bdudette

[bdudette]

Their friend is pregnant.

↳ Pairing. Ragnar Lothbrok, Björn Ironside, Ubbe Ragnarsson.

↳ Summary. How would they react to their dear friend being pregnant.

↳ Warnings. Violence, death, abusive relationships.

↳ Note. I imagine this with them having the same kind of friendship that Ragnar had with Athelstan but with the reader. Let me know if y’all want me to make an individual part of any of these explaining further the dynamics.

Part two.

Ragnar Lothbrok.

He hasn’t seen you in several months and he starts to get worried because for one, you didn’t even come to the dock to greet him after another successful raid and two, you know damn well he doesn’t like to go for so long without talking to you when he is in Kattegat. He learns too much with you.

He knocks on your door one time before letting himself in like he owns it, and that he does of course. He’s the king.

“I just want to know why you haven’t even��� oh,” He looks at you with wide eyes, looking down at the small round belly that has started to become prominent.

You look at him expressionless, your eyes filling with tears, he gets to you in two big steps and pulls you into his arms, one hand on the back of your neck and the other grabbing your arm so you can put it around his waist.

“My sweet dear friend, what’s the matter?” He murmurs and you sob.

“I missed you so much, o-oh for the love of Odin, my friend is here.” You cry on his chest.

“Of course I am, I’ll always come back to you,” He assures you.

You look up to him.

“I am with child,” You say and he snorts.

“I can very much see that,” He jokes but his smile vanishes when he sees the pain in your face.

“And he hates it, he hates it so much Ragnar,” You sob. “He said it’s not his child, he swears it’s yours.”

He laughs and walks with you under his arm to your bed, softly falling down and letting you get comfortable on his chest.

“I have to say, it does sounds appealing to bear a child with you,” You snort and sob softly. “But we have never had sex, for you rejected me when I asked you.”

“You wanted me to lay with you when we were camping and getting ready for a war back in the day, it wasn’t the time,” You roll your eyes. “He says my plan all along was to seduce you to become queen of—,”

“Does he even know that you’re the uncrowned queen of Kattegat?” He laughs. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be the child’s father.”

“Why did I have the suspicion that you would say that when the time of me carrying a child come?” You ask with a small smile and he kisses your head.

“He can’t come near you anymore, he lost his chance.” He explains.

You close your eyes, forgetting everything that made you cry and remembering that Ragnar will always be there for you.

Björn Ironside.

He frowns when you rush into his tent in what seems desperation, he grabs your shoulders to stop you.

“Wow, wow, wow, stop right there,” He says, and when you look at him his whole face changes. “Who did this to you?”

You have a cut on your lip and your cheek is starting to get swollen from a hard slap.

“Björn—,”

“I am not going to ask a third time, Y/N, who did this to you?” He grunts.

“Knud,” You whisper and you step in front of him when he is about to start walking, looking him right in the eye. “Björn.”

“I am going to break his arms, move.” He grunts.

“Björn, I am with child.” You snap, smacking his chest softly so he can pay attention to you.

He looks at you surprised, blinking a few times before slowly sliding his hands all over your belly.

“That’s wonderful, little one.” He whispers and your bottom lip trembles. His face suddenly turns cold. “Which means it’s going to be worse for him.”

He walks around you and out of the tent in the blink of an eye, you sigh and sit down for a few seconds on his bed, your state making things such as standing very tiresome.

After some minutes you stand up and go out looking for your friend, finding him close to the woods with a crowd around him. When you get close you realize that the father of your child is tied up to a tree while Björn is shooting arrows at him, missing on purpose to get him more scared. The whispers of the others are what makes Björn look behind his back, he smiles at you.

“Come here, my sweet one.” He says with feigned happiness, you stand on his side, ignoring the man on the tree on purpose.

“Yes?”

“What do you want from him? His leg? An arm?” He asks you entertained.

“I—,”

“Y-Y/N, p-please! Forgive me! I-I didn’t mean t-to, it was the ale!” The man cries.

“You hurt her while she’s with child and you think ale is the perfect excuse to give me? me?” Björn asks with humor, raising his arms and shooting an arrow right on top of the man's knees, smiling when he screams in pain. “Try again.”

“F-Forgive me for saying that it is not my child, I-I know you haven’t laid with n-no one else, I misunderstood your relationship with lord Björn,” The man cries in pain, sobbing like a child, he looks at you with pleading eyes. “Y/N p-please.”

