#reclusive hours are strong

[nickfowlerrr]

everybody talks

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut, fluff, a bit of angst. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. nipple play. if i’m missing something that needs to be tagged, pls lmk!

words: almost 7.7k

notes: happy halloween 👻 so i had an idea for reclusive neighbor!bucky meeting reader when she stops by his house with a group of kids for trick or treating, and this is very much not that but i think it still works lol. also, i wrote this in a day? i don’t think i’ve ever written more than like 4k in a day before so, yay me!

i wanted to participate in @witchywithwhiskey’s horror movie hoe-a-thon but i decided so last minute and then thought the deadline was the 31st, but i absolutely read the guidelines wrong bc it was actually yesterday and i missed it lol. i’m linking her event still though bc i did use a quote prompt! 🖤

The loud shaking of the wobbly cart you grabbed in your hurry precedes you as you make your way through the ridiculously crowded grocery store. Normally you would have been mortified - probably would have left the cart and ventured off to grab what you needed sans basket - but you don’t have the time to be concerned about the looks you’re getting as you walk fast down the aisles. 

When your sister asked you for help organizing a family halloween party, you didn’t realize she meant an actual little community family friendly party for the street she lived on.

You had gotten two frozen pizzas, a bag of candy, a case of soda, and some random bags of chips you were sure your nieces would love, just last night. That would have certainly been enough for you, your nieces, and both your sisters, but unfortunately, that wasn’t where the guest list ended. 

The look on her face when you showed up to her house with just those few things would have been funny if she wasn’t already on the brink of a breakdown.

Her husband was out of town for work and she was doing all the halloween prep for Sid herself, thus why she enlisted your help with the party and your younger sister’s help for the trick or treating plans.

Before she could snap and completely lose her cool on you, you were already rushing to the front door, keys still in hand, promising you’d be back within the hour and she had nothing to worry about.

That’s how you found yourself among the crowd of the woefully unprepared this afternoon. 

You loaded the cart with six more frozen pizzas, three family servings of the deli’s hot and ready fried chicken, two packs of halloween cupcakes, two more cases of soda, an extra case of water, and three boxes of capri suns before you started filling the cart with the halloween party snacks you found in the holiday section. 

You were getting a workout as you pushed the basket, less shaky now thanks to the added weight, heading to the candy section to grab a few bags of whatever they had left.

You were distracted by the end cap display as you turned down the aisle and didn’t see the man standing right in front of you, accidentally running into him. Though, running into him sounds like an exaggeration. With how heavy your basket was, and how sturdy the man before you was, it was more like a bump - a love tap. He didn’t even really react to it aside from looking over briefly to you and your basket.

Even still, you apologized profusely, rambling an apology about not looking where you were going before you finally got an actual look at your victim. 

Your words stopped almost abruptly when your eyes met with crystal blues. His stare was icy, but not cold, moreso piercing.

He blinked and broke your trance, offering you a shy smile before he looked away.

“It’s okay, you’re fine,” he said, eyes fixed back on the shelves of candy.

He was dressed in dark denim jeans and a black crewneck sweatshirt, his hair was dark and down to just above his broad shoulders, and the stubble that lined his strong jaw suited him well. You didn’t realize you were staring again until he looked back up at you.

You forced yourself to smile then, ignoring the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you offered with a nervous laugh before you forced the cart behind where he stood to go onward. 

You could have sworn you saw a blush rising to his cheeks as he smiled to himself, avoiding your gaze, but you weren’t entirely sure. 

And you definitely didn’t have the time to ponder on it.

Instead, you began your own search of the shelves to find not only your nieces’ favorites, but your sisters’, too. 

They were both working hard to make their kids’ halloween a good one, they deserved a little treat themselves when all the work was done. You, on the other hand, still single and child free, were planning on treating yourself all night. You were there to help, sure, but most of the work wouldn’t be done by you. You were looking forward to seeing them off to trick or treat and plopping down on your sister’s couch to watch movies for the rest of the night - handing out candy, of course, should any kids come by.

Once the party was set up and over, you’d be free for the night and you couldn’t wait.

You were lucky to find most of what you were looking for, but couldn’t seem to find the last kind of chocolates you wanted to get. 

As your eyes scoured the shelves, you found yourself looking back over to where the handsome stranger still stood. His brows were furrowed as he held up two boxes of full size candy bars, seeming to be debating between the two.

The look of concentration on his face was endearing, you could almost chuckle at how serious in thought he seemed to be over candy.

You smiled to yourself, returning to your search. As your eyes left the man, traveling instead to the rows of candy in front of him, that was when you saw the bag you needed. In the section right where he was standing, because of course they’d be there. 

He huffed in exasperation before you watched him drop both boxes of candy into his cart. He turned to head down the aisle in your direction and his eyes widened slightly when he saw you still standing there.

“Oh, sorry, I’m in your way, aren’t I.”

“No, you’re fine!” You assured him as you left your basket, walking closer to him. “I just needed to grab this,” you said, looking up with the bag in hand. He hadn’t moved from where he stood as you approached, so you were inadvertently in his personal space - but he didn’t make any attempt to move from you. In fact, he looked almost frozen. 

His bright eyes were on you, one hand on his cart, the other clenched by his side. He seemed to go a bit ridge at your proximity, like he didn’t want to make any sudden movements, but he relaxed after a second after seeing your soft smile, blinking at you as his cheeks burned. 

You quickly backed away, hoping to not make him more uncomfortable and to not embarrass yourself further.

You grabbed onto your cart and looked his way once more, meeting his eye again as his sights were already on you. 

You smiled shyly, “Sorry, again, for hitting you,” you offered, “happy halloween.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but he did give you a small nod of acknowledgement.

Your smile grew tighter before you turned and made for the check out, sighing as you rolled your eyes at yourself, mentally chastising yourself for being such an awkward inducing mess. 

The lines were long and as you waited, you had to field a call from your sister, promising her you were checking out and would be back at her house soon.

You finally got through the line and were on your way out the sliding door when your cart almost crashed into another. You gasped as you pulled at your cart to stop, the heavy weight carrying it forward, its momentum causing it to almost ram right into the cart beside it.

The doors were only big enough for one cart to go through at a time, so you looked up to offer whoever it was you almost crashed into the lead.

It was your turn for your eyes to widen as you once again were met with those piercing blues.

“I am so sorry, I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear,” you laughed nervously, backing up a bit so he’d have room to go through the doors. “Go for it,” you said.

He shook his head, “Please,” he gestured for you to go in front, “ladies first.”

Had you not been in a hurry, you would’ve argued that he should go ahead, but seeing as your phone was lighting up with messages from your erratic sister, you smiled and pushed on forward. “Thank you,” you breathed.

You were trying not to pay attention as he followed behind you, but when you got to your car, halting your basket at your trunk, you couldn’t help but notice as he stopped next to you.

You looked over at him, and he looked over at you. He smiled this time, popping his trunk, “What are the odds?”

You tittered, not knowing how to respond. You couldn’t help your smile though as you turned back to your trunk and started putting the bags in.

He himself didn’t have much in the way of bags, and was finished putting his stuff away and taking his cart back by the time you were halfway done putting your stuff in your car.

You saw as he approached his door from your peripheral, and looked up and over in his direction as he abruptly stopped just before he was about to pull open his door.

For a second, he looked like he was about to turn around but then thought better of it, reaching for the door handle again before pulling away once more. 

He squeezed his car keys in his hand before he turned back around, completely this time. You blinked at him, in a bit of a stupor as he came up to you. You waited for him to speak as he opened his mouth before quickly shutting it, taking a breath, then anxiously licking his lips.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced himself a bit stiffly before his lip quirked up in a nervous half smile. Your brows raised of their own volition before you gave him your name in turn.

He seemed to be relieved by your reply, as if he was worried you would have ignored him, before he took another step closer to your car. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Oh, uhm, sure. That’d be great, thanks.”

“Big plans for the night?” he asked as he slid the packs of soda and the water into the car.

“My sister is hosting a little halloween party for the families on her street before they head out trick or treating tonight, I’m helping her out with setup and food. But after that,” you sighed, putting a few more bags in, “I’m planning on just watching movies between trick or treaters. Nothing crazy. You?” you asked, looking over to him.

“I’m planning pretty much the same. I don’t know how many trick or treaters to expect, I’m new to the neighborhood and… maybe haven’t been the friendliest neighbor,” he cringed to himself as he grabbed the boxes of juice. “But I got the full size candy bars, so…”

“Sprung for the full size, huh? I’m sure those kids’ll love it. You’ll be the talk of the block,” you joked.

His chuckle had you smiling so hard you had to bite your lip to keep from looking like an idiot.

Bucky took the last of the bags from you and set them carefully down before he closed the trunk for you. You were hanging onto the cart, waiting to say bye before you walked it to its home, as he turned, shoving his hands in his pockets before he spoke. He had that anxious look on his face again, his eyes down at the ground while he licked his lips mindlessly before he met your eye.

“I, uhm,” he seemed to register where his hands were then and took them out of his pockets, “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me, but, did you maybe, want to exchange numbers?” he asked, bright blue eyes bearing into yours.

Your lips parted unbidden, eyebrows raising in surprise, or more like shock, as your eyes widened.

“You- you want my number?” you asked stupidly. You didn’t give him a chance to answer though before you continued, “Uhm, yeah,” you nodded, “sure.”

The delicate smile on your lips grew as you reached for your phone.

You exchanged numbers and said your goodbyes before you were finally headed back to your sister’s place.

You were smiling like a fool as you drove, a sense of giddy taking over you. This kind of stuff never happened to you. You were still in a bit of disbelief as you pulled into your sister’s driveway, calling her to help you unload but deciding against telling her about your little grocery store meet cute. At least until the party was underway and her stress levels came down.

—

Grumpy. 

That’s the word you would use to describe your current state.

This was not how tonight was supposed to go. You should be lounging on a couch watching scary movies with a bowl full of candy right now, not clopping down the street in your wedges - a last minute costume thrown together as your niece held your hand and pulled you along with her while your sisters and baby niece strolled behind.

Sidney had thrown a fit when she learned you wouldn’t be coming along for trick or treating and only calmed down when you finally relented and agreed. But of course, you couldn’t just go out in what you were already wearing, no, that would be too easy. You absolutely needed a costume. 

At your sisters’ and niece’s goading, you were forced to put something together. 

You were already in all black, so you snagged the leftover cat ear headband your sister had and made your already done eye look a little more exaggerated. You all left soon after, your niece’s jubilance as she skipped out of the house easing your annoyance at the change of plans. As you started down the driveway, you were cursing yourself for not having brought your sneakers, and your sisters for both having smaller feet than you.

You walked up to house after house with your niece, taking turns switching who was going up to the door every two or three houses. In between houses, you finally told your sisters about the guy you met at the store earlier, how attractive he was, how he helped you load your car, and how he asked for your number before you went your separate ways.

It was nice to be able to talk with them about it, it had been a long time since it had been just the three of you together - no obnoxious boyfriends or overly talkative husbands to interrupt your conversations. You had to say, you were starting to feel a bit more grateful for your niece’s insistence on you joining them.

As you talked to your little sister while she held her daughter, you both watched as your niece tugged on her mom’s hand, refusing to go up the pathway of the house you were now at. As you looked around, you realized everyone else seemed to be avoiding the house, too. You weren’t sure why, though. The porch light was on and there was a cute, though solitary, ghost decoration that would greet you as you walked up the path to the house. 

“What is up with that?” you asked aloud.

As your older sister walked back over, she answered your question. “She doesn’t wanna go, she says it’s haunted.”

You fixed your niece with a look, “What do you mean haunted? Who told you that?”

“Evan and Fifi. They said the metal man lives here and he kills anyone who tries to come in.”

“The metal man, huh? Well,” you said, making a point of looking all around the front of the house, “it looks to me like whoever lives here is ready to pass out candy to anyone brave enough to knock. The lights are on, and did you see the ghost up front? They’re probably just as excited about Halloween as you are.”

“No.” she responded flatly.

“No?” you scoffed. “Ohhh, okay,” you exaggerated, “I get it, you’re too scared to go. That’s all you had to say, Sid, no shame.”

“I’m not scared,” she argued, her face scrunched in annoyance at your insult.

“Really? If you’re not scared then why won’t you go knock on the door?”

She floundered for a second before she narrowed her gaze at you. You wanted to laugh at the low growl that radiated from her but held it together. 

“We’ll all go,” she finally decided, looking all three of you in the eyes to make sure you were all ready to accompany her.

—

It had been two hours since the trick or treaters had started their nights. 

Bucky could hear the laughter and screams of playful fright as family after family and group after group of friends passed by his house. 

The bowl of king size candy bars sat on his coffee table untouched as It played on his screen. 

Every now and again he’d get up and look out the kitchen window, hoping to see a dead street to make himself feel better about the lack of trick or treaters, but only found the streets full of people.

The more time that passed without a single knock or ringing of his bell, the worse he felt. 

He could lie and say he didn’t know why he was taking this so hard, he wasn’t one to complain about his solitude, but truthfully, he knew why.

He had heard the neighbor kids talking about him the other week, telling tales of horror about the metal man who lived next door. If seeing his arm was all it took to spur their tales and ignite their fear of him, God, he didn’t even want to know what would come if they found out even a little bit of his past. 

And if it wasn’t the kids starting their own urban legend at his expense, it was the adults who would gossip about him at their backyard barbecues. The mysterious man who lived alone and kept to himself was an easy target for lowly neighborhood gossip, and the few people who had pieced together who he was seemed to be tight lipped about it. Anytime they saw him in public, their eyes would bug and they would quickly avert their gaze, like they were scared what would happen if he knew they knew. It’s not like his identity was a secret, but he wasn’t planning on striking up a conversation with them to let them know that. Especially not when they looked at him like that. Like he was some kind of monster.

Even still, he didn’t want to be the social pariah on the block. He hated to think that anyone was scared or weary of him, though he knew most of them were.

He sighed heavily as he checked the time once again. 

So much for that ghost helping to dispel his bad reputation. He’d be requesting the money he spent on it from Sam later, it was his idea for him to get halloween decorations in the first place. He should have known it wouldn’t have helped.

As his phone unlocked with his FaceID, he was tempted to send a message to the woman he’d met earlier in the day. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he hadn’t felt so disarmed by someone in a very long time. And the fact that she was gorgeous, and didn’t seem the least bit frightened by him, was a nice feeling, too. 

But she was probably watching movies and relaxing by now, he didn’t want to be a disturbance. Tomorrow, though. He’d definitely be messaging her tomorrow.

Another sigh left him as he locked his phone again, tossing it on the coffee table before making his decision.

Bucky paused the movie before he stood, bowl in hand, prepared to take it to the kitchen and shut his porch light off on his way upstairs. It was only gonna get later and he had to accept that no one was going to trick or treat at his house this year.

But just as he was setting the bowl down on the table, he froze.

Was someone actually coming up the porch?

He swore he was just hearing things…but then came a knock.

—

“You can’t just stand there, Sid, you have to knock or ring the bell, pick one.”

“No.”

“Ugh,” you exaggerated with an eye roll, turning to look at your older sister, “you live with this everyday?”

“Everyday,” she replied.

“Sid, if you don’t knock, you don’t get candy,” you told her.

“If I don’t knock, I don’t get murdered.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll do it myself,” you shrugged, adjusting the cat ears on your head.

You raised your arm to knock on the door, but Sid stopped you, pulling it back down.

“I don’t want you to get murdered, either!”

“Sidney,” you laughed, kneeling to get on her level, “I promise you, no one is going to get murdered. This house isn’t haunted and a murderer doesn’t live here.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” your little sister chimed in, earning a glare from you before you couldn’t help your laugh, shaking your head before turning back to your niece.

“I just met Evan and Fifi at the party, and I know for a fact they were just trying to scare all of you guys. I doubt they’ve ever met whoever it is that lives here. Now, do you trust me?”

Her reluctant nod was your answer.

“Okay. Then I’m gonna knock on the door, and we’re gonna get some candy. Cool?”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” you nodded with a smile before standing back up.

Sid inched back to stand in front of her mom, pulling her arm to hide herself behind as you once again went to knock on the door, this time following through.

You knocked and heard footsteps from within, smiling as you waited for the homeowner to open the door.

Once it opened, though, you found yourself completely taken aback. 

Your breath caught in your throat as a newly familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes met yours.

Bucky stood at the open door, bowl of full size candy bars in hand. He looked just as surprised to see you there as you were him. 

He tilted his head at you, a lopsided grin spreading on his face.

“Trick or treat!” Sidney yelled, seeing the big bars and coming to stand in front of you.

Bucky looked down, smiling as he showed her the bowl, “Happy Halloween,” he said, allowing her to pick which one she wanted.

“I know how this looks, but I swear I’m not stalking you,” you promised.

“I don’t know, it seems like a lotta coincidences for just one day,” he smirked, cooly leaning against his door frame. “Nice costume,” he complimented.

“Ha, thanks,” you smiled, touching the cat ears once again. “Nice ghost,” you nodded toward the lonely decoration, “Really livens up the place,” you teased. 

“That was the intention,” he laughed, a little too glumly for your liking. “You guys are actually the first trick or treaters I’ve had all night, so I guess it didn’t really do its job.”

“Sorry, you guys know each other?” your sister asked.

“Yeah, uh,” you turned briefly, “this is Bucky,” you said.

“Bucky from the grocery store, Bucky?” your little sister asked.

You gave her a look you hoped Bucky didn’t see before answering, “Yes. That Bucky.”

Your sisters introduced themselves to him and as he switched the candy bowl from his right hand to his left, extending his palm to shake their hands, you noticed a glimmer coming from  his left side.

You moved over a bit to allow them room to shake hands and as you looked closer, you realized that, peculiarly enough, his left hand wasn’t made of flesh. 

You scoffed a laugh to yourself at his “metal man” moniker. That made some sense now… In fact, a few things were clicking into place. Bucky, you thought…Bucky Barnes? The Bucky Barnes. You wondered how you hadn’t noticed earlier, not that it mattered, but you were staring, like kind of a lot, at him when you met at the store, and even when he was helping load your groceries. You really must have been distracted by just how gorgeous his face is.

Now that you were really looking at him again, you noticed just how built he was. Strong arms, solid chest, nearly six foot tall if you had to guess. 

Your sister’s laugh brought you back to reality as you followed her gaze to Sid who was now taking a bunch of bars from Bucky’s bowl as he held it out for her again.

“I doubt anyone is coming my way again, so please, take what you want,” he offered to all of you.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you smiled as your sisters each took a bar of their own. “We’ll uh, let you get back to your movie,” you said, remembering his plans for tonight.

“The movie, yeah. I think I might have to start it over, actually. I went on my phone for a minute and looked up to see a blood covered bathroom but I have no idea how they got there,” he huffed a laugh at himself.

“Oh, what are you watching?” your little sister asked.

“It,”

“It? No way, that’s so funny. That’s the movie you were gonna watch before we left tonight, isn’t it?” your older sister asked knowingly, a smirk no one but you and your younger sister would ever catch flashing for a microsecond on her lips as she looked at you pointedly.

“Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, “it is,” you said, trying not to let the awkwardness that was eating at you consume you entirely.

“You should stay and watch it,” your little sister suggested, to your complete and utter mortification. Your eyes shot over to her, and you swear, if looks could kill. 

“I’m not just going to invite myself-”

“Come on, like he minds,” she turned to look at Bucky then, her hands still on her stroller holding her baby, “you don’t mind, do you?”

You peek over at Bucky, unsure of how you would even react if you were in his position. He met your eye and his lips quirked in a soft smile. “Not at all. If you wanted to, that is,” he added, offering you an out.

You looked at him a moment before looking over to your smugly smiling sisters and your niece as she tore into one of her candy bars, standing safely between the two of them. You inhaled sharply before looking back to a waiting Bucky. 

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Sounds…fun.”

“Great, well we were heading back anyway. So, see you later?” you sister bid. 

“Or not,” your little sister added teasingly before she shot her gaze over to Bucky once more. “But we do have her location, just so you know,” she added seriously, a hint of a warning in her words.

“Ooo-kay,” you said, breaking the forthcoming tension, “I will text you guys when I’m on my way back,” you told them, urging them to get going.

“It was nice to meet you, Bucky. I trust my sister will get home safe,” your sister said directly.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he responded gallantly while your face felt as if it was literally on fire.

What was this, it was like your parents were dropping you off for your first date in high school. But somehow worse.

She nodded, “And thank you for the candy. Sidney,” she called, getting her daughter’s attention, “what do we say?”

“Thank you! Happy Halloween!”

“You’re very welcome,” Bucky smiled. “Happy Halloween.”

—

It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting on Bucky’s couch, a glass of water you had desperately needed sitting before you on the coffee table and Bucky sitting to the left of you, but keeping a respectable distance.

“I’m really sorry about my sisters, by the way. They can be a lot,” you huffed a laugh.

“Don’t be,” he brushed off, “It’s nice to see, honestly.”

You looked over at him, he seemed a bit forlorn before he came back to himself. 

“You know, my niece was almost too scared to come to your door. She said this house is haunted, that ‘the metal man’ lives here and kills anyone who tries to enter.”

“Ah, I see word travels fast when it comes to children.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of like their own urban legend.”

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully as you laughed, lifting a leg up to cross under your thigh as you turned to face him on the couch.

“What?” you asked, “Don’t you want to be an urban legend?”

“Not really,” he laughed with a shake of his head, turning to face you better as well. “Especially not when it leaves me with bowls full of king sized candy bars no one seems to want.”

There’s a pause before he continues,

“Honestly… I don’t like knowing people are scared of me. I mean I’ve known, for a long time, that they are, it’s just.. Different when you can see that fear on their faces, in person.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving as you scooted in closer to him while he spoke.

“I thought the city was bad, but ever since I moved out here, it’s all so much more intimate. The stares are a lot more pointed.” He laughed humorlessly at himself, “I heard a couple kids talking about my arm a few weeks ago and tried to tell myself I didn’t care, but I’ve been wearing nothing but long sleeves every time I go outside now. 

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he said quickly to clarify, “I just, I don’t want them to have to be scared of me.”

“They shouldn’t be scared of you just because you have a prosthetic arm,” you argued, knowing they surely knew nothing else of who he was, “and their parents should probably be leading by better examples.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “what can you do?” He swallowed the lump in his throat that was forming at your defense of him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all this up-”

“No, I’m sorry, that’s on me. I am incredibly skilled at killing conversations before they even begin.”

“I don’t know about that. You don’t know me well yet, so you don’t know how big of a deal this is, but, I like talking to you,” he smiled. 

You had to look away from his gaze, breathing a laugh as you did. 

The movie was playing on screen, but neither of you were paying any attention to it as you continued talking.

Each time Bucky laughed at your lame jokes, you swore you felt like you were flying. You talked about everything and nothing. You got to know each other better, asking questions about life and preferences and favorites and what-ifs. The conversation flowed so easily, you never even really had to think about what to say next. That definitely wasn’t usual for you, and you liked it. You liked him.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned flirty, and again, it was completely effortless. 

Your knees were pressing against one another as you sat across from each other, almost side by side on the couch.

You laughed in unison at a cheesy line Bucky tried on you before a jump scare on the screen had you quite literally jumping. Without thought, you leaned into Bucky, and he had no qualms about it as you hid your face in his shoulder.

He laughed lightly, his arm coming around you and gently rubbing your back before you forced yourself to pull away. His warmth was so nice and welcoming, but if you didn’t back up, you would’ve tried to nuzzle right into his side - you couldn’t risk the embarrassment.

As you turned back to sit next to him though, he kept his arm around you and tugged you in a bit closer. 

You briefly wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, because you definitely could. You thought it might beat out of your chest at any moment as his warm cologne invaded your senses.

“Sorry, I guess I just assumed you liked scary movies,” he laughed.

“Ya know what’s funny is I actually hate scary movies,” you told him, “the It movies are some of the very few that don’t scare me.”

“Oh, that was you not being scared?” he smirked with a raised brow.

“That was- it just, it caught me off guard,” you defended with a smile, absentmindedly leaning more into his hold.

You had never gotten so close to someone in such a short amount of time, emotionally or physically. 

It was foreign, but you enjoyed it. It may have been sudden, but it didn’t feel rushed. 

“You get scared easily?” he asked.

“I’m the biggest scaredy cat I know,” you admitted. “I’m not hard to get a jump out of, I get scared of literally everything,” you laughed at yourself.

You turned to look at him when he didn’t say anything and felt your breath catch in your throat for the second time that night. He was so close to you now, and his eyes were piercing as he took you in, lingering on your lips and sending a chill through you.

The energy between you seemed to shift from something light and playful to something more charged, deliberate.

Your eyes drifted to his lips despite yourself, too.

He leaned in just a touch closer to you and your lips were mere inches away as he spoke,

“You’re not scared of me,” he said, though you weren’t sure if it was a question or not. Still, you responded as if it were.

Leaning in, brushing your lips against his, you breathed, “No.”

His hand was on your head then, keeping you close to him as he pressed his lips against yours, it was fervent, yet delicate, as your lips moved against one another. 

