arms still crossed, and looked at both of them. “you better. because if you think i’m mad now, wait until i’m really pissed.” they both nodded, practically in unison. they knew better than to push their luck. after all, you were the one thing that could truly strike fear into their hearts. curses? no problem. a pissed-off girlfriend with anger issues? that was another story entirely.

“we’ll fix it,” gojo promised, his voice a bit higher-pitched than usual, clearly trying to get back in your good graces. “yeah, we’ll do whatever it takes,” geto added, backing him up, eyes serious.

you watched them for a long moment, letting the tension hang in the air before sighing. “good. because the last thing i want is to be disappointed again.” they both exhaled in relief, knowing they were getting a second chance. you may have been their biggest weakness, but you were also their greatest strength—keeping them in check when nothing else could.

I DIDN'T SLAM THE DOOR, I SWEAR!

there was also a moment—just like any other day—when you and gojo found yourselves in a small argument. nothing major, just one of those little things that built up over time. this time, it was about him always leaving his clothes on the floor. no matter how many times you asked, it seemed like he just couldn’t get the hang of putting them in the hamper.

you stood in the bedroom, arms crossed, glaring at the pile of clothes that had been tossed haphazardly on the floor next to the bed. “again, satoru?” your voice was sharp, laced with frustration. “is it really that hard to put your clothes in the basket? it’s right there.”

gojo, sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed, looked up at you, his signature grin plastered on his face, but you could see the nervousness behind it. “come on, doll. it’s not that big of a deal, right? they’re just clothes.”

“just clothes? satoru, you’ve been leaving them everywhere—everywhere—for weeks. i’m not your maid!” you snapped, waving your hand toward the scattered mess. “you’re lucky i haven’t thrown them all out by now.”

gojo chuckled, clearly amused by your annoyance. “oh, come on, you wouldn’t throw them out. you love me too much for that.” he leaned back on the bed, the smirk growing wider. “besides, you could always pick them up yourself if it’s that important,“ he added, the taunt subtle but noticeable.

your eyes narrowed, the irritation bubbling up even more. he knew exactly what he was doing—pushing your buttons, trying to get a rise out of you. and it was working. you clenched your fists, taking a deep breath to keep from snapping right away, but the frustration was hard to contain.

“satoru,” you said, your voice dangerously calm as you looked at him. “i am not your maid. i’m not here to clean up after you like some kind of personal assistant.”

he opened his mouth, about to say something in response, but you cut him off, stepping closer, your temper flaring. “i already deal with enough without having to pick up your damn clothes every single day. you know i hate it when the house is messy, and you still leave your stuff everywhere. why? because you think i’ll just clean it up for you?”

his smirk wavered, just for a second, as he saw how serious you were. he might have been teasing, but he knew when you were on the verge of losing your patience. and right now? you were teetering on the edge.

gojo sat there, the smirk replaced by a hint of uneasiness. he hadn’t expected you to get this mad, but then again, he should have known. you weren’t one to back down easily, especially when it came to this issue.

he swallowed hard, trying to salvage the situation. “okay, okay, i get it. i know you’re not my maid. but come on, it’s just a few clothes. it really doesn’t take that much effort to pick them up, does it?”

you could feel your irritation spike even higher at his words, and your eyes narrowed. the way he was downplaying it, acting like it was no big deal, just pushed you closer to your breaking point. if it didn’t take much effort, then why couldn’t he do it?

“if it’s so easy, satoru,” you snapped, voice sharp with anger, “then why can’t you do it?”

without giving him a chance to respond, you bent down, grabbing one of the shirts from the pile of discarded clothes and hurled it at him. the fabric hit his chest, and he blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that reaction.

“you think it’s not a big deal, right? it’s just a few clothes, no effort at all,” you continued, grabbing another piece of clothing and throwing it at him. “then why do you keep leaving them everywhere? because i’ll pick them up for you? i told you, satoru, i’m not your maid.”

gojo sat there, eyes wide, the smirk completely eradicated as you hurled clothes at him. he flinched each time one hit him, and he didn’t say a word, recognizing he’d messed up.

when you grabbed another shirt, he finally spoke, his voice softer. “babe, wait—”

you didn’t stop, your eyes blazing, and he saw the real anger blazing in them. “you think it’s funny to disrespect me like this? to treat me like some kind of servant?”

gojo looked at you, his usual confident facade cracking under your intense glare. he knew he messed up, but he still tried to keep some of his usual attitude, though it faltered when he spoke. “it’s not that big of a deal, doll, come on. i’m just a bit messy, isn’t that part of the charm?”

he knew the moment those words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. your expression darkened even more, and another shirt hit him.

gojo’s confidence shattered the second the words left his mouth. he saw the way your expression darkened, eyes narrowing even further as the tension in the room spiked. before he could even backtrack, another shirt flew at him, hitting him square in the face. he froze for a second, blinking as the fabric slid off his head.

“wrong move, dickhead,” he thought, his heart speeding up just a bit as he noticed the way you were glaring at him, practically daring him to say something else.

without another word, gojo shot up from the bed, all traces of his usual cockiness gone. “okay, okay! i’ll clean it up!” he stammered, frantically bending down to gather the clothes you had thrown at him. he moved faster than he ever did in a fight, scrambling to pick up the scattered mess around the room.

you stood there, arms crossed, watching him with a piercing stare as he scurried around the floor, picking up every last piece of clothing with a nervous energy. the man who faced down curses without blinking an eye was now clearly scared of you.

gojo moved quickly, rushing to pick up all the clothes, his heart pounding the whole time. he had faced down some of the worst curses in the world, fought against overwhelming odds, but this? this was something else entirely.

he could feel your gaze on him, sharp and unwavering, and he knew better than to make any snide comments or try to joke his way out of this. he was in the doghouse, and he knew it. as he finally gathered the last of the clothes into a messy pile, he stood there, glancing up at you, his usual confident demeanor completely vanished before he quickly left the room.

gojo, in his frantic rush to escape the room, accidentally slammed the door behind him with more force than he intended. the loud bang echoed through the hallway, and he froze for a split second, his eyes wide with panic as the realization hit him. “shit.” without wasting another moment, he bolted down the hall, clutching his clothes like his life depended on it.

he raced into the living room, where geto was sitting on the couch, looking far too tense for someone who hadn’t been directly involved. geto had heard everything. every word of the argument had reached him, and he hadn’t dared to intervene—not with you in that mood. he knew better. much better.

when gojo came running in, face pale and eyes wide, geto’s first instinct was to flinch, his muscles tensing even more. gojo practically threw himself at geto, clinging to him like a lifeline, the pile of clothes still in his arms. “suguru, help me! she’s gonna kill me, man. i didn’t mean to slam the door, i swear!”

geto, whose nerves were already frayed from listening to the argument, quickly pushed gojo away, eyes wide with alarm. “fuck off, satoru!” he hissed, scrambling to put some distance between them. “don’t want to be anywhere near you when she starts yelling again. i don’t need to get dragged into this.”

gojo blinked at him, clearly desperate for any sort of support. “but—but you’re supposed to have my back!”

“not when it comes to her,” geto shot back, keeping his voice low in case you were nearby. “do you know how terrifying she is when she’s pissed? no way, man. you’re on your own for this one.“

gojo groaned, his shoulders sagging as he slumped onto the couch beside geto, still clutching the clothes. “come on, suguru. you can’t just leave me to deal with this by myself. we’re in this together, remember?“

before geto could even muster a response, both of them froze at the sound of your heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway. it was slow but deliberate, each step echoing louder than the last. gojo’s eyes widened in panic, and he shot a terrified glance at geto, who was looking equally tense. neither of them dared to move, as if staying perfectly still might make them invisible.

“satoru,” geto whispered, voice barely audible as his eyes darted toward the doorway, “you better hide or something, man. i don’t want to be involved when she gets here.”

“go where?!” gojo hissed back, frantically looking around the living room for some sort of escape route. but there was nowhere to go, no time to run. he was trapped. the footsteps grew louder, and gojo’s heart pounded in his chest. “oh no, oh no, she’s coming…” he muttered under his breath, gripping his clothes tighter.

“this is your fault,” geto whispered harshly, scooting a few inches away from gojo. “you’re the one who pissed her off.“

“satoru…!” your voice called from down the hallway, sharp and unamused. both men stiffened at the sound, knowing that whatever came next wasn’t going to be good. gojo’s face drained of color as he leaned closer to geto, whispering desperately, “don’t leave me, man! i’ll do anything—just don’t let her kill me!”

geto looked at him, weighing his options, but before he could say anything, there you stood, arms crossed, your glare fixed on gojo like a laser. your presence alone filled the room with an intense pressure that made even the strongest sorcerers feel small. “satoru,” you said, your voice dangerously calm, “did you just slammed the door?”

gojo was frozen, his eyes widened like a deer in headlights. he looked back and forth between you and geto, the panic clear on his face. “uh, i...i didn’t mean to,” he squeaked, the clothes clutched tightly in his hands.

geto, watching the scene, leaned back into the couch, trying to make himself as small as possible, avoiding eye contact with you. he knew better than to draw your attention.

you didn’t say anything at first, just raised an eyebrow, and the silence was enough to make both gojo and geto sweat. finally, you spoke again, your voice laced with irritation. “do you want to try that again?”

gojo immediately shook his head, eyes wide with fear. “n-no! absolutely not, babe!” he blurted out, his voice shaky. “i swear, i wouldn’t do that again! it was totally an accident! i didn’t mean to slam the door, i promise!”

he stood there, practically trembling under your glare, clutching his clothes like they were his shield. “i’ll be so careful next time—no more slamming doors. i’ll tiptoe if i have to!” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush as he desperately tried to fix the situation.

geto, who was watching from the couch, subtly leaned back, clearly relieved that gojo was taking the brunt of your anger and praying he wouldn’t get dragged into it.

gojo looked at you with pleading eyes, hoping his quick apology would be enough to cool your anger. “i’ll be good, i swear,” he added, his voice softening, hoping to appeal to your softer side. but your expression remained firm, leaving him to sweat just a little longer, wondering if he'd escaped this round of your wrath—or if he was still in trouble. you slowly nod before walking away back to your shared bedroom without taking your eyes off of him.

gojo let out a shaky breath as you walked away, the silence in the room almost deafening. he stood there, frozen in place, clutching his clothes tightly and wondering if he was really off the hook or if you were just planning something even worse.

geto, who had been watching the scene unfold, let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing his tense muscles. “jesus, man,” he whispered, turning to look at gojo. “i don’t know how you do it. i’d be shitting my pants right now if i was in your shoes.”

WHITE TURN PINK

you stormed into the living room, laundry basket in hand, grumbling under your breath. your favorite white button-up shirt was now an embarrassing shade of pale pink, along with almost all the white clothes from the load. it didn’t take long to piece together what happened: one of them had carelessly thrown pink clothes in with the whites.

as you stood in front of gojo and geto, blocking their view of the video game they were so engrossed in, they immediately began to protest. “hey, we were—” gojo started, but the moment they looked up and saw the expression on your face, their words died in their throats.

your eyes were narrowed, and your lips pressed into a thin line. you were pissed, and they could feel the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“who’s turn was it to do the laundry?” you asked, your voice low but laced with enough irritation to make them both sit up a little straighter. without missing a beat, gojo’s hand shot up, pointing directly at geto. “it was him!” he blurted out, throwing his best friend under the bus without hesitation.

geto’s eyes widened, his head snapping toward gojo in disbelief. “seriously?” he mouthed, glaring at him for the betrayal. but when he turned back to face you, his defiance melted away, replaced with sheer panic as he saw you holding up the now pink shirt.

geto could feel shivers running down his spine, his heart racing at the sight of your anger and the tainted shirt clutched in your hands. he wanted to protest, to deny the accusation that gojo had so shamelessly thrown at him, but one glance at your face told him it was pointless.

he swallowed hard, glancing at gojo who had the gall to give him a shrug and a smirk, as if it wasn’t his fault this had happened. but geto didn’t have time to deal with that right now. right now, he had to survive this. “care to explain this?” you asked, holding up the evidence.

geto could feel the color draining from his face, his mind racing as he desperately tried to come up with a convincing excuse. he shot a glare at gojo, silently vowing to get him back for this later, but right now, he had to handle the wrath of you.

“i...uh...” he stuttered, his voice shaky as he struggled to find the right words.

but before he could say anything more, gojo piped up beside him, clearly enjoying his friend’s predicament. “come on, tell her,"” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

gojo’s smirk didn’t last long. the second you shifted your glare toward him, your eyes narrowing dangerously, his confidence evaporated. you didn’t have to say a word—the intensity of your stare was enough to make him freeze in place. his lips clamped shut, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender, silently mouthing a “sorry” as he shrank back into the couch.

the teasing look was gone in an instant, replaced with one of sheer regret. gojo knew better than to push you any further when you were this angry. his eyes darted between you and geto, desperately hoping the attention would stay on his best friend and not shift back to him.

the atmosphere in the room was heavy, the tension palpable as both gojo and geto sat there, silent and clearly nervous about your next move.

gojo avoided your gaze, opting to find the most interesting spot on the floor to focus on, all his earlier cockiness gone. he couldn’t believe he’d so effortlessly thrown geto under the bus, and now they were both neck-deep in your wrath. geto, on the other hand, still looked like a deer in headlights, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a satisfactory explanation for the pink shirt.

your gaze slowly shifted back to geto, who visibly tensed under the weight of your stare. you crossed your arms, eyes still sharp as you raised an eyebrow. “well?” you prompted, your voice low but demanding. “explain.”

geto’s heart thudded in his chest, his tongue feeling heavy and clumsy as he tried to form words under your intense scrutiny. he swallowed hard, his mind scrambling to come up with any sort of explanation that might appease you.

“i...i...” he started, his voice cracking slightly. “i just...i didn’t...uh...”

he trailed off, his eyes darting to where gojo sat, silently mouthing, “help me, man!” but gojo only shrugged, unwilling to come to his aid and risk drawing your anger back towards himself.

geto’s throat went dry. his usual calm and collected demeanor was nowhere to be found as he fumbled for words. he could feel the color draining from his face, his mind scrambling for any excuse that wouldn’t make things worse. but there was no escaping this one.

“i—uh…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “i didn’t realize the pink clothes were mixed in with the whites. it was an honest mistake, i swear.” he glanced over at gojo for a split second, hoping for some kind of lifeline, but gojo was firmly staring at the floor, wisely avoiding your gaze after nearly getting himself in deeper trouble.

“i didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” geto continued, his voice softening as he gave you a tentative, apologetic look. “i’ll… i’ll fix it. i promise.” you didn’t say anything at first, just continued to glare at him, making him squirm under the silence. geto knew he had messed up, and the longer you stared at him, the more he regretted it.

the silence was deafening, and geto fidgeted nervously, the weight of your glare like a vise around his throat. gojo watched from the corner of his eye, still trying to act casual even as the tension in the room grew.

geto swallowed hard, his mind racing for anything that might soften your anger. “listen, i know i messed up,” he began, his voice dropping to a quiet, contrite tone. “but i swear, i’d never do it on purpose. it was an error, a genuine mistake. it won't happen again.”

“damn right it won’t,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “because you two are redoing the laundry now.” gojo, still sitting stiffly beside geto, looked like he wanted to say something smart but quickly thought better of it. geto, on the other hand, sighed in defeat, clearly knowing there was no getting out of this.

gojo and geto exchanged a glance, both knowing that they had no choice but to follow your command. gojo let out a weary sigh, already dreading the chore ahead, while geto simply nodded in submission.

“yes, ma’am,” geto murmured, rising from the couch. gojo followed suit, reluctantly getting to his feet as well. the two men both looked like puppies that had just been chastised as they trailed after you as you led the way to the laundry room.

with matching groans of reluctance, the two strongest sorcerers in the world—men who had faced countless curses without fear—got up from the couch, heads hanging low, and shuffled toward the laundry room like a pair of scolded children.

as they passed, you shook your head, muttering under your breath, “honestly, how hard is it to separate the colors?” geto shot gojo a sideways glance. “this is your fault,” he hissed, still holding a grudge from being thrown under the bus. gojo shrugged, looking unapologetic. “hey, better you than me, man.”

“you owe me,” geto muttered darkly, glaring at him as they got to work on fixing their laundry disaster, while you stood in the doorway with your arms crossed, making sure they did it right this time.

they both muttered and grumbled under their breath as they sorted through the laundry, each taking their turn to throw in a sarcastic comment.

“you know, for being the strongest, we sure do spend a lot of time sorting socks,” geto grumbled, holding up a black one that had somehow gotten mixed in with the white.

gojo rolled his eyes, grabbing the sock from his friend and dropping it into the correct pile. “well, if you had been more careful—”

“oh shut up, satoru.”

you leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as you watched gojo and geto sort through the laundry, their faces set in identical frowns. they muttered to each other under their breath, casting glances in your direction every now and then, clearly miffed about being forced into this chore.

as the two men carefully separated the clothes, making sure to keep the colors apart this time, you couldn’t help but smirk. the sight of them working diligently, like a pair of scolded children, was a sight to see. you can hear them blaming each other. “stop fighting,” you tell them.

they both stop their bickering and look up at you. gojo starts to open his mouth, but you shoot him a warning glare, and he quickly closes it. “we’re not fighting,” geto mutters, continuing to sort through the laundry, careful to avoid any more pink shirts.

gojo rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath, but you catch it anyway. “what was that?” you ask sharply, pinning him with a look.

gojo swallows hard, realizing he’s been caught. “nothing,” he mutters sheepishly.

WE HAVE TO STAND FOR OURSELVES

in the kitchen, geto and gojo stood side by side, leaning against the counter, their expressions tense but trying to appear more confident than they actually were. they glanced nervously toward the hallway, making sure you weren’t nearby as they quietly discussed their situation.

“we’re the strongest sorcerers in the world,” gojo muttered, half-convincing himself as much as he was trying to convince geto. “we shouldn’t be scared of her. she’s… she’s just one girl. smaller than us. it’s ridiculous.”

geto nodded, though there was a hint of hesitation in his agreement. “right. we face curses and danger all the time. we can’t let her… you know, terrorize us in our own house. we’re the men in the relationship.”

they had a point. they had faced deadly curses and powerful sorcerers without flinching. but here they were, nervously tip-toeing around their girlfriend like frightened schoolboys.

“absolutely,” gojo continued, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “we can’t let her intimidate us. we’re stronger than her. we’re the strongest.” geto nodded again, though he seemed a bit less sure this time. “we need to show her that we won’t be pushed around... right?”

they both tried to sound resolute, but there was a visible nervousness in their body language—shoulders tense, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds, like they were expecting you to burst in at any moment.