You look at Björn and give him an enigmatic smile that he understands all too well.

“My friend, I could use a liver, maybe a heart,” You tell him and he hums.

“All you have to do is ask,” He says, shooting right into the man’s heart, watching the life leave his body. “Like that?”

“Like that.” You snort.

Ubbe Ragnarsson.

He’s sure the gods put you in his life with a purpose, because the amount of love and happiness he feels when he’s around you cannot be normal.

He was walking around Kattegat with a smile, watching his people do their own thing and being proud of the stability that they have now thanks to a lot of his, his father and his brothers' sacrifices. He sees you and frowns when he takes in your expression, walking a little faster to get to you.

“That fucking child is not mine!” The man, whom he knows you tend to lay with from time to time, was shouting in your face. “Find the father of that child because it is not mine.”

“Well, last time I checked I am not the Christian Holy Mary to have a child from a god,” You snap at him. “Who else’s child would—?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the prince,” The man accuses you and you gasp, he starts to point his finger at you, every time touching your shoulder in an accusatory manner. “Why don’t you go and tell him that you’re with child, uhm? Since you’re so proud of being his main whore—,”

The man can’t continue his speech because he is interrupted by Ubbe yanking him from the back. Ubbe walks to him slowly, sighing to control his dark thoughts and straddling the man. He starts to calmy destroy the man’s face, smacking him with his open hand, punching him with his fist, with his own head. You crouch down beside him at a considerable space in order to not get punched by accident, with your hand under your chin, watching your prince make a mess out of the poor man that thought he could disrespect you and continue on his day like nothing happened.

“You think you’re too good to put a child on her? Don’t be stupid, you should be grateful that you even had the opportunity to be inside of her,” Ubbe grunts, watching the man’s face unrecognizable now.

He cleans his hands on the man’s shirt and stands up, walking to you and bending his knees a little to take you in his arms. You hum and slide your hands around his neck.

“I would’ve expected Ivar to lose control like that, even Hvitserk, but you?” You murmur into his ear and he chuckles.

“I’m Viking, love,” He says as if that explains the little number he just pulled.

When he enters the Great Hall he walks directly to a chair and sits with you sitting sideways on top of him, he caresses your back distractedly while playing with your hand with his other hand.

“I’m a little scared,” You confess and he looks at you. “It’s my first child, I’m not even married and he already made sure to let me know that he will not be—,”

“You don’t need nobody but me,” He says firmly, confidence emanating from his body. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ubbe, you have your own obligations with Kattegat,” You try to reason with him.

“And still, I’ll be here for you,” He whispers, pulling you to his chest and slowly sliding his hand onto your belly, you put your own on top of his. “Every step you take, I’m taking it with you, my dear friend.”

“I know you will,” You whisper and kiss the side of his head.

[bdudette]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[bdudette]

JIN ENJOJI X READER | non-consensual clothing removal. implied assault. slight manga spoilers about Jiji. 3.4k wc

“Wanna go out and stargaze?” That’s what Jiji said before the both of you were chased down by blood sucking aliens. “I’m never going out stargazing with you again!” you screamed at his ear as the both of you ran away from the aliens. “I’m sorryyy!”

“Hey, gimme that crab leg!” Momo yelled, as she tried to take a plate from grandma Seiko.

“Quit it kid, I paid for this!”

The two brawled at the table, leaving you, Okarun and Turbo Granny trying to eat peacefully.

Okarun let out a sight, glancing between Momo and Grandma Seiko as they wrestled over the crab leg. Plates clattered and the table shook under the petty chaos but neither of them showed any sign of backing down.

“You guys do this every time,” Okarun muttered, shaking his head as he poked his food. “Can’t we have a normal meal?”

You could only shake your head, while Turbo Granny cackled beside him, already halfway through a plate stacked high with food for a small lucky cat. “Let ‘em fight! Adds flavor to the meal!” she said, her sharp toothy grin stretching wide as she shoved more food into her mouth.

Momo finally managed to grab the crab leg, only for Seiko to counter by whacking her on the head with her hand.

“Ow! That’s dirty fighting!” Momo protested, rubbing her head.

“All’s fair in love and seafood!” Seiko shot back, snatching the crab leg back on triumph. “This is mine!”

Okarun sighed, again, pushing his plate away. “I’m starting to think I should’ve stayed home.”

“Momo, you can take my crab leg instead.” you pushed your plate towards her, her eyes shined like stars as she hugged you.