You moved a hand to hold onto his left shoulder and he tugged your body to move you completely over his lap while he continued to lead the kiss.

His metal hand found its way to your plush waist as he held you, squeezing you lightly and inadvertently causing you to sink down lower into his lap while your upper body melted into him.

His hand slid from your waist to your ass, grabbing you through your leggings, kneading your ample flesh in his large palm.

You moaned into his mouth and that seemed to spur him on because in the blink of an eye you found yourself being flipped onto your back as he pinned you beneath his large body.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both panting, your hands fisted in his sweatshirt as his wandered your curves. 

“Do you have a bed?” you breathed, pulling him back down to be closer to you, wanting desperately to have his lips on yours once more. He nodded.

“Glad you asked,” he returned, voice low and husky.

You yelped as Bucky lifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you with ease while you clung to him like your life depended on it. If he dropped you, you weren’t sure you’d be able to recover from the embarrassment. But as he began up the steps and his hold didn’t falter for a single second, you realized maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about.. He held you like you weighed nothing and honestly, it sent a new wave of arousal through you as he reached the door of his bedroom.

He tossed you down on his bed carefully, but stopped you before you could begin tugging your leggings down your thick thighs. 

You looked at him, confused and with a touch of worry you were about to be rejected.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I should’ve said this before I brought you up here,”

That did nothing to ease your worry…

“I really like you. And I think there could be something real here between us, I don’t want to ruin that. So if you were only here for one night,-”

“I really like you, too,” you cut him off, eyes gleaming into his, “And I think you’re right, I don’t wanna ruin it either. I wasn’t planning for this to be a one night stand, but if you want to take things slower, I don’t have a problem with that.”

“No, I’m good with where we were heading, I just wanted to make it clear that I don’t want this to be just tonight.”

You nodded, a little breathless as you smiled up at him. 

“Same page, then.”

“Good,” he grinned before pushing you to lie back on his bed as he descended upon you. 

His lips were on your neck and as he sucked on your sweet spot, you couldn’t contain the soft moan that passed your lips. 

His hands found the waistband of your bottoms and he pulled them down as much as he could manage before you lifted your hips and wiggled a bit to assist him in getting them off of you. 

You pulled impatiently at the buckle of his jeans, earning a chuckle from him before he got to work taking them off. 

While he got rid of his jeans, you pulled your shirt up and over your head, catching on the cat ears you had forgotten you were wearing. You threw them all to the side, unclasping your bra as Bucky shrugged his sweatshirt off over his head in turn.

He was back on top of you in an instant, pulling your bra off of you and tossing it to land with the rest of your discarded clothes off the side of the bed.

His large hands immediately went to your breasts, admiring the soft, heavy feel of them in his hands while he palmed them, squeezing slightly as he felt you.

You mewled under his attention, eyes closed in delight as his touch only added fuel to the fire burning in your core. 

When he leaned down and took a pert nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking on your tit, your hand found his hair as you gasped at the sensation, holding him to you, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on your breasts.

You could feel the wetness growing between your legs as he continued to have his fun, unconsciously rutting his thick cock against you when you’d moan for him.

As he traveled down your body, his hands following your curves and his lips kissing every inch of you that he could, he paid special attention to your tummy before he traveled even lower. 

You were a writhing mess as you felt his warm breath on your folds. When your hips bucked up into his face and you felt his lips brushing your cunt, you whined obscenely at the feeling. Bucky laughed tauntingly, holding your hips back down as he poked his tongue out past his plump lips, lightly licking your folds and your sensitive clit as you gripped his hair and urged him closer, wanting, needing more.

He finally took mercy on you after a long, torturous minute, spreading you open for him before he ate you out like a man starved. 

His tongue glided all over your slick cunt, dipping in and out of your tight entrance, before coming back up to flick your clit. 

He drew figure eights over the sensitive bud and you swore you were about to come undone from that alone, but when he sunk his thick digits into your dripping pussy, curling them just right, rubbing against that special spot perfectly, you were seeing stars as your thighs threatened to clamp around his head while you shook from your orgasm. Your walls clamped down on his fingers as you came and he moaned at the feeling as he worked you through the high, more than ready to finally get his cock inside you.

“Doll, you look so gorgeous like this,” he admired as he held himself above you, “naked and sweaty beneath me. Like a fucking goddess,” he praised, grabbing his erection and positioning himself at your entrance. 

“You sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, running his cockhead up and down your dripping slit. 

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you moaned pathetically, spreading your legs as wide as you could for him.

“Mm, I love the way you say my name, doll,” he groaned as he pushed just his tip inside your tight cunt, moving in and out of you as you whined for him.

“God, please, Bucky, please fuck me! I want it so bad,” you whimpered. “I wanna feel you fill me up, please.”

The growl that left his throat had your pussy fluttering, squeezing around nothing before he finally gave you what you wanted.  With one hard, deep stroke, he was fully seated inside you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you gasped sharply, your hands gripping onto him wherever you could as he began to set his pace. With every thrust of his hips into you, he was hitting deeper and deeper inside your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried.

“There you go, sweetheart. Take all ‘a my cock inside this tight pussy, taking me so fuckin’ well,” his hands were tight on your hips as he fucked into you. “This what you wanted, doll?” he panted, his pace never faltering as he fucked you harder, the slapping sound of skin on skin and his balls hitting your cunt with his every thrust filled the room, mingled with your moans and whimpers and his grunts and growls. “Wanted this big dick to stretch you out, huh? Wanted to feel me fill you up with my hot cum til I’m dripping outta you.”

One of his hands left your hip and instead went to grab at your breasts again, his large hand palming your tit as he squeezed and kneaded, flicking his thumb over your nipple and only adding to the pleasure threatening to send you over the edge.

“God, yes! Please, fucking yes, Bucky, please, please, please, please” you begged pathetically, reaching a hand down to find your clit, working your bud in circles as your walls tightened around his thick cock. 

Your eyes were about to roll into the back of your head as you moaned senselessly, Bucky’s hand leaving your chest and nudging your own away from your clit. He replaced your hand and circled your clit perfectly as he continued rolling his hips into yours, his pace growing more erratic and the words leaving his beautiful lips growing filthier the closer he got to his own end. 

With one perfectly angled thrust, you were crying as your body shook at the intensity of your orgasm. Wave after wave of nerve tingling pleasure lighting you up as you rode out the high. Your toes curled, legs wrapped around him as much as they could be while he grabbed at your body, falling down closer to you as he moaned, holding your body tighter as he pumped his hips, “Fuck,” he growled as he pushed himself as deep inside of you as he could, his eyes squeezing shut, holding himself there as he came, his body shaking some as he attempted to thrust once more. 

You moaned at the feeling of him painting your walls, your hands in his hair as he buried his face in your neck, holding him to you. He stayed inside of you for a long minute as you both panted, trying to catch your breath, while he ensured he got all of his load out before he finally pushed himself up off of you, gently sliding out of you.

He flipped over next to you, laying on his back before he pulled you into him. Your hand rested on his chest as you laid in his left arm.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, your fingers playing in his chest hair mindlessly as you worked to catch your breath.

His hand was running up and down your side soothingly as he moved to try and meet your eye.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” you assured him. “I’m better than okay, honestly. That was…amazing.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he smiled, “but still, I’m sorry if I got carried away. I tend to run my mouth when I’m, uh,” he fumbled with his words, “ya know, in the moment.” 

He looked so bashful, you couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his expression.

“You just said all of what you just said, but you had trouble with that?” you tittered, rubbing his chest before turning further into him, laying on your side as he stayed on his back, propping his right hand under his head as he relaxed into the position. “But really, Bucky, you don’t have to apologize. I don’t know if you could tell, but…I really liked it,” you simpered sensually.

Bucky smiled at you as you leaned up to meet his lips in a soft kiss. 

“It’s probably way late now, right?” you asked as you pulled away from him. “I should probably head back.”

Bucky sat up after you, “Do you have to?” he asked softly.

You looked back at him, his blue eyes set on you. You nipped at your lower lip before shaking your head lightly. A new, sweeter excitement washing over you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you could stay for the night,” he offered. “I was hoping I could take you for breakfast in the morning?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the hopeful look in Bucky’s eyes as he waited for your response. That giddiness you felt earlier came over you once again as you held his gaze.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

[sadesluvr]

Beautiful Liar

After you boyfriend Randy is tragically murdered, Billy is determined to be the shoulder you cry on.

A/N: Been sitting on this idea for a while. Please read the tags, and minors DNI!

Word count: 3.6K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Dacryphilia / Manipulation / Grief / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Loss of virginity / Corruption kink / Gaslighting / Misogyny / Reader has a vagina / Fingering

Randy Meeks was dead, and there was no way to change that.  

He’d been murdered, brutally; his body in tatters, bloody mess left on the stockroom floor of the video store he’d worked at. Police had said it was a homicide, just another in a series of attacks by the infamous masked ‘Ghostface’ killer that had been running around Woodsboro. The whole town, your friend group included, had been speculating the person – or people’s - identity, wondering if they were male or female, old or young, insider or outsider...either way, the sole question was why. Why Woodsboro? Why now? Why your friends?  

The simple answer – in Randy’s case at least – was that you were living in a classic horror movie, in which none of you would get out of alive unless you followed the rules, (which was the sole reason why you hadn’t slept with him during your relationship) but that particular answer was far from satisfying to you. First Sidney’s mother had disappeared, next was Casey and her boyfriend, soon followed by Sidney’s father, Tatum, Randy and Sidney herself, leaving only you to remain. You were, as Randy would dub it, ‘the final girl’. 

And you hated it. Randy painted these women as strong, brave, heroic, even, but you were far from it; instead worn down and shattered by the massacre of those closest to you over the past six months. There was a reason that the term was only reserved for the movies; it was too difficult, maybe even downright impossible to be able to fight back in real life, especially when it had happened so constantly and so close to home. There were few words you had to speak anymore, and when you did you found that they were only able to materialise around Billy Loomis. 

Billy, and his friend Stu Macher were the only of those that remained. Randy would’ve chalked it down to it being intentional, but the only pattern you could see was that they were killing ‘boy-girl-boy-girl’, which meant either of the two could’ve been next. 

So, imagine your shock – and horror – when Stu had gone missing, leaving nothing but a bloodied shoe in his wake. It was the only death of your friends that you hadn’t been to; no morgue visits or ceremonies, with Billy choosing to spend the day with you after he claimed that the Macher’s had just wanted family at his funeral. You would’ve been hurt, but considering you’d spent the past few months feeling like a curse, you were rather happy to keep your distance. 

“Thanks for staying with me…” you sighed, rubbing your red eyes. You’d been crying over Randy again, and although Billy wasn’t someone who liked dealing with emotions, he’d been a shoulder to cry on – literally – his silence giving you space to vent. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess…” 

“I think you’re taking this too hard,” he said simply, watching you intently as you tried to compose yourself. “None of this is your fault. There are psychos everywhere.” 

“Yeah, but why us? How am I still here?” you gasped, the question blatantly rhetorical.  

“Luck. And skill. You’ve been in the right place at the right time,” he sniffed. “Maybe the killer doesn’t want you dead...” 

“Oh, that’s comforting.” You scoffed, dabbing at your nose with a tissue. He didn’t reply, but he tapped his finger impatiently along the edge of the sofa as his eyes roamed your body.  

You used to be such a sweet little thing; always dolled up in your signature clothes and makeup, but now you were timid, a recluse, even, walking around in Randy’s old shirts and running on two hours of sleep (if that). He couldn’t argue – solely because he’d been the one to cause this - but in time he’d get you back to the way you were. In fact, he might’ve even enjoyed this broken version of you even more; with swollen lips, a melancholy glow, and a psyche that was desperate for affection that only your former boyfriend could’ve given to you. 

Killing Randy had been exhilarating. It’d been all too easy, the boy practically boasted about his job (and therefore his schedule), and then it had been down to hiding in the stock room on his late shift, only to lunge at him from the shadows, pointed blade digging in and ravaging his pale flesh, all the while he screamed – even cried – your name. That was your knight in shining armour, a guy who’d failed to follow the rules he swore to live by. Pathetic. 

He’d shown him his face right before he died, remembering the way his eyes, though dull and rubber like a fish, had seemingly shone with recognition. He’d put the pieces together, simply far too late. 

“Don’t worry, Randy,” he’d said. “I’ll take good care of your little girlfriend.” 

Even in his moribund state, the nerd had known what he’d meant, his eyes flickering with worry just as the life had snapped out of him, the whole situation comically cinematic. All that was next was to kill Sidney, the girl that Randy adored before you’d even transferred to Woodsboro. It was simple; Sidney was collateral, and you were a spoil of war. And there was no one left to save you. 

“I think you should go outside,” Billy said bluntly. “Being inside all day isn’t good for your head.” 

You sighed and wiped your face, glancing around your living room. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d opened the curtains; much less when was the last time you’d gotten off the couch. The television was always on, and you’d done nothing but aimlessly flick through the channels, both avoiding yet drawing yourself to the news, hoping there’d be an update on the killer. It struck you as odd that it had all gone silent. 

“Like...Where?” you said incredulously, and Billy resisted the urge to sigh. 

“We could go to the movies,” he suggested. “It’ll be on me. I’ll even let you watch those terrible romance ones with the sappy endings.” 

You seemed to perk up at this, glancing over at the time on the clock across the room. It was 6:15, and if you showered quick enough (and found some clean, unwrinkled clothes) you could make it to a random seven o’clock screening. It was kind enough that Billy was here with you, but offering to take you to a romance film took selfishness out of the question – he was a true friend, treating you in the same way he had Sidney.

You, like many others, had joked about how perfect he was, often wishing that Randy had been the same way. He’d been nice, without a doubt, but sometimes he was erratic and clingy (some would say annoying), whereas Billy was far more level-headed and relaxed, evident through his constant support. It was time for you to smile, even if it would be temporary. 

“Okay...” You whispered with a weak smile, standing to your feet. “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna freshen up.”   

Billy’s deep brown eyes followed your figure as you walked past him and disappeared up the stairs. Sitting for a moment, he stared at the blaring screen of the television before shutting it off. Considering your state, he’d been surprised that it had been that easy, but apparently all it took for a girl to come around was the promise of a free outing and cliche love stories. The silence was telling – your parents weren’t around – and he pondered your reaction to his arrival in your bedroom...for company, of course. 

Pushing himself up from the couch, he followed you, his shoes barely making a noise as he made his way up the steps before stopping at your bedroom door, being a gentleman and taking his shoes off before he entered. A crack of light from the doorway of the bathroom told him that it was occupied, and so he took it as a signal to enter your threshold, wasting no time in rummaging through your drawers.  

He ran his lithe fingers over the outlines of your bra, following the soft cotton and curved shape as he imagined holding your tits in his hands, groping and tugging on them as you rode his cock, screaming and moaning his name so loudly that you forgot all about your idiot boyfriend.

It was the same with your panties, except he wanted to cut them off you, to watch as your legs trembled from trying to avoid the blade; only to get nipped, ruby rivulets trickling down your thighs. He’d rub it, smear the substance across your skin as he tried to soothe you, your fluids coating his skin and fingernails, only to been mixed with the translucent l cream of your orgasm – over and over and over again.  

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he waited for you to come in, raising his brows at your squeal upon seeing him. You were only in a dressing gown, with your bra peeking out of the sides of the fluffy material. If he wasn’t already hard, he certainly was now. 

“Billy!” You gasped. “I told you to wait downstairs!” 

“I got bored,” he shrugged. “I wanted to see more of you.” 

You gave him a pointed look as you scraped your earrings off the dresser, clipping them on as you paced around the room in search of an outfit.  

“You know me,” you chuckled. “We’ve been friends for a year.” 

“Yeah, but do you ever really know someone?” He said softly, his gaze locked on your own as he cocked his head, blinking slowly at your confused expression. There was something unsettling about his tone, and you couldn’t help but think back to one of Randy’s many pained rants: “Never trust anyone. Everyone’s a suspect, even the love interest!” Did he know something you didn’t, or was he just being his typical, elusive self?

“I mean, come on now, Y/N. Look around. There’s no one left…just us. I think it’s time we got to know each-other.” 

Pulling on some pants under your gown, you frowned. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“We should be closer than we are,” he said softly, reaching out a hand to fiddle with the strap of your gown leisurely, his eye contact fleeting, but coy. “How else are we going to get through this?” 

Your eyes widened, and you gave Billy a once over as you contemplated the implications of his words. He’d never really been that much of the touchy type up until now, and it couldn’t be coincidental that all of a sudden he’d become so close to you. Perhaps it was the stress; the trauma of losing his friends that made him feel like he needed to fill the void. Or maybe it was genuine, that he wanted to stick through this real-life tragedy with you. Why else would he stay the long nights and weekends, watching TV with you or offering you his snacks?  

“Y-You’re a good friend,” you stammered. “Really. But I just don’t know if I can let anyone close to me anymore. What if you get killed!?” You choked, and Billy pulled you to the side of him, pressing your head into the crook of his neck as you sobbed. Tracing small circles on your back, he let you fix yourself before he pulled away, staring into your eyes as he spoke. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I promise. And you know why?” 

You shook your head. 

“I spoke to Randy a few days before he died. He was  paranoid – you know how he was – I guess you could say that he had a sense he was going to die…” Billy paused, eyes flickering with recognition before he swallowed and continued. “…He said that if anything were to happen to him, that I should be the one to take care of you. He knew how close you were with Sidney, and she’d have wanted the same.” 

Shakily, your lips parted as you took a breath. Sidney, like many others, had always gushed about how sweet Billy was – particularly how patient he’d been when it’d come to having sex. It would only be logical for them to say that, given the fact that Stu was the only other candidate. No one else would’ve stuck beside you, putting up with your weeks of moping and incessant crying. It was only right that you started giving him some thanks. After all, he was all you had left. 

“O-okay,” you smiled softly before wrinkling your nose. You were so close to Billy that strands of his hair was grazing against your face, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne – icy, yet comforting. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I guess I got so wrapped up in thinking about Randy that I haven’t really been grateful to you. Come on, let’s go out —“ 

“This isn’t about the movies.” Billy interjected, his brows slightly  wrinkled. “This is about you. You’re a girl, and you have needs.”  

You froze, always worried it would come to this.  

“I can’t let you do that,” you said affirmatively. “You were with Sidney, she was my friend —“ 

“She’s gone now,” he said, zero inklings of emotion detected within his voice. “Just like Randy’s gone. I have needs too, you know. You’re not really being a good friend by ignoring them.” 

“Billy…” 

“You mean a lot to me,” he continued, placing a hand on your thigh, rubbing it in a slow but enticing manner. “I think about you a lot. I want to do more to help you…but you’re not letting me.” 

You knew it was wrong to go there, but part of you knew that he had a point. There was no use in festering in misery; Randy, Sidney and the rest of your friends were gone for good, and there was ultimately nothing that would change that. All you could do was focus on what you had now, and that was Billy; patient, willing, and ready to carry out the wishes of your deceased friends. You just had to let him in. 

Silently, you nodded, and he took that as confirmation to kiss you. His lips were warm and wanting, but certainly felt unfamiliar, and you found that it took you a while to find a suitable rhythm. Billy wasted no time in pushing you back onto the bed, kissing down your neck as he straddled you, the faint outline of his hardening cock brushing against your covered leg. His hands lingered on the tie of your robe, glancing down at it with a smirk before pulling it undone, exposing your semi-nude torso to the cool air of the bedroom. 

Your heart leapt out of your chest; not because what you were doing was taboo, but because you’d never done it before. You were about to lose your virginity to your dead friend’s boyfriend – something that your cloudy mind couldn’t comprehend.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaving love bits on your chest as his fingers slipped under your bra and pinching and rubbing at the surrounding skin and sensitive nipples. “Randy didn’t know what he had…” 

Letting out a moan, you allowed yourself to be consumed by him, pushing off his open button-up so that he was left in his white shirt. He didn’t look much, but his arms were surprisingly muscular, and you found yourself tracing along the outlines of his skin, inadvertently pulling him closer.  

Billy pulled away, a smirk visible on his face as he unzipped his pants, sliding his trousers to his ankles before readjusting himself on the bed. Taking your hand, he guided you off the bed and brought you to your feet. 

“Strip for me,” he lulled, watching you intently for a reaction. “I want to see how pretty you are…” 

Nervously, you peeled the robe off your body, dropping it to the floor at the edge of your bed before undoing your pants, all under the watchful, jaded eyes of Billy Loomis. As cliched as it sounded, you felt like a bride on her wedding night, nerves released by Billy’s soothing coos and gentle touch. He patted the bed – yours, which you seemed to forget – and you laid down, taking laboured breaths as his brown locks disappeared between your thighs, skin breaking into goosebumps as he slid your panties down your legs. 

“You’re wet...” he hummed, placing his index and middle together before rubbing your hood in small, deliberate circles. “I think you wanted me more than you let on.” 

“B-Billy...” you gasped, shutting your eyes at the pleasurable sensation. “I-I’ve never...” 

“Shh, I know, I know...” he whispered, his touch becoming rougher as he prodded and spread your lips apart, admiring your insides like some sort of fucked-up doctor. “ ‘M gonna make you feel good, but you need a little practise first...” 

Billy began to finger you, withdrawing his digits every so often to admire the way the slickness of your arousal coated his skin, glossy and translucent, the feeling second only to the blood of his victims on his skin. As he curled his fingers within you, he found that you began to shake and clench; your orgasm abruptly evident.

As much as he wanted to indulge in it, he wanted to savour you – and so pulled his fingers out, earning a breathy whine from you. Hastily, he lowered his boxers, his erect cock jutting out like a weapon as he stalked you, pushing your body deep into the pillows as he straddled you. 

“D-Do you have protection...?” you whispered meekly, and Billy could’ve came right there and then at the sight of you, lips parted and begging to be kissed as you gazed at him through your lashes.  

“No...” he replied, watching the fear wash over your face. “But it’s ok. I was safe with Sidney, and you’ve never had sex, right? That means you’re good.” 

Biting your lip, you debated protesting, but found it wasn't worth it. You wanted him – needed this – and you were already sinning by fucking your dead friends’ boyfriend. What did unprotected sex have on that? 

“You’re right,” you said with a small smile, puffing your cheeks as you prepared for him to enter you. “Be gentle...” 

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” he said firmly, eyes unblinking as he adjusted himself at your entrance, the edge of his cock grazing against your folds. “We’re in this together, remember?” 

You knew he meant it when he kissed you upon his penetration, his lips swallowing your whine as he entered you. He wasn’t by any means a stallion – simply averaged sized – but he filled you almost instantly, a dull ache forming around your walls as he began to thrust his hips up into you. If this was what sex was like; rhythmic, passionate, if not a little sharp-edged, then you were partially sad that you hadn’t got to experience it with Randy...the remaining deeply selfish part of you glad that it was with Billy. 

He seemed to know every part of you, where to kiss, where to rub, where to hold – when to slow down and when to quicken, all adorned with his sweet nothings that he spoke into your neck, ever so occasionally peering up at you through his lashes, his exact thoughts elusive to you. He cared, right? Why else would he hold you so close to him, kiss your collarbone, rub and soothe your thighs as he rolled his hips deeper, your pelvises slapping against each other in the heat of the moment? 

“You’re so tight,” he moaned as your lips gripped his bare shaft. “So good to me...Taking me so well...” 

You whined, the sound getting lost under the slight creaking of the bed and the rustle of your bedsheets, tightening your arms around his neck as you drew him closer into you and running a hand through his hair. Billy was thankful, thankful that you couldn’t see his shit-eating smirk from this position onto of you, but much more for Randy; as if he hadn’t had been such a paranoid nerd, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to imprint himself on you forever. 

His strokes were deep and fulfilling, the head of his cock beginning to buck up into your g-spot, pleasure made more overwhelming as he reached down again to rub at your clit. It was dark, somewhat twisted, but it was perfect; and you could actually feel your anxieties disappear entirely. Who was Randy? Had you ever really loved him? 

Even amongst your white haze as you got closer to the heat of your orgasm, you were able to make out the sound of a lock opening. Your eyes shot open, trying to piece together footsteps and visible signs of entry – Billy had been the only one to come in, perhaps he’d forgotten to lock the door? Or maybe it was your parents, home early from their outing? Worse, maybe it was the killer, dead on arrival like the Grim Reaper as soon as you’d gone against the rules and had sex. 

“Billy —“ you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as his cock hit your sensitive spot. “The door…I-I think someone’s here…” 

“Shh, you’re okay…” he murmured into your ear. “I didn’t hear anything…” 

A plunging, shaking feeling consumed you as you came, half-lidded eyes making out the shape of a gloved hand and knife creeping from behind the door. Instinctively, you opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came from it. All you could do was lie there, throat parched and the air knocked out of your lungs as you watched the figure enter the room; not hooded, masked or even bloody – but taking the shape and form of a tall, lanky boy with blonde hair. 

Stu was alive, and Billy had lied to you. 