“yeah,” gojo added, his voice lowering as if he didn’t even believe what he was saying. “we can’t let her push us around. i mean, come on. we’re gojo satoru and geto suguru. we shouldn’t be scared of her. right?”

but even as the words left his mouth, the doubt was clear. geto let out a small sigh, nodding but with much less confidence than before. “yeah, totally. we shouldn’t be scared… at all.”

there was a brief pause as both of them exchanged uneasy glances, neither wanting to admit just how much they were actually afraid of upsetting you. their bravado was shaky at best.

the silence stretched on. clearly, both men were starting to panic. they were not used to feeling weak, and to have you—someone they cared about and respected—wielding so much power over them was uncomfortable to say the least.

“so we...we should confront her, right? show her we're not afraid?” gojo asked, more for reassurance than anything else. geto nodded half-heartedly, his own confidence flagging as the thought of facing you head-on filled him with unease.

just as their uncertainty reached its peak, the echo of your footsteps rang through the hallway. they both went still, their eyes wide as they heard you approaching and turned to look at each other in panic. the color drained from their faces, and all the bravado they had been trying to muster moments ago completely evaporated.

you appeared in the hallway, looking nothing like the terrifying figure they had been hyping themselves up to face. instead, you were dressed in your cozy cat printed pajamas, your hair slightly messy, and you looked more like someone ready for a peaceful evening than the source of their terror. you seemed so casual and calm, it was almost comical.

but despite how cute and harmless you looked, the effect on the two strongest sorcerers was instant. when you reached them and stood in front of them, a casual look on your face as you were about to ask what they were up to, they immediately went into panic mode. without a second thought, both men dropped to their knees, their faces showing sheer dread.

“it was all suguru’s idea!” gojo blurted out immediately, throwing his best friend under the bus without hesitation, his eyes wide with fear. he didn’t even give geto a chance to protest before continuing. “he said we should stand up to you, that we’re the strongest sorcerers and shouldn’t be scared. i—I told him it was a bad idea!“

geto glared at gojo, but he was too terrified to defend himself properly. “i—what?! you were the one who said we shouldn’t let her push us around!” he stammered, trying to shift the blame back.

you looked at them, clearly confused by their sudden and dramatic display of fear. your eyebrows knitted together as you took in the sight of gojo and geto kneeling in front of you, their faces pale and their eyes wide with distress. it was such a stark contrast to the usual confident and unflappable demeanor they showed in almost every other situation.

“what is going on with you two?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion. “why are you both on the floor?” you glanced between them, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene before you. the sight of them so unnerved and trying to pass the blame off on each other was bewildering. your calm demeanor and casual attire made the whole situation seem even more surreal.

they both looked up at you, their faces a mixture of fear and shame. gojo opened his mouth to speak, but geto cut him off immediately, wanting to defend himself.

“please, we're sorry,” geto blurted out, his voice quavering slightly. “we were just... uh...”

gojo chimed in, his voice still panicked. “we were just... messing around. yeah, messing around. just having a bit of fun.” they look at you, silently begging for forgiveness and trying hard to hide their previous arrogance.

you looked at them, your expression turning from confusion to genuine puzzlement as you tried to make sense of their frantic apologies and conflicting explanations. “messing around? having fun?” you repeated, clearly unsure of what they were talking about.

“what are you guys even saying?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. you took a step closer, still trying to understand what could have prompted such an over-the-top reaction. “seriously baby, what’s going on? did i miss something?” your hands softly find their cheek, gently rubbing your thumbs across their skin.

the feeling of your hands on their cheeks was both soothing and embarrassing. they leaned into your touch, their bodies still tense with anxiety.

“we... we were just...” gojo began, his voice cracking slightly. geto cut him off again, clearly not wanting his friend to say anything else that could dig them deeper into trouble.

“it's nothing, really,” he mutters, looking up at you with a mix of guilt and shame. “just a silly argument. we're sorry if we worried you.” their panicked expressions soften slightly as they look up at you, still on their knees. they look so pathetic, and so uncharacteristically vulnerable, that it's almost endearing.

you looked down at them, your expression softening as you saw their vulnerable and somewhat endearing state. a small, amused smile played at the corners of your lips as you reached out to gently stroke their cheeks.

“you two weren't in bed,” you said, your tone light and soothing, “i was looking for you two. i just wanted to see if my boyfriends wanted to cuddle or hang out. i didn’t realize you were having such a… dramatic moment.”

the tension in their bodies seemed to ease at your words and soft touch. they both looked up at you, their eyes full of guilt and embarrassment.

“we, uh...” gojo started, but geto cut him off again.

“we're sorry we didn't notice you looking for us,” he muttered, his voice still laced with shame. “we were just having a... disagreement, and we didn't want to bother you.” they both looked up at you with puppy dog eyes, their faces full of remorse.

seeing the guilt and embarrassment in their eyes, you softened, feeling a wave of affection for them despite their earlier antics. you reached out and gently helped them to their feet, your touch reassuring and comforting.

“come on, baby,” you said, your voice warm as you guided them towards the bedroom.

you could tell they were feeling remorseful, and despite your confusion over their odd behavior, you chose not to press the issue. instead, you opted to show them a different kind of comfort. “let’s just go to bed and cuddle,” you continued, smiling at them, “it’ll be okay.“

as you led them toward the bedroom, gojo’s initial nervousness began to melt away in the warmth of your gentle presence. noticing your obliviousness to the full extent of their earlier antics, he seized the opportunity to return to his usual self, his playful side resurfacing.

“you know,” gojo began, sliding closer to you with a wide, affectionate grin, “i’ve really missed you today.” he snuggled up to you, his usual playful demeanor coming back full force. “it’s like, you’re the best part of my day, and i’ve been counting the minutes until we could be like this again.”

geto, feeling the shift in gojo’s mood, couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the change. he followed suit, wrapping an arm around you as you all made your way to the bedroom. “yeah, what toru said,” he added with a softer smile “we definitely missed you.“

behind the closed door, the three of you entered the bedroom, where the soft, dim lighting created a cozy and comforting atmosphere. as you led them both toward the bed, gojo began to shed his shirt, the fabric slipping off his toned body with an air of nonchalance.

“you know,” he stated casually, “i think a cuddle session is exactly what we need right now.” he tossed his shirt aside, not even bothering to see where it landed as he flopped down onto the bed.

geto followed suit, tossing his shirt and pants aside as well before joining gojo on the bed. “definitely,” he agreed, resting his head on the pillow. “i could use a good cuddle right now. it’s been a long day, after all.”

both men looked up at you expectantly, their eyes full of a mix of affection and mischief. they patted the space between them, silently inviting you to join the snuggle puddle.

“come here,” gojo said, his voice low and warm.

as you complied with their silent invitation, snuggling in between them, gojo wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer against his bare chest. geto did the same, snuggling up against your back and molding his body to yours. his hand lightly caressed your arm, the touch tender and intimate.

“this is nice,” gojo murmured, burying his face into your hair. “i love having you here like this.”

the warmth of their bodies against yours was like a small, comfortable sanctuary. gojo’s arms were wrapped securely around you, his bare chest pressed against your back. geto was curled up behind you, his body molding to yours like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together.

“it’s perfect,” geto agreed, his voice soft and muffled as he nuzzled into your hair. “having you here with us like this just makes everything feel right in the world.” gojo hummed in agreement, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across your skin. “absolutely,” he said, his eyes closing in contentment.

for a few moments, none of you spoke, the only sound was the soft rustle of sheets and the steady beat of everyone's hearts. then, gojo spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “can i tell you something, baby?”

you hum softly, still buried your face on his chest.

gojo's fingers continued to caress your skin as he gathered his thoughts. he was quiet for a few moments before he finally spoke, his voice soft and serious.

“you know we care about you more than anything, right?” he asked, his hand moving to gently tilt your chin up so that you were looking at him. “more than anything in the entire world.” geto, sensing the sincerity in gojo’s words, moved in close on your other side, his arm wrapping tighter around you. “he’s right,” he muttered. “you mean the world to us.”

you felt a swell of warmth at their heartfelt words. you looked up at gojo, his gaze soft and sincere, and then turned to meet geto’s equally genuine eyes. your heart ached with affection for them both.

“i know,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. the emotions were almost overwhelming. you tightened your grip around gojo’s waist, pulling him closer, and then reached out to draw geto nearer to you as well.

gojo and geto both responded instantly to your wordless gesture, their bodies drawing closer as if magnetized to yours. gojo pulled you impossibly close to him, his arms embracing you like a vice, while geto pressed himself against your back, completing the cozy little sandwich.

gojo pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds before he spoke again, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smirk. “we just... we want to make sure you feel loved and safe, always.”

geto’s chin rested on your shoulder, and he added his own gentle kisses to your neck and face. his hands stroked your arms soothingly, his touch tender and affectionate.

“always,” he echoed gojo’s sentiment, his voice low and earnest, “you matter so much to us, baby.” gojo’s chest vibrated slightly as he hummed, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

“we’d do anything for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

you let out a contented sigh, feeling the weight of their embrace and the tenderness of gojo’s kiss on your forehead. the warmth of their bodies pressed against you was incredibly comforting, and you closed your eyes for a moment to fully appreciate the feeling.

“i feel safe,” you murmured, your voice soft and sincere, “i always feel safe with you two, more than with anyone else. each time you cuddle me, it’s like my brain just turns off. i get so comfortable that i could fall asleep in seconds.”

you nestled even closer into their arms, savoring the sense of security and peace they provided. their combined presence was like a soothing balm, washing away any lingering worries or stress. in their embrace, you felt completely at ease, and the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the gentle comfort of their love.

gojo and geto both tightened their hold on you even more as you spoke, their bodies pressing against yours like an impenetrable wall of warmth and affection. the knowledge that you felt safe and secure with them, that their presence could turn off your worries and calm your mind, filled their chests with a deep sense of contentment.

“good,” geto murmured against your neck. “that's exactly how it should be.”

gojo nuzzled against your hair, his arms wrapping impossibly tighter around you. “you should always feel like this,” he said, “like nothing in the world can touch you.”

as the three of you continued to snuggle, geto’s hand began tracing gentle patterns up and down your arm, his touch soothing and rhythmic.

“we would do anything to make sure you feel this way,” he said softly. “you deserve nothing less than happiness and comfort.” gojo leaned down slightly to press another gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a few moments before he spoke again.

“always, baby... always.”

you intertwine your free hand with geto’s, feeling his fingers gently intertwine with yours. with your other hand, you caressed gojo’s bare waist, enjoying the warmth and closeness of him.

as you felt their soothing touches and heard their comforting words, you closed your eyes, already starting to drift off. “i’m so grateful for you both,” you murmured softly, your voice barely audible. “thank you for being in my life.”

gojo and geto both held you tighter as you intertwined your fingers with geto’s and rested your palm on gojo’s waist. the simple touch was like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place, completing the circle of love and affection that surrounded you.

their hearts swelled with emotion at your words, and they both responded in unison, their voices low and soothing. “we’re the grateful ones, sweetheart,” gojo spoke up. “we should be thanking you for bringing us into your life,” geto continued, his voice warm and gentle.

you felt their embrace tighten around you, the simple touches of intertwined fingers and a warm palm on gojo’s waist completing the circle of love and affection. their words filled the space around you, wrapping you in a cocoon of emotional warmth.

as their voices melded into a soothing, harmonious backdrop, you drifted further into the comfort they provided. the gentle rise and fall of their breaths and the steady rhythm of their heartbeats guided you toward sleep.

you didn't have the chance to respond, as the comfort of their presence and their heartfelt words lulled you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

gojo and geto each felt a sense of deep contentment wash over them as they heard your breaths become slower and more even, signaling your descent into sleep. they held you close, their embraces protective and affectionate.

they watched over you as you slept, their gazes full of admiration and love. they continued to whisper soft, soothing words and gentle touches, ensuring you slept undisturbed and surrounded by their love.

“sweet dreams, baby,” gojo said quietly, his lips brushing your forehead. geto echoed his sentiment, his hand gently running through your hair. “we love you so much.”

the room was filled with a peaceful, quiet atmosphere, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of sheets and the soft rhythm of their breaths. gojo and geto were completely engrossed in their silent vigil, their senses fully attuned to you and your every movement.

slowly, the dawn began to break, casting a soft, morning glow into the room. it caught the edges of gojo’s silver hair and geto’s dark locks, creating a soft, halo-like effect around their heads.

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

It’s Dustin who saves Eddie.

He doesn’t try and carry him back to the trailer, nothing like that—if he could manage that on determination alone, then he would, but his throbbing leg has other ideas.

So he stays by Eddie’s side. Throws off his hoodie and starts to rip any piece of his clothing that he can, because he’s come a long way from when he once stuck bandaids on Steve’s beaten up face.

“What… what are you doing?” Eddie says in between gasping breaths.

Dustin would laugh if he wasn’t so scared. “Buying more time,” he echoes. Then he looks Eddie right in the eye and adds, voice wavering, “I’m really fucking sorry in advance.”

He takes a deep breath and presses the material to Eddie’s chest with force.

Eddie screams.

Dustin grits his teeth. Keeps going.

He creates makeshift tourniquets for Eddie’s arms, keeps tearing at his shirt, then takes it off entirely to use as a larger bandage, ignoring the shock of cold against his skin; the only thought in his head is that he has to stop the bleeding.

Eddie’s hand finds his bare shoulder. Squeezes weakly. “Tha’s enough,” he slurs. “D-Dustin, stop.”

And Dustin only does what he says because it doesn’t look like any more blood is soaking through the material. He keeps pressure on the worst of the wounds, tries to keep his elbows locked, as if that will stop his relentless shivering.

And when he looks up, he sees a tear fall from Eddie’s eye, down his temple, into his hair—and Dustin somehow knows that it’s not from pain alone, that Eddie’s crying just because he can see how cold he is.

“M’sorry,” Eddie whispers. “Never meant for… for you to—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, then hastily amends, “Actually, don’t shut up, just—just stay awake. They’ll be back soon, okay, Steve and Robin and Nancy, and they’ll—”

“Steve,” Eddie agrees. His voice goes up and down, like a little song: “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“Yeah, he’ll—hey, Eddie, eyes open.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie says faintly. “Eyes… oh, forgot to… you were right, H-Henderson, he’s… a badass. S’got pretty eyes, too, like wow. Pretty, pretty…”

And…

Well. That’s a development.

“You can tell me all about Steve’s pretty eyes if you keep yours open.”

And Eddie’s eyes do jolt open at that, like he’s received an electric shock. He groans in mortification.

“Jesus Christ. Didn’t mean to—fuck, feel like I’m drunk, man, I can’t… just kill me.”

Dustin thinks he probably would have found that request funny if Eddie wasn’t saying it through teeth flecked with blood.

Still, he does let out a strangled, hysterical giggle when he says, “I know how to keep you awake now.”

Eddie groans again. “Spare me the—”

“He sings in the shower, like, full blown Elvis impression, all that jazz. And he denies having lucky socks, but he wears the same pair whenever Lucas has a basketball game.”

“Huh?” Eddie says eloquently.

“Pay attention, dude, you need to know what you’re getting into! Oh, he said when he went to see The Fox and the Hound, he cried.”

Eddie chuckles. “That’s… oh, that’s sweet.” He smiles, eyes bright, and Dustin suddenly knows that they’re gonna be okay. “Keep going?”

Dustin does. He talks about how Steve always says, “Two for joy,” even when he sees a singular magpie, because he reasons that the second one is always just hiding. How he eats ice-cream too fast, does a comical hop in place when he inevitably gets brain freeze. That whenever he happens to pick up Dustin from school, he almost always has a Simon and Garfunkel tape playing, sings along to At the Zoo as he turns out of the parking lot.

Dustin doesn’t mention the Farrah Fawcett spray; a promise is a promise.

Eddie seems pretty damn well entertained with what he’s been given, anyway. He keeps smiling, lets out breathy chuckles that give Dustin hope: that he still has enough energy to laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” he says, “I’m so awake, jus’… you just relax.”

And it’s only when Dustin stops talking that he realises his teeth have been chattering the whole time.

Eddie gives an unhappy sounding hum, and his hand comes up to clumsily rub at Dustin’s forearm.

“Your lips are blue.”

“I’m f-fine.”

A sudden desperate yell splits through the air; Dustin didn’t know that Steve could sound quite like that.

“Here!” Dustin shouts as much as he can.

He hears three people running; Steve gets there first.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Steve,” he says, and Dustin’s seen enough movies to think that this could be it, the big moment, or at the very least that Eddie’s about to give another wandering speech on Steve’s eyes.

But instead—

“Steve, Steve,” Eddie repeats, “Dustin’s cold.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says; he’s already taking off his jacket, shoving Dustin into it with this frantic mixture of urgency and care.

Dustin’s shivers get even more pronounced as the jacket’s zipped up, as the warmth from Steve’s body heat hits him.

“Think E-Eddie’s—b-bleeding stopped,” he says, accidentally biting on his tongue thanks to his chattering teeth.

Steve looks over Dustin’s handiwork, eyes shining. “Yeah, you did good,” he says, choked, rubs his hands down Dustin’s forearms more effectually than Eddie had. “You did so good.”

“You must’ve been wearing your socks tonight, Harrington,” Eddie says.

Steve stares at him. It’s only when he starts to laugh that Dustin realises he’s crying at the same time. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Shh, s’okay,” Eddie says. “I cried at th’movie, too, don’ tell anyone. S’not fair what… s’posed to be a happy endin’…”

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, says, deadpan, even with a tear-streaked face, “Doc, I think we’re losing him.”

Dustin whacks him on the arm, because it’s so stupid, it’s so Steve, and, God, they're really gonna be okay.

“Dustin’s th’best doctor,” Eddie chants, “best, best, best…”

“Yeah, he’s a goddamn superhero,” Steve says sincerely.

There’s a look Steve has on his face while he lifts Eddie up, a fleeting softness right before he goes back into planning mode, scanning the trailer park in case of any more threats; where Eddie’s fingers curl around Steve’s neck, and Steve smiles down at him, and…

Dustin would put a bet on Steve thinking Eddie has pretty eyes, too.

At least, he would if he could stand up.

When Steve clocks his leg, his jaw works a couple of times before he speaks. “Hey, Robin, Nance?” He raises his voice, looking to some point in the distance. “Could you—help Dustin up, I’ve—uh, kinda got my hands full.”

His tone is light, but his chin trembles just a bit, like he might break down at the thought that he can’t carry Dustin out of here, too.

“Okay, c’mon superhero,” Robin says, suddenly by Dustin’s side; she counts down, and then Dustin’s being carefully lifted up, an arm flung around Nancy, too.

“I’m okay,” Dustin feels the need to say. Robin and Nancy are out of breath, and he can’t help noticing the vivid red marks around their necks.

“Yeah, you will be,” Robin corrects.

“Is—is Eddie—?”

“Look, he’s right in front,” Nancy says. “Steve’s got him.” She lowers her voice and when she says, “You were really brave, you know,” Dustin has to swallow a lump in his throat: for a moment feels thirteen years old, her hand in his at the Snow Ball.