“My only loving cousin who is blood related to me actually cares for me, unlike that hag over there!”

“Who you sayin’ hag, huh?!”

“Ow ow ow! My ear!”

Both of them started bickering again, you could only give Okarun a small apology for seeing your family like this. He shyly waved it off, taking his food again and continued eating again. Before you could take a bite of your food, you heard a knock on the door. You quietly excused yourself as the both still brawled as you walked towards the door to see who’s outside at this hour. Opening it, you were greeted by a familiar face.

“Hello, kawaii-chan!” Jiji greeted you with a smile.

“Jiji! Why are you out here at this hour?” you asked, surprised by his visit.

He took something from his back and showed a plastic bag.

“Mom asked me to give this to your aunt—”

“Grandma.”

“G-grandma, she made too many and we couldn’t finish it with just the three of us so we got the extras for you!”

You gratefully took the plastic bag from Jiji, “Do you want to come in?”

“Uhhh actually… I wanna ask you if you wanna stargaze, tonight.” he looked away, pink blush coloring his cheeks. But you somehow didn’t notice.

“Oh, sure! I’ll put this inside and change—”

“But your clothes are decent enough though,” Jiji interrupted, pointing at your uniform.

He wasn’t wrong. You’re still in your school uniform since you usually eat first before changing into pajamas.

You shrugged, “Sure, I’ll tell Granny that I’ll go out.”

You offered Jiji to enter the house even joining in the dining area with the four but he politely refused. 

Upon entering the dining room, the scene hadn’t changed much. Momo and Seiko were still bickering, their voices loud enough to echo through the house. Okarun however, was now unconscious on the floor with a bump on his head and Turbo Granny laughing.

You sighed, shaking your head as you placed the bag on the table, “Oi, I’ll be going out with Jiji tonight. Don’t do anything weird at this house.”

Before they could even give you a response, you’ve already left.

“That was quick.” Jiji said as you were putting your shoes on.

“Nah, they were fighting over a crab leg so I just told them I’m going out with you and left.” you responded, taking a step outside the house.

“So, where are we goin’?”

The cliff overlooked Kamikoshi City, the entire landscape spread out beneath you like a glowing painting. The city lights sparkled across the skyline, casting a soft glow over the distant buildings and streets. Each flicker and glimmer seemed to pulse with life, creating a breathtaking view that drew a gasp from you.

“This is… amazing,” you murmured, feeling the cool night breeze brush against your skin. The vastness of it all, the contrast between the peaceful night sky and the bustling city below, was overwhelming in the best way.

Jiji stood beside you, hands in his pockets, smiling at your reaction. “Yeah, I thought you’d like it,” he said, before stepping closer.

He then placed his hand on your head, tilting it upward. “But look at this,” he added. Above, the stars twinkled like tiny diamonds scattered across the midnight sky, their light seemingly to pulse with an ethereal glow. 

The sight was mesmerizing, the stars stretching endlessly into the distance. “Holy shit…” you whispered, captivated by the beauty of the midnight sky.

Jiji chuckled softly beside you, lowering his hand. “Told you.”

As your eyes glued at the sky, Jiji cleared his throat. “Uh, I have something to say to you,” he mumbled.

“Hm?” You pulled your gaze away from the sky, turning to face him. The sight that greeted you was unexpected—Jiji’s face was flushed a deep red, like he’d just stepped out of a sauna. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced with visible tension, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “What’s up?”

Jiji fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… uh…” He trailed off, his nervousness intensifying. His usual confidence seemed to evaporate in the cool night air, leaving him at a loss for words.

“Jiji—”

You paused mid-sentence, your heart suddenly racing as you caught sight of something lurking behind Jiji. A faint, blue glow flickered in the shadows of the trees, two piercing eyes that seemed to watch you intently.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you instinctively took a step back, feeling a chill run down your spine. He turned, following your gaze, and his expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he spotted the glowing eyes.

“What the hell is that?” Jiji muttered, his flusterness momentarily vanishing.

The eyes narrowed, and you could feel a sense of dread creeping closer. Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly. You instinctively moved closer to Jij.

He felt you draw closer. Without thinking, he turned and pulled you behind him, his grip firm as he shielded you with his body. His grip on you never loosened.

Before either of you could react, a long, metallic tentacle shot out from the shadows, wrapping around your ankle. Panic surged through you as it yanked you off your feet, dragging you towards the darkness of the trees.