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he���s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

[cynicalrosebud]

Hello!! I saw your requests are open! So can I ask shy! civilian! reader x Soap (my fav), Ghost, Gaz and Price that reader is gun! nerd? Like reader knows weapons, very well since they play shooting games (only in single player), do research (especially in her novel because she wants to write gun fights.)

Tactical Observer

The rest of dear nonny's request was a separate ask so I'll add it below:

"Oh! I forgot to say by shy! civilian! gun nerd reader that they like to analyse and touch weapons, even if it's fake. But they prefer not shoot, they prefer to watch it."

Oh nonny, you are fueling my lifeblood. Wrote this shit in a coffee and frybread daze over the span of an hour.

Summary: Y/n, a quiet and reclusive civilian with an uncanny knowledge of firearms, is brought on as a consultant for Task Force 141. Her expertise, gained through research for her novel and a deep obsession with the mechanics of weapons, quickly captivates the team. Though she prefers to study and observe rather than engage in combat, her presence draws the attention of Soap, Ghost, Gaz, and Price. Beneath the surface of their professional interactions, a deeper, more complex connection begins to form—one that transcends the battlefield. Unbeknownst to Y/n, the team isn't just fascinated by her skills—they’re enthralled by her. As the tension grows between them, Y/n finds herself pulled into an intricate, mysterious bond that leaves her both protected and adored by all four men.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Y/n had been minding her own business, walking through the quieter outskirts of the city, notebook in hand, jotting down ideas for her latest chapter. Her novel—an action thriller that involved military operations—required a lot of research, particularly about guns. Y/n spent hours reading up on weapon mechanics, loadouts, and modifications. It fascinated her, though she had never been one to actually shoot. She just liked knowing how it all worked.

But her peaceful research day turned into chaos when gunfire erupted nearby, throwing her into a situation she never expected. Ducking into an alley, her heart raced. She knew enough about firearms to recognize the sharp crack of an M4, followed by the deeper, heavier shots of AKs. This wasn’t just a random street brawl; it was organized and lethal.

Before she could react further, a strong hand grabbed her and pulled her behind cover. She yelped but quickly realized her rescuer was a soldier—decked out in gear, with a Scottish accent thick enough to cut through the noise.

“Gaz! Price! We’ve got a civilian!” Soap shouted into his comms as he shielded Y/n from the spray of bullets.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed and shaken, clutching her notebook to her chest. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. She had written about these kinds of scenes, but experiencing it firsthand was a different story entirely.

Another soldier appeared, this one towering over her, his face obscured by a skull mask. Ghost. She recognized him from stories she’d read online, from the games she’d played, but seeing him in person was a different kind of intimidating.

“Who the hell are you?” Ghost’s voice was rough, filled with irritation but also concern. “And what the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

“I-I was just… I’m just a writer,” Y/n stammered, clutching her notebook tighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stay low and don’t get in the way,” Ghost growled, helping her crouch down further. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Hours later, after a whirlwind of gunfire and chaos, Y/n found herself holed up in a safe house with the team of soldiers who had inadvertently rescued her. She was still processing everything that had happened, but her mind kept drifting to the weapons they carried. They were all so finely tuned, customized in ways that made her writer's brain buzz with excitement.

Soap, sitting nearby, noticed her staring at his rifle. He had seen that look before—usually in people who loved guns. He leaned back casually and grinned. “Yer eyes haven’t left that M4 since we got in here. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, eh?”

Y/n blushed, shifting awkwardly. “Oh, um… It’s just… It’s a really nice setup. You’ve got a Geissele MK8 rail and a Trijicon MRO optic, right? Solid choice.”

Soap blinked, a little taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to know her stuff. “You know your weapons, lass.”

She ducked her head shyly. “I’ve done a lot of research. For my book. I’m a writer,” she explained. “I do all this research on military operations and firearms because I want my novel to be as accurate as possible… but I don’t actually shoot. I just like knowing how it all works.”

Gaz, who had been cleaning his own weapon nearby, raised an eyebrow. “So, you know all this stuff, but you’ve never fired a gun?”

Y/n shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “I prefer the research. Watching someone else handle a weapon is more interesting to me than pulling the trigger.”

Price, who had been listening from his spot by the window, chuckled. “That’s a first. Most people who know this much can’t wait to get their hands on the trigger.”

Y/n smiled nervously. “I just… like the mechanics, how everything fits together. It’s fascinating.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the tension easing. Soap watched her with a thoughtful grin, noting how her eyes sparkled when she spoke about weapons. He leaned in a little closer. “Yer somethin’ special, Y/n. No shame in that.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Soap’s playful charm was almost as dangerous as his gun skills.

Ghost, who had been standing silently nearby, finally spoke up. “Knowing is just as important as shooting. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Y/n looked up, surprised at his words. For a man who rarely spoke, his approval felt oddly reassuring.

Over the next few days, Y/n became an unexpected asset to the team. While she stayed far away from the firefights, her knowledge of weapons proved invaluable. When Gaz needed help adjusting his L85, Y/n suggested modifications that improved its handling. Even Price asked her for input on some of their loadouts.

“You ever think about joining the service?” Gaz asked one evening, adjusting his optic according to Y/n’s recommendations.

Y/n shook her head, laughing nervously. “No, definitely not. I’m just a writer. I like researching and imagining how things play out in stories.”

Gaz smiled. “Well, you’ve got a good eye, at least. Could’ve fooled me into thinking you were a professional.”

Y/n flushed with embarrassment, but a part of her felt proud. Being recognized for her knowledge was a new experience, and it felt… nice.

Soap had been watching them from across the room, his gaze lingering on Y/n a bit longer than usual. There was something endearing about her shy, awkward manner, and the way she came alive when talking about guns. He’d never met anyone quite like her.

“Oi, lass,” Soap called, walking over and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we grab some food after this? We’ve got time to kill.”

Y/n blinked up at him, surprised by the invitation. “Um… sure?”

His grin widened. “Good. I’ll even let you pick my brain about my rifle mods. Bet you’ve got some ideas.”

Y/n’s stomach fluttered. Was this Soap’s way of… flirting? She wasn’t sure, but the prospect of spending more time with him made her nerves buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

As the team prepared for their next mission, Soap handed Y/n his rifle again, grinning as she took it into her hands.

“Take care of her for me while we’re gone,” he said softly, his tone more serious than usual.

Y/n nodded. “I will. Be careful, Soap.”

“Careful is my middle name, lass,” he replied, his smile softening as he glanced down at her. “And don’t miss me too much, aye?”

Y/n bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “No promises.”

Price gave Soap a knowing look as they geared up. “Keep your head on straight, Sergeant.”

“Always do, sir,” Soap replied with a wink, though he couldn’t help the quick glance he shot Y/n’s way.

Ghost, watching the exchange in silence, pulled Y/n aside before they left. “You’ve got their attention,” he said quietly, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. “But just so you know… we’re all watching out for you, too.”

Y/n looked up at Ghost, her heart fluttering. “Thank you, Ghost. I… appreciate it.”

Ghost gave her a small nod before rejoining the team. There was something almost protective in the way he spoke to her, and it left Y/n feeling a little less alone. Maybe it was more than just professional concern… she wasn’t sure.

When they returned, the 141 arrived to find their little civilian surrounded by sketches and pages on Soap's weapon of choice, crumpled ideas filling a small trash bin off to the side.

Soap raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You weren’t kiddin’, were ya? What’ve you got for me?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment before handing over the notebook. “Just some ideas… I thought the balance might be improved with a different stock. And maybe try swapping the optic for one with better peripheral vision…”

Soap whistled low. “You’ve got a sharp eye. I might just try these out.”

Price nodded approvingly as he glanced at the notes. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little armorer here.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at the compliment. “I’m just… happy to help.”

Y/n sat across from Soap, her fingers tracing the outlines of the modifications on his M4. She was shy, but Soap had a way of coaxing her out of her shell. As she explained her thoughts on the mechanics, Soap leaned in a bit closer, his gaze softening as he watched her talk. He wasn’t just listening to her words anymore—he was captivated by her passion.

“Y’know, lass,” Soap said quietly, his Scottish lilt more pronounced as he leaned even closer, “you’re somethin’ else. Never met anyone who could talk about guns like this and make it sound… beautiful.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and her voice faltered for a moment. Soap wasn’t shy about his interest—there was a hint of playfulness in his smile, but something more genuine in his eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat as she caught his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something soft, affectionate even. And for a moment, Y/n wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to this connection than just professional respect.

Gaz noticed the exchange, nudging Soap with a knowing grin. “Careful, mate. Looks like someone’s got their sights set on you.”

Soap chuckled, his eyes still on Y/n. “Wouldn’t mind if she did.”

Y/n found herself spending more time with Gaz as he tinkered with his weapons. He appreciated her insights and enjoyed the quiet moments they shared as she worked beside him.

Gaz would often lean in just a little too close, their shoulders brushing, or he’d offer her a smile that lingered just a bit too long. One evening, as they worked on his rifle together, Gaz’s hand accidentally brushed against hers. Instead of pulling away, he let his fingers linger, his warm touch sending a tingle through her skin.

“You’re really somethin’, Y/n,” he murmured softly. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Y/n looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. There was a warmth in his gaze that made her feel safe… and something more.

Soap had been openly playful with Y/n, but Ghost had always been more guarded. Still, Y/n couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes followed her when he thought no one was looking, or how he’d linger near her after missions, checking in on her quietly. One evening, when the team returned from a particularly rough mission, Ghost approached Y/n while the others celebrated. He didn’t say much, but his presence alone was enough to make her heart race.

“You did good today,” Ghost said in that deep, gravelly voice of his. “You’ve been lookin’ after us. Makes me want to do the same for you.”

Y/n looked up at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. For a man who rarely showed emotion, Ghost’s words felt like a confession of sorts.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I… I feel the same.”

Ghost’s hand brushed her arm—just a brief touch, but enough to send a shiver through her. There was something protective in the way he hovered nearby, as though he was guarding more than just the team’s safety.

As the team geared up for their next mission, Y/n found herself spending time with Price. The captain had always been a calming presence, his steady demeanor keeping her grounded when things got overwhelming. He’d started inviting her to have tea with him during quiet moments between missions, and Y/n found comfort in those simple, peaceful interactions.

One evening, after a particularly stressful day, Price handed her a cup of tea, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it. His touch lingered, and Y/n looked up, catching the warmth in his eyes.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Y/n,” Price said softly. “You’ve got a sharp mind, a good heart… and I reckon there’s not a man in this team who doesn’t see it.”

Y/n blushed, her heart fluttering as Price’s words settled over her. He was always so composed, so calm, but there was a hint of something more in his gaze tonight.

“I… I’ve never met anyone like you either, Captain,” Y/n whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Price’s hand found hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a tender gesture. “John,” he corrected gently. “Call me John.”

The bonds between Y/n and the members of Task Force 141 had been growing stronger every day, but as time passed, the affection each man held for her became undeniable. They had all noticed the way they each gravitated toward her—the protective glances, the subtle touches, the playful teasing that always ended with Y/n blushing. None of them felt jealousy; instead, they shared a sense of understanding that their love for her wasn’t something that needed to be exclusive.

One evening, after another long day of planning and preparation, the team sat around a campfire, Y/n nestled comfortably between them. Ghost sat beside her, his large hand resting gently on her thigh, while Soap leaned against her shoulder, his arm draped around her waist. Gaz sat across from them, his gaze warm as he watched her, and Price, always calm and collected, looked at her with a fondness that had grown over time.

Y/n felt the tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were all waiting for something to be said, some unspoken truth to be acknowledged. Finally, Soap was the one to break the silence.

“Lass,” he began, his voice unusually soft, “we’ve all been dancin’ around this for a while now. It’s clear we all care about you—more than just mates, if you know what I mean.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked around the fire, meeting each man’s gaze in turn. They were all watching her, waiting for her response, but there was no pressure in their eyes. Only love and patience.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly. “I… I care about all of you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But how… I mean, is this even possible?”

Price smiled, the kind of smile that always put her at ease. “It’s possible if we make it so,” he said gently. “We’ve all had a talk, and none of us want to hold you back or keep you from anyone else. If this is what you want, we’ll figure it out together.”

Ghost’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, his gaze dark and protective. “We’ll take care of you, Y/n,” he murmured. “All of us.”

Gaz nodded, his usual playful demeanor softened by the seriousness of the moment. “You don’t have to choose between us. We’re in this together, yeah?”

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes, but they weren’t from sadness or confusion—they were from relief. She had never imagined that the people she had grown so close to could share their love so openly, without jealousy or resentment. It was a kind of love she had never known, but one she had always craved.

“I… I want this,” she said finally, her voice stronger now. “I want all of you.”

As time went on, the team found their rhythm. They took turns spending time with Y/n—sometimes individually, sometimes together. There was no need for jealousy or competition, because they all knew that Y/n loved them equally, and they loved both her and each other in return. The dynamic was based on mutual respect, love, and understanding.

When they were on missions, they worked seamlessly together, their bond only strengthening their performance in the field. Back at base, they shared moments of intimacy and laughter, knowing that their love for Y/n—and for each other—was something rare and beautiful.

Y/n had never felt so loved or accepted. Each of them brought something different to her life, and together, they completed her in ways she had never imagined possible. And in return, she gave them her heart, her trust, and her love—knowing that, together, they were unstoppable.

[ravenna-reid]

Kisses, Lulls and Incoherent Ramblings

~ what happens when the lights cut out at one of Bruce's galas? ~

You and Jason were attending the last gala of the year when suddenly, there was a power outage and you two were asked to explore the manor.

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None <3

The gala was magnificent. Golden chandeliers littered the ceiling with their crystals cascading down and shimmering. Waiters went around handing out decorated tarts and some of the most expensive wines and champagnes in Gotham. Distinguished guests were dressed in their best tailored suits and array of velvet and satin dresses.

Hours had passed, and given only you and Jason were so reclusive when it came to Galas, you eventually gravitated towards each other. Bruce and Dick were both socialising with all of the guests, Dick’s charm coming more natural to him then Bruce’s forced persona. Tim was with Stephanie and the boy he’d been seeing, laughing in the corner of the opulent room. Lucky for Cassandra, she was on a ballet trip across Europe right now. 

And Damian. Well, no one knew where Damian was.

Nevertheless, you were just content that everyone was happy and safe right now.

Drinking your what, third? Fourth drink of the night? You began to feel the tipsiness seep into your bones. Usually, you were great with alcohol. Always pacing yourself and knowing when to stop. But given it was the last gala of the year, and you, Cassandra, and Jason had been left to deal with Deathstroke whilst Bruce went off somewhere to fight Ra’s, you were in dire need of some fun. You wanted to drown the thoughts out in your mind that constantly gnawed away at you. Hell, it had been a rough five months, and you deserved this. 

You couldn't help but notice Jason seemed to have the same idea as you. Maybe he needed the champagne to get through this evening, as you knew that these sorts of things were more unbearable for him than anyone else.

Unexpectedly, the lights had all cut out as darkness quickly enveloped the room. Gasps filled the room before Bruce and Dick began to calm everyone down and try to figure out what caused the sudden power outage. Dread filled their stomachs as they all hoped it wasn’t an attack orchestrated by some villain that had a vendetta against the Wayne’s. After a while, Alfred had come over to you and Jason, explaining how Master Bruce had informed him to tell everyone to search the Wayne Manor for any unwanted visitors. Just in case. You and Jason agreed, Jason more so happy to leave the watchful eyes and prying questions of the guests. Setting your glasses down on the nearest table you both headed up the winding stairs to the West wing. 

As you cautiously walked down the hall, Jason poured over how the moon beams streamed through the windows beside you, casting soft shadows across your face. He didn’t think you could look any more angelic, but you seemed to always prove him wrong. Hands beside your glistening navy silk dress as you scouted your surroundings, he wanted nothing more than to tenderly grab hold of your hand. To pull you in closer to him as you strolled around the dark manor. 

“Hey look, this door is slightly open.” You whispered dramatically as you edged back towards him. The alcohol seemed to still be in your system. 

Jason was suddenly torn from his thoughts. Clearing his throat and raising his brows, he spoke up. “What?” He slurred. 

“That door, it’s open. Let’s go take a look.”

As you both neared one of the manors libraries, Jason instinctively stood closer to you, just in case there was someone in there. Slowly pushing the door open, you both walked into the room, the strong scent of antiques and old books filling your senses. You and Jason split up and roamed around the room, taken aback by its sheer beauty, especially in the moonlight. Meeting in the centre of the library once you both realised the room was empty, your gazes met each other. 

A small small crept onto your face when you noticed Jason was hiding something behind his back.

“What’s that you got there?” You asked with a light laugh. 

With his signature smirk on his handsome face, Jason revealed a wine bottle he had found hidden amongst the books. 

You laughed, grabbing the large bottle from him.

“Probably Bruce’s.” He said, watching you read the golden label. 

It was an expensive bottle. A well known wine. Probably thousands of dollars. 

Either way, you handed it to Jason and he did the honours of opening it. 

Weaving through the many bookshelves with Jason and the wine was far better than anything that was happening downstairs at the gala. Here you could relax. You could be yourself rather than this ‘uptight, pretentious socialite’ everyone wanted you to be. 

Taking turns of having swigs of the bottle, your laughs soon filled the air. Jason’s smile was so perfect as he flashed you his pearly whites. A flutter began in your stomach once you realised you’d never seen him like this before. He was acting so carefree and open. Not like the stoic, intimidating, sarcastic Jason he usually was. You didn’t mind either side of him, but this one made your smile grow. 

Twirling around with the bottle in your hand, you turned to go down the Classical Literature section of the library. Following behind, the wine made Jason admit something he would have never admitted to anyone sober.

“This is my favourite section.” He said sheepishly. 

“No way.” You smiled, running your hands along all of the lined up dusty books. “Let me guess. Wuthering Heights?” 

 “Pride and Prejudice.” He admitted, a blush creeping onto his face. 

You laughed and jokingly nudged his arm. “You big marshmallow.” 

Turning the corner, you hadn’t seen the wooden carving stuck onto the wall, a design meant to hold candles. You smacked your head on it and a turrent of curse words left your lips. 

Jason quickly made his way over to you, his hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?” 

You held your hand over the spot on your forehead you hit. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggled, slightly embarrassed. 

“Are you sure?” 

Before he could stop himself, Jason’s hand was tenderly moving yours so he could see if you had a mark, his thumb running over the skin on your forehead.

“Should we go get some ice?”

“Jason,” You laughed, grabbing his hand and cupping it in yours to grab his attention. 

Suddenly, his entire world froze as he gazed back at you. 

Heavens, you were gorgeous. You were just…everything. 

And it made him giddy. And hopelessly devoted to you. And also sick, although he was sure the alcohol was to blame for that. 

“I promise, I’m alright.” You said. 

Your mind was dragged to the music you could hear beginning again downstairs. The power must be back on. Swaying to its rhythm, you began to hum along, poking Jason on the tip of his nose at the end of the verse. With the confidence from the wine and the admiration he had for you, Jason went for it. Leaning in, he gingerly placed a kiss on your cheek. Warm and firm. His kiss cut you short, a soft gasp escaping you as your body stilled. When he pulled away, his head was bent down, his soft, raven black hair brushed against your face.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to do it. Bringing your hand up to his face, your fingers began to trace his skin. 

“Pretty boy.” You murmured. 

And with that, Jason fell back into your embrace. His soothing, slurred words played against your ear. Each soft kiss brought lulls and incoherent ramblings from Jason in attempts to show his undying affection for you. But given that he was tipsy, probably more than tipsy, you didn’t know how much of what he said was true. You could hardly focus yourself. 

Sweet promises and loving remarks. So foreign from the Jason you knew. It was like an entirely different person stood before you. Instead of a scowl, there was a soft expression that brushed upon his features. Instead of the aggressive and brutish nature that he acted in so naturally, there was a tender and gentle side of him you had never seen before. Instead of holding guns in his hands, he held you. The sudden display of affection towards you had your cheeks burning and heart beating in your chest. You never wanted this night to end.

[mystra-midnight]

Howl

summary: it was not love that kept him coming back, but a need for company, for an evening of peace where the world outside the shaking walls of your cottage ceased to exist.

warnings: rough sex. choking. slight praise kink. all-around smutty goodness. geralt is a dominant and dirty sob.

word count: 3.2k

notes: honestly i’m not sure exactly where this idea came from but i can say it is partly inspired by the song howl by florence and the machine.

"_____"

You’d not been expecting to see him again so soon. Geralt had visited only a few days ago to satisfy the desire that beat at him incessantly and without remorse. Some of the villagers said you should never have allowed the White Wolf sanctuary within your home—that fateful event had begun your tumultuous relationship—but reclusiveness often came with loneliness, and that was something the two of you shared.

It was not love that kept him coming back, but a need for company, for an evening of peace where the world outside the shaking walls of your cottage ceased to exist. In those few hours before the sun rose, what you’d always hoped for would come true: loneliness would forget your address.

So when you hear his voice, it’s a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

You can’t prevent the smile that finds your lips as you place the bowl on the counter. Your hands ache as you wipe them on the front of your skirts, leaving them damp and dirty. You’d been kneading dough to make bread in the morning, and now your fingers were stiff and clumps of dough were stuck beneath your nails.

But none of that was why you froze after turning to face him.

He was standing in the doorway, filling the frame with his bulk. There was blood splattered on his face, dripping from his plump lips; it was fresh and likely still warm. It was also still wet; you could see it glistening on his dark leather armour beneath the moonlight peeking in through the doorway, but this was not what made your heart skip a beat.

His eyes were as black as the night and narrowed with dangerous focus. There were tendrils snaking along his skin, stretching like a Kraken’s tentacles reaching out through the deep ocean in search of prey. His aura was strong, filling the room despite the distance between you. It was powerful and condemning, making you shiver.

"Geralt." You were careful to keep your voice low and calm, knowing that he was unpredictable in this state. You’d heard rumours about what he was like and what moods would take him when he took his witcher potions. Every one of his senses would be heightened more than they already were: sight, smell, and taste, but those were the obvious ones.

His body was likely on fire with urgent need. His mind would be in a haze. His thoughts would be overwhelmed with sensation and the desire to feel the satin clutch of your cunt wrapped around his aching cock. Your eyes drift down to find the bulge at the front of his pants, confirming your suspicions.

He steps into the cottage, which seems much smaller with him inside. He moves slowly, but you have no retreat; the small of your back is pressed tightly against the counter you had been working at only moments ago. His boots thudded on the woodwork, tracking mud, dirt, and god knows what else across the floor. He hasn’t even closed the door.

His blackened eyes feast on the sight of you—the way your skin prickles with goosebumps beneath the cold air sweeping through the door, how your nipples harden into peaks beneath the assault of his stare and your own thoughts.

You like the Witcher well enough but know enough about him to maintain a healthy balance of respect and apprehension. "Are you hurt?" You ask in a quiet voice, fighting to keep the tremor from your words but failing. "I have bandages."

His low growl was enough to silence you.

"Take off your clothes."

His command was absolute, leaving no room for argument. It was like a slap to the face, leaving you startled and staring at him with wide eyes. But the rumble of his voice was deep and memorising, making your pussy weep as moisture pooled at the apex of your thighs. You press yourself tighter against the counter until the small of your back aches beneath the pressure.

"Geralt, I-"

He crossed the distance remaining between the two of you with unnatural speed, his hand coming up to clutch you roughly by the throat, silencing you as his fingers pressed into the sides of your neck. The warmth of his body is intoxicating, or maybe it was his grip on your neck that made you feel lightheaded as he forced you backwards, bending you back until your elbows pressed painfully into the counter and your skirts pressed firmly against the front of his trousers.

"Do not speak," he instructs. "Not unless it is to tell me you’re cumming."

His fingers clutch tighter at your throat, the pads of them pressing so roughly into the arteries either side of your neck that your vision blurs, and you wheeze in protest. You grabbed at his wrist when your lungs began to burn, your dirty nails clawing at his skin.

Geralt was not a gentleman; you knew this. He had never been a gentleman, nor would he be. When you found him half dead at the edge of the stream, manticore venom oozing from the puncture wound in his shoulder, you knew he was a force of nature, too stubborn to die. And you knew from the rumours that he took what he pleased and ignored the repercussions of his actions. You knew all of this, and you still brought him home.

He'd taken you the first night he’d awoken, delirious and in pain, and you’d let him. His hands held your hips so tightly that they’d bruised, his cock stretching your tight pussy in delicious and delirious ways as he took you from behind, the tip of him pressed against your cervix, your face smushed into the mattress. He’d stayed for four days and taken you repeatedly, until your legs couldn’t support your own weight and your body ached.

So when his fingers bite tighter into your neck, making darkness encroach on the edge of your vision, and tears dance on your lashline, you’re not all that surprised. Geralt fucked like he fought: teeth, tongue, and aggression.

Geralt towered over you, making you feel so small. He has you bent backwards so that your tits are thrust out. Your lips part in a mewl that goes unheard. Geralt kisses you hard, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, swallowing the little gasp you make when his fingers tear open the front of your dress, exposing your goose-prickled skin to the night air.