And she’s right; Eddie is right in front. Dustin can see him trailing a hand up and down Steve’s arm, slow and soothing, and he’s talking, just too far away to be heard.

For a few steps, Dustin thinks that Eddie must be spilling more of what he’s learned, regurgitating the anecdotes.

But then Robin and Nancy pull him a little closer. And he can read Eddie’s lips.

He’s okay, Eddie is saying, looking away from Steve’s face to find where Dustin is. He’s right behind us, sweetheart. He’s okay.

#dustin henderson fic #eddie and dustin #steve and dustin #steddie with dustin’s pov #henderfam #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #steve harrington #eddie munson #i couldn’t resist the music reference it’s a song i love but wasn’t coming up in nbtdad ❤️#dustin and nancy

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bucks-babe · 2 months

Text

Not Like This

Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff

A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog

“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”

“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.

“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”

Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”

You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.

“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.

As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.

“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.

“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.

You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?

“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.

You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?

You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.

“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.

You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.

“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.

“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.

He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.

“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.

“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.

“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.

“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?

Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.

You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.

Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.

He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.

Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.

You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”

Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.

Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.

He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.

Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.

Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.

He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.

“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.

You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.

“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.

“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”

“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”

He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.

“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.

You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.

“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”

“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.

“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”

“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?

“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”

Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #buck

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makochi-furin · 2 months

Text

KAJI REN AND DAZAI OSAMU WITH S/O WHO WAS PREVIOUSLY IN A PHYSICALLY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP

A/N: these are what my scenarios look like :)

WARNING(s): reader used to be in an abusive relationship, mentions of PTSD

KAJI REN

Your boyfriend, Ren, had texted you earlier today that his mom was out, and that if you wanted to you could come over, or you two could go out to town to do something, since he didn't have rounds today.

You jumped on the chance, obviously, quickly getting dressed and practically running to his house. It wasn't often that you two got to spend time together, even on weekends, because Bofurin took up so much of his time. You were so proud of him, of course, for being in Bofurin, but you also missed him a lot.

That's how you found yourself in his room. After about two hours of catching up and joking around, he asked you if you'd mind him playing on his PlayStation. Apparently, one of his friends had asked him to join.

You said it was okay out of habit, because before, with your ex, if you'd have said anything else... Let's just say you'd end up feeling it. Plus, Ren told you it'd only be about thirty minutes, and then he'd take you to go get food.

He didn't have any sort of headset on, though, so you pretty much sat on his bed and watched him, talking all throughout about any random thing that popped into your head.

Although he didn't reply much, you knew he was listening. His headphones were around his neck, after all, and sometimes you'd catch him smiling about something you said.

He was quiet, and it was nice to be able to talk about yourself for a change. Though, with Ren, it seemed like you were always talking about yourself. You just hadn't gotten to in so long. Talking about yourself before Ren was usually met with ridicule.

Eventually, you two settled into a comfortable silence. You leaned back on the headboard, phone in your hand as you scrolled through social media.

You got a pop up that your phone was about to die, which had you pouting at the screen. Looking around, you saw a phone charger on his nightstand, but it wasn't plugged in. You couldn't see an outlet anywhere nearby.

"Hey, Ren?" you started hesitantly.

He hummed.

"Can I use your phone?"

Ren nodded, quickly grabbing it from his pocket and tossing it onto the foot of the bed. "Why?"

You were shocked. Astonished, even. Carefully, you took his phone, opened it, and were even more shocked when you realized there wasn't a password. Shaking your head, his question finally caught up to you. "Oh, mine's almost dead."

He nodded towards the outlet beside his desk. "You can charge it there, if you want."

You smiled, grabbing your phone and his charger. As you made your way past him, you couldn't help but ruffle his hair playfully.

He rolled his eyes at you, but gave a little smile.

Crouching down beside the outlet, you realized it was already full. You were pretty sure the grey cord was the one that was connected to his PlayStation, so you instinctually unplugged the black one without even thinking about it.

When the quiet sound effects from his game immediately stopped, you felt your heart drop. Genuinely, it was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on your head, and now your every muscle was tense.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Your ex always scolded you for never being able to do anything right. Being with Ren, you had begun to move past that. Now, though, you were agreeing with him.

Ren watched the screen go black, blinking with the controller still in his hands. After a few seconds, his jaw locked and he lied his head back on his chair.

You didn't even say anything, too scared to. All you could do was stay crouched there like an idiot, the cord still in your trembling hands, watching his reaction like a hawk.

He didn't seem happy.

He sighed, ran a hand down his face, and then stood up and began walking over to you.

You popped up into a standing position, pulled taut like a rubber band about to snap. The offending cord was still in your stupid hands.

You wished Ren was more easily readable, because he had the same stoic expression he always did. Only, when you caught sight of the annoyance in his blue eyes, you changed your mind. You wished he had stayed unreadable.

"R-Ren, I'm so sorry," you breathed, feet glued to the ground. You felt completely unable to move.

"Yeah... It's fine," he muttered, reaching out for you.

Instinctually, you turned your face away and raised your hands to block the hit. It was a motion you'd ton plenty of times before. In fact, it was so ingrained in you that you didn't even realize you were moving, didn't realize you were holding your breath, until the strike never landed.

Slowly, you peaked open an eye to look at him.

Ren was staring at you oddly, his hand held out palm upwards. He was frozen, too, and you could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. For a moment, it looked like he was short circuiting.

"I... I was just gonna plug it back in," he explained awkwardly, eyes moving from the cord in your hand to the outlet on the wall.

You flushed red immediately, beating yourself up over how stupid you'd made yourself look. "Right... Right, I'm sorry." You practically shoved the cord into his chest, still shaking and unable to move your body how you wanted to.

Ren nodded, examining you with his eyes. Then, he let the cord fall to the ground. Slowly, as if scared of frightening you, he sat down on the edge of his bed. He grabbed your shirt, gently pulling you between his legs, looking up at you.

You didn't want to meet his eyes, hoping he'd just forget it ever happened and move on. You felt stupid enough without him adding onto it.

"What was that about?" he asked quietly, hands resting on your hips. "Did you think I was gonna hit you?"

Too ashamed to answer, all you could do was shrug. You were sure you were a pitiful sight, still trembling like a chihuahua.

To your immense relief, he didn't look offended. Rather, he looked worried. There was a storm gathering in his dark blue eyes, but his voice had never been gentler as he asked, "Why?"

You knew what he was saying. He'd never hit you before, or even come close. Ren hadn't even ever yelled at you. Sure, maybe the two of you hadn't been together for long, but you'd done plenty of things at this point that your ex would've freaked out about. Ren would only assure you that it was fine, that there was no need to apologize for every little thing.

You couldn't speak for a few minutes, terrified to tell him the truth, but also wanting to. For some reason, you wanted him to know, even though you also didn't. You didn't want him to look at you differently, but now that he was asking outright, you really didn't want to lie, either.

Finally, after several minutes of gathering up enough courage, you told him. Maybe not everything, but enough.

"You know... my ex?"

Ren nodded, already knowing where this was going. He didn't know the guy personally, but he'd heard stories. It was a small town.

"When he was mad, he hit me," you said simply, trying to shrug like it was no big deal, but Ren could see right through that. "It doesn't matter anymore."

He hated himself for not knowing the words to make you feel better about it; he really did. For the life of him, Ren didn't know what to say. He was the stupid one. All he could do was pull you closer, wrap his arms around your waist, and squeeze.

He really wasn't good with words, and he'd never felt like more of an asshole for it.

You played mindlessly with his hair, honestly happy that he wasn't digging anymore into it. "I'm sorry," you couldn't help but say, feeling like this whole awkward situation was your fault.

"Never apologize for things you didn't do," Ren said quickly, and you were taken aback by how firm his voice was, leaving no room for argument.

Trying to lighten the mood a little, you said, "Well, someone has to," with a bittersweet smile. Then, you hugged him back, enjoying the warmth, the comfort that came from being wrapped up in him.

He didn't reply. Instead, he just held you.

After that, you thought it was over.

Ren didn't mention it again, and everything was out in the open. The air was cleared, and now you didn't have to feel guilty for "lying" by omission. You'd never need to think about your ex again, and Ren didn't look at you differently (to your immense relief).

He was more mindful of not frightening you accidentally, but that was really all that changed.

At least, you thought it was.

One day, you were lounging on his bed again, phone in hand. He was at his desk, playing a game with his friend from Bofurin. Afterwards, he was taking you out for dango, which you were looking forward to.

Suddenly, you got a text from him. From your ex. It made your stomach churn just seeing his name pop up on your phone again, but you were curious, so you read it.

'I'm so, so sorry for everything I did to you. You deserve so much better than me. I'm just a piece of shit, and you were way too good for me. I'm just really, really sorry.'

Your eyes flew open, because that was not your ex, but the number was definitely his. "Hey, Ren, check this out," you whispered, awed.

"What is it?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at you with raised eyebrows. His hands, bandages over his knuckles from a recent fight where he had "gone a little too hard" (his words), held steady to his controller.

"My ex... He apologized to me," you breathed, still in shock. Your ex was not the kind of person to apologize. Even when he left you bruised and bloody, no apologies came, only half-assed excuses and monologues about how mean his mom was.

"Crazy," Ren said in a deadpan tone, turning back around to his game.

You blinked, suddenly putting the pieces together. These words were not your ex's, not by choice, anyways. And Ren had met you on the bridge last night with those bandages, but no other signs of a fight, not even a scratch or bruise.

Your eyes widened, dropping your phone immediately to stare into the back of Ren's chair. "Ren...?"

He hummed.

"Did you do something?"

"Uh, yeah," he said bluntly.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You stood up and went over to his chair, looking down at him with wide eyes. "What exactly... did you do?"

He didn't even look at you, eyes still trained on his game, as he casually said, "I beat the shit out of him."

"Ren!"

He only shrugged, and then wrapped one arm around your waist to pull you closer until you were sitting on the arm of his chair. Ren kissed the back of your shoulder, and then said, "Someone needed to."

Kaji Ren wasn't great with words, and in the moment when you told him about your ex, he'd never hated himself more for it. That is, until he remembered how great with his fists he was.

DAZAI OSAMU

You sat on the couch in the living room of Osamu's small apartment, where you had been staying pretty much since the two of you started dating. Outside the window, you could see the stars shining against a nearly black sky. Tired to the bone, all that was stopping you from passing out in his bed, which smelled so sweetly of him, was the fact that he was still out on some mission.

Knowing what he did for a living, especially knowing how dangerous it was, you just never felt right going to sleep without seeing him back home first, safe and sound. As such, you sat with a fluffy throw you'd brought from home over your lap, trying to pay attention to the soap opera playing on the TV to no avail.

You were worried sick, constantly checking your phone for updates, but he hadn't texted you back in hours. It was nearly three in the morning now, and as the minutes ticked on, you felt your heart encase itself with this terrible dread and worry.

You knew before you started dating him about his job at the detective agency, but you'd never imagined back then how attached you would become to him. He didn't seem like the type to stay, so you never figured you'd be up all night worried.

Alas, here you were, halfway getting ready to drive to the agency building and ask about his whereabouts.

You flinched, brought out of your mind, when the door very slowly creaked open. Immediately, you turned around to look over the couch, relief washing over you like warm sun rays when you saw Osamu walking in.

"Hey," he said softly, probably seeing from the deep bags under your eyes how tired you were. Osamu's eyebrows pinched together, concerned, as he carefully placed his trench coat on the counter. "What are you still doing up?" He made his way over to the back of the couch, long, thin fingers absently going to lightly scratch against your scalp. Crouching slightly so he'd be closer to you, Osamu tilted his head. "You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

The way his fingers softly tugged at the roots of your hair sent a pleasant shiver through your body. "Of course, I was... I wanted to make sure you were safe." You tilted your head up and back to properly look at him, dazed momentarily by the way his lips lifted into the softest smile, his brown eyes twinkling.

"I'm sorry. I would've called you, but my phone went dead." He leaned down to brush his lips against your hairline, hand leaving your hair. "You should get some sleep. I'll join you after I take a shower."

You nodded, the memory of his touch ghosting over you. "Okay." Honestly, you couldn't think of anything better than going to sleep. Part of you wanted to be a little pissy with him for not getting back to you somehow, but the other part was just too relieved to see him in one piece.

"I'll be out in ten," he said, squeezing your shoulder before walking off down the hall.

You sighed lightly once he left, pushing your blanket to the side and standing up. Stretching your arms over your head, you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

Osamu was rough around the edges, and it had taken him quite some time to get used to being in a relationship, but being with him felt like a breath of fresh air. Your previous partner might have lowered your standards some, but after months and months, you still felt safe with Osamu.

He didn't switch up on you like your last had.

It was a testament to how far you'd come that you were annoyed about him not answering. In your last, that was the last thing on your mind. Your physical health wasn't always guaranteed back then, because your last had a penchant for punching everything that inconvenienced him and a short fuse to match.

Even reminiscing about it made your muscles tense up, so you quickly shook away the thought. Just as you were about to head into the bedroom, you saw his coat lying on the counter out of the corner of your eye. With an exasperated sigh, you walked over to pick it up and hang it on the coat rack.

Osamu had a terrible habit of dropping his clothes wherever.

You picked it up, about to hang it on the rack when your fingers cramped. Wincing, the coat fell from your grasp. As soon as it hit the floor, there was a loud POP! that had you covering your ears, dizzy and confused.

It was accompanied by the terribly loud shatter of glass, and shards falling unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor.

You gasped and jumped back, eyes widened with horror. Apparently, his gun had been in there, and now, like the idiot klutz you were, his living room window was shattered.

Just like that, all of your progress froze. You were in fight or flight, blood pumping rapidly through your veins. You could feel your heartbeat at every pulse point, because oh, my god.

He was going to be so angry.

You were acting on autopilot now, flashbacks coming to you of a time when you'd accidentally broken a plate—just a plate—and your ex put you in the ER for it. This was a whole window. You were hyperventilating, your brain cut off from oxygen and getting fuzzy.

It wasn't a second after the gun went off that you'd flown over to the window and crouched down, trying to gather all the pieces. Maybe, if you had it cleaned up by the time Osamu was out of the shower, he wouldn't be as angry.

You didn't really hear him frantically shout your name from the bathroom, the buzzing in your ears too loud. Neither did you hear him running into the living room, panic in his eyes as he assumed the worst.

When Osamu saw you there, he blinked, confused. When his eyes found the trench coat not lying where he'd placed it, he understood immediately.

"Hey, hey, hey. Baby, that's glass," he said, quickly making his way over. He'd already taken his shirt off, revealing the bandages wrapped around his middle and up his neck.

You didn't really hear him, nor did you notice how the shards cut your hands. Blood dripped down your fingers, palms, and wrists, staining the glass and the floor red.

Osamu crouched down beside you, eyes widening at the bloody scene. He immediately grabbed your wrists to stop you from collecting any more glass shards, his grip firm, but gentle.

You froze, too scared to look at him. "I'm so sorry," you whispered, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes. "I didn't mean to, Osamu. I swear. I—"

"Hey, it was my fault," he replied, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have left a loaded gun lying around like that. I'm sorry, okay? I'll clean this up later."

"I—I can do it," you insisted, finally looking at him. Your breath stopped when you saw the sadness in his eyes, the way he looked like he just knew.

He smiled at you, but it was placatingly, as if he knew the quickest way to go about this was to simply go along with your panicked ravings. "I'm sure you can, baby, but I will. It's my fault. Let's get you to the bathroom so I can treat your hands, yeah?"

"My... hands?" You looked at your hands, your wrists still in his grip, and were horrified by how bloody and mangled they looked. Your breathing was starting to even out, finally coming back to yourself.

"Yeah, just..." He eyed the glass, and it was all around. Tiny shards that glinted dangerously in the yellow light of a nearby lamp, all around you. "Don't move."

You were still dazed, so you just did what he said.

Osamu stood, and then carefully scooped you up bridal style. Lips pressed into a thin line, he looked around at the floor closely before finally finding a spot where it didn't seem the glass reached. He set you down carefully, and then led you with a hand on the dip of your back to the bathroom.

The next thing you knew, you were sitting on the toilet, in disbelief of the spell you'd just had. Meanwhile, Osamu had lied out tweezers, Neosporin, and bandages on the sink counter.

"I'm sorry," you uttered again, embarrassed of how he'd found you, and more so embarrassed of how he was having to fix you up now. Honestly, you didn't even want to look him in the eye.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said softly, grabbing the tweezers in one hand. With the other, he squeezed your knee. "I'm not quite used to living with someone else yet. I should know better than to leave a loaded gun around."

"I'm so clumsy," you muttered, head falling.

"And I'm an idiot," he said lightly, using a finger to raise your chin. He rested his forehead to your's, closing his eyes tight. "I'm relieved it was the window... When I heard the gunshot, I was terrified it was you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, too, enjoying the closeness. The tears that had brimmed earlier started to fall, but you wouldn't acknowledge them.

"I know what PTSD looks like," he murmured, wrapping his arm around you and holding you close. "If you want to talk about it, we can."

You shook your head, biting your lips. Not yet. You weren't ready yet.

Osamu nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling away. He gently grabbed one of your hands, getting ready to remove the glass from your skin. He made quick work of your hands, and before long they were glass free and bandaged.

He kissed the knuckles on your right hand, and then pulled you up to a standing position. "I'll clean the glass up. You go lay down. I'll be there in a minute, okay?"

You nodded.

That night, as you fell asleep in his arms, you had never felt safer.

#dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #ren kaji x you #ren kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #ren kaji #kaji ren #makochi’s scenario

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harzilla · 3 months

Text

Contains very minor spoilers for book 7(mentions Malleus' unique magic)

I keep thinking of the idea for a fic where, post book 7, Malleus shows up back to Ramshackle. Yuu is sitting outside on the porch just watching the stars and when they see Malleus, they're not really angry at him, but they seem to be just exhausted and sad. They invite him to sit with them and for a bit they're both silent until Yuu starts talking. Talking about the moon and the stars. How they're so similar to home but everything is different. How no matter how hard they try they can't recognize a single constellation.

The conversation turns to Yuu asking if Malleus every really thought of them as a friend, and if he did, why did he never think to tell them how he felt? With all the other overblots, they weren't friends with any of them before they overblotted. But Malleus was different, they were friends first. That maybe if Malleus had said something, maybe they could have helped him through his feelings and somehow prevented his overblot.

Yuu asks if Malleus would like to see what they truly desire, and ask him to use his UM on them as long as he enters the dream with them.

They slip into the dreamscape and Malleus finds himself in an unknown room. He soon realized that, they're back in Yuu's world, in their bedroom. He fills a sense of disappointment because he still thinks that Yuu wants to leave him. But Yuu takes him to their family, and the family is really nice to him. They're so happy they finally get to meet one of Yuu's friends. He sits down at the table and it's nice. The family is asking him questions, cracking jokes, everything feels so normal. He's not being treated like a prince, nobody is acting scared of him, it's feels.. nice.