“Hey! No!” Jiji shouted, instinctively lunging forward but the distance was too great.

You clawed at the dirt, desperate not to be dragged into the unknown. While you were being dragged, you saw a branch. Quickly taking it, you then jabbed it to the tentacle resulting in letting you go.

Footsteps quickly went up to you and held both of your arms and helped you stand up to your feet.

Jiji huffed, “We need to get out of here—”

Before he could finish his sentence, another tentacle shot out from the shadows, snaking around his waist and lifting him off the ground. He let out a startled gasp, eyes wide with shock as he dangled helplessly in the air.

“Jiji!” you screamed, your heart racing as panic surged through you. You reached out instinctively, but the distance between you felt overwhelming.

As the creature stepped out of the shadows, your breath caught in your throat. It was a metallic alien, its body shimmering under the faint moonlight, revealing a sleek, elongated form covered in glinting scales. Its eyes glowed with a menacing blue light, illuminating its sharp, angular features.

“Foolish humans,” it spoke, its voice echoing unnaturally, reverberating in the still night air. “I need female blood to sustain myself… and a male genital. How lucky I am.”

“What’s with you aliens and private parts!” you shouted.

“Power,” it responded wickedly, sending shivers down your spine. “Now shut up, this won’t hurt.”

Before you could react, it lunged another tentacle toward you. It was too fast, ensnaring both of your arms and lifting you off the ground. You gasped, feeling the grip tighten around you like a vise.

Jiji's eyes widened in horror as he struggled against his own restraints. “Let her go!” he shouted with desperation, his voice breaking through the tension in the air.

The metallic alien turned its glowing gaze toward him, its expression unreadable but its intent clear. “Silence!” it hissed, the tentacles around you tightening as it drew you closer to its maw, the cold metal brushing against your skin.

As it drew nearer, the alien grumbled, “Your clothes are useless; the more skin exposed, the more places I can draw blood.”

With a swift motion, it tore the top of your uniform, leaving you exposed down to your bra. You gasped, horror and anger washing over you. “My uniform!” you shouted, kicking your legs frantically in a desperate attempt to break free. “You perv! That cost my week’s allowance!”

The alien’s glowing eyes narrowed, its metallic form looming over you with a chilling satisfaction. “Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters. Your pain will only serve to nourish me.”

“Shut up!” you spat back, anger rising within you. “You think you can just take whatever you want? I won’t let you!”

The alien ignored your words as it revealed more tentacles at its back, shutting you up in the process. This is it, it is your end.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the pain you feared would come. Instead, to your shock, the alien released its grip on your arms, and you fell into someone’s waiting embrace.

“Gotcha!” came a familiar voice, warm and reassuring. You opened your eyes to see Jiji holding you securely in his arms.

“Jiji?! How—”

“I trained under your aun— I mean your grandma without needing the evil eye!” he declared, a grin breaking through the tension as he tightened his grip on you.

You remembered he did train under Granny Seiko. You looked at the side where the unconscious alien was and saw the ground dented.

Before you could speak, a blast cut you off not far from your position. You froze, heart racing as a UFO descended from the sky, its tentacles swaying ominously at its sides. To your horror, more aliens—similar to the one that had attacked you both—poured out of the craft, their glowing eyes scanning the area as they began to advance.

“We need to run! WE NEED TO RUN!” you screamed, adrenaline surging through you. You jumped out of Jiji’s arms and grabbed his hand, yanking him into a sprint.

The two of you dashed through the underbrush, branches whipping against your skin as you navigated the chaotic terrain. The sounds of the aliens behind you echoed in the night air, their guttural growls mixing with the rustle of leaves and the pounding of your heart.

You were now being chased by blood sucking aliens.

“I’m never going out stargazing with you again!” you screamed at his ear as the both of you ran away from the aliens.

“I’m sorryyy!” he cried out loud.

Jiji’s legs burned as he pushed himself to keep pace with you, heart racing more from fear than the sprint itself. “How was I supposed to know they’d come out of nowhere?” he wailed, his voice cracking as another alien screeched behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see one of the blood-sucking aliens close in, its grotesque, tentacles stretching unnaturally fast. “Less talking, more running!” you yelled, grabbing Jiji’s arm to yank him forward as he tripped over a rock.