His lips taste like blood and something else—perhaps the ingredients of his potions. One moment they’re sweet like berries, and the next repugnant, leaving your desires whiplashed.

At long last, he lets go of your throat and grabs roughly at your skirts, bunching them up at your waist. You suck in a much-needed breath, coughing and spluttering; your lungs burning violently, and your body threatening to collapse to the ground. Geralt palms your tits roughly, his nails scraping at your skin on the wrong side of pleasure. He pinches your nipple hard, pulling on it cruelly to lure you up from the counter.

You whine in protest, but he keeps you silent with another kiss, his teeth dragging over your lower lip, tongue in the wet cavern of your mouth, twisting with your tongue. Geralt is like fire, and you are a moth to his flame.

Your hands move on their own accord, pressing firmly into his chest as though to push him away. Your fingers come away coated in blood, sticky as you fist them in his white hair, bloodying his already dirty locks. Geralt is rough, sitting you on the edge of the counter and shoving your thighs apart, making space for his hand to be shoved to the apex of your thighs, his fingers finding the thatch of damp curls.

His name is a whine that dies on your tongue before it can be said when his instructions repeat in your mind like a warning. You have half a mind to push him away. His lips are too rough as they suck dark marks along the side of your neck and shoulder, and his teeth leave red crescent moons as he tastes your skin.

His hand at your hip is holding too tightly, his fingertips bruising your skin despite the layers of skirts that hinder him. You want to speak, want to tell him to let you go, want to tell him to be gentle, but your throat aches more with each whimper and moan he forces from you, reminding you about the power of his hands.

He could break you very easily.

The tips of his fingers nudge your clit, making your breath catch in your throat in a needy whine. His mouth is still on your neck, having never left, leaving a map of darkening bruises along your collarbones and the hollow of your throat until you pull desperately on his hair to drag his mouth back to yours.

He pushes two fingers into your weeping hole, hitting deep without giving you time to adjust. His hands are large, his fingers thick, stretching your snug walls. You cling to him as pleasure sweeps through you, a bloodied hand still tangled in his starlight locks, your lips parting against his in a breathless plea as his fingers crash into you, forcing your legs to fall further apart.

"Look at you," he whispers against your trembling lips. "Such a good girl."

His teeth trap your lower lip in a voracious bite, one that was hard enough to have your inside walls clenching tightly around his probing fingers, leaving tears brimming at the edges of your eyes. He sucks your lip into his mouth, laving his tongue over the reddening bite, before letting it go with a lewd pop. You whine, your nails scratching beautifully at his scalp when his heel of his palm hits your clit.

"Geralt!" You keen loudly when he finds your sweet spot, a leg kicking out in reaction. He grabs your thigh in a cruel grip and spreads you open again, shushing you with a harsh growl. He works faster now that he’s found it, his palm slapping against your buzzing clit with every thrust of his arm, making your body twitch.

He runs his tongue across your heated skin, leaving a wet stripe from one of your nipples, over the bruises on your shoulder, up your neck, and to your mouth. You feel his smug smirk as he presses a kiss against your cupid's bow and again when he drags his lips across your cheek, tasting the tears that have fallen.

"You can take another one."

He isn’t asking.

You burrow your fingers into his hair in an attempt to anchor yourself when the familiar white-hot heat of orgasm starts seizing your organs. You shake your head from side to side, your hair tumbling wildly around your face, straining to close your legs when the pressure builds.

Geralt pinches the fat of your thigh, then your nipple, and then grabs your face roughly. His fingers dig into your mandible, forcing your lips open. You stare up at him with lust-blown eyes. You think he might hit you; you hope that he doesn’t; you hope that he does; you don’t even know what you want anymore.

The next time he thrusts into your fucked-open hole, it is with three fingers, and something inside you just snaps. He hits deep, finds that spot again with the tips of all three fingers, and you break with full-body twitches that make your entire body tremble beneath him as you come completely undone. "I’m - I’m gonna - cum!"

He doesn’t stop. He keeps going until your juice is escaping around his fingers, coating your thighs and dripping from the thatch of curls that crown your pretty cunt. He doesn't stop when you pant at him, when you moan for mercy, or when you wriggle your hips and try to push him away. Instead, he buries his fingers in your cunt, scissors them in your gummy walls, and kisses you hard: teeth, tongue, and hard male aggression.

You're still coming down from the clouds when he manhandles you into position, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through your core, beating in time with your wild heart. He puts you on your knees. Your arms are weak and unable to support your weight, so you press your cheek against the ground. Your skirts are bunched around your waist, your glistening cunt exposed to his hungry gaze.

You hear his swords clattering to the ground, followed seconds later by his belt, and then he spreads your lips open with his thumbs, making your inner muscles clench desperately. Geralt licks from your swollen clit to your pretty hole, using his tongue to push the slick back into you. He hums with pleasure when your body jerks at the sensation.

"You taste like heaven." He says it with a hum, his breath hot against your cunt, making your core drip with wanton desire. He eats you like a man possessed, as though he were on the brink of death and your pussy alone could save him. Ever so slowly, one hand started sliding up while the other slid down, moving in a circular motion at your hips.

You whimper at the gentleness, the sound going straight to his cock, which twitches against his stomach in response. His palms the soft globes of your ass and spreads your cheeks, his tongue prodding through your folds once again. He runs the flat of his tongue from your clit, to your pretty hole, then to your nether hole. He has you teetering on the edge of oblivion when he stops, and before you can whine for more, you feel the head of his cock splitting you open.

You scratch at the dirty ground, desperate for something to hold onto, when he buries himself completely in your cunt with a single thrust, tearing a howling moan from your throat as you come undone again, inner walls spasming around him. Nothing about Geralt of Rivia is small, certainly not his cock. He’s pressed against your cervix, and it feels like he's in the back of your throat, like he’s going to break you as your pussy strains to accommodate his girth.

It never mattered how many times he made you cum; accommodating his cock was always a harsh demand.

Geralt does not stay still for long, giving you no time to adjust to his girth; his hips pull back only to snap forwards again. The force of his thrust pushes you forwards, your tits and cheek catching on the muddy floor, and your nipples pebble even more beneath the rough stimulation. His pace is frenzied and without mercy.

In this state, he is unconcerned with your pleasure and instead focuses on his own. He loves the velvet heat of your inner walls and how they wrap so tightly around him. He loves when your cunt swallows every inch he has to give. He loves when your arousal slicks down your thighs, drips from your mound, and puddles on the floor beneath you. He loves the way your thighs tremble when he finds the right angle for his hips, and he always finds it.

He loves when you're gagging on him, on your knees, and looking up at him as though he hung the stars in the sky. He loves seeing your skin marked with bruises, how you flush with embarrassment, and how you try to hide them from the other villages. He loves that you are addicted to him. He does not love you, though, and you're smart enough to know this.

Geralt fucks harder when he feels your gummy walls clamping on his cock in a vice-like grip. Pleasure starts to sear in your veins. His fingers are like coils of iron around your hips, holding so tight that you're sure your bones are bending.

And just when you think it can't feel better and that he can't do anything else to make you lose your mind, he shadows over you, his chest pressing against your back.

You feel the hard buckles of his armour pressing into your back through the tattered remains of your dress; you can feel the fabric dampening with blood, but it’s the furthest thought from your mind. Geralt forces your legs further apart and continues his assault on your core. The pleasurable feeling builds, and you bite your bottom lip hard, almost cutting through your own skin, to keep from screaming. The door was still open; anyone could see; everyone could hear.

But when the mushroom head of his cock crashes into that spot hard enough to make your entire body shudder, you’re lost.

Your muffled moans became screams of pleasure that seem to shake the walls of your cottage. Geralt continued to drill into you with bruising force, his hips hitting your ass with a constant slap, slap, slap. You feel your orgasm start and then instantly crash over you. Geralt buries himself to the hilt with a gutteral groan, his cock pulsing as he exploded, filling you with ribbons of cum.

He held himself perfectly still while your sweet cunt rippled around him, your thighs violently shaking, threatening to go out from under you. It was only his arm wrapped around your waist that kept you up. And when your trembling slowed and you'd barely caught your breath, your inner walls still fluttering around his cock, he fucked into you again and again, dragging his seed out and then pushing it back in, working it like lubricant.

You whine in protest.

"Geralt, I don’t think I-"

He fists a hand in your hair, crushing the sweaty strands in his fingers as he hauls you to your knees, your words morphing into a screech mid-sentence. Fresh tears spring to your eyes and run down your cheeks like rivers. You're crying because it feels so fucking good, because the pleasure is quickly becoming too much, because he is rough and passionate, and you can't get enough of it. You open and close your mouth, your voice refusing to make a sound other than little grunts and groans as he bucks up into you.

If he were to die right now, he would never come to regret this.

If you died, neither would you.

His hands move, are everywhere and nowhere all at once, and then one of them is at your throat, his fingertips finding their earlier position upon the sides of your neck and digging in, making you lightheaded once again. The other one is on your tits, pinching cruelly at a nipple to start and then palming at them roughly.

He was an animal, a beast, and you didn't want him any other way.

"Cum!" You manage to choke out, your vision blurring with tears while you stare at the stars through the opened door. "Gonna cum!"

You cry out in rapture as he groans against your shoulder. Geralt clenches his jaw, his hands gripping brutally at your body, pinning you to him as your cunt chokes the life out of him. If someone were to ask him, he would swear that he'd died when you twitched and trembled against him, your arousal dripping from the both of you, mixing with his as he filled you again.

Geralt lets you fall limp to the ground, your body still trembling, his seed leaking from your fucked-open hole. He falls beside you and rolls onto his back, chest heaving and eyes amber once again.

If someone were to ask him, he'd swear he'd died, and he'd swear he'd found solace buried in your cunt.

[chixkencxrry]

mi sol

Summary: You get a new job as a caretaker at a mysterious estate two towns over. The salary is good enough for you to ignore certain things -- at first. Soon enough you have no choice but to get away. Too bad you're in for life. (one-shot, plot with porn) Vampire! Yandere! Miguel O'Hara x Fem! Reader

Warnings: eventual SMUT, masturbation, p in v, pussy eating, somewhat YANDERE! MIGUEL, YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS ON YOU! NOT PROOFED

fanart by @yeagersatorubar (twt)

The email had come in the middle of the night.

It was from an unrecognizable source. An acceptance to something, some job you didn’t remember applying for. A caretaker job two towns over. You rubbed your eyes in the blue light glare of your rickety laptop, lips pursued as you read.

“When did I apply for this?”

Attached to the close of the email was a number and name. A woman named Lyla was the contact. The name of the property was Stone. You dialled the number. If the person was sending the email this late, you didn’t worry about your call waking them up. 

“Hello. You must be our new caretaker.”

You cleared your throat – taken aback. “I, uh, yes. I am. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling this late.”

The woman chuckled. “That’s fine! You’ll learn that we keep odd hours here.”

“Right,” did you really need the money that much? You eyed your room. It was pink, with posters half hanging. It had been your childhood room and you still occupied it. It made your mouth itch. You needed to leave. “When do you want me to start?”

Though as your taxi pulled up to the estate, you found yourself regretting it. Maybe regret was too strong a word. You found yourself reconsidering it. Had you done something terribly stupid by coming here? By packing your things and telling your parents they could fuck off?

It had taken four hours to get here, the sun had set and it was twilight now. Would it be too early to run back with your tail between your legs? Were you so weak that you had to give up? 

“That’ll be 50$.” the driver grunted, growing impatient with your slow movement.

You baulked and shoved the bill into his hand. Out of spite, you took your time to get your bags out – making sure you didn’t miss one. You could have sworn you heard him curse as he drove off. Rolling your eyes, you slid your phone out to get to your emails – Lyla had sent you the code to get in. Turning your flashlight on the keypad, you punched the code in and continued your trek up the property. It was a long walk that left you huffing. 

Once you met the great doors, you knocked the lion-faced knockers loudly a few times and waited. When you went to try for a second time, it pierced your skin, making you hiss. Your finger slipped into your mouth and you sucked. 

The door swung open to reveal a fashionable dress auburn-haired woman with heart-shaped sunglasses. She grinned at you. All sharp, white teeth. “Hello! Aren't you an earlier riser?”

You bristled. “Pardon?”

“Are these your bags?” She turned her head inside the mansion and whistled. “I’ll get Ben to bring them in.”

Lyla was the assistant of the owner of the house. A real recluse, she claimed. You didn’t mind. They had paid you a freaking signing bonus when you agreed. Who gave signing bonuses to caretakers? Dumb rich people. This guy could be a troll for all you cared. As long as each salary came with the flourish of that, you could never meet the man. 

“It's more of a managerial position really.” Lyla clarified after showing you the lion’s share of the house. “Ben takes care of the heavy lifting. Or Peter – he doesn’t show up much though, new father and all that.”

“We have cameras in the common areas. Bedrooms and baths are off limits of course. You’ll get access to them.”

“So, Mr. Stone just wants me to look after the place? Make sure it's clean and in order?”

Lyla stilled, causing you to bump into her. Her pale face twitched. “Mr. O’Hara. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Sorry. It’s just the name of the estate –”

Lyla shook her head. “Don’t make that mistake again.”

“My bad.”

The tour continued on silently. Lyla stopped at the West Wing, where a portrait of a young family hung. They were dressed in regalia from at least three centuries ago. It was of two beautiful boys, a stately-looking woman and a cold-faced man. You shivered. You hoped the man was not Mr O’Hara.

“Don’t worry,” Lyla seemed to read your mind. Her pointer finger landed on the taller of the two boys. “That’s Mr O’Hara.”

You relaxed. Even though it was an old photo, the bright-eyed kid couldn’t be too different from the man who had just hired yourself out to. 

Right?

***

Miguel felt warm.

For the first time in a century, he felt the warmth of you in the walls of his prison. It was like feeling the sun again. Like tasting wine, luscious and dark. You were home. He hadn’t risen yet. His meal sat by his window, eyes glossed over with compulsion. Miguel didn’t want to see you without eating. It had been so long after all. So very long without your touch, the brush of your lips, the scent of your hair, the feel of your pussy.

He throbbed with want for you. 

Rising from his coffin, his talons fell. Piercing two holes in the side of his meal’s neck, Miguel made sure to drink his fill until it was cold and listless. His fangs, his fangs he would keep for you. 

It was funny how it started. He had run into you while on a hunt. Well, you hadn’t noticed of course. You had been on a date, smelling of want and looking like sin in red. He wasn’t worthy of you. But that man touched you and lips had planted on your skin – he was lucky Miguel hadn’t killed him right then and there. He had been too caught up in you. Looking at you. Seeing you. Flesh and fire before him. The curls of your hair, the flare of your hips, the drag of your voice and the thrill of your laughter.

That man did not deserve any of that.

All of that belonged to him. 

In the computer age, everything lay at his fingertips. He found you with ease. Found where you lived. Who you were now. Everything that the web of connections could provide. He knew what books you read, what songs you liked, your favourite bands and flower. 

He also knew you needed him. You were twenty-five and unemployed, living with your parents and your art wasn’t selling as you’d liked. How that desperation clung to you, how that desperation made you sweet to him. 

A gurgling sound distracted him. 

Sneering, he looked at his feet to see the meal had not totally died. Rolling his eyes, he tore the heart out of its chest and sucked the remaining blood. He cursed. 

Now he’d have to shower before seeing you. What a nuisance.

After cleaning off the blood, he watched the surveillance footage of Lyla giving you the door and waited until she’d left you alone like he’d asked to find you. He didn’t want an interloper. He wanted you alone to create a repertoire. 

Running his fingers through his hair, he checked his teeth in the mirror — all traces of blood were gone. His talons were retracted, fangs disappeared but his eyes were still red from feeding. Would that freak you? He didn’t want to change it.

Tapping his smartwatch, he ordered Lyla to bring him a pair of contacts. 

“Why? Won’t it just dissolve in a few hours?” 

“Because I said so.”

“Well, now I’m not gonna bring them on principle.”

Miguel snapped. “Lyla…please bring the goddamn contacts.”

“They’re already in your room, fearless creator. Vanity drawer to the left.”

Miguel switched the watch off. Carefully, he placed the contacts onto his eyes. They stung a little but he only needed it for a few hours. They would be long dissolved and by then his eyes would return to their true brown. 

You were beautiful in the kitchen. Hair tied up in a bun ontop of your head. Messy curls sweep to your forehead. Lips, pinked and plumb moving as you chewed. You seemed to try to make yourself seem smaller. Crouching over the plate of chicken salad Lyla had prepared for you. She couldn’t cook – his golem, but she tried. They had so few human guests these days after all.

Miguel cleared his throat, making you jolt and stare at him with big eyes. Your lashes fluttered, and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and stood. “Oh, hello! You must be Mr. O’Hara.”

Your offered hand hung for a moment. He eyed it. Bare, delicate, your nails sharpened to a humanly acceptable point. He realised he’d been staring for longer than necessary and took it, glad he fed so his body warm. Your hand slipped in with ease. He gripped it and shook it, saying your name. “Call me Miguel. It’s nice to meet you. Lyla gave you the grounds tour?”

“Oh...no, she, uh, showed me the house and my quarters but not the grounds.” You titled your head, looking out the window. “I figured it was too dark out, no?”

Excellent. “We have very good lights. If you’re finished eating, I can give you the tour myself.”

“Yes! Definitely.” So eager. How promising.

***

Mr. O’Hara – no, Miguel, led you out by placing a hand on the small of your back. It was large and spanning and brushed against the rise of your ass before it fell to his side again and he resumed a respectable distance. He smelt of sandalwood and citrus. An oud wafted from him. This immaculately dressed older man with lines on his face creating dimension. He couldn’t be much older than you, but everything about him seemed grown whereas you seemed like a child playing dress up in adulthood. 

The grounds were massive. Three acres he’d said. There was a small rose garden that led out to a private lake. A family mausoleum that made you shutter when you passed it. Arched trees bent over the manicured green. The entire place was immaculate. 

What on earth did they need you for?

“Did the pass caretaker retire?”

Miguel shook his head. A small fence came into view. You saw dried-up shrubs and trees, barren spots and a small shed. “She passed.”

“My condolences,” you whispered softly, fingers brushing along his arm to comfort him briefly. “What is this?”

“It used to be a greenhouse.”

There was nothing green about the space. Clearing your throat, you let Miguel guide you back to the house. It was late now. You grew tired. So, very tired. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you.” His eyes peered curiously at her. She swore they flashed red but that may have been her weariness showing. “I hope you can be comfortable here.”

His gaze was intense. You found it difficult to look away – it caused a dizzying effect on you. Turning away, Miguel and you went back into the house and he escorted you to your quarters. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’m really excited to dig in.”

He smiled – all white teeth. “No. I’m pleased to have you here. You have no idea how much.”

When you finally closed your door you let out a slight squeal of excitement. Biting your lower lip, you traced your fingers along the door. You had not expected Mr. O’Hara to look like that. Sure, he was certainly a mature man. The lines on his face told you that he was at least mid-thirties and the way he carried himself like a grown man would. 

God. You didn’t know how you were going to make it out working with such a specimen. You could barely keep it together on the walk! Running your hand over your hair, you went to your laptop bag and pulled the small notebook out. You googled your new boss, disappointed to find nothing much. There was one link that had his name, a record from an archive three hundred years ago. When you clicked it, it bounced back. 

Frustrated, you closed it and decided to just go to bed. 

Weeks passed by, and a monolith of activity passed. You devoted your all to the house but particularly the greenhouse at the back of the property beside the lake. It became a passion project of yours. Lyla and Ben were helpful of course – they made sure that you got all the aid and materials you needed to realise your vision. 

You became closer to the other members of the house. Lyla was kind and a good guide for you. Miguel was something.

It was not that you had an extensive working history but you were quite sure the interest he seemed to pay to you and your tasks were a little extra attention. In some regard, it unnerved you. But in another, you liked the praise and appreciation you received for every task completed. You also didn’t mind being in close proximity to him. There was no denying that Miguel had become a crush of yours and the star of your private fantasies.

Look at him. All harsh angles and sharpness, but his actions, his words were rose petal soft. God. He was a delicious man.

Another thing that struck you as strange was the utter loneliness of the house when the sun was up. When they had called themselves nocturnal creatures, you had merely thought it meant that they slept very late or worked very late in the evening. You were wrong though – they were completely gone during the day. In the afternoons they rose, bright and colourful as your energy dwindled down. 

“Techies,” Lyla had explained. “We work best at night – what can we say!”

It felt like bullshit but the pay was too good for you to make it your business. By the beginning of your third month, you know the place like the back of your hand. Well – most of it but for the wing Lyla had warned you against. One particularly slow day temptation had gotten the better of you. Could your curiosity be blamed for your next act? You crept into the area, floorboard creaking as you looked. It was not a different hallway than the others. 

A painting sat at the edge – but it was too poorly lit for you to see from your end. Squinting, you walked closer. The painting held a tear. It was a woman no doubt, soft-featured but you only saw up to her lower lip on which sat a mole. Something pulled at you. 

You stretched forward, fingertips brushing the dried oil and hanging paper. Pushing it up to see the face, your breathe hitched at the sight. 

The hairs at the back of your neck stood up and your stomach turned. You ran back to the other half of the house, heart speeding in your chest to jump through your ribs. You closed your door – the feeling of your skin getting ready to crawl off your body not leaving. You rubbed your ribs beneath your bosom. 

Everything about that had felt wrong. 

Since you began working here – you hadn’t taken a weekend off. Packing your bag hurriedly, you made a call to your mother, placing her on speaker. It rang for only a few moments.

“Hello, little stranger.”

“Mom – I, I need to come home.”

The panic in your voice set her voice on edge. “Baby? Is everything alright at your job?”

“I just got a bad feeling, Mom. I just need to come home.”

“Okay. Call an Uber.” Logic was your mother’s failsafe in times of duress. 

You shook your head. Ubers didn’t get this far out. You would have to walk a mile into the town to order one or call a taxi. “No. They won’t come here. I’ll head to town and catch something.”

“Call me when you’re there. Okay?” Your mother cautioned. 

“Okay...I will.”

Packing your things took longer than anticipated. You looked at your watch – it was almost five. It usually got dark around six. Shouldering your haversack and duffel bag, you snuck out of the estate and made your walk down the winding road to the town. 

Your bags felt heavy and the road took forever. Eventually, you found a bus stop. It was just about twilight now. The blue sky became a warm orange. Warm day dying into a cool evening. 

You sighed, back hitting the seat of the bench. The app told you the next bus to town was coming in the next twelve minutes. You just needed one ride to the inner city and there you could easily get an Uber home. 

Closing your eyes, you felt relaxed for the first time in an hour. 

You were safe. You were going home. 

***

He knew you were missing the moment the sun had set. 

Miguel had stretched the entire expanse of the property – searching everywhere for you. All of your things were gone from your quarters. Even your dirty laundry was gone. It was still full of your scent. He dug his nose into the rumpled sheets. Lilac and Lily. His talons dug through them – he picked up notes of fear and curiosity. Fear? What had made you fearful?

Miguel went to the abandoned wing. Your scent filled the air. Had you been snooping little girl? The painting. You’d seen your first iteration from so long ago. 

“Lyla,” Miguel roared. “I want everyone on the ground looking for her. She doesn’t leave this town – do you hear me?”

“Louder than necessary but okay.”

He drove from the estate, through the town until he picked up your scent. His talons dug into the steering. Rage fuelled him like no other. Had you really thought you could leave? He thought he could be patient, be kind, and wait you out. Then you left. 

What made you think you had the right?

His journey halted. Miguel retracted his talons and exited, fangs extended as you sat leaning back on a bus bench. About half a mile ahead, he could hear the incoming sound of the bus. You would get the chance. 

“Where do you think you’re going, mi sol?”

You jumped up, eyes wide. “Miguel! How did you?”

“I can find you anywhere.” He said gruffly. “You leave without notice at all your jobs?”

“I, uh, I was just taking the weekend off.”

He clicked his tongue. “You’re lying to me. You were snooping. Come back with me.”

“I’m not going back.” You snapped. “I don’t know what’s going on in that place but it's not natural.”

Miguel grew tired but he knew he couldn’t be heavy-handed. He had to be smart about this. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that go to your family. But know on Monday you’ll still have a job and a home with us.”

You were so easy to lie to that he almost felt bad.

The bus came and he fell back, watching you leave. The bus moved slowly down the dusty road. It was a long ride back to town. He tapped his watch and made a phone call. “Lyla. I need an accident. Now.”

“Fatal or fatale?”

He sighed. “I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

“Well, she doesn’t seem to be in the mood for you either.”

“Crash the damn bus, Lyla, now.”

“Already sent something that way, bossman.”

“Ayudame dios.”

Keeping up with the bus wasn’t a problem. Through the woodlands, he could see a creation jumping through – all fur and bolts, his favourite hairy bot crashing into the bus from the front, making the driver stop immediately. The wolf sat growing, padding its way to the front sidewheels before he punctured it with his teeth tearing through. The bus leaned to its side, dipping. He watched, from his parked spot, morbidly as the great machine broke the side window, paw reaching in. He heard you scream and smelt the faint scent of your blood. 