Yuu takes him to different places around town. The park they played at as a little kid, the lil mom and pop ice cream shop, and the hill where they like to watch the sunset.

The two sit and watch the sunset, and talk about the fun they had and Yuu goes quiet, and talks about how when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, they just wanted to go home, but the longer they stayed there, the more they would think how much they'd miss everybody. Like who would take care of Grim? Who would help Ace and Deuce study for history of magic? Who would keep fixing up Ramshackle? And who would be there to listen to Malleus when he takes his late night walks to admire the ruins and gargoyles?

They've been in Twisted Wonderland so long now, they don't know if they could leave but it hurts so much because they want to see their world again, the family and friends back there. Is it selfish of them to want both?

As they sit together, Malleus asks them if they'd like to continue the dream, and Yuu tells him, no, because no matter how much reality hurts, they still wish to live it. Besides, how would they make sure the school doesn't fall apart if they were gone?

The dream world begins to fall apart and as it all begins disappearing, Yuu tells Malleus that it's time for them to wake up.

The two awaken from the dreamscape, and Yuu's been crying in their sleep. Yuu thanks Malleus for allowing them to go home again, even if it was just a dream.

The two sit in silence for a moment until Malleus apologizes for what he did to them, how he hurt them and hadn't considered how they felt. Yuu that they accept his apology, but they're still mad at him. But as long as they're still here, he has a chance to make things up to them, and if they can find it in their heart to work things out with the other overblots, then they suppose they COULD give him a chance as well.

They hold out their hand to him, and as long as he promises to talk to them first about things that are bothering him, instead of just deciding what's best. They want him to think like a friend, and not a prince because to them, he's Tsunotarou first, and Malleus Draconia, future King of Briar Valley second.

Malleus smiles before he agrees, taking their hand. The two make a promise together. To be better friends to each other, and no matter how much or as little time together they have, they'd be friends.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #malleus draconia #drabble #book 7 spoilers #book 7 twst #angst

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thetriplets3 · 7 months

Note

When you're about to cry and he does that "hey, hey" thing

please do this with chris

❝𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬❞

chris and i have been together for almost 4 months now having met at a small get together of a mutual friend, which when it comes to them a small get together turns into a party.

-flashback-

i had wandered off starting to feel overwhelmed from the constant talking around me. soon enough i found myself in a room that was turned into a makeshift music studio. the room felt inviting and safe for me to hid in for a while. any open space that wasn’t cover with furniture of some kind was filled with more plants than i could name. the warm soft light beckoned me to make myself comfortable, choosing a bean bag nestled in the corner for an extra sense of security. i curled into myself getting comfy figuring it’d be a while till my friend wanted to go home since i went with her. shutting my eyes i listened to the soft sound of the music playing from the other side of the house. the sound of the mini fridge closing startled me, snapping me back to reality.

“oh shit my bad i didn’t think anyone would be here sorry if i scare you. i was just grabbing a pepsi and was hang out here for a bit but i can go if you wanna be alone i mean you came up here for a reason”

“no no you’re good you can stay i just needed to get away from the crowd it was too much for me. so much for a small get together i should have expected this”

“i get that that’s why i came up here. want a drink? there’s pepsi, root beer, water or iced tea?”

“iced tea please”

he grabbed my drink and made himself comfortable on the adjacent bean bag and didn’t hesitate to ask if i was okay and if i needed anything having heard me mention the party was getting too much for me. i had just met him and he wanted to make sure i was okay, something about that just warmed my heart how concerned he was. we began talking about how we knew the host and the more we talked the more we realized how much we had in common. i’m usually wary of men joining me if i’m alone at a party, you can’t trust everyone most of the time they’re drunk or have some weird intention, but something about chris just made me feel automatically safe. before i knew it it was 4 hours later my friend came in the room outta breath complaining how she’d looked everywhere for me and that she’s ready to go home. not wanting to keep her waiting any longer but also not wanting to leave chris, i begrudgingly get up from my comfy spot.

“i’m sorry i’ve gotta go she’s my ride. thanks for keeping me company i really liked talking to you”

“me too. would i be able to get your number? i’d love to see you again if that’s not too forward”

-5 months later-

safe to say i gave him my number. when we first started dating we both opened up about being hesitant of relationships seeing as it’s my first one and he’d been hurt before, the whole idea of dating was unfamiliar to us but we worked through it and i think getting all of our worries and insecurities out really strengthen our relationship.

despite bring together for a few months he’s yet to see me cry which i know isn’t a big deal but that’s just who i am. i’m a sensitive person but i hold it in and break when i’m alone. i was always a very emotional empathetic child the slightest thing made me cry whether it be sad or happy tears. constantly being told “stop crying” or “you’re crying over that?” really got to me now i try and keep my emotions in.

sure chris has seen me get upset or worked up about something so silly. one time i was putting the dishes away and could hardly reach the mug shelf but nonetheless i tried putting a mug in a spot that looked like it’d fit and pushed it a little too hard knocking the mug i made for chris when i did a pottery class on a friends birthday. the mug was coming straight towards i tried catching it but couldn’t and it landed on the ground with a loud smash. tears instantly pricked my eyes seeing the cup i was so proud of smashed to pieces.

third person

chris was playing video games in the living room with his headset on, one ear slightly uncovered so he could listen to you softly sing to your music finding comfort in your voice and presence. a shattering sound followed by your silence had him ripping his headset off and running to the kitchen to see you with the saddest frown on your face and your breathing picking up. rushing over to you he kicks the remnants of the mug out of the way.

-your pov-

“what happened? are you okay? are you hurt? did you step on any pieces?” his voice filled with concern as his eyes dart across my face for any signs of hurt.

“your mug. i broke your mug” my voice so quiet it’s barely audible but the cracks in it indicating in close to tears.

“oh baby it’s okay it’s just a mug i can get another one as long as you’re okay i’m not concerned about the mug. are you okay?” he says lifting my chin drawing my attention to him instead of the tragedy on the floor.

“but it’s the mug i made you your favorite mug and i just smashed it to pieces i’m sorry i shouldn’t have tried reaching when i knew i couldn’t. i broke your mug” i spew out apologies as tears start escaping my eyes.

“hey hey no tears baby. look at me forget about the mug for a sec i care more about you right now, are you okay?” he says cupping my cheeks as his thumbs rub across my cheeks in a soothing manner, wiping away tears as they fell.

“yes i’m okay”

“good i’m glad” he says as he lifts me onto the counter away from the shards and stands between my legs. “i’m not upset about the mug baby. yes it was my favorite mug but only because i know you made it and i loved how excited you were that you made a mug on your first try making pottery. it melted my heart that you could have made anything and you immediately thought to make something for me. it was the thought and love that went into the mug that made me love it. things are replaceable no need to get upset i’m glad you didn’t get hurt. i appreciate you putting the dishes away you didn’t have to do that”

“you had a busy week i just wanted you to relax and not have to deal with the dishes but then i made a whole scene and- and i- your mug” my voice falters, eyes still watery.

“nope don’t wanna hear it pretty girl i’m not upset or mad don’t worry about it okay. i’ll clean it up. how about for our next date we do pottery huh how’s that sound? then i can make you something too i have ideas already”

“i love you thank you for being so gentle with me and my silly feelings”

“i’d never get upset or over something like this or anything really. it’s not silly for you to be upset over this i know you were proud of it you’re allowed to be sad. i love you and i think it’s beautiful that you have the capacity to feel things so deeply” he wraps his arms around body one arm holding my head to his chest as he plants kisses to my hair.

i love the way he loves me

taglist: @antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs @strniolo @abbie13sworld @luvsturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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fourmoony · 1 month

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Two

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: Language, mentions of violence, sour sibling relationships, overbearing parents, mention of car crash and scars.

ITN: The Masterlist

James

One of James’ earliest memories is of the rink, back home. It’s not exactly a clear memory. There was lots of falling, a plastic penguin almost the size of him, and Sirius Black. His first day at kiddie-skate. Even though he’d spent more time on his ass than skating, it’s a memory James will always cherish. Even if it blurs, slightly, as time goes on. Because it’s the day he met Sirius. At five years old, James had no idea that the lanky, smart as a whip kid who somehow managed to both stumble across the ice and act like he owned it at the same time, was going to be one of the most important people in his life. Sirius is James’ soulmate. His best friend. There isn’t a day where James isn’t grateful for Sirius Black stumbling into his life; wild and untamed.

Except, maybe, today.

The rink at Hogwarts is a place James always feels at home. The smell of Zamboni fuel and the rubber mats meant to protect skate blades. The banging of lockers and the whir of the air conditioning that keeps the ice cool. It’s a small area of campus where James can go when he feels too much. Too overwhelmed, too sad, too anxious. A safe place. Even training is a relief to James. A time in which he’s allocated to turn his brain off, become captain and lead his team. He focusses on plays and makes mental notes on what to work on with the guys. During games he’s focussed on one thing: winning.

But today. Today, Hogwarts Arena is the very source of James’ anxiety, of the weight in his chest that just keeps pressing. It’s not that he’s scared of the rink. Or even of you. But the idea of being in charge of twelve miniature humans whilst knowing in the back of his mind that you’d rather be literally anywhere else is a pretty decent source of anxiety. The last thing James wants to do is make you uncomfortable in an environment that you love so much. You’ve coached mini skate since you were a sophomore. You once told James that it felt like your purpose. To fill the world with as many accomplished skaters as possible. Be a role-model. A guiding light. Someone they could look back at and think I’m glad I had a coach like her. A motivator. A kind soul.

You’re setting cones out on the ice when James takes a seat on the team bench to put his skates on. The kids are down by the tunnel, if the noise that flows from it is anything to go by. James finds himself staring as you skate. You do it with such ease that it reminds him hockey isn’t the only on-ice sport. You’ve trained your entire life to get to the level you’re at, today. He knows you’re going for Nationals again, this year, refuses to allow himself to think about last year. You deserve better of him than to have him distracted by that whilst co-coaching. He knows how that spiral goes. Spent all of his summer thinking about you, about the physical therapy you’d be enduring, the anger you’d have been feeling. Shame washes over him, hot and fast.

He ties his skates tighter than they probably need to be and joins you on the ice. Your head turns at the sound of his blades against the ice, fresh pressed by the Zamboni, after your training session with Pince, probably. You’re still wearing your training clothes, likely haven’t left the rink to get food between practice and mini skate. James makes a mental note to bring you something, next week.

“You’re late.” You call across the ice. You set another cone down, skate towards the next location.

James weaves in and out of the cones you’ve set out with ease, gaining on you without trying. “My Econ class ran long. Flitwick sent you an email.”

Your ponytail swishes when you turn to drop the next cone, feet crossing in a way James imagines is only capable because of your toe picks. If he tried a move like that in his blunt rounded hockey skates, he’d land on his face. With the final cone in your hand, you skate backwards, eyes on James. “Literally the last thing I said to you was ‘be on time’, James.” You sigh.

James smiles, “Actually, I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘You’re sorry that you feel like shit’.”

Your eyebrows hook in the middle when they furrow. James knows he has no right to chide you or try to joke with you, but he wants this to be painless. He hurt you, he knows that. He done a lot of stupid shit, things he can’t take back, even if he wishes he could. But he never thought you’d want to act like strangers, like two people who can’t hold a civil conversation. In his opinion, there’s too much history there, for that.

“The kids will be out any minute. We’re going over control. You take half, I take half.” You nod your head to the pile of cones on the other side of the rink.

James nods. “Sure thing.” He gets to work on setting up his cones before the kids come out of the tunnel.

The majority of kiddie-skate passes in a flurry of tiny skates torpedoing around James. He tries to keep up, tries not to come across as stern, even when all six of the kids under his leadership would rather race each other across the span of the ice. They remind him of he and Sirius, at that age. Causing trouble everywhere they went, consequences be damned. It’s exhausting, but nowhere near as awkward as he thought it might be. You dutifully keep your kids to your side of the ice, well behaved and skating in neat circles around their cones. James finds himself wondering if you gave him the wild bunch as a punishment. By the end of the session, James finds himself giving in and racing seven-year-old Michael from one net to the other. He considers letting him win but decides against it when he sees the determination on Michael’s face, the sure-fire way he glides on his skates. He’s fast; has potential. That shouldn’t be coddled. It should be nurtured, turned into motivation to try harder, next time. Because, next time, when he does try harder, he might just win. Until he’s playing at division one level.

James is sure that’ll be true, one day.

The parents mill around by the exit doors at the far end of the ice, ten minutes before the session ends. James can’t quite believe how fast the time has gone. You call him and his group of kids over to the middle of the ice, skidding to a stop on the edge of your skates. Dutifully, James directs his kids towards you. “Let’s go, team. The boss wants us over here.”

If you hear him, you don’t say anything. Instead, you direct James to stand next to you, arms crossed over your chest. “What did we learn, today?” You ask.

“Control.”

You nod, smile kind and patient. “That control is a key part in skating. Whether it be hockey or figure skating. If you can’t control your weight, your speed, your skates? Pshh,” You scoff, dramatically, “Game over, guys. You’re out.”

There’s amusement in your voice, despite the importance of what you’re saying. James finds it admirable, your ability to connect with the kids. You could connect with anyone, anywhere, though. It’s the kind of person you are. Patient, kind. Undeserving of all the bullshit James has brought into your life since you met him.

“Did you lose control when you broke your ankle?” One of the kids asks. A younger girl, a sparkly pink helmet sitting squint on her head. There’s no malice, just that childlike innocence that brings about curiosity.

The question shocks you, regardless. Your lips press into a thin line, eyes a little distant. James wonders if he should step in, cover for you. Change the subject, somehow.

“No, Kayla,” You fix your face, a sort of wistful look that James can’t figure out. “No, I lost focus.”

James feels his heart sink. Two nights before you left for Nationals, James dropped an irreversible bomb on you. It broke your heart, tore your relationship apart. Then, he sent you off to Nationals with a head full of his bullshit and watched you break your ankle in front of the entire country. Because he distracted you. He broke your focus. Took away the gold medal that had your name written on it.

The guilt keeps him awake at night. More so than the ache of missing you. Because he does. He misses everything about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re focussing. He even misses your grumpiness when trying, and failing, to nail a new routine. He misses holding you, kissing you, telling you that he loves you.

But the guilt, the shame. The reality of what he did. It plays on a loop in his head, eats him alive. He’s trying not to drown in it as he watches you dismiss the kids, waving to parents as you skate them to the door. James just stands there, in the middle of the ice. Unsure of how to act. Unsure of what to do, if he should go, if he should stay and try to talk to you. He settles for skating to the team bench, a carved-out box halfway up the side boards. He sits down on the bench, bends down to untie his skates.

The door clicks shut behind you a moment later, a whoosh of cold air and the scent of your perfume as your skates skid to a stop outside the box, beforehand. James looks up as you cross past him, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. You follow his lead, untying your skates in silence. He puts his guards on, places them in his bag. Puts his shoes on. All the while suffocating in the silence.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You tell James. Your voice is quiet, so soft, like maybe you’re not sure you want him to hear you. Your eyes don’t leave your socked feet, hands folded in your lap.

James focusses on putting his shoes on. Doesn’t look at you. “You were right, you know.”

He catches the way your face scrunches, the sadness there. You won’t appreciate his comfort, so he doesn’t give you it. Instead, he stands, slings his bag over his shoulder. His hand itches to reach out and touch you, to tell you that he’s sorry. He wishes he could change everything, could take it all back. “I do feel like shit. But that’s not why I’m sorry.”

Your head tilts up. Your eyes are filled with tears and James can’t stomach it. He hates himself. You look so sad and tired. “See you on Sunday.” He nods and books it out of the team box, along the corridor, the foyer, and into the carpark.

He climbs into his truck, lets the shame swallow him whole, lets the pain burn him. And there, in private, alone, he breaks. He loathes himself for it. He has no right, no reason to be so sad, so solemn. He took everything from you. Yet he still breaks, anyway.

James doesn’t know how much more he can take before he can’t put himself back together, anymore.

Sirius

The Hogwarts Library is Sirius’ least likely haunt. He, honestly, avoids it at all costs. Unless he’s trying to find Lily. Even then, he tends to only stay for ten minutes, or so. It’s not that he hates studying. He actually enjoys his classes, finds the work stimulating for his overactive brain. He’s smart. That’s not to be doubted, even if he acts like an idiot ninety-nine percent of the time. The reason he hates the library so much is because it reminds him of the one at Grimmauld Place.

Hogwarts library is brighter, in fairness. But the high ceilings, regal architecture, the smell of old books and the eerie quiet. It’s all too similar to the library in his childhood home. It makes his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He’s guarded, like he always was at home. A place where it was do or die, fight to survive. Libraries are supposed to be a peaceful place. A place of childlike wonderment, a place where you can get lost in stories of knights in shining armour, passionate love. His opinion of libraries is that it’s a place one would go to get the shit kicked out of them at a dinner party for being too smart tongued. He remembers that all too well. Hates that particular story.

The girl at the front desk smiles kindly at him, but all he sees is a vulture waiting to pick him off, trap him here and make him relive his worst memories over and over. He grimaces, places his hands on the cold wood of the desk and begs it to ground him. Sirius forces a breath as he rolls his shoulders.

“I’m here for community service? There’s a kid writing a paper or something.” His words are breathy, unsure, gritted out through unwilling teeth. He hates this. Hates it with his entire being.

The blonde girl smiles, likely a little awe struck at the sight of a hockey player in the library. As far as Sirius knows, none of them use the library. Half of the team prefer to study at home, and half of them could give less of a shit about their degrees. “Uh, sure, Sirius, right?” She asks, prucking around the desk for a sheet of paper.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Astrology is on the third floor. He’ll be waiting at the main desk for you.”

Sirius nods, thanks the girl and heads towards the stairs. He climbs them two at a time, skin itching with anticipation. He really hopes whoever he’s stuck with for the foreseeable future isn’t an overachieving dick. The signs for the astrology section of Hogwarts library point to the right, Sirius follows them all the way to the main desk in the centre of the floor. All of the shelves surround it in a circle, little stars and flecks of paint on the edge of each bookcase. In the centre of the circle sits a circle table, scattered with open books, papers, drawings of constellations.

Sirius tries not to think too hard about the irony of being landed with an astronomy student. He might hate everything about his family, but he loves the stars. Loves his namesake.

There’s no one at the desk, their things left abandoned. Sirius tries not to be nosey but fails. The closest thing to him are drawings, mappings of planets and stars. Hand drawn; with such painstaking detail he finds himself in awe of it. He sets it down, moves on to the next piece of paper, covered in barely legible ramblings about the importance of planet distance, star mapping, it’s barely congeable.

“Did no one ever teach you not to touch what’s not yours?”