“I really didn’t mean for this to happen,” he huffed, his breath ragged from the frantic sprint. “I just wanted us to have a chill night, look at the stars, maybe talk about—”

A sharp, hissing sound interrupted his apology as another alien leaped from a nearby tree, its glowing blue eyes locking onto both of you.

“Save it for after we survive!” you barked, dragging him down to the road you both took when you hiked to the cliff. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins as the aliens screeched louder, closing in from every direction.

Jiji stumbled again, nearly pulling you down with him. “Why do these things always happen when we hang out?!”

“I don’t know! But maybe we should stop hanging out!” you yelled, half-joking as you pushed yourself harder. Your legs burned, but the fear of those creatures fueled you.

A blast of energy hit the ground beside you, sending dirt and debris into the air. You barely dodged it, pulling Jiji out of harm's way. The cliff edge loomed nearby, but there was no time to admire the view.

“We need a plan!” Jiji shouted, glancing back at the approaching aliens. “We can’t outrun them forever!”

“You can do that laser beam shit right?!” you said, “I haven’t fully controlled my powers unlike Momo but I can push them into one line and you can blast them!”

Jiji's eyes widened as he stumbled, nearly tripping over a branch in his shock. “W-What?! I haven’t exactly mastered that yet!”

“We don’t have a choice!” you interrupted, yanking him back on track. “I’ll line them up. Just focus!”

The screeches from the aliens were growing louder, closer. You could practically feel their cold, metallic presence nipping at your heels.

“Alright,” Jiji huffed, swallowing his fear. “But if we die, I’m blaming you!”

You threw him a sharp look, “Just concentrate!”

Gathering your breath, you dug deep into your energy reserves, feeling a familiar warmth surge through your veins. You pivoted, locking your focus on the swarm of aliens behind you. With a fierce shove of your hand, you forced the air around them to compress, pushing them into a tight line like bowling pins. They writhed and screeched in response, tentacles flailing in resistance, but you held them there, your heart pounding from the strain.

“Now, Jiji!” you yelled, sweat beading down your forehead.

Jiji planted his feet, his expression grim as he raised his trembling hands toward the creatures. The familiar energy crackled around his palms, flickering uncertainty. For a second, you thought it wouldn’t work, but then—

A beam of bright energy shot from his palms, exploding into the air with a deafening roar. The blast surged forward, striking the trapped aliens and sending a shockwave that lit up the entire forest.

When the dust settled, the screeching had stopped. Only silence remained.

Jiji, breathless and wide-eyed, turned to you, a mix of awe and disbelief on his face. “Did… did that really just work?”

You exhaled heavily, releasing the tension in your body as you slumped down on a nearby rock. “Barely,” you muttered, staring at the smoking crater where the aliens once stood. "But we’re alive, so I’ll take it."

Jiji collapsed beside you, laughing weakly. “I need a nap.”

“Hey,” you raised the upper part of your body and faced him, “We need to go home first.”

He looked at you, then his eyes looked down. There was this unexplainable reaction from him as his face turned red again and looked away.

“Huh? What’s the matter?”

“You don’t have a top on…”

Your eyes widened as you followed Jiji’s gaze, realizing that your torn uniform had been left in shambles from the earlier attack. Heat flooded your cheeks as you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest.

“J-Jiji!” you sputtered, glaring at him as you quickly tried to cover yourself. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!”

“I—I didn’t want to make it weird!” Jiji stammered, his face a deep shade of red as he kept his eyes firmly averted, staring intently at a nearby rock. “I mean, we were fighting for our lives! There wasn’t really time to—”

“Ugh, just—turn around or something!” you snapped, completely mortified.

Jiji awkwardly spun on his heel, back facing you as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, right! Sorry, my bad!”

You groaned in frustration but couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up despite the embarrassment. “This has officially been the weirdest night ever.”

“Agreed,” Jiji muttered, still bright red. “Here,” he draped his jacket over you.

You blinked in surprise as Jiji draped his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric still warm from his body.

“Thanks,” you muttered, pulling it tighter around yourself. The jacket was oversized on you, the sleeves dangling past your hands, but it was much better than nothing.

Jiji rubbed the back of his neck again, his usual energy replaced by an awkward tension. “No problem. I, uh, didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You nodded, you then remembered something. “Oh yeah, you wanted to say something?” you said, looking up to him.

Jiji froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if he had forgotten all about what he had planned to say. His face turned red, again, and avoided eye contact, glancing everywhere except at you.