Miguel decided it had gone too far then, chasing the creature off. 

The driver of the bus came out first, assessing the damages. You shivered, trembling as you climbed down with your bags on your shoulders. You had been crying. Salty tears rolled down your cheeks. “How long until someone gets out here.”

The driver scratched his head. “Best luck you got is to hitchhike. They’ll come get me in an hour or two. Sorry, darling.”

That was his cue. Miguel started the car and drove by slowly. It was tinted so you excitedly jumped up and down, glad to think it was a kindly stranger. As if he would leave you to be picked up by some ill-thinking stranger.

He stopped, rolling the windows down. “Need a ride?”

You looked stiff with fear. The driver, however, beamed at him. “Oh, sure young man. This lady is heading into town. Think you can give her a ride?”

“Sure I can.” He unlocked the door, pushing it open. Miguel smiled at her, showing his sharp teeth. “Get in.”

Nodding, you hurriedly got into the vehicle. Your curly hair fell to your face as glossy eyes watched him. Miguel turned the radio on and a storm warning came out. 

“What are you?”

“Let’s get back to the estate and then I can explain.” Miguel made a sharp U-Turn and drove past the wreckage, racing back to the property. 

He could smell your fear, the hint of your blood, he looked down seeing a little blood blooming beneath your white dress. It formed a little cloud. He hissed, he hadn’t meant for you to get hurt. “Are you in pain?”

You kissed your teeth instead of responding to him. He sighed. He had expected that – you always, without fail, had a bad attitude when he fucked up. Miguel cursed himself, he should have removed that painting. Why hadn’t he thought clearly? “I didn’t want it to come to this – if you had just let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?”

The estate was coming into view now. Rising like a terrible moon on the horizon.

“It wasn’t you in the painting.” He clarified. “Well, not you. A version of you.”

He punched the code in, the gates opening as he drove up and slamming shut behind the two of you. “That doesn’t make any sense, Miguel.”

You clutched your bags, walking ahead of him as you entered the house. You set them down and Miguel smelt your blood more. “Let me fix you up. Please.”

You flinched but allowed him to lead you to the other side of the house into the very wing that had made you run. Miguel tucked his hands into his pockets. Watching you carefully step ahead. He tried hard not to look at your ass, the switch and sway of the hefty cheeks but he tried to keep his mind on task and out of the gutter.

Which was hard since you looked and smelt like you.

“Are you human?”

“No.”

You gasped, wrapping your arms around you. “Okay.”

Miguel could positively hear your mind working. You turned to look at him, eyes narrowed as if to find the answer in his face. Miguel decided to make it easy on you. He opened his mouth, fangs dropped. 

“Shit!”

“Shit.”

A familiar door came up. His hand settled on your waist, stopping you from going further. He felt you shiver under his touch. The faint scent of your arousal wafting upward. His gums shivered. 

“C’mon,” his voice was gruff. “It's right through here.”

It had been decades since Miguel had let anyone but Lyla in. Having you here – where he slept, fed, and worked as a sort of rawness he had missed. He had missed you. Miguel had learned to love this new version of you, you sang as you worked along the house. Danced to pop songs and cooked in the early mornings before the sun rose. 

“Sit here.” he directed you to a chaise lounge, eyes gazing back. “Take the dress off.”

Your lips quivered with a mounting argument but common sense seemed to reign for a moment as you slipped it off. Just watching you made him harden. The black cups of your bra barely keep the fat of your tits in, through the thin lace, he could see the puckered areolas of your breasts. The high waist of your thong dug into the subtle curve of your hourglass figure.

Merida. 

Miguel set the tools down on the bed and cleaned the wound. It wasn’t too deep, just a flesh wound that didn’t need stitches. He brought his thumb to his fang and nicked the skin, pressing the open hole to your wound he smeared it with blood. 

“Jesus Christ…that’s a health code violation.”

He snorted, leaning forward and licking it clean. After his saliva had wiped it off, not even a cut remained. “All better, mi sol.”

“What does that mean?”

“My sn.” he translated. “You’re my sun. Always have been.”

“So you’re a vampire.”

“I’m a vampire.”

You hummed. “And the woman who looks like me in the painting?”

“My wife when I was human.”

“Ah.”

“And I’m a version of her?”

“One of many.”

“Did you kill them?”

“God no.” The idea made his skin burn. “I could never, never hurt you.”

“But you’re a vampire, Miguel. What kind of promise is that?”

“Every time you’ve been in my reach, I loved you until you left me. Until old age took you or until sickness took you.”

Miguel fell to his knees resting his head on your lap. Your face read on incredulity but the fear had vanished from your scent. Curiosity with hints of want. 

“I’m going back to my room.” You stated, picking up your bloodied dress. “And tomorrow night, we’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

***

You couldn’t sleep. When you got back to your room, you shower and change. Texting your mom to know you’re alright. You try to listen to music. To watch a movie. To read but nothing gets you sleep. 

Perhaps it's simply a side-effect of finding out your work for vampires. 

Rain began to pour outside, it was a soothing sound – you blushed as another thought came to mind. There was another way to get you to sleep. Opening your door, you peek outside, making sure the hallway was clear.

Closing your door, you twist the look and step out of your nightshirt and slide your panties off your hips. Digging into one of your bags, tucked at the very bottom was your prize. The blue vibrator stuck out to you. Catching your lower lip with your teeth, you sat at the edge of your bed. Raising one leg and keeping the other down, your legs were spread. 

Your thumb rose the speed to your usual one as you teased your clitoris with it. Eyes closed, you imagined a familiar scenario. Your back against a wall, legs hooked by a faceless strong man. He would take his time with you first. Fucking a thick cock in and out of your wet cunt. 

Your head fell back, as the man in your imagination sped up, fucking you harder. Back hitting the wall. As your height came – you murmured a name and a face appeared in your imagination. 

“Miguel.”

Your climax was instant, spraying wetness onto the edge of the bed, a few droplets dampening the carpet. You set the vibrator aside, collapsing onto the bed. Hands roamed up and down the length of your body, and you vibrated with desire – Miguel’s hands would be bigger than yours, rubbing along your figure, grabbing and biting. He would want you. He would let it be known how much he needed you. 

Your fingers went back to your pussy, rubbing the sticky substance about before slipping a finger in. His fingers would spread you better. Fuck you better. You were sure. 

“You look delicious, mi sol.”

Eyes flickered open – Miguel stood at your door with glowing red eyes and mouth parted in hunger as he stared. His hair was not gelled as usual, falling curls making him look dishevelled. Shamelessly, you added a second finger. The wet sounds grew louder. In the quickness of a blink, he appeared in front of you. He squatted in front of your pussy – inches from your furious fingering.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come.”

You snapped like a whip. Miguel growled before you, eyes never leaving your wanton form. “Tell me I can touch you.”

“You can touch me.” you whimpered.

He sighed, a hand resting on the mound of your pussy. His thumb stroked your clit. “Tell me I can kiss you, mi cara.”

“Kiss me.”

Miguel’s lips planted themselves on the folds of your pussy. He kissed and sucked, tonguing the insides of you while he strummed your clit. He took his time. Savouring the flavours of your pussy, moaning as he ate and tasted every crevice of you. 

Your fingers threaded his curly hair, gripping them as you ground against his face. His lips sucked on your clit, his hand moving from your mound to your thigh to keep your legs open while two of his thick fingers sawed into you. 

Messily, you sprayed his face, hips moving maddeningly against his pretty face. Miguel sucked it down, licking and nipping at your trembling centre. When he rose, his face was shiny and he grinned down at you. 

“Say you want this.”

How could you not? “I need this.”

You watched with earnestness as he pulled his pants down, slipping them off. His T-shirt went next. His body was better than you had imagined. The bounce of his thick cock. Begging to be made shiny with your pussy.

“Spread yourself for me, baby. Let me see this pretty little pussy.”

Your fingers spread yourself, you watched as he stroked himself, coating the large member with pre-cum. He bowed his head, spitting on your wet cunt. Miguel’s thumb rubbed the saliva in, using two of his fingers to open the weeping carven. Slowly he entered you – his thickness making you gasp. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, moaning as he bottomed out. You whimpered, groaning as he started to move. Your legs wrapped around him, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“You’re doing so good, mi sol. Taking my cock so deep.”

His hips snapped, taking his time as you grew used to him. Miguel was certainly bigger than any toy you owned. His cock dragged along you like he was making sure you took him so deep you didn’t know where you ended and he began. 

“Such a good girl. Mi vida. Mi luz.” His hand went to your throat, squeezing it slowly as his eyes stayed on your face. Memorising every O your lips made. It was disconcerting. But when his hips sped up, shaking the bed and making you mewl – you couldn’t care less. 

Miguel’s head bowed, lips to your neck as he kissed his way down to your breasts. You felt his teeth graze the soft flesh of your breasts. He didn’t have to say what he wanted. You wanted it too, you could feel the tremble of your upcoming orgasm. 

“Do it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Teeth sinking into the flesh and sucking. You creamed his cock, shouting obscenities as your orgasm shuddered through your entire body. Stars dotted your eyes, your toes curled and your bite your tongue so hard it bled.

Miguel’s hips went faster, hips snapping hard into you that it pained you ever so slightly. His cock twitched with an especially vicious plunge, painting your walls with his cum. Fangs retracting, Miguel licked your nipple, lips kissing it as he held you close. 

The high of it all slowly died down. You felt the thickness of his cock and the fullness of his seed. Your fingers traced along his arm. “I’m guessing you’ve been hearing me most nights for the past three months.”

He kissed your sternum and then your lips. It was a passionate kiss. And you realised – your first kiss. How backwards the two of you had done everything. How unjust – because it seemed Miguel was a damned good kisser.

 “And every night I touched myself to your sound.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the thought. Miguel smirked. “Aren’t you sore?”

“I’ll worry about that later.”

“As you wish.”

***

“So you’re sure everything is alright now?”

You rolled your eyes, reassuring your mother for the fifth today. It had been a solid week since you’d left and returned. Your mother still didn’t believe it was totally consensually – despite the fact that you had invited her and she’d come and see that you were totally alive and well. 

“You can’t blame your mother for worrying.”

“I know.” Your eyes flickered outside the greenhouse. It was night now. The other members of the house would be up soon. Your mother and you finished talking soon after. It seemed like on cue as you finished the call Miguel came into the greenhouse. Pulling off your muddy gloves, you smiled at him. At your side in and second he kissed your forehead and set his hands around your waist. 

“Hello, mi luz.”

“Hi, baby.” You kissed his mouth. “Did you feed yet?”

He hummed a confirmation, caging you against the desk. Miguel picked up a seed packing, explaining it. “Hibiscus? I don’t think those grew here.”

“Well, they’re not native,” you said. Slipping out from him, you dragged him down to his knees to see a box of soil you’d been working on. “But I’m sure I’ve got the soil mixture down. In the next few months, we’ll see how it goes.”

His hand rubbed along the side of your body. “That’s incredible, baby.”

Standing up, you looked down at him and blushed. “Well, its no machine wolf.”

“Mhmm.” His hands held your hips, squeezing the globes of your ass cheeks. He smacked the fat, groping it unashamedly. His nose pressed to your groin. “You’re an incredible woman. I hope you remember that.”

“Kiss up.”

His eyes flashed, and his lips spread to a mischievous grin. Miguel fell back onto the ground of the greenhouse. You smirked setting legs on either side of your hips. You unbuckled his pants and took his member out. You stroked it, spitting on the tip of it, before rubbing up and down. His hand raised your skirt up, a talon stretching out and cutting the side of your panty off. He pulled it off, baring your pussy against the rough material of your jeans. 

Hips raised, Miguel pulled you onto his cock, grinning as you whimpered at the sudden intrusion of his thickness. Your hands pressed to his hard chest, crying as he fucked up into you. 

Yes, you thought, eyes rolling back, everything was more than alright.

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[all-about-kyu]

Summary: The moment Mingyu saw you on the beach in that skimpy bikini, it was over for him. Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader Rating: R18+ Genre: smut Tropes: spring break au Word Count: 1,525 Warnings: language Smut Warnings: public sex, body worship, breast play, unprotected sex, creampie

Chapter 1: Honey Flavored Lips ៚ WITT Masterlist ៚ Chapter 3: Patience is Key

The last thing Mingyu wants to do right now is sit in the bungalow. He slept on the couch last night and will be for the whole week; he’s not the most pleased with the arrangement, but at least it’s a comfy sectional. He weighs his options and ultimately decides another day on the beach couldn’t hurt at all. If anything, that’ll be the most fun option without getting absolutely drunk at 2 pm in a club. The club is a half-hour drive away into the city anyway. It’s not very easy to do without a rental car. He doesn’t even bother to ask the others if they want to join him. Changmin and Hyunguu are off exploring the town and the jungle that lies just behind it. San and Jaehyun went to the nearby city earlier, and Youngkyun is likely still a recluse despite them being in a tropical location.

He leaves the house after preparing, and, of course, he lacks a shirt. Why should he wear one when he is on the beach anyway? His hair is up and out of his face, and he still wears a silver chain despite his lack of clothing on his upper half.

Luckily, the beach isn’t too busy despite the nice day. He sets up his spot and stays sat on the sand for a while. There are a few other people in his surrounding area but not too close that he feels like he’s on top of them. It’s not too hot that he feels the need to be in the water, and the wind isn’t too strong to make him feel the need to bake in the sun, either. It’s just all around a really nice day.

He notices a gorgeous girl walking up the beach and toward the beach blanket set up nearby his. Her bathing suit leaves just enough to the imagination that Mingyu wants to know more. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The moment she’s settled and laying belly down on her place, Mingyu glances over. His glance must’ve been more of a look because she looks over at him and giggled quietly.

“Enjoying the view?” you ask flirtatiously.

“Is it so bad if I am?” he flirts back.

You chuckle, flipping your hair over one shoulder, “You trying to do something about it?”

Mingyu smirks, leaning back on his hands behind him. He looks up in the sky for a second, then drops his gaze back down to you. You’re giving him a rather suggestive look. It conveys very clearly to him. He returns your gaze, and it tells you all you need to know.

“There’s a private bathhouse over by those palms.” you jerk your head in the direction of the trees.

“I do need to learn the beaches a little better. Care to show me where you mean?”

You stand up, brushing a bit of dry sand off your chest and stomach. You can feel his eyes on you, and you absolutely love how easily you can get a reaction out of him. You walk over to him, swinging your hips a little extra, and stop right in front of him. You squat down, resting your butt on your heels. His eyes are transfixed on your chest, which is now basically at his eye level. You reach out a hand in his direction.

“Let me show you around then.” you ask with undertones of flirting.

He takes your hand, “Show me the way, beautiful.”

You’re pinned to the wall of the bathhouse the moment you step inside with the tall man. His lips are immediately on your throat, pulling sweet sounds from you. He has one hand holding your hip while the other is playing with your chest. Your hands find their way around his neck and up into his hair. You gently tug at the locks soliciting a quiet groan from the man. His hand travels around to your back from your chest. He pulls the string that’s holding your bikini top shut, and then you feel the release of the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful.” he sighs, “If we weren’t stuck in this stupid building, I’d spend so much time making you feel good. We don’t have a whole lot of time, though, do we?”

“We could go to yours or-”

Before you can finish your thought, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth a swirls his tongue around it. His hand that had previously been untying your top returns to your chest, playing with the breast not occupying his mouth. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you grip his hair just a bit tighter so as to hold onto a bit of sanity. You start to grind against him, hoping that he catches your drift and fucks you soon.

“God damn,” he moans slightly, “you okay if I fuck you raw? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll leave and find someone who will.” you threaten, though there’s no intent behind it.

Mingyu chuckles slightly, knowing there’s no true threat to your words. His lips continue to kiss paths across your body in any way he can. You snake your hands down his muscular form and into the front of his bathing suit. You feel a shot of arousal run through your body and center itself in your core, just thinking about how well he’ll fill you up. He lets out a shaky breath as you start to move your hand around his member. His hand moves away from your chest and glides across your side to tug at the strings holding the lower half of your bathing suit together. The moment one side falls loose, his fingers quickly find your clit and rub circles on it. It takes everything in you not to crumble against his body.

“You’re so wet. Bet this pretty pussy would take me so well.” he muses between a few kisses to your collarbones, “Let’s see if I’m right.”

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain is practically mush hearing and feeling how he worships your body. You simply shove his bathing suit down as best you can to finally release him from the fabric. Within moments he’s fully inside you, and if you thought you couldn’t think straight before, now is even worse. He waits a few moments to allow you to adjust to his size. Still, he kisses any skin he can reach on your body, whispering praise between each one.

“Y-you can move; please move.” you practically moan.

“So fucking pretty, and you take me so well. Fuck, ‘m gonna start moving now, pretty girl.”

When he starts moving his hips, you swear that you see heaven. He’s hardly started, but you already have a continuous stream of moans and whimpers escaping your lips. Your back is pressed against this wall rather uncomfortably, and your hair is definitely a mess, but right now, all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel. He’s an expert with his hips, rocking them at a pace that isn’t too fast or slow. His fingers never stop drawing circles against your clit. You clench around him slightly, making him groan against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“If you squeeze me like that, I don’t know how long I’ll last, beautiful.” he warns you.

“Can’t help it,” you breathe out, “you feel so good inside me.”

Soon enough, Mingyu’s pace becomes rougher and slightly uneven. You couldn’t care less since your high was quickly approaching. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, high off of the adrenaline of fucking a stranger in a public place. Just as you’re about to topple over the edge of an orgasm, you hear someone outside the small bathhouse. The man fucking you couldn’t seem to care less, though. You moan loudly but try your best to muffle the sound against his neck.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he tells you, “those guys out there are just my housemates; they won’t mind one bit.”

Normally, something like that would make panic swell in your belly. This time though, it makes you feel more of a rush of arousal bolt through you. Tossing your head back against the wall of the building, you let your moans fly free. The tall man warns you that he’s about to cum, and you let him know he’s more than welcome to cum inside you. When he does, it triggers your own orgasm, and he carries you through it with the continued stimulation to your clit, now combined with him toying with your nipples again. His hips slow to a stop. Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles slightly and rests his forehead on the wall beside yours.

“I, um, I never caught your name.” you admit.

“Mingyu,” he informs you, “that was one hell of an adventure for being strangers, huh?”

“Mmh,” you hum in agreement, “You gonna be around the rest of the week?”

“Name a time and place, gorgeous. I’ll be there.”

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[softieekayy]

Sweet treat

Vincent Renzi x reader

Word count: 1.8k

A/n: the dialogue is italicized because my French isn’t good enough (yet) to right proper dialogue.

Moments like these were precious to Vincent. These quiet serene moments where the only sound was the chirping of birds and the soft, mellow music in the background that accompanied it. He liked to light a cigarette, lean into his chair as he sat on his small balcony, looking out to the sky and the street below him.

However what captured his attention more was the cute little baker from across from him.

Vincent noticed that she often started her day early, rushing into the store as if her pants were on fire, hair unkempt and a cigarette dangling from her lips as the long winter coat protected her from the harsh wind. Vincent often donned a smile seeing her. He saw himself in her. The way the hair was messy and the cigarette, she was just another version of him. One that he so desperately wanted to know.

He watched her now, eyes squinting slightly as the silver haired man waited for his mystery woman to arrive. She was late today but Vincent swore up and down that he wasn’t stalking her. No, he’d never do that. He’d just familiarized himself with her routine. It wasn’t much different from his own. Up at such ungodly hours doing lord knows what.

This time though, she felt him watching. The clearly disheveled woman could feel eyes on her a couple months ago yet she chose to ignore it. Until she caught a glimpse of possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. The young woman let a small smile graced her lips as he looked up at him, eyes squinting from the sun that decided to peek out today. He wasn’t looking at her then, no. He was looking ahead, not even in her direction. Deciding that she was running late already, the woman headed into the shop, quite unaware of Vincent’s watchful eyes.

Days went by yet neither of them made any moves. (Y/n) watched him occasionally, admiring the way his silver hair fell over his forehead. He looked like a cat. A very beautiful cat. She wanted to know the man yet she couldn’t exactly match up to him and ask questions. Her nose crinkled at the thought of being so invasive. Vincent, ever the recluse, watched her from his balcony, a cigarette in his mouth. He wanted to introduce himself to her and get to know her, possibly at dinner but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Watching him again?” A voice, Helene’s voice, interrupted the young woman from her thoughts. She turned her head slightly to look at the older woman standing in front of her, a teasing smile on her face and arms crossed.

(Y/n) scoffed. “No, I’m just… admiring the weather.” Her voice held uncertainty. Helene laughed, the young woman couldn’t lie to save a life.

“Mhm, because the weather is stunning today.” It wasn’t. The weather was horrible, not a peak of sunshine. It was just strong wind and clouds looking like they’re about to bless the ground with snow.

“Yeah. I can’t wait for the inevitable snow storm we’ll have.” The younger woman replied sarcastically, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She’d done it nicely today, two braids on both sides.

Helene looked up at the man, his name still unknown to both of them.

“He is quite beautiful.” She sighed, taking in Vincent’s form and earning herself a jab in the rib from her coworker.

“Come. Stop being distracted, we have work to do.” (Y/n) tells her, pulling the older woman in by her arm, leaving Vincent unbeknownst to their conversation.

The older man retreated into his apartment, it wasn’t a very small one. It was nice, well, nice enough for him. Two bedrooms, one used as an office while the other one looked like it had barely been slept in. He rubbed his eyes, trying to drive away the tiredness that seeped through his bones and into his head. Vincent looked over to the pile of files he had to sort through, sighing, he went over to brew himself a nice, warm cup of coffee.

“Fuck.” Vincent muttered, seeing the sputtering of the old machine. He sighed, rubbing his forehead in agitation. He knew he should’ve replaced the damn machine months ago but he didn’t. And now he’s seeing the fruit of his labour. Maybe today was his lucky day. Maybe he’d get to talk to the cute owner of the coffee shop. The older man exhaled deeply, pulling on a black sweater, one of his nicer ones along with a black trench coat.

The weather didn’t seem to be letting up soon and he wasn’t fond of freezing.

Vincent made his way down the stairs of his apartment, walking across the street and towards the shop. He stopped for a minute, breathing deeply, he didn’t want to come across as a stalker and he sincerely hoped that the cute girl didn’t notice his obvious staring. He pulled the door open, walking into the shop, surprised to see it busy.

“Oh my god.” Helene whispered, her jaw dropping as she noticed the silver haired man walk in. She nudges the younger woman beside her.

“What?” (Y/n) asked her, not in the mood to listen to another one of Helene’s rants on the cute guy that just walked in. (Y/n) stood up from where she was crouching and turned to look in Helene’s line of direction, only for her jaw to drop as well. The man that she had been admiring for the past few weeks was even more beautiful up close. His hair fell so perfectly over his forehead and the sweater he wore just did something for him. Not that he wasn’t perfect already.

Vincent looked at her, eyes crinkling as a small smile donned his lips as he made his way up to the counter.

“Hello.” Vincent greeted her politely, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. God she was even more beautiful up close. Big doe eyes looking up at him from behind the counter making him forget why he was here in the first place.

“Oh hello! Welcome to Café of Curiosity! How can I help you today?” The young woman chirped happily, looking at Vincent. Well, she wasn’t really looking, she was admiring him. Vincent lost his train of thoughts for a small second. He wanted to hear her voice for the rest of his life.

“Café of Curiosity?” He asked.

“Mhm. It’s because there’s many coffee flavors that intrigue curiosity that we offer!” Helene chirps in and both of them turn to look at her. (Y/n) shooting her a sharp glare while the older man just looks at her and nods before turning his attention to the woman before him.

“Right then. I’ll just get a plain black coffee and a croissant, please.” Vincent tells the young woman in front of him, nodding at his choices.

“Going for the basics?” She asks, not looking up at him from the screen. Vincent hums in answer.

“Right… May I grab a name for the order?” She asks him kindly, offering him a sugary sweet smile.

“Oh I’m sorry! It’s Vincent.” (Y/n) laughed at his expression, a deer in headlights. Vincent felt warmth rush up to his neck and into his cheeks, no doubt looking like a beetroot. He’s sure he’s embarrassed himself and ruined all his chances while the woman opposite him thought that he was endearing and charming, in an awkward way. She nodded and gestured for him to wait by the other side of the counter.

“He’s cute, no?” Helene nudged the younger girl who only smiled. Helene knew though, she always knew. She looked up at the man, Vincent, who was looking at her co-worker and smiled.

“Well, I’m not handing him his order.” Helene exclaimed, moving to greet the person at the counter.

“What why?!” (Y/n) asked, eyebrows furrowed together and a small pout on her lips.

“Because, my dear, I doubt I’m the one he’s here to see.” Helene winked, pushing the younger girl forward gently. Vincent smiled awkwardly, fiddling with his phone, opening the photos app and settings, trying to look like he was doing something other than staring.