Sirius freezes, blood draining from his entire body. The ice cold, baritone voice. Sirius hears it in his nightmares. It claws at the darkest parts of him. His hands shake as he turns; face to face with a more polished carbon copy of himself. Regulus Black is two years younger than Sirius, and yet he looks almost a decade older. He looks positively regal in his ironed clothes, with his perfectly tamed hair and clean-shaven face. Even his shoes don’t have a single scuff on them. It’s not lost on Sirius, the idea that this could have been him. He was supposed to be the heir, the brother with his shit together.

Regulus scowls at Sirius, reaches forwards to rip the paper from his trembling hands. His brain refuses to work, bile rises in his throat. He’s going to kill Moody.

There are memories, there. Playing somewhere in the back of his head. Childlike voices talking in hushed tones, screaming, fighting, hateful words, laughing, crying. He and Regulus were once as close as brothers could be. He hates that Regulus now looks at him with disgust. But refuses to let him win.

“Only thing my parents taught me was to hit fast and hard, watch your enemies wither and die.” Sirius scoffs, hands stuffed in his pockets. He will not allow Regulus to see him rattled. “Of course, they treated their own children like enemies.”

It’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. Even his scoff is prim and proper. He rounds the table and takes a seat, like a king in his throne. Sirius supposes he is. Everything in the Black family dynasty will be his in a few years. Everything Sirius didn’t want. Everything Regulus didn’t want. Not until he didn’t have a choice. “You wanted for nothing.” Regulus quips.

Sirius’ blood burns with the statement. He sounds exactly like their mother. Cruel, evil. Willing to overlook the darkness of her own soul because it got her what she wanted. Money and power. “Spoken like a true Black, Reggie. Congratulations.”

Regulus’ smile is nothing short of bitter. He knows the insult that lies in there, but he shrugs it off as easy as picking a piece of lint from his pure cotton shirt.

“I need all of the books from section A to B noted. Titles, author, date of publication. Alphabetised.” Regulus levels Sirius with a bored look and he balks.

His younger brother, acting like Sirius is beneath him. He shrugs, “Better get to work then, Reggie. Might take you a while.”

“You’re the one on community service for acting like a rabid animal.” Regulus shrugs.

“Yeah, I’ll take the suspension. This shit isn’t gonna happen.”

Regulus chuckles and Sirius can already picture it. His younger brother, sweet, kind, sensitive Reggie. Turned into a fortune five hundred shark, belittling his staff because he can. Just like their father. “Sure. Throw away your hockey career, Sirius. But the Black family won’t be there to welcome you back when you blow your trust fund.”

Sirius’ jaw ticks. Hockey is his life. The Cannon’s won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, draft or no draft, if he doesn’t touch the ice this season.

“You’re just like him, you know.” Sirius spits. He doesn’t miss the way Regulus’ face hardens; a little shame mixed in there somewhere. They’re too similar, in some ways. Sirius knows exactly where to press where it hurts.

Regulus hands him a notepad. “A to B.”

“Better get out before you end up like her, too, Reggie. That shit’s irreversible.” Sirius tells him, disappointed in himself for even saying it. It feels like acid on his tongue. He turns and goes to find section A. Doesn’t look back to see the fear on his younger brother’s face.

Remus

Thursday evenings are Remus’ least favourite. There’s no practice to keep his mind occupied, the gym is closed for deep cleaning, there’s nothing for him to occupy himself with, except his weekly call with his parents. He’s longed for an excuse to cancel a million times over. It never comes. A punishment, Remus thinks, for something he did in a past life. He loves his parents. They can be overbearing, intense, but they care. That’s a lot more than some people have.

But they don’t get him. His father, more so, than his mother. Hope Lupin is kind and understanding. If Remus told her he wanted to sack it all in and become a shark wrestler, tomorrow, she’d buy him a shark keyring and do as much research as it took to help him on his way. But Lyall Lupin? Five-time Stanley Cup Winner, top player in the NHL for years, retired, hardass hockey player? He’d strangle his only son with his bare hands. All he ever does is push. He pushes and pushes and refuses to see Remus’ health as an issue.

It’s exhausting. Sometimes, Remus just wants to be told to slow down. As much as he’d hate to (he has goals, things he wants to do, his illness won’t stop him). It would still be nice to not have so much pressure on him all of the time.

The call connects with a heavy sense of dread. Hope and Lyall are in their living room, a large canvass of Remus with his first ever hockey trophy hung proudly behind him. That was before the crash, before the scars and brittle bones. Back when the world was his for the taking. Remus hates that photo.

“Hi, love.” Hope beams, cheeks appled out in a smile.

Remus looks most like his mum. Right down to the sandy brown hair, fluffy and unruly. Except he has his father’s nose. The nose that his least favourite scar slashes jaggedly across. He avoids looking at the square with his face on it. Instead, he focusses on the look on his father’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks, nerves on edge.

Lyall Lupin, to the media, to people who don’t know him, is an unreadable man. Remus can read him like a book. His face might portray as impassive, but he’s furious. About what, Remus has no fucking idea. It’s always something.

“Nothing, love.” Hope tries to shake it off.

“You were a little heavy on your left skate last game, no?” Lyall grits out.

Remus almost laughs. Like, full on belly laughs. Disbelief washes over him, hot and furious, his blood burning. “I played first and second line because Kennedy bust his shoulder over the summer. You remember I have a bad knee, right?” Remus scoffs, eyebrows raised.

He sees the way his mother eyes his scars, the way they pale with the stretch. She looks sad, remorseful. He relaxes his face, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Of course, we do, Rem.”

“You think the Wasps will be impressed with that performance? So early in the season, too.” Lyall scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at Remus.

Sometimes Remus thinks his parents see right through him. Sometimes, he wants to scream that he’s right there. That they almost lost him altogether and anything he does now should be a fucking bonus. That he’s sick of never being good enough. That his father should be grateful Remus is even still physically able to get on the ice.

Instead, he swallows the anger and sighs. “Holme gave me some new physio exercises. It’ll be better next time.”

His father nods. “Good.”

“Is that all, then?” Remus asks shortly.

“How was your week?” Hope asks, at the same time Lyall lets out a stern, cold, “Yes.”

She frowns at her husband, who blatantly ignores her. It raises a feral beast in Remus. A wolf howling. He wants to tell his father to respect his wife, to appreciate all she does for him. But he knows Hope hates when he does that. So, he scoffs, hangs up, and slams his laptop closed. He’s exhausted after a mere five-minute phone call, wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with a book and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But Sirius stands in his doorway, a sympathetic look on his face. Remus hates it. Hates when Sirius treats him like something fragile, something that can be easily broken. While it may be physically accurate, it will take a lot more effort from Lyall Lupin to break Remus mentally.

“He was in top form.” Sirius murmurs.

Remus nods, runs his hands across his face. The raised bumps of his scars irritates him, so he drops his hands to his lap. “How was community service?”

Sirius shrugs. “The kid writing the paper?”

Remus hums.

“Regulus.”

“Shit. Sorry, Pads.” Remus offers, hand itching to reach out and intertwine with Sirius’. A comforting touch for both of them. He doesn’t.

Just follows Sirius across the room with his eyes as he approaches Remus’ neatly made bed and climbs in. Remus sighs. He’s not sure he has the energy for whatever game Sirius is playing. He can barely keep up anymore. They’re toeing the line between best friends and something else, and while Remus enjoys it, sometimes, he doesn’t think he can stomach it tonight.

But Sirius pushes the display pillows off the side, pulls back the covers for Remus and he finds he can’t resist.

Sirius smells like old books with a touch of cinnamon. He curls into Remus’ side with ease, muscles relaxing until he’s lax in his arms. He feels himself relaxing, too.

“I miss him.” Sirius whispers, voice broken.

Remus presses his lips to Sirius’ hair. “I know.”

“He hates me.”

His chest constricts. Remus knows how much Sirius regrets leaving Regulus. It weighs on him, is probably a large part of why he refuses to take responsibility for anything, ever. He wishes he could make it better for Sirius. “He hates that you got out.”

“I hate myself for not dragging him with me.” Sirius says.

His grip tightens on Remus, his head pushing further into Remus’ neck.

“He’ll forgive you. If you tell him.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. His breathing slows, Remus feels his eyelashes flutter against his neck. Asleep. Out cold.

He presses one last kiss to Sirius’ hair, pushes all of the thoughts out of his head, and follows suit.

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rhiaarrow · 7 months

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Honestly I think Bad and the Late Night Trio is my favorite dynamic that's come out of the QSMP.

And I'm not just talking about qBad, Dapper, Pomme and Richas I'm also talking about ccBad, Dappmin, Pommin and Ricardão.

It's just the little things they do, because they're just so used to each other by now and the adms have become such good friends because of the amount of time they spend together on and off the server.

There's just so many examples that stick in my head because they're just so sweet when you realize that none of this people knew each other this time last year.

Like the time when Richas just showed up in front of Bad randomly one day after the reset (the day that Dapper set up the magnet mining machine) and just went;

"Dapper told me through the magic of discord to come see the cool stuff you've been doing, what am I here to see tio?"

Or when Bad and Dapper were out investigating and Dapper puts down a sign saying;

"Richas won't stop telepathically asking if he can come visit."

To which Bad just offhandedly replies

"If he can Dragon Magic his way here then sure, but I am not walking all the way home already."

And sure enough, a few minutes later we hear Richas' horn sound out as he appears out of the blue, having finally been given permission by Dappmin to join their exploration

Not to mention the amount of times we've arrived and been told by Bad; "So heres what [Richas or Pomme or Dapper or any combination of those 3] and I did off stream. "

Or "No Richas I'm not leaving I'm just sending the Ghosties off."

Or when Bad was attempting to figure out how to bribe Richas into keeping his armour on in Lucky Ducks by figuring out what he loved the most before going

"If you don't put your armour on I'll take away fofoca time."

And then explained to the chat that 'fofoca time' is what Richas calls it when he and Bad hang out after stream and that got Richas to put his armour on immediately.

Or even today when Bad threatened to end stream in order to make Richas use a heart container.

Not to mention the night Pommin and Ricardão spent with ccBad training him in battleship before that day in Purgatory 2 or the night they spent modifying the egg signs together.

My favorite example of how close they are even outside of their characters will still forever be the night when Bad, Richas and Pomme were collecting ice together to cover the favela ocean and Ricardão and Pommin were very obviously sat in a vc together while the mined.

They spent a while teaching Bad and the other how to pronounce certain sounds in their native languages.

Then Richarlyson asked Bad about a sound he struggled with in English so Bad taught Ricardão how to make the 'th' sound in the English language correctly while Pommin judged the noise they were making because Bad obviously couldn't hear.

Then later Bad asks Pomme where Richas went since he wasn't visible on the map and she just stands there before telling him that she knows the location and taking him to the exact coordinates.

And they do that a couple times until Bad finally decides to sneak up on Richas and scares Ricardão so bad that he stops moving completely in game for a solid minute and Pommin is just keyboard smashing on signs because she's laughing too hard at how loudly they screamed.

And then Ricardão had to go afk for a couple minutes later on because someone had come to check on them since they'd screamed so loud so early in the morning and they had to tell them that they were, in fact, fine.

Sure right now the way they interact with each other definitely slightly breaks Bad's rp of not knowing each other, especially with Richas.

But at the end of the day when they hang out together it's not just qBad and Richarlyson, it's also Ricardão & ccBad who have spent a frankly ridiculous amount of hours playing together in the less than a year they've known each other (not counting the time Ricardão admitted to being a fan of BBH for).

In fact Ricardão confirmed to Foolish today that since the reset they're the player with the second highest playtime, after Bad, but only by a little bit, and I just think that's very fitting.

Long story short, I LOVE the late night trio and Bad's dynamic because they're just such a chaotic mess who are all willing to do anything and everything that one of them wants to do, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.

It's soooooooo hard to believe they've not even known each other for a year yet because they just all click so fucking well that it's insane.

People from 4 different nationalities, 3 of them playing speechless eggs, and they've become so close thanks to this server. I just think it's beautiful :')

(It is also 3am so I may just be rambling nonsense, so if this makes no sense forgive me xD)

#qsmp #qsmp meta #qsmp admins #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp dapper #qsmp pomme #qsmp richarlyson #3am thoughts #late night trio #rhia rambles

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sthavoc · 7 months

Note

Hi! I love your Enzo fics! I was wondering about one where she's friends with a castmate and they all go out for a night and Enzo sees her dancing and is smitten with her? Like he's had a crush for a while and hasn't done anything so the guys are pushing them together

˚｡⋆🪩 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒, 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

𖥔 ࣪˖ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

𖥔 ࣪˖ summary: Enzo has had a crush on you for the past months after meeting you. The guys finally push the both of you together to talk as a form of little help to their friend.

𖥔 ࣪˖ warnings: mentions of puke, alcohol, and fluff

𖥔 ࣪˖ note: ohh goody!! I love a crushing enzo. thank you so much your nice comments mean a lot! I hope you enjoy it!<3 hoping I didn’t miss any grammar mistakes.

“Ya dale boludo. Por qué mejor no vas y charlas con ella en ves de estar aquí todo embobado viéndola.” Enzo turns his attention to the curly blue-eyed boy.

He hadn’t realized it yet but he had his eyes set heavy on you. He watched how you danced and sang the lyrics of any song that would be playing. Thinking you looked beautiful. Enzo was lucky you hadn’t noticed that he was gazing, he didn’t want to startle you away.

You had been friends with Juani for a while now, and he always invited you out with the guys. Since you were like a sister to him, he wanted you to hang out with him at all times. If possible. When you met Enzo, it was as if the world stopped for him, he found you mesmerized. The poor man couldn’t say a word, he didn’t want to mess up. The boys were getting tired of him, always telling him to go talk to you but Enzo just couldn’t bring himself to.

“No, que tiene miedo que no le de bola al nene,” Matías says in a joking tone. Enzo only rolled his eyes since he knew Matias was just making fun of him.

“Pero es que es tan hermosa que no se que decirle.” Enzo looked around towards his friend group who only stared back.

“Pues eso mismo. Que esta hermosa.” Blas points out. He didn’t think it should be that hard since he seemed calm about it. His tone said it all.

“¡Que no! No quiero ser directo.” Enzo’s hand points into the center as he speaks.

He was overthinking too much. He just wanted to try and find a good topic to talk about. Another possibility was he was just scared you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

“Ay, ya boludo. No más que viene pa’ acá.” Juani stands up waving his hand in the air with his cup on the other. He walked closer to Enzo before he spoke. “Te dejamos con ella y le hablas.”

“Juani pero si apenas y le puedo decir un hola.” The last syllable drags on his tongue while he faintly motions his hands towards your direction.

“Práctica.” A pat is set on Enzo’s shoulder by Juani. “Pero no me le hagas nada que te mato pelotudo.” He finishes his sentence and points his index finger at Enzo who only nods.

The boys stayed quiet for a second after you got there. You still had a bit of your drink, which you had asked Juani to take care of before getting up to go dance. You smiled at all of them while Juani spoke—

“Eh oye linda, fíjate que tenemos que salir corriendo que se le descompuso el auto a kuku-” Juani points towards Esteban. The poor guy was confused for a second but quickly followed along with the plan—

“Ah sí. Algo del combustible.” He makes up.

“Oh, okay.” You nodded.

“Sí pero te quedas con Enzo—” Juani gave him a small pat on the back while all Enzo could do was share a small smile as he glanced at you. Shortly he downed the rest of his drink in a nervous manner only he knew. You gave him a genuine one. “No estarías sola.”

You nodded while taking a sip of your drink. “Bueno, vayan. No pasa nada.”

After you say that, all of the guys disappear leaving you with Enzo in the bar. He felt like he was back in middle school, having his friends to help him stay with the girl, or himself being too scared to ask the girl out. But this was worse, he couldn’t even say a small hi.

“¿Como te la estás pasando?” You asked to break down the iced silence. In some way, Enzo was thankful, and on the other, he felt nothing but nervousness.

He decided to swallow the lump and speak to not leave you hanging. “Bien, bien. ¿Y tú?”

“Bien, divertido.” You nod.

In that moment the music shifted into a song that you recognized. La Tormenta de Arena by Dorian played. You watched how the lights dimmed into a dark blue and the flashes shifted with the rhythm of the beat.

“Ay, vamos a bailar.” You rose from your chair excitedly. A smile was spread across your face while Enzo’s face looked surprised.

“¿A- a bailar?” He swallowed. “No, nena. Creo que prefiero quedarme sentado.” He downed his shot shooting you a smile that made his eyes squint.

You giggled at his facial expression before you grabbed his hand and pulled. “Ay ándale solo somos tú y yo. Todos se fueron a arreglar el carro de kuku.”

Enzo thought about it for a moment. The guys had left just to get the two of you together, and right now you were asking to dance. This could be the chance for the two of you to finally start having more conversations. Get close.

“Dale.” He smiled. One that showed his dimples.

You dragged Enzo towards the dance floor that was full of people. Everyone moved to the rhythm of the music, bodies touching. Enzo could only smile as you brought him closer to you. He was admiring you. He admired how your skin reflected against the hue of the blue. How you smiled while you swayed your body to the beat. He only moved from side to side.

“¿Siempre eres así?” The same smile stayed on his lips. His voice had risen up due to the loud music.

“¿Así como?” You hollered coming closer to get a better listen.

His neck lowered down to get to your level. “De divertida.”

You picked up your head as you were about to answer, but you felt how a body pushed you over making you stumble into Enzo. His hands gripped your arms as you looked up towards him with a shy smile.

“Perdón.” You say pulling back.

“No pasa nada, nena.” His words followed a smile. “¿Volvemos?” He points back to the chairs on the bar making you nod.

The both of you walked away from the crowd as you looked around to see if you spotted the boys. But they were nowhere to be seen. You had ordered another round of shots for both, you and Enzo. He seemed to decline at first, saying he had already drunk too much, but you managed to convince him.

Four shots later of two rounds and you were giggly with Enzo. “No, no, en serio. Ese chico no tenía forma de liga. Llegue vomitada a mi casa.” You scowl at the memory.

Enzo and you had been talking about your past talking stages, or guys you had gone on dates with. He somewhat felt like he was getting good information on what you liked and what you didn’t.

“¿No, pero como se puede ser tan asqueroso?” Enzo laughed while you nodded along. “Y en su primera cita también. Me imagino que no lo volviste a buscar.”

“No.” A chuckle escaped your lips while a shake of the head followed. Enzo thought about asking a question he had been thinking about, but he wasn’t sure if he should. Until he downed another shot was when he did—

“Bueno, ¿y qué te gustaría que tú cita hiciera?” He questioned.

He felt like this conversation was perfect to ask this question. He knew he would not have another chance to at least know something, for if he ever invited you out on a date.

“Pues-” You sighed setting the piece of lemon into the small tray. “Me gustaría que sea simpático. Que tengamos cosas en común, haga chistes o que no sea serio.” You shrugged. “También lo más importante que no sea un patan y se crea el centro de atención.”

“¿Y tienes cita ideal?” He titled his head towards the side somewhat squinting his eyes.