“Uh… yeah,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head nervously. “I… I wanted to tell you something earlier, before, you know—” he gestured vaguely at the destroyed cliffside and the direction the aliens had fled.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Before the aliens attacked?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking a deep breath as if he were trying to summon all of his courage. “I just... I didn’t get the chance because of all the chaos, but I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.”

You waited, your heart pounding slightly. “Tell me what?”

Jiji glanced at you briefly, then quickly looked away again. “I… I like you,” he finally blurted out, his voice rushed but genuine. “Like, more than just friends.”

“It’s almost midnight, where the hell is she?” Momo grunted, worry laced in her annoyed voice. “She haven’t exactly mas—”

A knock on the door cut Momo off, she hurriedly ran to the door and opened. Momo's eyes widened at the sight of you standing there, wrapped in Jiji’s oversized jacket, while Jiji stood awkwardly behind you, shirtless and looking very out of place. Her mouth hung open for a second, taking in the bizarre scene before her.

“What the—?” Momo blurted, her annoyance quickly shifting to shock. “Where the hell have you two been?!” she then looked at Jiji,  “And why are you half-naked?!”

You were too tired to speak, but you forced yourself anyway. “Long story… involving aliens. Again.”

Jiji scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. “I can explain, but it’s not what it looks like!”

Momo crossed her arms, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “You’d better explain fast, because this is getting ridiculous.”

You pushed your cousin inside the house, “We’ll do that tomorrow, it’s super late.”

“Okay fine,” Momo huffed, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

As Momo disappeared into the house, you turned back to Jiji, exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. The events of the night were still catching up to you, and it felt like you could collapse at any moment.

Jiji shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, his face still slightly flushed. “So… would you still stargaze with me?” he said with a weak chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

“Of course, though the place should not be reeking of spirits and aliens.” you replied, putting your hands inside his borrowed jacket.

Jiji gave a soft smile, “No aliens and spirits, noted.”

“Yeah,” you replied, letting out a small, tired laugh. “Let’s save that for a less eventful night.”

For a moment, you both stood in the quiet hallway, the weight of the night hanging between you.

“Get some rest,” he finally said, his voice soft. “I’ll head home before your grandma decides I’m staying the night.” He offered a small, playful smile, but you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” You gave him a tired nod, then glanced toward the door. “Thanks again, Jiji. For… everything.”

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, smiling a little brighter. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re my… friend.” His voice faltered at the last word, and for a split second, something more flickered in his eyes before he quickly turned and headed toward the door.

As he opened it, a gust of cool night air swept in. “Goodnight,” he said, throwing a final wave over his shoulder before stepping outside.

You stood there for a moment longer, staring at the now-closed door, a strange mix of relief, exhaustion, and something unspoken settling in your chest.

“Hey, Jiji.”

“Yeah?”

“I like you too.”

[bdudette]

soft yandere! Ken "Okarun" Takakura headcanons

warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, slight jealously and possessiveness, spoilers up to episode 8.

Special thanks to @thatstrangesheep for collaborating with me on this last minute project.

divider by @cafekitsune

Ken “Okarun” Takakura is a nice guy, he really is. He’s always ready to help a friend or stranger out if he’s able to, and he can because he possesses Turbo Granny’s yokai abilities and he’s actually pretty smart for someone who is always reading magazines about UFOs and UMAs in class.

But just because he seems like a harmless dude doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself or get angry on someone’s behalf. Remember how pissed he got with a classmate when they were saying awful things about his friend, Ayase-san, to where he almost transformed into Turbo!Ken in homeroom? It would be much, much worse if that classmate had the nerve to ask him about you, and if you were dating anyone when he’s the boyfriend. Do not be surprised if Momo drags from your class to ensure that his curse doesn’t go berserk and tries to gobble down wieners under Turbo Granny’s influence. You are one of the few people that can calm him down long enough to collect himself and go back to class as if he didn’t threaten anyone to stay away from you.

Do you have powers like him and Momo? Great, you’ll be able to protect yourself from aliens or yokai that would try to harm you when he’s not around! If you don’t, then that’s okay too! Just keep your phone on and run or hide if you can until he can get to you! He would never judge you for not having powers because he’s not that shallow.

Okarun is not only overprotective, he is also insecure. He’ll always think that you could do so much better than a guy who believes in aliens and had his balls stolen by a ghost. However, he doesn’t want to lose the only person who would listen to him ramble for hours about his theories on the Serpo and other supernatural stuff, who makes him feel like he matters instead of being brushed to the side and labeled as a loser or an occult nerd like other kids in his class have done in the past.