“Vincent!” She called out, capturing his attention. The said man looked up at her, smiling. He seemed to be doing a lot of that near her. He went up to the counter to grab his drink and croissant, hands briefly touching.

“Oh, thank you!” He responded, grabbing his coffee off the counter. The younger woman nodded her head in response. Having nothing else to say, he awkwardly turned around and left, cursing himself for not saying more. Inside the café, (Y/n) was doing the same, shaking her head in disapproval at her stupidity for not saying anything.

“You know, he’s still outside.” Helene pointed out, seeing the mop of silver waiting for the light to turn green. (Y/n) looked at her before smirking, she grabbed a tiramisu, tossing it in a box before running out.

“Vincent!” The young woman yelled out, waving her hand for him to pause, and he did. Vincent halted in his tracks, waiting for the woman to catch up.

“You forgot this.” She panted out, one hand holding the box out to him while the other was on her knee, trying to catch her breath.

“Oh… I didn’t order this.” He told her, trying to turn it down, thinking that she had mistaken him for someone else.

“Think of it as a treat! From me to you.” She told him, shoving the box in his hands and bolting before he had a chance to say anything else. The older man huffed out a small laugh at their interaction and made his way home, not thinking much of it. On his short walk home, he couldn’t get the sound of her voice out of his head.

Vincent Renzi was utterly enamoured by this siren of a woman.

He set the box down, opening it up only to see something that surprised him. Inside the box was the woman’s phone number and name.

“Call me… or not.” He whispered out loud, laughing a bit. He hadn’t even known her properly yet she was already weaseling her way into his heart. He saved the number in his phone, not quite ready to shoot her a text yet.

This had to be the best day possible for him. All because he forgot to replace his stupid coffee maker.

Deciding that the weather wasn’t going to change its mind anytime soon, Vincent decided to drink and work outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Only to see that she was waiting for him, in the window of her café, waving at him shyly before signaling her hand into a phone. Vincent nodded, truly intending to know the woman more, hopefully over a nice dinner and a glass of wine. She smiled before turning on her heels and rushing back to the café.

Oh dear, he hadn’t even known her yet he was in so deep.

Tagging: @caramel-hufflepuff @weird-civilian @hypocritic-trash-baby @ynguklvr @jake-g-lockley

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Are we ready to hate Andy some more? It seems to be a pattern around here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Your head swells, throbbing even in the silence. You can hear Andy once in a while, distant and vague, moving around the floor below. You hug your stomach as it caves in on itself. You know you’re hungry but the thought of food just makes you nauseous. You stay hidden, behind your eyelids, beneath the blankets, and wallow in hellish agony.

The pain dulls as you hear the window rattle. You dare to glance past your lashes and see a few droplets along the glass, the sky dark and swarthy with clouds. The glare of streetlights glints off the pelleting rain as it speckles the window.

Some pressure lets off but not enough. You roll over and sink down again. You long for sleep, you crave it. Those long, deep sleeps that make the hours disappear, that skew days, and help forget your life. That heavy void next to death.

You hover between the guest room and your unconscious. Like a pendulum you swing between what’s real and the doubts that paint dire visions on your eyelids. Amber’s pleas at the library, her accusations, her disappointment. You almost want to believe she’s telling the truth. That maybe you are wrong.

Even if you are, it’s too late. That futility drags you further down the pit. You fall onto your back and drape your arm over your face. You whimper as your whole body aches.

“Dove,” Andy’s voice startles you.

You let your arm slip down to your chest as you see his shadow in the doorway. He fills it easily, appearing even bigger as the light behind from the hallway limns his silhouette. He steps over the threshold and closes the door. You whimper as you lose him in the dark. You can’t tell if this is a nightmare or not.

He finds his way to the small lamp on the bedside table, a loud click before it blooms to life. You groan again as he looks down at you. His hands go to his hips as you shield yours over your eyes. Even the soft yellow haze is too much for you.

You shut your eyes and feel the bed shift. He sits on the edge and you wince as he touches your arm. He is as hot as fire. You want him to go. You want to be alone. The only person who’s ever seen you like this is Amber, you don’t want him to know how truly pathetic you are.

“Hey,” he coos softly, “you alright?”

Your mouth is dry. Your throat too. You have to peel your tongue back to make it work and swallow deeply, trying to wet it. Your voice crackles as you force it out, “sleepy. My head hurts.”

“Aw, honey,” he touches your forehead. His warmth is almost soothing as he covers your skin with his palm. The scent of his cologne whispers up your nose. “How about I get you some tea? You should have something to drink at least.”

“I’m… just going to sleep,” you wilt as you try to turn your face away from him. He is too strong. “I’m okay…”

“Honey,” he girds as he brings his hand down your cheek and strokes it, “you haven’t been eating. I’m not stupid. Have some tea, that’s the least you can do.”

“Andy…” you squeak and reach up to touch the back of his hand, only to recoil shyly as you feel the thick veins along the back of it, “I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Dove, you’re going to sit up,” he insists, trailing his hand down your neck, a shiver crawling over you as his other brushes up your arm.

When he has you firmly by the shoulders, he sits you up. You whimper as the stabbing pain it sends up your spine to the base of your skull. Your head lolls forward and you hold it, whining at the thrumming agony.

“Andy… please,” you croak, “I need to sleep.”

“No, you need to take care of yourself,” he retorts, leaning in to fix the pillows behind you. He stacks them up and props you back against them, “alright, you stay like that,” he folds the blanket to your waist, “and I’ll go make you some tea.”

“It hurts,” you keep your head in your hand, “I told you…”

“Look, Amber let you be like this, because that meant she could control you,” he rests his hand on your leg. You twitch and keep your face hidden as you peek past your palm, staring at his fingers. On you. Touching you. “You’re not going to fall back into old habits, right, honey?”

He finally moves his hand away from your lap and pulls yours from your face, “you’re going to be better, I know it. You know, I’m just helping you. I’m helping break the patterns she made.” He gives a stern frown, “she conditioned you to be like this, you are not this.”

“Please,” you yank your hand down and clasp both over your chest, “I’m tired… I feel sick.”

“You aren’t sick. You’ve been starving yourself,” he accuses, “you’re lucky I didn’t make you sit at that table and clear a plate. What I am going to do is watch you drink the tea I make you. All of it.”

He stands and heaves darkly. You move your arms to hug yourself and hang your head. You’re ashamed. Amber was never like this, she was always subtle, she never accused you. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s right. She only enabled your helplessness.

You sniff, “thank you, Andy.”

He hums, gristly like a growl, and touches your hair, “I’m only trying to help, dove.”

“I know,” you squeak and keep your eyes down, ashamed.

He turns stiffly on his heel. You wait as he leaves, almost reluctantly, and shudder as another tide of pain flows through you. You ache to the bone, your insides feel as if they’re peeling away, and your head is pounding like a drum.

You let your head fall back against the pillows as you slouch into them. You don’t have the strength to sit up. Your arms slip down and your hands lay lazily on your lap.

You listen to the small clinks and creaks from below. The house muffles a lot of sound, you might even assume the little noises were nothing more than the natural settling of the house. Andy’s footsteps aren’t clear until they’re down the hall and you brace yourself for his arrival.

He comes into the room with a steaming cup. You notice the gray dove painted on the porcelain, a string of leaves framing it. He lowers himself to the edge of the bed again and takes your hand. He puts the cup in your hand, weaving your fingers through the handle before cautiously letting go.

You bring the rim near your nose and inhale. You blow away the steam but it rises quickly again. You feel the heat roiling off of it. You lower it to rest in your lap and raise your drooping eyes to Andy. He’s watching you intently.

“I’m sorry,” you utter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, “I’m worried. I wanna make sure you’re okay. You being sorry means I’m angry. I’m not.”

You gulp down your words. He sure sounds angry. You look back at the amber coloured tea. It smells slightly gingery but you’re not sure of the flavour.

“Promise, I’ll drink it.”

“Like I said, I’m not going until you do,” he says.

“It’s really hot.”

“So wait for it to cool down,” he instructs as if you’re a child. “I don’t mind waiting.”

You languish in the ensuing silence. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle twiddle of his fingers, how he runs his thumb up the side of his index. You only notice then that he’s changed. He’s in a pair of gray sweats and a dark blue tee. He must be on his way to bed. That thought makes you feel worse; you’re keeping him awake.

You raise the cup and blow on it again. You brave the scald of the tea and take a big gulp. You force it down as the heat rolls over you. It is soothing if not a bit stringent.

“Good,” he says as he turns his head, “is it okay?”

“Mhhm,” you nod, not able to muster the fib out loud. The flavour tugs at your cheeks and clings to your tongue.

“Dove,” he softens his tone, “I’m sorry if I come across angry, it’s not what I mean, you know? I always had that problem. My worry translates to something else. I could never be angry with you, but I’m scared.”

“Scared?” You lean the cup on your chest, cradling it with both hands.

“Yeah, I’m scared for you,” he says as if it’s obvious, “seeing you the way you’ve been, I want you to be healthy. I want you to be happy.”

Your eyes sting and you lower your lashes. You’re embarrassed. Despite all your effort, he saw through you.

“Tomorrow’s a new day, huh? You’ll get up and have breakfast with me, and we’ll start again,” he puts his hand on your knee, squeezing through the blankets, “I’m here for you, honey. We’re in this together.”

You stare into the tea. His words make your heart race. Together? His touch adds to the fluttering. His thumb moves, back and forth, and you repress a shudder. You never noticed before how often he touches you. You’re not used to it.

“Okay…” you resign to the depths of the tea, “I’ll try.”

🍵

You don’t get out of bed the next day. You can’t. You hug a pillow over your head, your tears staining the bedsheet as they slip out unbidden. You feel that hollowness, the sort in which you feel like everything inside you is just draining out of you.

When Andy comes down the hall, you hear him. You listen to the bathroom door click and the subsequent flush of the toilet. There’s some time before he emerges again and he continues to the stairs. You exhale, thinking he might have forgotten your empty promise.

No. He returns. He steps echoing and sonorous in your mind as he comes back upstairs. He taps on your door. You don’t move. He knocks louder and calls your name. You can’t.

He opens the door, “dove,” he says.

You stay still, arm hooked over the pillow you keep over your head. You sense him get near but don’t react as you feel him grip your shoulder. He shakes you but you don’t respond. It’s as if he exists on the other side of a wall. 

“Dove, come on, I’m gonna get breakfast ready,” his voice sounds miles away despite his proximity, “you like pancakes?”

Your stomach growls loudly. You let it constrict but don’t move. You feel a tug on the pillow and grasp it tighter. Can’t he take a hint? Go away. Leave me alone.

He grabs the pillow with both hands and rips it away. You cry out and hide beneath your bent arm. He sighs as he tosses the pillow onto the floor.

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain it. You are not doing this, but you can’t stop it. You can’t do anything, that’s the problem.

“You have a lot to do. Work on your resume? Do some painting?” He says it as if it should be encouraging, as if it isn’t oppressive and crushing. “Spend some time with me, dove.” He bends over you, rubbing your shoulder, “you’re okay. Let me take care of you, honey.”

You sniffle and remain shielded behind your arm. You feel the tension change in his touch as he grips you firmly. He puts a knee on the bed, leaning on it.

“Don’t ignore me,” his voice takes on an edge that chills you. 

You suck back your tears and shake your head, speaking into the mattress, “please, go… leave me alone–”

“Honey, don’t speak to me like that,” he warns, “I’m being nice and very patient. You’ll feel better once you eat but you need to get up and get dressed.”

You tremble in a surge of dread and guilt. He’s figuring it out. You’re useless, you’re nothing. 

You wriggle free of his hand and roll onto your back. You push yourself up, dizzy and wobbling as you can barely keep yourself upright. You look at him through the dim shadow of the drawn curtains.

“Please, I can’t–”

“Stop saying that,” he hisses, “you can. Why are you being like this?”

“Andy,” you whimper.

“Is this because of her? Because your sister? You know she was only ever using her and you’re what? Crying over her? I’m trying to help you move on. To help you grow. She never wanted that for you–”

“No, no! Be quiet. Don’t say that,” you cover your ears, “please, stop–”

He goes to say something but thinks better of it. You watch how his jaw squares and ticks, “but it’s the truth. You were just a toy for her. She could play with her doll and make herself feel more human.”

“Please,” you beg, panic swirling in your chest, “please, that’s not true.”

“You know it is, that’s why you’re here. That’s why you left her. Dove, you did that, not me.”

“Please, please, please,” you hunch over your knees, hugging them as you rock, “stop it. Stop.”

“I’m not going to stop telling the truth,” he sneers, “but you’re going to stop acting like a child. You’re going to get out of bed and come eat–”

He grabs your wrist and tugs it away from your legs. You feel a sudden bloom, a frantic sort of sensation, fear that drowns you to the point of gasping. You lash out with your other hand, hitting his wrist as you free your other arm. He grunts as you fall back against the mattress.

“What– why would you do that?” He growls.

“You were hurting me.”

“I’m helping you,” he insists, “you are being a brat.”

“I’m not. I told you to leave me–”

“You’re in my house, this is my bed, my room, my kindness that you are living on,” he barks over you. You wince and reel from the sheer volume, the furious tone of his voice, “the least you can do is get dressed and come eat breakfast with me.”

You clutch your cheeks and pout at him, “why are you yelling?”

He sighs and his eyes flicker. You shrink down as you stare up at him. He crosses his arms, then pulls them apart. He brings his hands up to his face and combs his fingers through his beard.

“I don’t like to yell,” his voice cracks, “I don’t yell, dove.” He turns away, “I’ve never… I’m sorry.” He strides away, still holding one side of his head, “not until you.”

He staggers, as if he can barely keep his balance, and leaves the door open in his stead. You stare after him and it all sinks in. It’s all your fault. He’s right. You’re a child, a brat, and you pushed him over the edge. He’s done all this for you and all you can do is lay in bed and mope.

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey. Could you rec any podcasts with sapphic couples as their mains? Or a sapphic story. And so on. I only really know about where the stars fell and Alice isn't dead.

You're off to a strong start. Here's 20, there's more out there, but I tried to pick a variety. I'm going to put a ★ next to the ones I think will fit best, but they're all good.

Arden: (Fictional "True Crime", Investigative, Comedy). On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.

The Author's Anathema: (Horror) Looking for some extra cash, and with some help from her girlfriend Eleanor, college student Natalie takes a small job to narrate an audiobook for a reclusive anonymous author. The book being a horror wouldn't be such a bother, but the stories within are... Familiar. Too familar.

The Beacon: (Urban Fantasy) Bee is a perpetually anxious university student who discovers she has the ability to create fire, and decides to start a podcast to find others like herself. She quickly discovers she's not alone, but a series of bizzare animal attacks suggest superpowered freshers are far from the only strange thing on campus.

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio: (Weird Fiction, Horror, Sci-Fi) On day one of a new job at the Department of Variance, in the middle of her workplace orientation, Jasmine's new workplace goes into lockdown. Guided via walkie-talkie by Scarlet, an experienced security officer, Jasmine must make her way down 20-odd shifting floors of strange entities and experiments. Ideally without becoming one of them. As a disclaimer, this one is the only addition to this list that isn't actively romantic yet, however there are canonically sapphic characters, and I am fairly confident it's headed that way.

★ Elixir: (Urban Fantasy, Romance) Set in a fantasy world's equivalent of the american prohibition, lawmakers daughter Elsie approaches someone unexpected in search of her missing sister: Vera, an alchemist and propriator of the local now-elicit hush bar.

The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agorophobic young woman wakes up to discover her lighthouse home has moved overnight. It quickly becomes clear this isn't a once-off, and she decides to use this as an opportunity to search for her missing brother, having some strange encounters along the way.

Interference: (Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Romance) Jacq is a D&D podcaster. Geneva is an orc scientist studying ancient human ruins the next world over. What happens when these women from different realities begin picking up each other's broadcasts?

Khôra Podcast: (Sci-Fi) Somewhere between adapted from and inspired by various greek myths, Khôra follows four women who deserved better (Atalanta, Echo, Medea, and Medusa) on a grand space adventure to find the golden fleece while keeping out of the reach of the olympians who own and run the galaxy.

★ Mabel: (Mystery, Supernatural, Horror, Romance). The live-in carer of a dying elderly woman attempts to contact her granddaughter, with little success. The contents of voicemails only get stranger, and what starts as a subtley creepy mystery-horror develops to poetic lesbian fae body-horror.

★ Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance). Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.

Mina's Story: (Sci-Fi, Romance Elements) Still dealing with a major loss in her family, a young woman volunteers for a long-term cryonics project. The episodes are her audio logs after waking up each time, always the same place but centuries after she went to sleep. A story about grief, change, and the intersection of past and future.

Mirrors: (Sci-fi, Mystery, Supernatural). The audio journal of three women from different periods (past, present, and future) who seem to share little in common bar the strange inhuman, ghostly figures they have started seeing.

Night Life: (Supernatural, Noir) Utterly wacky one-episode story (more of a short audio movie) about an ex-vampire hunter turned private eye who finds herself dealing with the shenanigans of mafia and vampires in the wake of an upcoming mayoral election. Find it on the feed for The Lightning Bottler.

The Night Post: (Supernatural, Mystery). The conscripted couriers of Gilt City are both respected and shunned, integral to the city's function, but inexplicably tied to the supernatural. It's not something they like to talk about. When his husband goes missing on the job, Milo is called to take over. Clementine took over from her father a long time ago, yet recently someone else with her face has been delivering her own unsent letters. Val's not going to discuss how she ended up there, but she will absolutely open people's mail (filled with their own supernatural tales) to read aloud.

Palimpsest, Season 2: (Horror, Romance, Fantasy Elements). Set in the 1800s, a young woman becomes the maid to a supposed fairy noblewoman, who is being kept as one of many "denizens", living curiousities, in a large house. Each season is a different story, this is Season 2.

★ The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.

Starship Q Star: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) The small crew of a tone-deaf space agency's attempt at a PR mission wake up at Mars to discover that they - and the one botanist abandoned on Mars base - are now the last surviving members of humanity. Co-captains and ex-girlfriends Aurelia and Sim must now dedicate themselves to protecting their crew and finding a new home, but they're rarely on the same page about how best to do it.

★ The Strange Case of Starship Iris: (Sci-Fi) When the shuttle carrying the crew of scientific research ship Iris explodes, Violet Liu finds herself stranded in space, the last survivor with no way out. Until her emergency broadcast is picked up by a passing ship. But the crew aren't who they seem to be, there's more going on here than anyone knows yet, and Violet must decide who she can really trust.

Unwell: (Supernatural). Lily Harper revisits her supposedly haunted childhood home to help take care of her aging mother. The house is weird, sure, but there's something far stranger haunting the town of Mount Absolm than simply ghosts.

Weaver: (Supernatural, Romance Elements). The musings of the entity within the old house about the girl she fell in love with (the only thing she can remember), and her two new coinhabitants, who do not yet know she exists.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

May I request a magic yandere lady X non binary reader (fem presenting)? If that’s! Not in the cards it’s alright!

Sure thing! Magic is kind of a vague subject, so I decided to make the Yandere lady (her name is Ivy btw) a witch, I hope that’s ok! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: kidnapping, spell induced drugging, mind control, typical yandere behavior

Nonbinary! reader

Banner/divider credit goes to @strangergraphics

Witch! Ivy who's so used to being alone. She's something of a recluse, having lived solely by herself ever since her mentor died. Her cottage is in the middle of the woods, far, far away from society's prying eyes, which unfortunately also means it's far, far away from most people. The only real company she has is her cat lavender (she's gray instead of black, despite what you may think), and the wildlife that lives around her home. Great companions, but not so great when you crave human contact. But hey, at least she has all the herbs and plants she needs for her spells!

Witch! Ivy who 's shyness was her downfall. She had never been fond of interacting with people, even as a child, so when her mentor took her in, the lack of human connection didn't bother her much. Even when her mentor died, she didn't feel as if she was missing out on anything, as sad as she was to lose her. She was just... too used to not seeing people.

Witch! Ivy's who's surprised when she finds you, unconscious in the woods, probably from dehydration, malnutrition, and exhaustion. After some deliberation, she carries you (well, uses a spell to carry you, she's not that strong) back to her cottage, placing you in the now vacant room adjacent to hers. It's nerve-wracking for her to have a stranger in her home, especially considering society isn't so kind to witches, but she couldn't just leave you there! Who knows what would have happened? There's a lot of wild animals out in the forest, and she's not so sure you'd be able to fight them off, assuming you regained consciousness, that is.

Witch! Ivy who nearly shoots out of her skin with fright when she hears you scream from upstairs. She sneaks down the hallway toward the room you're currently occupying, nervously gazing through the wooden doorway to the sight of you shivering in fear under the bed covers, having no clue how you got there. Your fear only grows when you notice her peeking around the corner, and a pang of guilt swamps her at the fact that she scared you more.

Witch! Ivy who rushes into the room, hurriedly explaining how she found you before you start screaming again. Thankfully, her words seem to calm you, understanding dawning on your face. Your fear turns to gratefulness, and you thank her repeatedly for saving you and bringing you into her home, despite the fact that you're a complete stranger.

Witch! Ivy who blushes at your thankfulness, unused to such praises. She quickly excuses herself, using the food she's been making for you as an excuse to leave the room before you can see how flustered she is. She flees down the stairs, spending the next few minutes tending to the soup she's created for you while she tries to calm herself down. She busies herself with the food in front of her, lacing it with a spell that will help you heal up quicker once you consume it. Due to how poor your condition was, it'll take a while for you to fully regain your strength, even with the spell, but after a couple of weeks, you should be back to normal.

Witch! Ivy Who brings you your food, silently gesturing for you to lie back when you make a move to get up. She sits silently beside you while you eat, mostly to make sure you're strong enough to keep the food down, and you use this opportunity to explain to her how you got in the position she found you in. Turns out you had been hiking, and decided to go off the trail. A bad idea in hindsight, but you thought it would be fun, and besides, you weren't that far from civilization anyway. But then the hours rolled by, and you hadn't gotten out of the wilderness, and then hours turned to days, and you were still lost, the only landmarks around you being trees and rocks and more trees. You had packed enough food and water for a day or two, but you had quickly run out, leading to the predicament Ivy found you in.

Witch! Ivy who assures you that you're safe now, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need to to recover. She's more than nervous at the idea of someone she doesn't really know staying in her house for weeks on end, but she can't just throw you back outside! She warns you that it'll take a while for you to regain your full strength, but you remain positive, thanking her for providing you shelter while you recover.

Witch! Ivy who spends the first week of your stay hiding away from you, only approaching your room when she's bringing you something to eat and drink. It honestly hurts your feelings a little bit. Did you do something to offend her? Is she scared of you? Why is she avoiding you like the plague? You're still too weak to get up and explore the house on your own, so for now, your stuck trying to figure out how to keep her with you for longer from your bed. You try to strike up a conversation every time she visits, but she always keeps her sentences brief, answering your questions enough so that you aren't ignored, but nothing more. It begins to frustrate you, until one day, you decide to do something about it.

Witch! Ivy who's surprised to see a sad, sullen look on your face the next time she visits. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could, your voice, smaller than normal, rings out. "Why are you so scared of me?"

It's a simple question, but it throws Ivy of balance for a second. She nervously asks what makes you think she is, and you sigh before explaining how her reserved and skittish nature made you worry you had done something to scare or offend her.

Witch! Ivy who stands there silent for a moment before gaining the courage to speak. She reluctantly opens up, explaining that she's not really used to interacting with people, and in fact, is kind of scared of them in general. You can tell how nervous she is by the way she's fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, but she reassures you that you've done nothing wrong, she's just... not good with people.

Witch! Ivy who notices how much gentler you are when she enters the room, now that you know why she's so shy. You speak to her in a softer voice, still trying to engage her in conversation, but not as pushy as before. You start asking questions about her life and how she lives on her own, and she takes the bait, allowing herself to open up more and more with each conversation the two of you have. It impresses her how you've managed to draw her out of her shell, engaging her attention until you're all she can think about. There's just something about you that's so... captivating!

Witch! Ivy who thinks your the most beautiful person she's ever seen. Or, well, could ever see. Now that you're not on the brink of dying from malnutrition and dehydration, your natural features are much more prominent, and she thinks you look absolutely stunning. She lends you her dresses and blouses while you stay, and her long, flowy clothes only aid in bringing out your beauty. You've caught her staring at you on more than one occasion much to your amusement. Sometimes, she'll even work up the courage to ask if she can mess with your hair.

Witch! Ivy who starts to cling to you more and more, until almost all her time is spent with you. It's a complete 180 from how she was acting before, but now that she's gotten more used to you, she can't get enough. It's like all the years of isolation have finally come crashing down on her all at once, forcing her to seek out your company in order to squash the heavy feeling of loneliness that crashes down on her as soon as she's left alone. She spends most of her time in your room, only leaving when she needs to get on with her daily chores. It doesn't bother you, you're glad for the company, and besides, you've found that past all her shyness is a really sweet, lonely woman.