“Mmm. Siempre he querido ir a la playa y hacer como un picnic. Ver el atardecer, con Bob Marley de fondo.” You giggled before speaking again.

noted.

By that time both you and Enzo watched as the guys came back towards the both of you. All of them circled where you and Enzo were before Juani spoke—

“¿Como andan?” He looked straight at Enzo with a smirk, but then toward you.

You nodded. “Bien. Bailamos y nos tomamos unos tragos.” You glanced at Enzo with a small smile while Juani nodded with raised eyebrows that followed a smile on his lips, that was somewhat opened.

“Ah, ¿en serio?” Juani patted Enzo’s shoulder. “Que bueno.”

Enzo knew where Juani was going. He just wanted him to stop talking so he wouldn’t say anything that could come out in a wrong way. He thankfully did and didn’t say anything wrong.

However, after all, he was thankful to the boys for giving him this small push. Without it, he wouldn’t know if he was going to ever be able to talk to you. This somewhat made it better, and he felt like the two of you had gotten closer than you were.

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic blurb #enzo vogrincic x you #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic imagine

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callsign-rogueone · 6 months

Text

that time of the month

fourth wing boys (Aaric, Brennan, Bodhi, Dain, Garrick, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer, Xaden) x reader

how our favorite boys would take care of you when you’re on your period [request]

words: 588

🏷: no book spoilers. gender neutral, no pronouns used. mentions of periods, cramps,, etc. soft and fluffy. these are kinda short bc it was hard to not make them repetitive — I think they all give excellent care + cuddles 🥰

Aaric is a quiet support kind of guy to me. he’ll be by your side, but not overbearing or too touchy. really good at playing with your hair and massaging the back of your neck if you get migraines (like I do) he also sleeps flat on his back and perfectly still like a total weirdo, so he’s great to use as a body pillow.

Brennan is the number one man for the job, and I’m not just saying this because he’s my favorite. he’s a mender, so he can literally stop your pain, and he can get stains out of clothes super easily. also just a very nurturing and gentle person, takes excellent care of you all week.

Bodhi is going to use this as an excuse to cuddle you and take naps all week (I love how the Bodhi girls have collectively decided that he’s just a lil cuddlebug 🥺). expect lots of murmured words of affirmation about how strong you are and how much he loves you.

Dain, the overgrown boyscout he is (I say this affectionately) is prepared. he knows when that time is coming up, and he is properly equipped to take care of you. has everything you need in both his room and yours. also gives a 10/10 back massage (canon, actually.)

Garrick insists that you spend the week in his room, because his bed is more comfortable (it honestly is) and that way he can take care of you. he’s very nice to cuddle up with. lets you sleep in his clothes, too, for maximum comfort. has a secret stash of all your favorite snacks, too — he’s been getting them from the fliers. don’t tell Xaden. (Xaden totally knows, and is also getting snacks from them.)

Liam makes sure you’re eating even if you have no appetite, and that you’re staying hydrated, etc. you might grumble about it, but absolutely nobody can say no to that face. he knows not to take it personally if you get mad at him, because you’re hormonal + in pain. gives fabulous cuddles, too, and lots of sweet words.

Ridoc knows not to make any jokes at your expense or fuck with you when you’re feeling fragile, instead showering you with cheesy verbal affection to get the grumpiness out of your system and get you feeling a little better — as much as you can, when you feel like your insides are being ripped out. uses his hands like ice packs for you, holding them on any place that’s particularly achy.

Sawyer was a little awkward about it at first, but now he’s a seasoned boyfriend who knows what you need and does it without you needing to ask; snacks, cuddles, back rubs, so on and so forth. helps you with whatever’s particularly difficult this week. ties your shoes for you so you don’t have to bend down and strain your back, etc.

Xaden can sense that you’re in pain, and the minute he’s able to, he’s scooping you up and whisking you away to rest in his arms. abuses his wingleader privledges a little bit, letting you have the worst day(s) off. don’t bother trying to lie to him and say that you’re fine — he knows you aren’t. don’t question the sudden change in his normal tough-guy persona either; just enjoy it.

++ none of these men are at all scared or grossed out by a little blood. they’re men, not boys, and they’re used to it anyway, going to this deathtrap of a school.

#formatting this on mobile was a pain #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #brennan sorrengail #bodhi durran #aaric graycastle #dain aetos #garrick tavis #liam mairi #ridoc gamlyn #sawyer henrick #xaden riorson #mine #too lazy to type the rest of my tags lol #seeing if it works without them. tungle search feature is an unpredictable beast #goodnight

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babybatss-blog · 20 days

Note

Heyyyy! How’s everything going?

If you’re up for it, I’d love to see a Sirius Black x fem reader where she’s sick or injured and he takes care of her.

Totally understandable if this doesn’t inspire you though!

Have an awesome day 🥰

DELUSIONS AND DAYDREAMS

Sirius x f!reader, 1000 words

a/n: hey anon, im doing good thank you! I hope everyone is also doing well :) this was such a cute lil fic, I hope it’s the right dosage of fluff mixed with angst for your day <3

c/w: friends with tension. Reader has a twisted ankle, smoking, sexual connotations and a confession of love.

He warned you not to do it, he really did. When you said you were going ice-skating on the black lake with your friends he told you that you’re “too clumsy for your own good”, but due to your unresolving stubbornness you went anyways. So he’s not surprised when Marlene messages him a few hours later, bluntly stating that you “twisted your ankle and need someone to come and get you.”

Without a second thought he walks down to you, throwing some weak and easily transparent excuse over his shoulders to his friends. Rest assured the moment he leaves James will make a comment on how head over heels for you he is. When he arrives, it doesn’t take him long to spot you. You’re sitting alone on the edge of the lake, snow cushioning your jeaned legs from the ground and a despondent look on your face as you watch your friends laugh and scream without you. His poor girl, you look so upset by yourself. He creeps up behind you, sitting down to meet your sniffily little figure.

“Hey darling.” He coos, the oddly romantic pet name rolling off his tongue like many times before. “Siri…” You mutter, flopping your forehead onto his shoulder weakly. Sirius chuckles, scratching your head comfortingly. “Come on, I’m taking you back to my dorm.” You groan, not even moving from your spot, but Sirius doesn’t give in easily. He never does. Instead he merely huffs, effortlessly picking you up regardless of your protests. You always tell him he’s “too much”, constantly flirting or playing with you. “I’m not going to ever get a boyfriend if you keep on doing this!” you always yell. Perhaps that’s his plan, because he’s been desperately in love with you from the day you first met.

As you walk, he ignores the judging stares of others and instead opts to focus on easing your pain.

“How bad does it hurt?”

“Like a seven out of ten.”

“Well that’s no good princess! You didn’t try any spells on it?”

“Lilly did, but I don’t think it helped much”

“I’ve got some tokes in my room, maybe that’ll help.”

“Yay!!”

When the two of you arrive, the boys are sitting in the common room, staring disappointedly at him as he carries you into his room. He knows later he’ll get some lecture by Remus about how he needs to start “putting himself first”, but he doesn’t care one bit when he sees you lying on his bed, silky hair spread out on his linen and eyes fluttering in a daze. What if he was on top of you right now, making you scream his name with that pretty little voice and scrunched up face and-

No. He can’t think about that. It’s wrong.

As promised earlier, Sirius whips out a pack of cigarettes and hands you one, smiling when you giggle in delight. The two of you sit in a blissful silence for a while, both separately enjoying the smoke and depth within both of your lungs. That is, until you break the silence with something Sirius wouldn’t even imagine in his own mind.

“Wouldn’t it be crazy if we dated?” Hah, that would be insane he thinks, respective of his own ideas. Instead Sirius just stays silent, too scared of what could blurt out of his mouth. “Cause Frank mentioned something to me the other day that got me thinking… Why did nothing ever happen between us?” Sirius darts his head up to meet you, puzzled by the question. Truthfully, he has pondered this very idea on many sleepless nights, wondering why you always went for the good, boring guys and never blushed whenever he makes some blatant flirt in your direction. He was hot, other girls tell him that all the time. And you know that you can trust him, you’ve been friends for years. But of course it never happened. Perhaps your just out of his league.

“I-I don’t know. I guess we were just never into each other like that.” He finally manages. You scoff, your half lidded eyes looking at him in jest. “That’s not true. I was crazy for you all of year one two and three.” “Wait, what?” You laugh at his shock, which quickly turns into a grimace as you moved your foot in some awkward way, forgetting it was injured. “Sirius, you could never tell? I used to pray to Merlin that you would like me back, but then you got with Daisy M and I moved on.”

Every moment, every time he cursed himself for feeling how he does and dreaming about you came crashing down on him. How could he be so stupid? In one big puff his cigarette is finished, snuffing it out onto his battered and broken bedside table and placing his head in his hands.

Although it appeared distant in his confused state, he heard your voice clearly rattling his brain as you continue to speak. “I think we could do it. Like, we could be a thing. Your hot, I’m… average and we know each other better than anyone. Plus, it would probably be easiest. Instead of wasting our time trying to find someone else.” Sirius tries not to break down at your words, revealing it’s all he’s ever wanted. “Just a chance” he would say, “Just one chance to prove I’m worth your time.”

But before he can say any of the millions of thoughts swirling around in his head your fast asleep, the pain from earlier finally catching up with you and the cigarette ash coating his bed to the side of you.

He brushes it off, kisses your forehead and walks out.

“I love you darling.”

#sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders x reader #hp marauders #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius x reader fluff #babybatss blog

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crumbledcastle28 · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller: Talking Body

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Summary: After months of getting to know Joel Miller, your attraction to him finally comes to its peek with your mouth between his legs.

Excerpt: “You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

You could tell you were shocking him - you were shocking yourself - so much so that any semblance of his own voice seemed to be knocked from his lungs. He could only nod, a flush making its way up his neck.

You nearly kissed him right then, but you didn’t. Instead, you practically clamored over the back of the couch onto the cushions before taking another step onto the floor, standing up straight in front of Joel, admiring his legs fully spread and his eyes fully blown wide.

You then sank to your knees.”

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, undefined relationship, jackson!joel, SMUT, oral male receiving, so much praise kink on joel’s end, and just as much on reader’s end, cum play, reader is scared of commitment, ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This is so self-indulgent and dirty I am so not sorry.

read part II here

Pedro Masterlist

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(gif from pinterest)

He would come to you at night, only at night, seconds after the sun finally hit the west side of the earth. You would wait for his footsteps, mistaking every gust of wind or squawk of crow for them, your heart lurching every time.

You tried to convince yourself your heart wasn’t in it, these meetings at dusk, but the thought of them ending hurt more than the pain of everything about them being hazy and indefinite.

The worst part about them, however, was that they weren’t even for sex.

He would knock, knowing that the door was already unlocked, and you would kindly remind him of that from your living room couch. You had a working theory he did it just to hear your voice, but even you could not think about that long enough without seeds of doubt planting themselves in your brain. He would then open the door slowly, politely, and close it just as delicately. He would hang up his coat, untie the laces of his worn leather boots, and make eye-contact with you as he slid them off, whispering “hey.”

“Hey” you would respond in a whisper, grinning at the thought of him acting like 8:30 at night was late enough to be whispering.

He would rub his hands together, blow in them to warm them, and make his way to you, plopping down on the couch next to you.

And then you would just...talk. And drink. And laugh. And cry. For hours.

You looked forward to it more than anything you could remember.

Tonight, you had something special for the man you had come to know. He always drank your cheap, watered-down beer with a grin of contentment on his face, thanking you for it and offering something in return. Ever the gentlemen, even in an apocalypse. But earlier in the day, you had bartered for something you had been searching for for months.

In his own words, “the best fuckin’ thing to ever come out of Texas,” Macallan whiskey, distilled in 1988, as well as two bourbon glasses and fresh ice.

You could not wait to see the look on his face. His grins were common, but true smiles were rare. You were hopeful you could pull one out of him tonight.

The night was getting darker and darker as you double checked your set up - making sure the ice had not yet melted, the glasses were straight on your coffee table, and your makeup was perfectly casual - and waited for his familiar footsteps. Your heart pounded in your ears and the same anxious thought raced around your mind for what felt like hours on end.

What if he never comes back?

You were straightening the glasses for what had to have been the twentieth time when the distinct pattern of the scuff of his boots on the dirt that you had memorized to the millisecond hit your ears, and your breath escaped you.

You got nervous every time, and you knew exactly why.

The two-one-one pattern of his knock echoed through your house, and after a loud “it’s open” from you, the hinges of your door squeaked, and none other than Joel Miller was leaning on your doorframe, accentuating his shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe itself.

“Hey,” he said, breathily. It was almost a sigh. Whether it was of relief or exhaustion, you were unsure.

“Hey,” you said back with a smile. “Come on in. I have a surprise.”

He grinned and leaned down to remove his boots. Only this time, his eyes remained on the laces, not on you.

It didn’t scare you, but it did give you the slightest sting across your chest.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch as he headed over to you, rolling his shoulders as he walked, and plopped himself down on the couch - legs spread, hands flat on the cushions, and head propped up just so.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing your coffee table.

“Rarer than gold, that’s what it is,” you replied, leaning forward to grab the bottle off the wood and hand it to him. “It’s the real shit.”

He held it in his hand for a moment and tilted it around and around, feeling and admiring every inch of it, before turning to you and saying, “Thank you.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his and your heart picked up speed as you mustered up a reply. “You’re welcome, now get her open. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

He scoffed a laugh as he unscrewed the cap, officially breaking the seal, and you couldn’t help but notice the depth of the circles under his eyes being slightly more pronounced.

“Rough day?” you asked as he handed you back the bottle. The amber liquid coated the ice in your glasses to the brim.

He sighed, watching you pour. “Somethin’ like that.”

You handed him his glass and began pouring your own as you replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said as he leaned back into your couch, spreading his legs and pushing his crotch up to the ceiling, “I’m here now.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you topped off your glass, set the whiskey down, and leaned your body back to match his own.

You watched him take his first sip - throat bobbing as he swallowed, eyes closing as he soaked up the feeling, and mouth propping slightly open as it overwhelmed his taste buds. “Best fuckin’ thing out of Texas,” he exclaimed as he took another sip, and you took a sip as well.

“Excluding you, of course,” you replied as the burning liquid made its way down your throat. He scoffed once again, this time a bit more genuine.

The two of you sat like that for some time - sipping your drinks, glancing at each other, relaxing into the couch, and enjoying the songs of the cicadas. After a few more moments, Joel’s husked voice broke the silence.

“Is it alright if we just...sit?” he asked suddenly, looking at you longingly. “In the quiet?”

“Of course, Joel,” you replied, voice equally dry from the liquor, “whatever you want.”

He nodded, and with one last sigh, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Finally, you thought, finally I have the chance to really look at him.

And you took the opportunity for the rarity that it was.

You noticed everything. How his neck was slightly tanner at the front, littered with moles. How his jaw cut through the golden lighting of your lamps like a knife, and the small area of his cheek missing a bit more stubble than the rest did the same. How, when his eyes were shut, his long lashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones just so. How his thighs fit his jeans just right, highlighting their width. How his forearms peaked from his green shirt, highlighting the veins in his wrist and his hands. His right hand wrapped around the entirety of the burbon glass, giving your lower stomach a zap of heat.

And his shoulders, good lord. Just as broad as they were against the doorframe, only they still seemed...hunched, Tight. Like he was on guard still, despite his liberal body language.

Your fingers tingled to...touch them. Feel them in their entirety and bring them back down from their proximity to his ears.

Before you let yourself think, you were setting down your glass and moving behind the couch, letting your hands hover over his clothed shoulder blades.

Had they become tighter since you moved?

“Joel?” you asked from above, looking down at the top of his head.

“Hm?” he questioned, his voice slightly shaking.

With equally shaky hands, you pressed down onto his shoulders with your thumbs, and began to roll them. “Is this okay?”

His mouth opened, his tongue wet his lips, and his throat bobbed as he said, “Yes.”

And so, you did exactly what you had wanted to do for months: turned Joel Miller into putty with your fingers.

You began with the center of his back, rolling his skin with the joints in your wrists. You didn’t press hard, merely maneuvering the skin to find any apparent knots or sweet spots. It was when you finally did find one on his left shoulder blade that Joel couldn’t help but let his head tilt back, an exhale of relief exiting his now parted lips before he could stop himself.

“Good lord,” he groaned, “it’s worse than I thought.”

“I’ve got you,” you replied, “just relax.”

And he did. For what had to have been hours, you kneaded and manipulated across his shoulders and down his back as he exhaled and groaned, communicating only through sound. Occasionally he would take a sip of his whiskey, raising his arm behind him to offer you a sip every time.

You were happy to oblige.

After the sun had finally set and his glass was finally emptied, your fingers had made their way around to his right shoulder, targeting the area directly under his neck. He had been silent for some time, you were nearly convinced he had fallen asleep sitting up, but with one firm stroke of your thumb up the area, his head finally lost its battle against gravity, and fell back onto the cushion behind his head. His head hit quickly, but his exhale of the perfect mix of pleasure and pain hit your ears first.

And now he was staring up at you, your face hovering over his as you remained standing behind the couch, and everything in your body that had already been warmed suddenly turned molten.

His previously light brown eyes were now nearly black, and in that exact moment, a beam of understanding passed between your intersected gazes.

He wanted you to kiss him.

Luckily for you, however, you still had an ember of self-control left in your body, and despite how fiercely your body burned to give him exactly what he wanted, you wanted something else. You wanted to feel his body, know his body, before knowing how his heart felt for you. Because, eventually, that meant he would have to know how yours felt for him, and that scared you more than the apocalypse happening outside your window. A kiss, even a peck, was much too close to that grand reveal for your liking.

So instead, you did the other thing you had been wanting to do for months: memorize the exact texture of Joel Miller’s skin.

You carded your fingers through his slowly greying scalp, digging your nails in slightly, and his eyes fluttered, slightly, nearly breaking your matched gazes. Your fingers moved on their own accord, once again finding the spots that made him exhale a bit deeper than the others, and they found themselves slowly migrating down to his face - tracing the jaw you loved so much, his curved nose, his pouted lips.

A voice that had to have been your own suddenly filled the air. “I want to touch you, Joel. More of you.” Your thumb traced over his bottom lip. “All of you.”

His hot breath hit your thumb as he replied, “Yes.”

You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

You then sank to your knees.

“Wait,” Joel said as you reached for the faded-brown belt on his waist. “Darlin’, don’t you want...somethin’? From me?”

You knew what he meant. Don’t you want to come too? Be touched too? Be worshiped too?

You smiled up at him and said, “Joel, I don’t want anything from you.”

To any other person, the statement sounded vile. But to him, it sounded like heaven.

I don’t want your protection. I don't want your help. I don't want your advice. I just want you.

“Alright,” he replied, grinning, and slowly leaned back into the couch.

Finally, you had him.

You proceeded to remove his belt - slowly, methodically - and unzip his jeans. His dark grey boxers were soon revealed to you, and you could not help but grin at the teepee beginning to form in them.