Witch! Ivy who gets so nervous when you're strong enough to get up and roam around the house, following you around as you wander like a lost puppy. Not because she doubts you've strength, but because she didn't really hide any of her witchy stuff beforehand, which means you're more than likely to discover what she actually is. She doesn't want to lose the only friend she's ever had, she can't lose you're companionship-

Witch! Ivy who nearly faints from fright when you discover her cauldron and begin questioning her, asking her why she has so many herbs and spellbooks strewn around the black pot. She doesn't answer, although she can tell by your expression that you're already figured out the answer to your own question, and she prepares to flee the cottage as soon as you inevitably begin screaming in fear once again.

Witch! Ivy who's astounded when instead of calling her a monster, you start asking her all sorts of questions about witchcraft, carefully observing all of her things with keen interest. The whiplash she gets from her own emotions is insane, she goes from terrified to overjoyed within seconds. You're not scared of her! And you think she's cool! Ivy doesn't hesitate to show you everything she can, explaining what all her tools are for, what her herbs can do when used correctly, and even demonstrating a couple of minor spells for your entertainment. You're head will be spinning by the end of it, but it's worth it to see the massive grin on Ivy's face.

Witch! Ivy who shyly asks you why you aren't afraid of her. You mention that you get what it's like to be an deemed as an outcast by some, and when she asks you what you mean, you explain how your identity isn't the most welcomed by certain groups of people, especially when your more feminine appearance makes some question your validity. Because of how removed she is from society, Ivy doesn't really understand why your identity is such a big deal to some people, especially when it doesn't affect anyone but you, but she appreciates that you can empathize with her, even if it's not the exact same.

Witch! Ivy who spends as much time as you'll let her teaching you everything she can about witchcraft. It's almost like she's taking you in as her apprentice, and in the back of her mind, she secretly thinks of you as such. the idea of you leaving no longer thrills her, in fact, she dreads the idea of such a thing ever happening. She hopes with all her heart that you'll stay here with her, learning and growing alongside her for the rest of your lives. Maybe if she shows you the powers you could unlock, you'll forget about your old life and stay with her. She'll never have to be alone again!

Witch! Ivy who grows increasingly nervous as the stronger you get, the more you start speaking of the life you've been living before this. She tries to distract you with spells and potions, even bringing you along to help with chores, but it's just not enough to keep you from wanting your old life back. Once, she implied that you should stay with her, if only for a little while longer, but you gently turned her down, explaining how much you missed your friends and family back home. She said she understood, but she really didn't. Why did you want to leave her so bad? Was she not enough for you? She could give you everything you could possibly want, why do you want to leave? Especially when the world was so cruel to you for no reason, why would you ever want to go back?

Witch! Ivy who freaks out when one day, you tell her that come morning, you'll be heading back home, using the map she has hung up on her wall. You promise her that you'll be safe and careful, but she still frets, begging you to reconsider. You remain adamant in your decision, and eventually she calms down, apologizing for her anxieties about you traveling alone. You offer to take her with you, but she refuses, citing that society would never accept her, and that she was happier here, in nature.

Witch! Ivy who watches you climb the stairs to your room, bidding you goodnight. Internally, she's freaking out, trying to figure out how to make you stay with her. She can't let you leave, she can't be alone again! You've shown her what it's like to have companionship, and now that she has it, she won't lose it. The possibilities run through her mind: She could use a spell to weaken you, but she doesn't want to risk your health, and besides, you would know she had done something if you were to get ill right before you were meant to leave. She could send you into a long, interrupted sleep, but that would be no different from you leaving: You're true presence would be absent. She could cast a forcefield spell around the property, but then you would hate her for keeping you here against your will. There was only one option left.

Witch! Ivy who insists on making you breakfast before you leave in the morning, and you agree, seeing no harm in it. She may have magical abilities, but you would never expect her to use them against you, right?

...Right?

...Why is she looking at you like that?

Witch! Ivy whose eyes meet yours, sadness and a hint of regret shining in them. Uneasiness begins to rise in you as she tells you she's sorry it's come to this, but before you can question her, she says something in a language you don't understand, and suddenly your body feels heavy, like it's being weighed down by an unseen force. You can't move anything except your eyes, you can't even speak, you just remain sitting there, your empty plate laying in front of you, mocking you.

Witch! Ivy who tells you to stand up, and you do, completely against your own will. Her soft voice commands you to walk back up the stairs and enter your room, and your body obeys, completely oblivious to what you want it to do. You aren't in charge of it anymore. You're body marches up the stairs, almost robotic in its movements, and Ivy follows close behind you, guilt radiating off of her.

Witch! Ivy who starts rambling, explaining how sorry she is to do this, how terrible of a person she must be, but that she can't lose the only companionship she's had since the death of her mentor. She tells you how you've opened her eyes to what she's been missing out on, but that she can't enter society as a whole because of how dangerous it would be for her. This is the only solution she could think of. She assures you that she'll give you anything you could possibly want, how you'll always be comfortable as long as you stay with her, and how the spell isn't permanent, it's just there until you become more comfortable with the idea of living with her. She lifts it enough that you can control your body freely, but if she needs to, she can regain control once again. Ivy promises not to use it unless you try to leave, but she can see the mistrust in your eyes, even after all her words. How could she do this to you? She had been so kind, so why? Why was she adamant you stay here?

Witch! Ivy who can see the hurt in your eyes, so she leaves the room. She's fairly confident you won't try to leave, and besides, she has a detector spell set up around the house, so no one can get in or out without her knowing. She understands why you're upset, and she truly does feel bad, but she can't lose you! She wouldn't survive the loneliness returning, she needs you by her side. All she can do now is hope that one day you'll understand, and you'll stay by her side willingly.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Iphicles (Male!Reader x Percy Jackson PLATONIC)

Big brother!reader x Percy Jackson PLATIONIC Just headcanons of him protecting and helping and just genuinely being a good brother please 🥹

tw angst, mentions of emotional and physical domestic abuse, injury

NOTE: I was thinking of making this a series and continuing it through to Last Olympian. This one doesn't have as much Percy x big brother interaction, but think of it as a setup. Let me know if you want more!

Did you know Heracles had a brother?

While Heracles was the son of Zeus and Alcmene, Alcmene had a husband already - Amphitryon, a mortal man. So there were two babies in the crib - the child of a god and the child of a mortal.

This child was named Iphicles. And while he was never as strong as his brother, he was a powerful warrior in his own right, and accompanied his brother on his quest.

You think about this myth a lot.

You're about four when you meet Poseidon. He went by Yuri then, and it was only later you found out it was short for one of his other names, Eurykreion, which meant wide-ruling.

Yuri loves your mom, you know that. But it's hard, that year, when they get close, and you start to get attached to this guy who might be a father figure to you, and he vanishes.

Leaving your mom pregnant, and you with nothing.

Nothing but a brother with a weird name.

You're ten when Mom meets Gabe. Gabe seems kinda cool at first. He lets you ride in the front seat of his Camaro when he takes you to school, teaches you how to open his beer bottles on the corner of a table (oh what a red flag that turned out to be), and he takes an interest in you, when most of your life since Percy has been about the really weird stuff that starts to happen around him.

You remember screaming when you saw that snake in Percy's crib.

You're pretty sure that that lady who tried to take Percy from his stroller wasn't just wearing a funky coat, and actually had wings.

Or that bus driver with the one eye.

Mom freaks out you bring home a book about Greek myths from the library. She bans you from showing it to Percy.

And that's when it kinda clicks. These monsters you read about... they're part of the world, but they fit in differently. They're not robbers on the dangerous roads between Athens and Thebes, they're mattress salesmen and reclusive sculptors, and kindly old women on the bus, and teachers that constantly demean your little brother for his dyslexia.

Like, you're ten, and MOM can barely even say dyslexia, so how could your six year old little brother figure it out?

And then Gabe shows his true colors. All the little warning signs that could be forgiven from a nice guy start to balloon to almost comic proportions.

You've been a good big brother to Percy. Yeah, it's your job to take care of him, but you love him too. He's tiny and adorable and afraid of everything, and you just wanna show him that things can be good. Like the blue food your mom makes, or the little moments you can make for him that aren't weird or worrying.

But then Gabe tears your little brother away. Percy gets sent off to boarding school after boarding school. For six long years, the only time you see your brother is during the summer, or when he gets expelled.

Part of you wonders if he feels that same sibling bond, if he wants to leave his fancy schools to get back to you.

Gabe's a shit. Way more when the little kid isn't around, and as you get older, he gets bolder, more willing to get nasty the less you look like a baby.

You try not to get bitter, but it sucks so much, living like this. Your mom works soul-crushing hours at that candy store, and her mean boss says you can't just hang out there after school anymore cause you'll distract her.

You wander New York as long as you can after school rather than be alone with Gabe.

And the one time you tried to talk to a counselor at school, she perked up oddly and mentioned your little brother Perseus (how did she even know?) and her eyes changed color and you ran as fast as you could.

You feel angry at the world. At Gabe. At your mother, for letting your brother get sent away, for doing nothing when Gabe yelled at you for no reason, for all the little things, and at yourself for blaming her, for being powerless yourself, for barely recognizing Percy when he gets home, for almost hoping he gets expelled soon so he can reunite with you sooner.

You've had suspicions since you were nine. You turn sixteen and you scream at the Harlem River, daring Poseidon to fight you.

And for any other mortal, he wouldn't show up, but a hand lands on your shoulder and you turn to punch Yuri in the gut.

Your hand breaks, but he pulls a starfish out of his pocket and plasters it over your hand and you can feel the bones mending, and you both sit and talk.

The gods are real.

And they suck.

Your mom refused his offer of a palace under the sea, and you can't decide whether to hate her for it or hate Poseidon for dating your mom when he's already married and he knew he couldn't stay.

He's never been there for Percy. Never been there for your mom. Never been there for you.

Gabe hits her, does he know that? How long until he starts hitting you? Hitting Percy?

How long before the dwindling light goes out?

You hate him so much, you growl, but he hugs you and all the fight leaves, like the tide finally setting back out.

You are not his son, but in that moment you are of the sea, and he understands you.

You are the son of Sally Jackson, the brother of Perseus, and you will be the Earthshaker where the Earthshaker himself cannot tread.

It doesn't change anything, but when Poseidon finally says it, finally says "I am sorry," it moves you. There is someone out there that can see and acknowledge your suffering. Poseidon has lost countless children, was eaten by his own father, betrayed by his brothers. He has witnessed the entire breadth of humanity, and yet in this moment, a god apologizes for the woes of a mortal.

You are sixteen when you meet a god.

He will not be the last.

Poseidon kisses your forehead, drenching you in seafoam as he vanishes, and you feel reborn.

You are worn smooth by waves, hardened by salty brine, and you bide your time, even bringing yourself to smile at Gabe when you get home. You make the bean dip so Mom can rest when she gets home, and you smirk when Gabe is visibly shaken by your confidence.

You wait, because like Poseidon said, Percy is getting older, and things may come to pass. He will need a guardian, a guide.

There is a place for children of the gods, like him.

Camp Half-Blood.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Twenty-three

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut

— WORDCOUNT: 3.7k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

He walked her home that evening. They closed up earlier than usual as Ambrogio ostensibly wanted to be left alone. “Still not used to working during daytime hours,” Tom said, “it makes him tired and reclusive and crankier than usual. You know how it is.” He parted from her with a kiss on the cheek. She had felt alright when they said goodbye but as the night advanced she started to get that feeling again, that emptiness in her chest and fogginess around her head and numbness all across her body. She missed him. Missed holding him, and being held…

It came naturally to go to bed early — as if, by magic, she could find him waiting for her in her dreams. To keep her loneliness at bay she put a record on. It hardly helped because when the song called Ne me quitte pas began to play it made her even more yearnful. The pillow was hardly a substitute for Tom’s long, thin body, although it smelled a bit like him by now. And her weighty duvet, no matter how she wrapped it around herself, could not feel like his arms. She buried her face into the pillow and heaved a trembling sigh. She wanted him, she wanted him quite selfishly, and for one mad moment thought about getting dressed and going out to him just to see him for a bit and hear his voice. The record wavered on reciting its sad melody while outside the strong winds that had cleared the sky earlier battered at her window.

She squeezed her eyes once tightly and sighed, then rolled out of bed disentangling herself from everything and went over to the armchair.

“You’re so stupid,” she mumbled as she picked up the phone. “So stupid and needy…”

II

Tom was gloating, albeit privately, about the outcomes of the day. He’d eliminated Oso, gotten the symbolic revenge over the parasite by throwing him into the trash, and found his little secret stockpile too as a result. He was lucky his unwitting partner in crime had found that key in the vampire’s remains, although he’d likely have found it as well if he’d bothered to look. With the rest of his afternoon free he had set to looking around for any place the key could fit. It didn’t look like a normal key, that was for sure, with half its body being cut through with indentations rather than teeth. He looked around Oso’s bedroom, inside his coffin, the auction room — before finally coming upon a little orifice in the desk in the office across from their shared one, which at first glance looked rather like a hole where a screw had gone loose.

In the organised chaos, Tom found lists of all past auctions and what had been won by whom. He also found a few books of curses which he initially thought were part of the collection, but soon realised they were Ambrogio’s own. Most conveniently of all, however, he found details of the security charm Ambrogio had set on the books. Tom left most of his findings back in the undershop to study later, but that notebook, he took with him.

He wasn’t even half done deciphering its arcane scribbles, ancient languages, and profane geometry, when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he answered with a groan, holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder.

“Tom?”

Of course it was her. No one else would call him.

“Sweetheart,” he smiled.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Not at all. And how come you’re still up?”

“I couldn’t sleep…”

“Clearly.”

“I just missed… talking to you. I guess I thought I’d feel better if I heard your voice.”

Tom grinned and put the dry old tome down to hold the phone up properly. “And do you?”

“I can’t tell yet,” she said, sultry and tired. “Talk some more.”

“Is that… sad French music you’re listening to?”

“It’s Belgian.”

“Pardonnez-moi,” he scoffed.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with the French, quit sneering.”

“So you’ve said…”

“And you know I love Paris and want to go someday.”

“Sadly, yes, I remember.”

“What were you doing, anyway?”

“Reading,” said Tom, pushing the notebook away as if she could have seen it. He had to remind himself this was nothing like a floo call.

“At this hour? Good grief, Tom.”

“It’s only midnight. Perfect time for reading.”

She said nothing, but he thought he heard her giggle.

“What were you doing?” he asked.

“Listening to sad music. And missing you.”

He found himself smiling and asked something rather foolish. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no, certainly not. It’s so cold out, and late…”

“Are you sure? I can be there quite quickly,” he grinned. He hadn’t tried it yet, but he was sure he could Apparate directly inside her building if he focused.

“Yes, I’m sure… It’s enough to be able to talk to you.”

Tom hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you want to go to work together tomorrow?” she asked.

“Alright. I can wait for you outside your building.”

“I’d like that…”

“And I’ll be the one to treat you to tea this time. I still have your… large bottle,” he stumbled.

“The thermos?” she laughed. “I forgot all about it… I’d love it if you brought tea. You’re always so good at making it.”

His face fought back a big, proud grin. It felt awkward to be complimented for something so plain.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” said Tom, already thinking of what he’d wear tomorrow.

“Until morning, then… Good night, Tom.”

“Good night.”

“Sweet dreams.”

“And stop listening to that whiny music.”

“No.”

He was left with his mouth open when she hung up.

III

She wasn’t joking when she said the night was cold. Tom could see it in the little icicles that formed on the overgrown grass by the road rather than feel it for himself. He had been more than simply cold since his second Horcrux… There was a numbness, even, outside as well as inwardly. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and looked up. Her window was dark. It would have been, at three AM. The decision to visit her came more easily to him than he expected… They were partners in crime for two murders now, and that was more than he could say of even his Knights of Walpurgis. There was a magic in taking a life, of forcing it between the worlds. Magic they had done together even if she was a muggle — whether it applied to vampires was merely a philosophical question.

And while Tom had considered Apparating right to her, he quickly realised it would have cheapened the act. That did not prevent him, however, from forcing her lock open with Alohomora. Her flat was as silent as a crypt and just as dark. He tiptoed into the bedroom and found her sleeping on her front, and on what Tom considered was “his” side of the bed. Moving slowly, he took his clothes off and piled them blindly on the armchair. The only risk to waking her up was when he’d crawl into bed — but to his surprise, she didn’t wake. Tom felt quite smug about his gift at sneaking, and all without resorting to any muffling spells. He’d half looked forward to surprising her and hearing the shift in her voice when she realised he was there… But that could wait until the morning. For now, he allowed himself to enjoy sliding beneath her blankets and wrapping an arm around her to warm his naked body.

IV

Everything felt quieter than usual, heavier, like a dream pulling her back. She really didn’t want to wake up but she knew her alarm would start ringing in a moment. She stretched and her feet peeked out of the blanket, but when she tucked them back inside they came across something hard and cold and smooth. It took her a moment to realise it was a body.

“AAAAHHH!”

“Ow!”

“Tom?! W-what are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” he mumbled while he held his nose.

“Oh no, did I hit you?”

“No, you just have very sharp elbows…”

She giggled and moved a little closer, lifting the duvet to cover them both up to the neck. “Let me kiss it better,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“No thank you.”

“You’re so adorable when you pout… Like a little kitty. My own Tomcat.”

He mumbled something but didn’t protest when she eased his hand away and pecked a kiss on the tip of his nose. It was only a little red.

“Who did you expect?” he grumbled.

“Nobody! That’s why I was scared. What are you doing here?” she asked as she parted from him, stretching toward the bedside table to check the time.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me…”

“And I thought we agreed to see each other in the morning.”

“It is the morning.”

“Tom, it’s six thirty AM.”

“Exactly.”

She fell back onto her pillow and sighed but soon she started laughing. One look at Tom fussing over his pretty face, his hair a mess and eyes all bleary, was enough to calm her heart and put a smile upon her face.

“You really did scare me,” she said as she curled up beside him. “How did you even get inside?”

He paused at her question then answered plainly, “I picked your lock.”

“Tom!”

“I locked it back up afterwards.”

She frowned and shook her head but couldn’t stay upset with him for long. “Did I hurt you badly?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re cute when you’re trying to be manly. Let me kiss it again.”

“No.”

“So you slipped into my bed why…?” she asked with a cocked brow. “Fine then. No kisses for you.”

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes then leaned forward to cage her in his arms. He tried to frown menacingly but she gave him that calm, confident look she had when she guessed exactly what he wanted. It didn’t happen often, as Tom was quite unlike everyone else she knew, but in those moments it was like she spoke his secret language and saw into the heart of him. And while signs of motherly affection were foreign things to Tom he responded well to other kinds of love. He leaned down slowly and kissed her lips. She sighed — he was so much softer in the morning. She laid back and smiled into the kiss, keeping her eyes closed and her hands nice and warm beneath the covers, and let him taste his fill of her. When his lips travelled to her jaw and neck she couldn’t help but giggle.

“Did you get much sleep?” she asked in a pleased and purring voice.

“A few hours,” he mumbled against her skin.

“You should sleep more.”

“Mhm…”

“Toooom…”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m in no mood for that again.”

He sighed. “Went too hard last time, did I?”

“A bit.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a tilted smile. “I won’t try to convince you to leave with me again.”

And as his kisses travelled lower she felt a little disappointed that he had given up on trying to persuade her, although grateful as well in a strange twist of heart. It made her all the more determined not to tell him that she had already begun to change her mind, to plot her own escape with him.

He pulled the duvet back from her chest then eased her gown away, leaving her skin open to the morning air. She shivered for a moment until Tom lowered his head and covered her with more kisses. His right hand curled around her waist and he covered her body with his, pulling the duvet above both of them. With gentle pressure, his lips began to move. He nipped at the flesh of her breast with a smile, then circled and circled around until his lips landed on her nipple. He affixed his lips to it and suckled. He moved gently with her every trembling sigh and purred when she threaded her fingers through his messy hair. Her head fell back onto the pillow as his tongue began to play, lapping at the underside of her bud until it puckered, greedy to be back in the warmth of his mouth. Tom grinned and flicked it with the tip of his tongue a little more then closed his teeth around it, gently, just enough to hold it still while his lips covered more and more between them as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

“Tom,” she moaned, needy for his name in her mouth.

He smiled and raised himself from her, leaving her trembling and cold, and moved onto the other breast to give it some attention too. Her caressing of his head encouraged him and he suckled on her a bit harder, playing with her nipple like a pebble in his mouth. He pressed it with his tongue against the roof of his mouth and nursed on it, sucking the taste of her skin. His wet and noisy drool dripped down along the curves of her breast. And when she whined, pulling on his locks and arching her back into his mouth he went back to kissing down her chest, its soft undersides and top, moving to her warm neck for a while before going back down again. She was sighing heavily by then and groaning in that airy way she knew Tom understood as pleasure. It only encouraged him to tease her more and he moved from one side to the other with a smile.

“My darling,” she whispered, dizzy with the feeling of her whole body growing hot. “My Tom…”

And just as he was pulling on her nipple, bringing it as high as he could before letting it go from his mouth, a shrill sound cut the air around them, stopping him mid-motion in shock.

She sighed and turned to her nightstand. It was the alarm clock. She reached out and fumbled for a bit until she could turn it off then fell back to the bed and sighed. Tom crawled up and rolled onto his side, looking none too pleased at being interrupted. His lips were still soft and warm because of her.

“Do we have to?” he grumbled.

“It’s seven. We’ll be late for work...”

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m hardly in a mood to leave while in this state too, you know.”

“Oh? A state of what exactly?” he grinned, his hand slipping around her middle. “Would you care to show me? Perhaps I can take care of it.”

“Bad Tom. You’re a bad, wicked boy.”

“If only you knew just how bad I can be,” he chuckled, covering her once again to kiss her.

She curled a hand around his shoulder and clung to him, revelling in being so completely covered by his body.

“You’re horrible,” she smiled into his mouth.

He only grinned more proudly.

V

The first day of freedom — in the sense of having the undershop all to himself — was spent with an activity that reminded Tom of his school years: experimentation. In the morning hours, with a clearer head and a warm cup of tea, he finished deciphering Oso’s notebook that he found the day before. A large part of it was mere references for brevity’s sake to books and ancient curses. Fortunately for Tom Oso was thorough in his citations, as any antiquary would be. By the time he could go on his lunch break, he had tracked down the most important tomes they stocked there and knew which others to look for.

He didn’t even notice it was lunchtime until his phone rang. That infernal trilling of the telephone never failed to startle him.

“Yes?” he answered, rubbing his forehead.

“Tom? I’m hungry…”

“Oh. What time is— Ah, yes, let’s go.”

The weather had cooled such that there was no outside seating at their favourite restaurant, so they sat inside squeezed side-by-side at a little table in the corner. Even with her warmth pressed into him, Tom ate distractedly, his mind still on those books. He was eager to go back of course and finish solving the mystery of the spell that bound the books to the building before anyone noticed Ambrogio was gone. He hadn’t even found where he’d placed Torchia yet. It wasn’t stored with all the others… Tom distantly feared he’d given it to Malfoy already. If so that was another hurdle he’d have to overcome, one that might make it all not worth it in the end.

But still, he took the time to kiss the corner of her mouth once they were back — just inside the shop, but openly; the scandal! — and brewed another cup of tea for them while she tried to control her blushing. She didn’t ask him where his thoughts went, but then, when he managed to pay attention she seemed a bit lost in her own thoughts as well. He did her the kindness, as she had done for him, not to pry.

After he was back downstairs he thought it might be prudent to build up some hints of Oso’s absence. He went to his room and preemptively Dissapparated several of his clothes, shoes, and a few of the books by his coffin. The coffin itself, he put up by the wall and took the pillows out of it, as if it was just another eccentric decoration.

He didn’t phone upstairs until the evening came.

“Yes?” she answered in a tired, dreamy voice.

“Hello, my sweet. Have you seen Ambrogio all day?”

“No? He should be down with you. He hardly ever comes up here.”

“Strange. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Oh… Maybe he’s back to his night schedule?”

“Maybe.”

“But, since he’s not around…”

“Yes?”

“Do you… maybe want to go home early?”

She asked it in such a guilty and playful voice that Tom could not refuse.

He had enough of the papers at home to keep him busy but he knew he was approaching a breakthrough. It was time to direct his attention to Mr. Malfoy and his “secretary”…

Oso’s allegiance to Malfoy was not something Tom had ever anticipated. One solution seemed now to lead to another problem and while killing a vampire leading a double life among muggles was one thing, doing away with Burke’s best client was another.

Tom was amused, however, that Mr. Malfoy was stuck now with his “payment” to Oso tagging along uselessly… Poor boy.

VI

Halfway through the tram ride home, he noticed she was holding his hand. It was the buildup of warmth that distracted him, that made him feel like something was wrong. He looked down at their hands, then up at her, her drawn face perked up by a mysterious smile.

“What?” he asked.

“I like that look you get when you’re so lost in thought… And that way your lips curl, like a cat up to no good.”

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. I’m your Tomcat, right?” He sighed and rolled his eyes, but kept his hand in hers.

VII

It took three days for the Baron to notice Ambrogio was gone. It came about from a series of telephone calls Tom was only marginally involved with. First, Donatien called the upstairs shop, inquiring about Signor Oso. Tom had to hear about “that pretty French boy” again when she called him asking if Ambrogio was available.

“I can call Frenchie myself and tell him,” said Tom. “What’s his number?”

“No, I promised I would get back to him. So, is Ambrogio there?”

Tom frowned at her eagerness to talk to that boy again. “No,” he said firmly. “He’s missed work today as well.”

“Strange… You don’t suppose something’s happened?”

“It’s Rome, my dear. Anything is possible.”

“Well, alright then, I’ll let him know…”

“Do you think the Baron is informed?”

She paused. “I don’t think so. S-should I…?

“Unless you want me to…?

“Would you?”

“No,” laughed Tom. “Neither should you, in fact. Let Malfoy do it.”

“Tom, that’s a terrible idea! He’s a client.”

“So what? Oso’s being a lout, missing days of work, leaving us to deal with things… Let the old men figure it out between themselves.”

“You have a horrible work ethic.”

She still liked his idea enough to follow through because sure enough within the hour the Baron rang the shop, sounding calm but angry in his typical way. Tom eavesdropped on the conversation by tactfully picking up the phone in his office and listening in.

“I don’t know, sir. Tom hasn’t seen him either.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, we thought he spoke to you —”

“Never mind,” the old man growled. “Come to my office tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

And that, Tom knew, was when his plan could finally be set in motion.

VIII

“Oh my goodness, Tom, he called me in. What am I going to do?! He’ll sack me…”

“No he won’t,” smiled Tom, leaning casually against the desk while she paced up and down. She’d called him upstairs in a frantic summons right after the Baron hung up.

“He’s so mad about Ambrogio…”

“Exactly. And now he’s forced to rely on us.”

“What if Ambrogio turns up again though?”

“He won’t,” said Tom a little too quickly. “And even if he does, he’s already fallen out of favour.”

She kept on fretting, her little shoes clipping on the wooden floorboards as steady as clockwork. Tom pushed himself to his feet and walked up behind her, embracing her to keep her still. Immediately, her head leaned back and rested on his shoulder.

“Everything will be alright,” he whispered. “The Baron will depend on you more than ever, and then you can ask for all the things you’ve never dared to ask before. And he shall give them to you. Because he’ll have no choice.”

“He can just hire someone else…”

“Not in time for the next auction.”

“He has you, though.”

“I will not be a more appealing option to him,” Tom grinned. “Trust me.”

Whether she did or not, she turned to face him and wrapped her arms around him, hiding herself in his chest. Tom embraced her, feeling more sorry than ever that he’d have to leave her behind.

[bumpkinspice0]

Parallels: chapter 1

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explict

Word Count: 2842

Summary: You never had a 'spidey sense,' as you came to learn from your time as part of Spider Society. You'd gotten along this far without it and were an excellent spider-woman regardless. Then you meet Miguel O'Hara and it awakens something in you. A strange buzzing in the back of your head. It doesn't stop whenever he's in sight, and you think he knows what's happening to you.

Something about Miguel draws you in. What made him so fucking special?

Warnings: Smuuut, Oral (Fem receiving-in a public place), Mentions of masturbation (like barely), horny at work, Miguel being feral, spider hormone connection?? IDK

Notes: This is my first time sharing anything I've written, I have no idea what I'm doing. I just started this blog an hour ago for this shit. I swear a lot, i guess. Please go easy on me... and enjoy, my beloveds.

AO3

Next chapter

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Chapter 1

Spidey Sense

At first, joining Spider Society was overwhelming. How could it not be? But also— strangely relieving. There were more of you. Enough to fill a 200-story tower. After years of doing this on your own, you had a community to lean on. A community just like you.

As your life in the spider citadel went on it became more and more obvious that no two spider people were exactly the same. Powers or personality-wise— well, actually all of you seemed to be pretty quick-witted. Everyone’s abilities seemed to differ ever so slightly, you were no exception.

You never had what you came to learn as a ‘spidey sense.’ You had wall-crawling, strength, agility, all the seemingly usual stuff— but just not this apparent danger warning your fellow spider people had. Your powers seemed to make up for themselves in the end. Whatever you may have lost with this other sense, you more than made up for in other ways.

You didn’t have an internal security system, but your remaining senses were easily double that of any of your counterparts. On top of that your webs were completely organic. No awkward shooters or web fluid to constantly worry about. You win some, you lose some. 

Still, it fascinated you. The ability to sense danger. A literal sixth sense. Having constant spacial awareness sounded amazing after the embarrassing amount of random pigeons you’d hit while swinging through the city.

You asked around about it whenever powers came into the conversation. It was as casual as talking about the weather for all of you. They all described it the same. An unmistakable gut feeling. A tingling in the back of your head, a spiked heart rate, and suddenly you knew every small detail that was happening around you. If you were being honest, it sounded like the beginnings of a panic attack. Random adrenaline spikes throughout the day didn’t sound like the funnest ability to deal with. You’d never felt anything remotely like what they were describing. 

Well, until you met him.

Met was a strong word, actually. Miguel was a reclusive leader. You’d only met him a handful of times. Jess was the one to recruit you into the spider-league and Miguel was just this invisible entity you’d only heard about in passing. Everyone talked about him with such high regard and respect that you just kind of mimicked their attitude without really knowing anything about him. He built this place. He had to be incredible. 

The first time you saw the illusive Spider-Man 2099 was in a meeting. Jess wanted to get you into some teamwork missions and you reluctantly agreed. You and about a dozen other of your spider-comrades were to inspect an anomaly in universe whatever. Don’t interact with anything. Only observe. It was clearly a bullshit team-building exercise for all of you. No one here really knew much about being part of a team.

The air in the room changed when Miguel walked in. Everyone instantly hushed. He commanded the space with such little effort. He was addressing the room when he made eye contact with you and you immediately felt intimidated. Christ, he was huge… and handsome. Beyond his obvious leg-buckling good looks, there was something else his gaze did to you.

A strange tingling in the back of your head.

His gaze stayed on you longer than you’d have liked, his head tilting ever so slightly before pulling his attention back to the rest of the room. The buzzing in your head didn’t go away until he left. 

What the hell was that?

“You alright?” Jess tapped your shoulder, bringing you back to reality. The rest of the room was dispersing into the portal. Clearly, you paid close attention to the debriefing you’d just sat through.

“Yep!” You answered just a little too loudly. “Just nerves, I guess. Let’s do this.” Your lead Spider-Woman gave a cheeky smile before leading you both into the portal.

That was the first time you’d noticed something weird.

You’d only see Miguel in passing or in crowded rooms with countless other spider people. It quickly became obvious that he was the cause of whatever was happening with you. No matter the situation, you still got that weird feeling whenever he was around. He’d always glance at you more than you’d like— but then again you did the same. As you climbed the ranks you worried you’d get stuck on missions with him. Luckily, he seemed to take his jobs solo. 

Still, ever the attentive leader he was, he soon was in every briefing you were. Every meeting and training— sitting on the other end of the room making your newfound spider sense scream in your head. It would start going off even before you entered the room. That’s how you’d know he’d be there— and your sense was right every time.

The last time you saw him, he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. 

 A massive projection table stood between you and him. Lyla was showing some random science behind whatever the latest threat to the universe at large was. You couldn’t care less about what she said while this brutish man bore into your soul— again. 

Your sense was going crazy this time. No one else ever seemed to notice, so why did he? You’d heard through the grapevine Miguel was one of the few other spider people that didn’t have a spider-sense. He wasn’t much like any of the other spiders, really. Yet, he seemed to know what was happening to you.

How could he not know, since he was clearly the cause.

Your growing adrenaline morphed into something you didn’t expect. Your cheeks immediately reddened when you felt a heat rising in your core— and a gush of arousal between your legs. You squeezed your legs together, leaning on the projection table for support. Then Miguel’s expression changed. His eyebrows furrowed. You saw his jaw and neck clench. If you didn’t know any better he looked disgusted.

It was fucking humiliating. 

This was your job. These were your colleagues. You were all discussing what you needed to do to keep the literal entire universe safe! And here you were, getting horny over nothing like some teenager. Pathetic.

And he surely knew exactly what was happening.

Miguel left the meeting in a huff and you ran your vibrator dead that night when you got home. 

From then on, you actively avoided him. Both out of shame and for your own sanity. Whatever this was, you didn’t wanna deal with it. Out of sight of a mind.

It was obvious no one else had this weird problem with him so there wasn’t anyone you could turn to. You’d rather die than explain this to Jess and half of your other members were fucking teenagers. You didn’t want to ask Lyla so she could have this in her memory banks for Miguel to just stumble across one day and promptly expel you from Spider society. You loved it here. You loved being part of something bigger than yourself. It's why you took up the mantel in the first place.

Yet, surrounded by the people who understand you most, you were alone in this. Trapped by some weird spider-power puberty. Could superpowers even go through puberty? It made as much sense as anything else in your life.

You were walking to the training room when that doomed buzz pinged in the back of your head. Turning the corner to the empty corridor was that dreaded, broad figure you’d been successfully avoiding for weeks now. He pauses when he sees you, just for a moment, before continuing on his path. Your spider sense hadn’t shown itself this entire time and now it was like a car alarm in your head. Still, you managed to walk on. You won’t let him have the satisfaction.   

He mumbled your name with a small nod when you passed each other, you did the same. Honestly, you were surprised he even knew your first name. You were nearly at the corner when you felt the tingling morph into what you were dreading. You bit your lip at the building erotic sensation between your legs. You’d had enough. 

After that last encounter, you started to wonder if this was something he was doing. How could you not? There was something in his animalistic eyes besides pure hunger. There was knowing. There was smugness. 

Yeah, he was definitely doing something. This was his fault.

“Stop it!” You turn to shout at him, now standing yards away from you. Your voice echoes down the empty hallway. He turns to look at you, a grimace on his face. “This isn’t funny. I don’t know what the hell your doing or why you’re doing it, but just stop it.” You say again, stepping toward him.

“What I’m doing?” he snarls, “What do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re fucking with me for fun,” You accuse him, “I thought it was me. I thought it was something I was doing because no one else had the same problem, but it only happens around you. So you’re the one doing something to me!”

“Only around me, hm?” he scoffs, stepping toward you. “I’m not doing anything,”

“Liar,” you bite, “This only happens around you. That only leaves one option. You’re doing it.”

A bloated silence follows. You see his shoulders drop, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes in annoyance. 

 “You really don’t know what’s happening either, do you?” That gives you pause. “The constant… buzzing.”

No fucking way.

He… felt it too. 

He’s standing directly in front of you now, his expression softened ever so slightly.

“I’m not like most of them, you know.” He starts, his voice a low rumble, “No spider-sense, talons for wall-crawling, venomous fangs… enhanced senses. You’re not exactly like the others either, are you?” his form dwarfs you, backing you into the closest wall.

“You don’t know anything about me,” You hiss. 

“I know everything about you,” He retorts, “It’s my job to know.”

“You… you really don’t know what’s happening to me. To…us.”

This all just got insanity more confusing. Well, it already was but this was just another layer onto the shitty cake. He could be lying, you think briefly. He could see how much he affects you and finds it funny. Though that nagging feeling in the back of your head says he’s telling the truth— and you believe it. 

“Not yet,” his arms cage you in. His eyes shift to that familiar deep red as he drags his gaze over you, “I was suspicious the first time, then it wouldn’t stop.”

“It’s awful.”

“The worst.”

Then, for the first time, you actually feel small under his gaze— other than in a literal sense. He’d been staring you down for over a month but now he was so damn close.

“What’s it feel like… for you?” He asks.

You think for a moment, trying to ignore the heat rising inside you, “It’s… it’s like climbing a roller coaster. Anticipation. Adrenaline. You know somethings coming.” 

Your heartbeat is pounding. 

“Mhmm,” he lowers his head, “What else?”

“It’s—“, you shy away from his gaze. 

“I know what else,” he leans down, lips brushing into your ear, “I’ve been able to smell you for days.” 

If this were any other man you’d have knocked him unconscious by now, but something about him speaking to you this way made your legs nearly give out.

You feel a sharp pressure against your thigh. You look down to see the single talon of his index finger pressed against you, hooked through the material of your suit. 

“Is this what you want?” He asks, his voice a low growl now, “This is what it’s screaming at you?”

You bite your lip, taking in a sharp inhale before you nod. 

He drags the claw up your thigh and across your stomach, slicing with precision cleanly through the material of your suit and underwear. Another rush of arousal runs through you. The fabric gives way easily and your core is left completely bare. He grabs your thighs.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell,” he hoists your legs over his shoulders as he kneels down to meet your waiting cunt. He holds you on top of him like you weigh nothing at all.

Superhuman strength and agility had several perks you always felt you never fully utilized.

His mouth engulfs you, licking a long stripe up your entrance before enveloping your clit. You gasp and grab his head with one hand and stick to the wall with the other. It wasn’t exactly stable, but that was the last thing on your mind. The king of spider-kind was eating you out in the middle of the citadel— and god was he good. 

You fight back your moans as best you can, anyone could walk by. Anyone could hear you. When he sucks down on you, you let a small scream slip.

“Cállate!” He hisses underneath you. Your eyes briefly meet his before he’s back on you. You barely remember your 3 years of high school Spanish, but the tone of his voice was clear. Be quiet.

You bit down on your hand. Your toes curled in your shoes. He was unraveling you bit by bit with his tongue. Consuming you like a starved man.

His mouth wasn’t the only thing wrecking you. That annoying buzz in your head had dulled into something different— something entirely new. The strange tingling simmered into a warm sensation, raising every hair on your body. Every time he’d touch you, it’d electrify you even more. Did he feel this way too, you wonder?

He wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t slow and sensual. He was fucking primal, wriggling and squirming underneath you as if to try to get more of you— to get you impossibly closer. He’d retracted his claws but his fingers squeezed you so tightly you knew there’d be bruises in the morning. The thought sent a new wave of wetness to your cunt. 

He moans into you, sending vibrations all through your body. He was whispering some sweet nothings you didn’t have the brain capacity to try and understand. Really he was telling you all you wanted to know— he was enjoying this too. Whether it was for some sick kicks or he just liked the control, you didn’t care. He was giving you some much-needed relief you didn’t know you had pent up— and it felt like this was the same for him.

Then he finally looks up at you, his eyes overtaken by that inhuman crimson red— animalistic and feral and wanting. You should be afraid of him. 

His tongue delves into your heat, his strong nose still nudging at your clit. You were getting close now— already? Yeah, you were way more pent-up than you thought. Both of your hands come down to his head, lacing your fingers through his dark hair.

“Miguel,” You barely gasp out, “Miguel, I’m gonna—”

You don’t finish before it overtakes you. Your shaking legs crush his head while pure euphoric energy surges through you. Your face contorts into a silent scream, completely forgetting how to breathe for just a moment. It was raw. It was hungry and rushed, but it was perfect.

 He works you through it until your bones become jelly. He lowers you down onto his lap. The buzzing in your head is singing— and then it’s finally silent, washing over you like a warm wave. It was complete bliss.

Even straddling his lap, he still towers over you—crowding you in against the wall with his arms again. You’re both panting from the rush. Did you seriously just do that? Did he seriously just do that? 

“It… it stopped,” You finally say. “The buzzing.”

He grunts in response, which you can only interpret as me too. Running his thumb across his chin to gather your remaining arousal. Those red eyes never leave your face while he sucks the digit clean. You instantly feel another rush of heat at the sight. This fucking man.

You both turn to the sound of oncoming footsteps just around the corner. So much for heightened senses this time. You turn back to each other, both with the same question painted across your face. What the fuck do we do?

He’s the first to act, quickly typing something into his multiverse watch. A portal opens in the wall directly behind you. Without warning you fall into it, getting one last look at Miguel's smug face before it closes. Then— you're in your empty apartment. 

Your ears are ringing. Your heart is pounding. Too many thoughts are rushing through your head to even bother sorting out right now. As you sit there, shamefully bare in your most intimate area in the middle of your living room, you settle on one aspect of this entire fucked up situation to focus on.

That asshole ruined your last fucking suit. 

____________________________________

I don't know how to make a taglist.

Hope you liked it!!!

[armoredtitanmistress]

𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙦𝙪𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙 | Toji Fushiguro | first acknowledgments

characters: toji fushiguro x gojo!reader, toji zenin x gojo!reader

summary: As the future head of the Gojo clan, a certain persona needs to be projected at all times; calm, calculated, and reserved. Not a single soul other than your younger brother has seen you be anything other than that. All except Toji Zenin, the enigma who has been following you for as long as he can remember.

tags: toji x gojo!reader, gojo’s older sister, pre-star plasma vessel arc/star plasma vessel arc, mentions of misogyny, Toji is enough of a warning, strangers to friends to lovers to ?, angst, fluff, eventual smut

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To be a part of a community, you gain a collective of like-minded people; when you're born into a clan, you lose the right to your individuality the day you are conceived. Being the oldest of the esteemed Gojo family expectations were set upon your birth. The fact that you were born a woman and not as a man certainly left many within the clan apprehensive of your potential as the future of the clan leader. Your parents were praying that you would inherit either Limitless or the Six-Eyes; or better yet both. The universe had delivered upon your parent's prayers, and you had awakened Limitless at the age of six. You could still recall the tears of joy your mother dropped upon your shoulders when she found out, the look of contentment from your father that never graced your presence since that day, and the sighs of relief amongst the higher-ups. Your whole future was solidified that day at the ripe age of 6.

Of course, a grand party was thrown for you and the blurred faces of people praising you remain a permanent image in your mind. Trying to go play with the kids your age but being blocked by someone awarding you praise. You didn’t know them but they knew you, rather they knew the potential you had. The praises all held the same undertone:

You are the future

You are the new era

You are the future head of the Gojo Clan

As per this pressure, you’ve been very thorough in breeding a certain image for yourself as aloof and recluse. No one had clearance to see any other side of you. Your parents had the luxury to witness it when you were a child but later joined the majority as you realized your purpose in their life. Only one soul witnessed and would continue to witness your most vulnerable side. At the age of 14 when your little brother Satoru was born. He was the most adorable baby with the brightest set of eyes rivaling your own, tufts of snow-colored hair, and just the overall essence of innocence that a baby is known to have. The notion that the expectations that were placed upon you would soon transfer onto him left a strong desire to protect him from this world. His existence was a beacon of hope for the Jujutsu world but to you, his existence was your reason to continue abiding by the rules of the clan.

He was your baby, Toru. Since the day you laid eyes on him, you knew that he would be basking in your enshrouded love for eons and centuries to come. Even if there were to come a day when he no longer needs you in his life, you would remain omnipresent.

When you had enrolled in Jujutsu Tech at 15 and had to leave him for the first three years of his life. You would visit the compound regularly to uphold your duties but allowed for that time to equal spending time with Satoru. Howbeit, it was never for longer than an hour you made use of the time. Your time as a student was perhaps the first ounce of freedom you had ever experienced yet also just another reminder of what you were bred to be. As per the clan's expectations, you started and ended your career as a student as a special-grade sorcerer. The clan had allowed you to continue as a sorcerer and even allowed for you to become a teacher at Jujutsu Tech once Satoru was of age to attend. Though that was years away, you were excited about that future nonetheless.

The clan held a grand celebration when Satoru inherited his cursed techniques as they invited all the other clans to join in on the festivities. They held it in one of the banquet halls in the compound and though you loved your brother with an amount that could never truly ever be calculated, you couldn’t bear to watch your brother become another victim of this fate and for any questions relating to your potential marital status. Though you were the next heir, the guest was too engrossed in their own political commentary to notice you slip away.

Much like any other heroine in a novel, you whisked yourself away into the family gardens. It had become your sanctuary ever since you stumbled upon it on a random night when life had become too overbearing. It was secluded away from the other homes on the compound and hardly ever frequented by anyone. When you discovered it, it was hard to even tell it was a garden. The whole area was polluted with dead flora and you felt the only sense of normality you had in your life was tending/visiting the garden. It’s sad to say but in your twenty years of life, this is the closest you’ve felt to being calm in your life.

As you walked upon the garden, you flopped yourself down in the midst of all the flora as you let out a breath you hadn’t even considered to have been holding in. You stared up at the stars that would always greet you at this time of night. You had given up on trying to memorize constellations and their names, what's the use? There would be no one to share your knowledge with at the end of the day. You wholeheartedly believe that you have had longer conversations with yourself than with anyone else. Even the stars had a community they could relate to. In some ways, you believed they could be compared to you. They were bright enough for people to look at and find interest in but not important enough to get to know. In your mind, you theorized that they probably listened in on the planets when they discussed kicking Pluto out.

“What a life.” You uttered as you watched the scenery above you. The trees swayed in and out of your view as they synchronized with the wind, the stars performing their constellation dance, and the moon watching over you in pity. Similarly to the attendees in the banquet hall, it would seem that you didn’t notice that someone else had entered your sanctuary.

Who could? Toji Zenin thought as he observed the oldest Gojo who was far too invested in your world to notice him. Your white hair fell around you in resemblance to snowflakes, your eyes as icy as a body of water in the height of winter, and your lips parted like the fish stuck in said body of water. You were undoubtedly beautiful and even Toji could admit that. He had thought as much since you were children. Throughout the clans, everyone was trying to have you married off to their sons while their sons offered no retaliation as they too were pleading for your hand. Of course, for the sake of having a Gojo but you were a sight to behold. He had seen you plenty of times during these kinds of events but you would never see him. You would run away and he would follow but never interact. Toji would never give an answer as to why he had begun this one-sided tradition for he also had no idea.

Over the years, out of precaution, Toji would maintain a relatively large distance between the two of you on the off chance that you would notice him. As the tradition progressed, the less cautious of the distance he became. Each year, he would inch closer and closer to you until now where he could consider himself to be within view of you if you had tried but obviously visible.

He watched as you lifted your arm into the sky, opening your palm out, and letting it stay like that for a few moments before hastily dropping your arm over your eyes with yet another sigh. If he had seen your perspective, he would have noticed the positioning of your palm being directly under a star. However, he didn’t need to be in your perspective because this was a habit of yours that you had developed over the years. He knew, that you knew, that you’d never catch a star. You had always a stoic and professional among the general public, no one could have guessed that the next Gojo head would be stargazing, much less, trying to “catch” a star without a thought in mind. For someone as low-ranking as Toji was in the jujutsu world, he could only find amusement in the situation.

“There you are!” A young Satoru enthused as he ran full throttle toward you before plopping down on top of your fallen body. You let out a noise at the abrupt action, coughing a tad bit as the wind was knocked out of you. The young boy notices and begins to laugh at your predicament. You cherished his happiness and made it a mission to always provide him with a smile during each interaction.

“You think attacking your older sister is funny, huh?” You began with a mischievous smile adorning your features. He didn’t need to be a wielder of the Six-Eyes to know what his sister’s next move was as he began to scurry off of you but was far too late as you sent a barrage of tickles his way.

“S-Stop! Ha-Ha! I-I w-wasn’t laughing! I swear!” He pleaded between a fit of laughs.

“Hmm, I don’t know ‘Toru seems like you were laughing to me. Say you were and I’ll stop.” You teased as you continued your “attacks” on the young boy. He tried to remain strong in his claims but ultimately surrendered.

“Fine!I did laugh!” and just like that the tickles stopped but were soon met with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek from you. Toji fleetingly wondered how that felt.

“See in return for being honest, you get rewards. Remember that in the future ‘Toru.” The young boy nodded at the statement before nuzzling himself further into the conjugation of your neck urging for the affection to last.

“So what do I owe the honor of having you here with me?” You asked as you lifted your body in a sitting position inevitably taking his up with yours and letting your head rest atop his head. “Certainly, Mother and Father didn’t allow for you to roam off by yourself.”

“These things are always so boring! I thought today was supposed to be about me.” You could feel the pout on Satoru’s lip and held him tighter. If only he knew that today was all about him, the him of today and the him of the future.

“You and I can celebrate another day. Just you and me.” You reassured yet since the day he was born every day has been about him. This easily excited the young boy as he babbled about all the things he wanted to do.

Yet, another sight to behold is the next Gojo clan leader being affectionate. Each passing year you had come to surprise the outcasted Zenin. He had seen many things but he had never seen you interact with the youngest Gojo. The garden looked like an accessory compared to how at ease you were with Satoru.

Toji watched as the siblings both stood up, you brushing out everything and anything that could tamper with each other's appearance before leaving hand in hand back to the venue. Feeling safe enough to emerge from his hiding spot, he enters the pathway with folded arms over his chest standing behind the two Gojo’s watching them leave. In accordance with the routine, he would stay a little longer before making his own exit.

What wasn’t a part of the routine was Satoru turning his head and making direct eye contact. Toji has spent his entire life being an invisible man. No one could ever tell he was standing behind them and no one would particularly care if they did know.

Satoru tugged at your hand urging you to look as well and you did. You gave the man a nod of acknowledgment with a ghost of a smile before turning to Satoru.

“He’s a friend of mine.”