“It’s the whiskey,” he joked, “can’t help it.”

You laughed, and without missing a beat, began to palm him through the fabric. His laughter swiftly turned into a groan, and his left hand gripped the leather armrest so fiercely the squeak of the fabric on his sweaty hands echoed throughout the house.

“Y/N,” he exclaimed, “God please.”

You smirked, “okay.”

You then dragged his jeans down his legs, taking the time to admire the sculpture that was Joel Miller’s thighs, before you pulled them completely off his feet. You then took the opportunity while you had it and kissed and nibbled all around his exposed inner thighs. His breaths increased in pace and depth so much that it was almost comical.

“Still want my mouth on you?” you asked as you began to suck a hickey onto his right thigh.

“Fuck yes,” he replied, “fuck yes.”

You tucked your nails under the waistband of his underwear, and pulled until he was finally free.

Even at first glance, you were unsure if you could fit even half of it in your mouth.

You made eye-contact with him once again, noting how fucking good he looked fully revealed for you, and began to slide your hand underneath his shirt. revealing just the beginnings of a happy trail and a tummy -

- before a soft, gentle hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“Not - not my shirt,” Joel said, still panting, but with a tensity back in his shoulders. “Not right now.”

You nodded, and quickly removed your hand, moving it back down to his thighs again and kissing the marks you had made previously.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he said, so weakly you couldn’t help but pity him, “I’m just -”

“I know what you are, Joel,” you stated firmly, “I know who you are.”

With one final glace up at him, you wrapped your hand around his length, giving it a pump, and said, “That’s why I’m on my knees.”

And that’s when Joel Miller did anything but relax.

As you pumped him, slowly, his chest puffed and his arms flexed, so much so you were surprised it was not ripping at the seams. His face became sweaty, his ears turned bright red, and his mouth officially lost any shred of the filter he had before.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned as you slid your hand up and down his shaft, finding a rhythm, “you...how are you doin’ that so well?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” you replied, slowly working your fingers down to his balls, “because you deserve this. Your body...you’ve got a perfect one. You know that, right?”

His throat bobbled as he stared down at you, obviously not used to any sort of praise. You’d have to fix that.

Without warning, once again, you cupped his balls and slid his dick down your throat, fully tasting the heat and fragrance of it, and Joel could not help but push your mouth deeper into the motion and release a noise guttural and raw. He sounded like a man possessed, wounded by the feeling of a woman’s mouth around him.

And lord was the taste of him mixed with the leftover whiskey on your tongue a perfect cocktail of heaven and hell.

You began to bob your head, moving the way he guided you with his hand tangled in your hair, and through his groans and whines, you could make out one specific sentence that sprouted from Joel’s mouth.

“You’re the best - best - goddamn thing to happen to me in... a long fuckin’ time.”

He had lamented to you before about his struggles with Ellie. How she had eventually figured out his lies, what he truly did at that firefly hospital, and how she had yet to forgive him. Every night you met, he would find a way to mention it, and even now with his dick so far down your throat you could feel his hairs tickling your nose, you found a way to understand.

And the fact that you - you - were what he needed, your talks with him were giving him what he needed, so much so that you were “the best goddamn thing to happen to him in a long fuckin’ time...”

...the only way you could think to show him how much his words meant to you was to pull away from him, and start licking lines up his veins, making eye-contact with him once again.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, gripping the leather once again, “look up at me like that.”

“Why?” you questioned, continuing to trace all of him with your tongue.

“Because it’s the reason I’m so fuckin’ tired today,” he replied, his shirt beginning to change shades around his chest, “fuckin’ dreamed of this - of you doin’ this - last night. Felt so fuckin’ dirty I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus on patrol. Couldn’t look you in the eye while takin’ off my boots.”

You whined around his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, causing him to gasp.

“Look so much prettier than I could - could have imagined.”

You hadn’t been grinding on yourself until that moment - wanting to focus on him, pleasuring him - but the depth of the drawl of his voice that you had come to know so well saying those words about you gave you no other choice. Suddenly, your heel was against your clit, and as his precum dripped from your mouth when you went in for more and more of him, your heel gave you the perfect relief.

It took him a few seconds to catch on to what you were doing, but once he did, his eyes glowed in the lamplight, and his face formed into a real - true - smile. One that touched his eyes, crinkling them slightly, and was so wide that his tongue touched the roof of his mouth.

He looked almost...boyish. Sincerely joyful. Sincerely present. Sincerely Joel.

And that was enough motivation for you to stick the entirety of him in your mouth.

Within seconds, his hand in your hair tightened, and he began rocking his dick into your mouth. Your eyes watered, and his did too.

“Can I... can I come?” he asked. “Right now?” His voice was nasaled and desperate.

You nodded, and with one last thrust, he spilled into your mouth, filling it completely. You swallowed as much as you could, but some dribbled, mixing with the tears already streaming down your cheeks. You looked up at him as he came into your mouth, continuing to grind into yourself as his eyes squeezed shut, his lips trembled, his eyebrows came together, and the veins in his neck bulged.

Maybe, in that moment, he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

When his eyes finally opened and met your own was when you released him from your mouth with a slight pop, and as you did, a small bead of cum and spit stretched between his dick and your mouth, dribbling onto your shirt when the distance between the two finally became too much for it.

He looked at you like you were an angel sent from heaven, baptising him with the dirtiest things.

“Hi handsome,” you said, still staring up at him, and he wiped the cum away from your chin with his thumb. He cupped your jaw with that same hand, and just...admired you. For those few seconds, everything was perfect. For those few seconds, he was yours, and you were his.

Until, after he traced your cheekbone with his thumb, he whispered, “I’ve gotta go home.”

You were positive the hurt showed on your face, but the logical side of your brain screamed right back at it.

Of course he would leave. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. No matter how late he stayed, the depths of what he revealed, or how intense the glances between you, he always went home. Always.

You were a fool to think otherwise, even after this.

You nodded, swallowing the remainder of his cum in your throat, and backed yourself onto your butt so he could pull his underwear and jeans back on. You couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at you.

He stood up, extended an arm to help you onto wobbly feet, and with one last look into your eye, he began his walk back towards your door.

“Keep the whiskey,” he said as he pulled his shoes on, not even bothering to tie them, and he was out your door.

That same torturous, vile, nauseating thought that fell over you every time he left your home, fell over you when he drank your drinks, and filled you with the apprehension to not kiss him in the first place ratted in your brain when the ache of the absence of his presence hit you.

Will he ever come back?

Taglist: (please let me know if you would like to be added :))

@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @aninnai @darling-murdock @daphne-turner @ellesvoid @morks-watermelon

#Joel Miller #joel #joel and ellie #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x #joel miller x reader #thelastofus #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandolorian x reader

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noowayybroo · 9 months

Text

Snowed In - Yeti!M!Leon x GN!Reader (NSFW)

Merry LATE Chrimmy guys!!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS!!! (yeah... that went well) guys the fic is very long so I MARKED THE SMUT IN BLUE JUST SCROLL FOR IT

I was brainrotting with my best friend EVER and I came up with a terrible terrible thing (You're welcome) so hear me out, you're camping out in the snow, looking for, idk, self torture, and suddenly you catch the eye of a certain Yeti...

Long story short, he rescues you... eventually, and warms you up inside! I wanted to make this GN because although I am an F who LOVES F fics, I thought it'd be nice for y'all not Fs out there! I'll try keep it short so there's more chance of me finishing it! EDIT: IT's VERY LONG, JUST LIKE HIM!!!

THIS IS INSPIRED BY THE BRAINROTTINGLY NSFW GAME CLOUD MEADOW WHICH I HAVENT PLAYED BUT I WANT TO PLAY!! iN THE GAME THERE'S A CUTE YETI GUY AND HE LOOKS LIKE LEON A BIT, NO?!???!??!!?

guys I tried to edit this like 2000 times and every fucking time tumblr deleted my edit I am going insane but I pulled through for YOU! (eventually)

Honestly guys i'm not happy with this one it by far isn't my best work so read at your own peril. What I really want is for people to love the idea, not the fic, you know?? xx Pls do something with it if you like it! <3

Characters: GN!Reader, Yeti! Monster!Leon Kennedy

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of penetration, kissing, licking, cuddling etc, cumming iinside toooo, Reader is GN for inclusivity, and I've described the sex as P-in-Hole lol. He fucks you and you imagine where ig. !! Leon is kinda monstrous and not too human, and also in the start he kinda wrecks ur camp and scares the shit outta u so if it'll trigger pls dont read. Leon isn't monstrous he;s just big, furry and a bit primal. Kinda switchy / sub leon so at the start he lets you push him around n then he rails u v hard sooo uhhgjjj and also u have no condom dont be so naughty!!! NOT PROOF READ THERE WILL BE ISSUES OK BUT i CANNAE BE ASKED SORRY

Stay safe n happy this Winter!

"Just picture it! The fresh air! All that snow!" A naive relative tells you, patting you firmly on the shoulder. You stare down blankly at the brochure in your hands, all about a family getaway to a ski resort in some snowy, far off mountains. You didn't doubt them when they told you it'd be a good family exercise, but all you wanted to bond with was your warm bed and all the other things you had to do.

Only a week later, there you were. The sigh you let out dispersed into a cloud of white vapour before your eyes, leaving you to gaze upon your surroundings. Before you sat the exact sight from the brochure you held only a week ago, and it was beautiful. Crisp snow crunched beneath each trudging step, snow-tipped pines line each iced hill and valley as far as your eye could see. No longer mere inky blotches on thick paper - the wind howled past, whistling through each tree, and sending shivers up your over-clothed spine.

You learn the hard way that you won't even have a warm cabin and hearth to laze by during your chilly nights as you follow your family to pick up the camping gear they would be renting. You supposed it'd save money, but at what cost? Pneumonia?

And as you're all setting up camp, you can't help recall being at home wrapped up in your warm covers and revelling in the endless wonders of your Tumblr "for you" page. You also can't help feeling as though you're being... watched, and not by fellow campers in their tents.

"There's nothing out here but adorable rodents and birds!" your guide would exclaim for the fourth time now, in a screech which rivalled that of any of the feathered friends he'd referred to. He means to reassure you, and whilst you'd love to trust what he says with his years of experience in mind, you can't help but doubt him.

Eventually, night falls, and after a good few hours around a make-shift campfire sipping hot drinks of your choice, you and your family finally resign to bed. It's freezing, and despite your warmest sleeping-bag and thickest pyjamas, your teeth chatter and your body shakes. But you're convinced to fall asleep. The sooner you do, the sooner the cold fades away. So, eventually, amidst the wind battering your tent, and night-time ambience, you drift off.

You wake with a start, surprisingly warm, but quickly realise you're alone. Oh no. That's terrifying. After trying (and failing) for a good while to get signal (ever the priority (maybe this is too self-insert)), you crawl out of your tent. The sun hangs high in the sky. You were out for a while. Your sigh of relief must be audible once you find a scrawled note pinned to the makeshift seating surrounding your lit campfire.

"Good morning Sleepyhead!" It reads, and you can tell by the writing exactly who wrote it.

"We didn't want to wake you up so we've gone to get some food! Be back soon! xxx"

Well, at least you knew they couldn't be far away. You're not at all ready for the cold winds that begin to gnaw at your skin again so, groggily, you crawl back into your tent. You stretch, get back into your cocoon, and try once more to get signal.

He'd been watching you for a while now. He watched all the humans at the ski resort as they went about their festive holidays, completely unaware of his presence and he wouldn't have it any other way. Once like you, Leon was just like any other man, or government agent. That was until he encountered a strange virus on one of his missions. Years ago now, the virus caused him to significantly grow in size. He became taller and slightly buffer, and began to grow white fur on most of his body. His hair also became white.

Amused, Leon referred to it as the Y-virus (Y for Yeti) to anyone who'd listen, but, afraid of any negative side effects and any testing, hid away in some distant mountains. If you'd see his face, anyone who knew him might recognise him, and he dared not admit it to anyone, but he enjoyed being free, living off of wild animals and things. That, and, any snacks he could pilfer from unattended camps. He enjoyed his tranquil life, but grew to hate the years of loneliness he'd subjected himself to. As time went on, however, Leon slowly forgot what it was like to interact with other humans. And then, he forgot how to speak well too.

He watched as humans had their holidays, and spent time with friends and family. He was content in the knowledge that you were all happy, and, once the people cleared off, he'd investigate the area to see how far humans were developing, and whether he was still in the papers.

He'd been watching your camp too, and he was certain you'd all left. This was his chance to investigate.

You've been laying on your makeshift bed for a few minutes now when suddenly, you make out the soft sound of trudging through snow towards your tent. The footsteps are slow, but you chalk that up to any exhaustion a human would experience after facing the monster of a hill your tent was precariously placed upon. At first, you think it could be family, until you realise there's only one set of steps. It was probably someone on their way to wherever they were going. Nothing concerning you.

The sound approaches though, each footfall sounding loud, heavy and far apart. You'd think they were just walking slowly, if not for the speed at which the volume of each step increases. Before you know it, a large shadow almost eclipses your tent. A male figure. A tall one at that, and he seems to be about to walk straight through your camp.

Bit unnecessary...

Except he doesn't. The man just stops outside your tent. He looks around a bit. Maybe he needs some help, you think. Groaning quietly, you crawl out of bed, and peep through the unzipped door of your tent-

Tall. Really, really tall. At least 6ft. And you're staring right at his ass. And he doesn't... have clothes on.

Before you stands, quite proudly, something you can only describe as a yeti. He's covered from head to toe in thick, soft white fur. He's broad, muscular, and his waist forms a sharp V as it reaches his hips. Even through his glossy, well kept coat, the definition of each muscle and delicious shoulder blade catches your eye. You're terrified, hoping it's just some sort of elaborate cosplay to scare people. There's definitely space for someone to be hiding inside that... realistic suit. Ducking into your tent, you continue to observe with only one eye peeking from the tent, hoping you won't be noticed.

The man begins to look around, two catlike ears upon his head are perked as he scans his surroundings and eventually, he looks in your direction. He's far too tall to even register you while his eyes are at their level, but oh boy do you register him. You drink in his form, and, as he turns, his face. He's chiselled, certainly a sight for the sorest of eyes. His face is simply the cutest, softest almost feline looking one, and his jaw juts out as he analyses his surroundings thoughtfully.

You know how Leon looks, so I don't need to go into detail about the way his piercing blue eyes reflect the sun, shining through his silver fringe. I don't need to describe to you how his fluffy bangs sway dramatically as he looks around, or how he playfully blows a soft puff of breath upwards to clear some stray hair from his eyes.

Fortunately for you, I also don't need to tell you that he doesn't see you. He seems almost in a trance, stepping around carefully, analysing the tents and each miscellaneous object littered around. It seems as though he's checking up on things- the quality of them, the materials they're made of. He seems curious.

And then you see it, a small burst of flame at his right ankle. He's stepped too close to the fire pit. The yeti lets out a startled grunt, jumping into the air like a petrified cat. His hair bristles and stands on end as he tries to stand one legged in the snow, trying to bury his leg to put it out.

Then he loses his balance, the gargantuan man stumbling forward before suffering an untimely meeting with the guy line of a nearby tent. He yelps, trips, and with a loud thud and a few pings, lands face first in the snow right outside your tent. His collision with the strings holding up your tent sends them pinging out of the soft snow, and suddenly, your tent collapses around you, trapping you in.

Even in weak flails, he'd managed to tear his claws through another tent. You were terrified. What if he saw you?

In his clumsy efforts, the man had thrown quite a large amount of snow into your tent, and you gradually become colder, damper and more panicked as the freezing wet fabric of the tent pins you down. Scared to move, you only shiver as you completely hide inside now, not wanting the abomination outside to find you. You'd seen enough now to be certain that wasn't a costume. He was too... real.

You hear frantic fumbling and crunches of snow as the man outside extinguishes the last of his afflictions. His breaths are heavy, and gradually slow to a calming rate. And, after a while of sitting there still, perhaps shocked, he works up the courage to gaze around at the tents he's toppled. When his eyes at last land on your entirely ruined one, his heart sinks straight to his gut. His shoulder slump and he just stares in your direction, guilty being an understatement. Maybe if he just stares at the tent for a little longer, everything will undo itself, he seems to think, ogling your direction as his mouth hangs open.

Instead, it draws his attention to your shivering form beneath the soaked fabric. He swallows thickly, eyes widening and pupils narrowing.

"Fuck..." he groans meekly, muscles tensing in anticipation before stumbling to his feet. He kicks snow as he makes a series of small, unsure steps towards the tent. Then, in a flurry of inevitable motion, he crouches and throws what's left of your tent off of you. And just like that, with a yelp, your prison of a disguise is torn from you, exposing your skin to the cool, dry air. You shiver, duck away and curl further into a ball. Some small part of you prays for this to be just a nightmare, but the rest of you knows it's very real.

As soon as you hit hit his eyes, Leon falters. He leans back in surprise and his brows furrow in pity and regret. He could tear you apart so easily, and he'd just proved it. Sniffing the air a little, eventually he moves in, reaching out to you with large, clawed hands. He's almost pouting at you, eyes narrowed in concentration as he moves in. All you can do is hold your breath. You ball yourself up tighter. You have no idea how you'll survive this - you're past the point of playing dead. All you can do is stare up at him, silently pleading for mercy.

His hands are warm where they touch you. They're large too - large enough to almost encompass each of your upper arms in their soft grip. He just stays there for a while, gently holding your arms as they shiver. His gaze is locked on them as he focuses, gently adjusting the force at which he holds you, rhythmically squeezing you a little, just to get a feel. His tongue darts out in his focus, and after a while, his eyes are back on yours.

You wondered when your family would be back. You wondered if they could even save you. And then it hit you. You wondered if they'd never be back.

Gently, Leon pries your arms away from your face where you'd shielded yourself so desperately. When I say gentle, well, to him it was. He barely had to exert any force to bend you to his will. You were like putty to him. He could easily overpower you, and he didn't dwell on whether it was down to sheer strength or your fear.

Emotionless eyes scan you up and down a few times, ultimately resting on your face once more as a slow hand wipes your clinging hair from your forehead. Then, he reaches out again. Large clawed hands find purchase under each of your arms. They slide in easily as you comply, not wishing to enrage him. He hoists you up with ease, save a small grunt. Next thing you know, he's standing and you're held at arm's distance from him like a cat. He peers up at you, smiling for the first time. He chuffs, hot breath landing on your face; he seems proud of his catch.

Terrified and uncomfortable, you continue to shake in his grip. All you can do is stare at him pleadingly, and even if you had the willpower, you doubted you could escape him. Your clothes are soaked through now, and if you had to thank him for anything, it would be for warming your arms and not killing you... yet. His blues stalk you through his silvery fringe, and after sniffing your air a few times, he sighs and pulls you in.

You're terrified. You can't look. You squeeze your eyes shut. What if he eats you?? You couldn't even begin to picture it, but after a few seconds of being pressed against his warm body, a gentle caress of your thigh coerces you to open your legs a little to allow him space between them. He grunts, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you more supportively now, like a child.

Buried in his chest, you can't see the small awkward smile he gives you, or the look of relief he sends your way as you seem to warm up to him (literally.) Through small rubs and caresses up your back and where he holds you by your thighs, he slowly rubs his warmth into you. Mind so frazzled by fear, all you can really do is let him hold you. You shiver occasionally, afraid of what he may do to you, but otherwise remain still. You don't want to get on his bad side.

After a while of peace, he gently places a finger below your chin, and guides your face up to meet his. He leans in, nuzzles your cheek a little with his nose, and takes a deep breath in. He lingers on you for a while - eyes closing in either bliss or contemplation, before walking once more. He scowls at the firepit as he passes it, beginning to carry you off in the direction he came in.

Where was he taking you? You go a little rigid, now realising you're being abducted. You panic, and it manifests in small squirms, trying to ball yourself up again and push away, levering yourself away from the yeti. You strain against him, and your small noises of fear and exertion perk his ears. He glances down at you tenderly, ceasing his stride to raise a gentle finger to your teary eyes. He swallows thickly and puffs out another deep breath, thinking for a while. He's not at all sure what to do, and doesn't want to risk failing to speak of his own accord, so instead just bounces you softly like a father cradling a child.

You feel warm and cared for, and become distracted wondering if he can actually understand you. However, your surrender was enough compliance for him to continue walking, and he carries on carting you off to goodness knows where. You wouldn't know this, but in truth, Leon was so confused. He hadn't come face to face with a human in years, nevermind one who was so brittle and terrified of him. Somehow, after all these years, he still imagined himself to be the hero, not the monster.

He hadn't intended to face you. He didn't mean to destroy your tent, or to plunge you into the freezing cold... What he'd meant to do was leave you there, before any of that could happen. He'd felt guilty. He wouldn't let his actions affect you and your sweet holiday so negatively. It was decided for him, he was sure he was helping you. He was going to fix things, and warm you up.

The cold and fear had left you weak. You sit in his arms, limp, knowing you couldn't get away even if you'd tried. The gentle rock of his body against yours as he powers through the snow soothes you. His warmth and strong scent clouds your judgement. Before very long, you find yourself snuggling into him somewhat as you watch your camp grow further and further away through tired eyes. He squeezes you gently as he feels you sink into him. One hand rubs up and down your back soothingly. It was ironic, as your captor, how much reassurance Leon was trying to give you.

"C-can you understand me?" You whisper eventually, raising your head to gaze up at the large man's jaw. His ears twitch a little and then he hums. He peers down at you, thoughtfully.

"Hm.. yeah." His voice is gravelly, rough and deep. It's quiet though, like he doesn't use it much.

"You can?!" Your eyes widen and you pull away a little. Leon was becoming quite nervous now. He feared this moment. He didn't want to talk to you at all. He knew he'd fuck up. In response to your question, Leon smiles sheepishly, revealing his sharp teeth. You get straight to the point. "Where are you taking me?"

He frowns and peers down at you. "My... home?"

"Why??" you feel hopeless again. He seemed human enough to appeal to, but then again, you had no idea what he wanted with you.

"...It's warm here" he eventually mumbles as you notice your surroundings suddenly getting a little darker as he carries you into a cave. You'd been so entranced staring up at him, that you hadn't taken in your surroundings for a while. As you do, you notice several random objects lying around. Some looked natural and from the forest like pinecones, sticks and berries. Others seemed very human. Smartphones, newspapers... clothes.

Oh no. You were going to die here.

At least none of the belongings seemed to belong to you or your family... yet. That was still terrifying though. Where was all this stuff from? Some of it was even torn... That's it, you're getting out of here. With a newfound vigour, you begin to claw at his shoulder and back, climbing out of his arms. For a second, it works, until he catches on and wraps his burly hands around your waist, yanking you back down to where he has a good hold on you. He ducks down to look you in the eyes, almost pleading. "Not gonna hurt you." His voice is a soft hum now, claws prodding you as he holds you still.

Somehow, he comes across as quite trustworthy. You couldn't be scared of him just because he's big, not when he's so clumsy and cute. And certainly not when he holds you and watches you as if you were the most precious, sweet individual he'd encountered. It was hard to ignore him, too, with his smooth voice and handsome face, and the careful way he leans over you as he carries you deeper into his cave to shelter you from droplets of condensation.

"Can you please let me go?" you plead.

"I'll take you" he hums, missing the way your eyes widen in shock and confusion. He jostles you up a little to make sure you stay wrapped around his waist and no lower, before eventually laying you down on some soft-makeshift bedding. You're so far into the cave that most of the light from outside is gone. Nobody would find you now, even if they saw the small gas lamp Leon lit beside you. He's about to lay down right beside you when he realises, perhaps, it's not the right thing to do.

Sheepishly, he motions to a spot on his own bed beside you. "Can I?" You have no idea what to say, so, you nod. You were in his home, if you could even call it that, you weren't gonna anger him. You felt as though you needed to make friends with him if you planned on getting out of this alive. And so, as the large man slowly got onto his knees before laying down on his side beside you, it struck you just how "Beauty and the beast" this situation really was. He groaned a little and his joints creaked somewhat as he slowly got down, propping his head up with one hand as he watches you.

Huge was an understatement, and whilst he did have monstrous features and strength, he seemed like the type to at least give you a kind death should he want to eat you-

No, stop. Why are you thinking like that?

You shiver, replacing his amused hum with another thick swallow. His wide eyes scan you.

"Still cold." his lips tug disapprovingly as he watches you lay there, and when you nod, he wraps a blanket around you that he got from goodness knows where. His voice echoed in the small cave, even if he seemed to be whispering now. Leon didn't like causing you fear, but he also didn't like ruining your shelter and warmth, and so, he sought to provide those for you.

You lay there, facing him. Slow and heavy breaths continue to rush over your face, fanning you as he invades your personal space. Yet for some reason, you can't bring yourself to move away. Turning your head momentarily, you eye your camp in the distance. Maybe if you could just get up and run now, you could escape him. Maybe he'd be kind and let you go. You shake again, the cave only rescuing you from the wind, not the biting cold his body provided you shelter from only moments earlier.

Suddenly, his burly arms are back on you. They wrap around you and pull you close, leaving you no space but to open your legs a little for him to get in between. He blankets you in a weighted embrace, head rested in your neck, pressed intimately close. "You're still shivering" He murmurs, silently noticing how your hairs stand on end at his proximity and gravelly tones. You feel his soft fur against your face, between your fingers. You can almost hear his heartbeat.

It's at this point, reluctantly, that you start to allow your attraction to him to manifest. The signs had all been there before as you admired his figure and strength, and basked in his voice. But now, you had no way of escape. You might as well just give in and enjoy the ride. So, you relax against him, wrapping your leg around him again, and letting him give you all of the closeness he can.

Leon knows this is wrong. He, at heart, is still very human, and knows that he should have abandoned you about 20 minutes ago after he destroyed your tent. Heck, he shouldn't have even gone to investigate. But he couldn't fight how good this felt. He couldn't fight the slow boner he was developing as you snuggled up to him so innocently, and he couldn't help wondering what a relationship with a human would be like, after all these years.

He also cant help the small shocked whimper he makes when you move down a little to snuggle up closer to him, and not-so-accidentally press quite firmly against his little issue. His hands seize your waist, threatening to move you, but when you tense in protest, he groans and goes limp, wrapping them around you again. He falls under the impression that if he keeps still, and if he keeps you still, you won't know what's really going on.

It was difficult to keep your morbid curiosity at bay, about fucking a literal Yeti. It was also difficult to not get too attached to the soothing warmth of his shimmery fur and hot skin. His slow breaths and small smile had you in a sleepy trance. You could fall asleep like this and rest. It would be the warmest night you'd get out here, and in all honesty, this was all starting to feel like a nice, cuddly dream.

Too much so.

"What do you want from me?" You lean back to look into his eyes which shoot open. He seems sleepy too. Your presence comforting him more than you could ever know. He stammers a little.

"W.. N- Nothing." he pleads, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. He thinks for a long while, articulating his words. "Just wanna... keep you warm, n safe." he sighs. You're digesting his response when his eyes shoot open in terror as he feels his cock kick against you once. He loosens his grip. This was terrible. He was being selfish. Maybe he should take you home now.

"Are you gonna let me go back?? I have a family out there, please." You whimper, giving him the eyes. He can't say no, he never wanted to hold you hostage. He just wanted to make sure you were ok and-

"Are you warm now?" he huffs, looking down at you to gauge your expression. In all honesty, you were warm, physically and emotionally. He was cute, too cute, and you could tell that he cared. For the first time since you'd met, you almost felt sure that he would actually let you go. And so, you wanted to test him. You pretend to think for a while.

"mmm, no." you smile up at him.

"No??" He seems shocked, running his hands over you to check, nuzzling his nose against your face. "You feel so... warm" he chokes out, eyeing you worriedly. He presses his finger tips to your forehead "you ill?" he grumbles "Where?" His huge hand works its way up and down your body, pressing everywhere he can whilst still being decent, checking for warmth. Then, when he identifies that your leg is a little cool, he wraps his around it.

You stare up at him. The answer is very simple. "Inside." you hum. He short circuits. Leon stares down at you, a faint blush just becoming visible beneath the fur of his cheeks. Inside? What did that mean? How was he meant to warm you up there???

Oh.

Leon stares at you in shock. He swallows thickly, and you decide he's just not sure what you mean, so, you decide to be a little more genuine about it. "Look... I'm... I'm not even sure if this is real. But I've never seen anything like you before and I'm just curious." There's a stunned silence as he eyes you up and down, thinking to himself.

"If you don't want to- it's fine." He wanted to. Oh boy did he want to. He just wasn't sure if it'd be right. He never imagined this day would come. He never thought he'd be able to fuck someone ever again. Leon hums down at you.

"Really shouldn't." those words pop your balloon instantly. You pout at him, but you're willing to take his answer.

"Why not?"

"No condom..." he sighs "Unless you-"

"No."

You both lay there in silence for a while before he crumbles, head falling to reside in the crook of your neck once more. You can tell he's thinking about it- taking you in, soaking into you. He's not felt more content in years. Cuddling up to you, he croons before placing a chaste kiss to your throat.

...Maybe he does want it...

You cover his cheek with small kisses, and sneakily reposition yourself against his throbbing cock. He whines, bucks into you once, and buries his fanged mouth against your skin where he feverishly kisses, trying to hide his sounds. Leon couldn't even admit to himself, let alone you, how pent up he'd been, and now? He wouldn't at all be able to let this opportunity slide.

One of his hands roams your body, sliding down to grip your waist possessively, tugging you hard against him. Then he retreats, realising his mistake. You grab his hand and return it to where it was, earning a playful chuckle and another shy buck of his hips. He runs that hand up your body twice more, watching entranced by the way it glides over your hips and chest, before using it to cup your face. He makes you look up at him.

"You sure?" He's hesitant, a little shaky. You're both very aware that this could end terribly. He could crush you.

"Uhuh.." Just like that, your fate is sealed. He leans in, and pulls you close for a hungry kiss. Expected from a mythical creature, Leon was a walking antithesis: His physical size and strength made him dominant and scary, and yet each of his actions was soft, caring and calculated... and needy. He whines as your lips meet his searing ones. He was so cute, so pliable. You're sure he'd do anything you wanted at this point, and so, testing your luck, you gently grind against him.

He instantly reciprocates, moaning a little as he clutches you tightly. Leon's ears sit flat to his head as he ruts against you, eyes screwed shut, mouth willingly opening enough for you to use some tongue. You've been making out for what, 2 minutes? And the man is already panting, groaning, rock solid against you as he humps desperately. When you slow down on the tongue, he licks eagerly into your mouth too, and moves to pepper kisses and licks all over your cheeks and neck while you catch your breath.

He's so cute, practically begging for you with his mouth but no words come to his aid. Instead, all the gentle giant can do is stare down at you with pleading giant puppy eyes. You want to go further with him. Guiding his hand down towards your sex, you intrust him to ready you. And oh boy does he. He swallows thickly, eyes locking onto you as if you're some mission or target, and he begins to work on you, slowly at first. He groans, cock kicking against you as he licks his lips. Eyes closed tight, kissing you all over, he doesn't even notice you undressing your bottom half until he hears you shimmy the fabric down your legs.

But that's when you feel it too. His hard cock poking out from his coat, slowly drooling copious pearls of precum, smearing his fur. He ruts it against you, the force of his huge hips shoving you so hard that you wrap yourself around him again just to stay put. Suddenly, Leon picks up his pace on you just where it feels best, rubbing with more force and energy than before. Unbeknownst to you, he had a plan. You let out a moan, mouth open wide enough for him to suddenly jam two huge digits in there. It didn't hurt, he wouldn't hurt you, but for a second, you feared for your life.

Even half way in, his fingers had you gagging, choking and drooling. You got them nice and wet for him, and as thanks, they'd be going inside you. Replacing his fingers with his tongue again, he needily whimpers and whines into your mouth.

"Fuck, you're w.. g-great... You're great" he groans, toying with your entrance, eyes shut once more as he grinds into you. He's slow, he understands his fingers are huge, especially by the reaction he didn't mean to elicit from filling your mouth with them, and so, once he breaches you, one finger at a time, makes sure to go slowly. He tries a bit of everything, thrusting, curling them, scissoring you open, all gently until he thinks you can take more.

He fills you so perfectly, so deliciously with just his fingers alone, and he knows what to do even whilst kissing you all over, but you don't dwell on where he got the experience. Leon nibbles a little at your lobe, trapping it gently between his sharp fangs, and moves towards teasing other parts of your throat and shoulder in this way until you begin grinding against his fingers, chasing something more. You snapped out of it a little when you realised just how large his member was. Easily over 7, maybe 8 inches.

And now, he was lining it up with you, holding his breath as he lets it slip, teasing your entrance a few times. It was thick too. The whole thing was just pretty, and due to his strange skin colour, where it would be red and angry it was tinged with a soft purple.

The last thing you see before he stuffs you is his brows furrowed in concentration as he lines himself up. As soon as he slides in, you groan and buck from the stretch of just the first few inches. He shakes, he twitches a little, and he curls up to you, holding you oh-so-dearly. His hips buck shallowly a few times but ultimately he's patient, waiting for the go ahead until he can continue to slowly fill you up. A few shallow thrusts and he works his way deeper, then he gives you a minute or so before repeating.

As bottomed out as he can be, Leon begins a torturously slow pace. He watches closely for you reaction. He's wondering what you like, what you want from him. Eventually, he's groaning with each slow thrust, apparently more edging for him than you. He quickens his pace, leaning over you, propping himself up as he pounds into you a little roughly now. He barely pulls out, each slow roll against of his hips against your sex making you want to cry out.

It's having an affect on him too. Before long, Leon is groaning and growling with each thrust. He's on his knees, body forcing your legs up against your chest as he pile-drives into you. His head hangs by your ear, occasionally nipping and sucking at you, but for the most part, growling like a feral animal. He slows down a little before driving a series of hard, strong thrusts into you with merciless force. Snarling and snapping his jaws, each smack of his hips shifts your body across the bed until he has to grab your ankle to pull you back to him.

He knows you're close, but he wants this moment to last and he's sure you do too. His breath tickles your ear between breathless chuckles, his voice deep and sultry, "H..heh... you ever... ridden a yeti?" As soon as you shake your head no, he purrs. "You want to?"

You nod. He picks you up with ease, temporarily leaving you empty and collapses onto his back. He's quick to fill you to the brim once more as soon as he's comfortable. He groans and throws his head back as you slide down him. And then, lets you work your magic. He groans under you, arms folded behind his head to cushion himself. His eyes follow you, watching you almost predatorily as you bounce on him, and occasionally, his hips snap up to meet yours.

"Fuck, you know, you're so... gnnn... good at this" he whines, trying to force his eyes to stay open so he can watch you.

He bites his lip, bucking up to meet you as his hands reach out for you. They're huge. One feels your body, supporting you, the other holds your ass, guiding you up and down. He smirks, clearly about to make another comment, when you reach down caress his chest, digging your nails into his pecs as best you can. His head falls back and he lets out an almost roar. "Fucckkk" he hums, staring up at you.

You're close again, but you're getting tired. Luckily for you, he understands. Leon sits up, wrapping his huge arms around you. He snuggles into your neck, littering it with growls and kisses as his hips go wild, pistoning into you with a force somehow he hadn't used yet. You were amazed, for such a large man, how hard and fast he could rabbit into your hole. His breaths deep, laboured and lustful as he lost himself in you.

It wasn't long before you were cumming on his cock, gripping his fat length like a vice. He groans, plugging his mouth with your shoulder, but not biting hard. You know exactly what's coming as he adjusts his legs, thrusting hard, almost throwing you up into the air if it weren't for his arms pinning you down to him. His growls and groans shake your core, rutting up in a similar fashion a few times as he pumps you full of his seed. And then he collapses, falling back against his bed. He pants and blushes furiously.

A small grin litters his face, he looks like he's about to pass out as he lays there, eyes narrow and chest heaving. It takes him a while to come down, cock still throbbing and kicking inside you. With how tight you are around him, there's no chance you'll spill a drop before he pulls out.

"Mmmm, fuck" he hums contentedly, hips jostling you upwards a few more times as he carefully reaches up to hold your face. His hand dwarfs your head easily, and he smiles. He's hesitant as he strokes your face. He knows what he did was probably wrong, but it felt so good. It delights him when, as he gently pulls you towards him, you come readily, leaning down to meet his lips.

This kiss isn't hungry or greedy. It's needy and loving. It's an apology, and a thank you, all at once. And when you pull away, his eyes flutter open to gaze lovingly at you.

He sighs, realising his time is up. "Alright, Take you back now, as promised." You're not having it. Playfully, you roll your hips against his and sigh down at him. His cock is half soft inside you now, and still feels great. He stares up at you, confused, ears perked. "What's wrong? Why not?"

"I'm cold outside again..." you pout. He chuckles, leaning up to grab you in a tight hug before laying down once more, this time with you as his captive.

"Well then, allow me to warm you up again."

And that he did.

Eventually you returned to your camp. With Leon carrying you, that is. If he'd given you anything, it was a severe case of jelly-leg.

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guys I just awnna have a little rant at u rn I'm sorry this fic is late and not christmas and Im sorry but I tried to write n edit this like 3 times and each time tumblr deleted my fucking edit im so fucking mad I had internet and I saved it as a draft the works but tumblr was a penis grrrr also, also, the times I edited it like and wrote some I had such good ideas for jokes and puns and things and good writing and now because iM fed up all my good ideas have left me so sorry that this fic is shitty bye thanks for existing ily.

the fic is so long im sorryy i hope you like him

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