Communication is important to Okarun, so please don’t bottle everything up inside when he can clearly see that Aira’s unwanted romantic advancements towards him make you feel uncomfortable or jealous. He wants to be with you, and no one else.

Definitely the silent, jealous type when a guy tries to flirt with you. It’s not that Okarun is unaware of feeling jealous, he just doesn’t know what to do when he does experience that emotion. He would try to ignore it as long as possible, but that would only make his insecurity worsen. What did the guy do to make you smile brightly at him? Is it his appearance? Okarun supposed that made some sense, he’s never been popular with girls, but would you be annoyed or disgusted at just how jealous he could get? 

That thought alone scares him because he does not want to lose you, even if you did deserve someone better than him. 

 He will not be a happy camper for the rest of the day unless you reassure him he’s the only one for you, either with your words or a big, tight hug. He’s a sucker for words of affirmation and physical touch, almost clingy, but he tries to respect your personal boundaries if you have any.

In summary, this cinnamon roll is a soft, lovesick boy who only wants his darling to be happy and healthy with him. But if someone tries to get in the way of his happiness, intentionally? Well, he can show them just how terrifying an awkward guy like him can be, yo.

Taglist: @lukabwrry @sleepymaxi @annoyingbiscuitathleteland-blog @justamegafan @ladydoe8 @mys0cksrwet @osarumi @ixchelhernandez4 @angelconservation @h0undd0gzw0rld @silverklaus @mikaskyp @skwunkler @uninhabitedsworld-18 @middrift @hysterucallythirsty @hoodiepandaninja16

[bdudette]

Hey I love yanderes and slashers and used to have a sleep walking problem where I would try to crawl through windows, can you do a yandere slasher x reader where the reader has developed Stockholm syndrome and been loving to the slasher so they trust them and let them have more freedom. Then they see them try to crawl out a window in their sleep? How would they react? Would they believe the reader? What would make them believe them if they didn't? If they didn't believe them the how would they react to finding out the reader told the truth?

Thank you so much! And merry Christmas! 🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

Slashers with Reader Who Sleepwalks & Tries to Leave

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, of course. Mentions of abusive behavior

A/N: Merry (late) Christmas! I hope you all had a great holiday! For this request, I decided to leave Eric out. He's just the complete opposite to a Yandere in my opinion, and it was nearly impossible for me to write him as such. I hope that's okay!

Freddy Krueger

He knows you would never purposefully leave him

Like, he actually knows

His (undead) life revolves around sleep

He knows when you're awake and where you're actually sleeping, even if he keeps you stuck in his dream world

So when he finds you trying to escape out of the little window he built for you, he just laughs

He had already known you sleep walked

He'd been haunting your dreams for weeks prior to actually taking you

Freddy just keeps watching you, not really doing anything about it

You're stuck in his world either way

Might as well see how far you'll go

He'll almost use this as a test of sorts

He'll let you wander to wherever you want to go in your sleep, and he may even change the environment to something you don't recognize

When you wake up, his name better be the first thing that falls from your lips

If it's not...

Well, he'll just have to try harder at getting you to need him

Michael Myers

It took a very long time for Michael to get to this point

The fact that he lets you sleep without chains is a huge decision on his part

He doesn't trust easily

And any feelings of trust he did have come crumbling down the moment he wakes up without you beside him

It didn't take long to find you

There you were, pushing and prodding at the boarded up window

He's truly pissed

And a little hurt

He really thought you were growing to actually like your situation

But when he spins you around and sees your eyes staring blankly through him, he tilts his head

You don't seem... right?

He'll shake you harshly until he sees the life come back to your eyes

When you finally look up at him with a similarly confused look on your face, he starts to realize

He understands you well enough to know when you're not acting like yourself

When he finally explains what you were doing after you repeatedly asked him, you sigh

You explain that sometimes at night, you wander around without realizing it

A sleepwalker, huh?

Sadly, the chains will need to come out again

Jason Voorhees

You wouldn't actually leave him, right?

You seemed so caring

He actually believed you when you said you needed him

But here you were, trying to leave your shared home in the middle of the night

He almost breaks down as he picks you up and takes you back to your room

He finds it a bit odd that you don't fight back at all, but he assumes you just don't care to

He locks you up and makes sure that you can't go anywhere

How could you do this to him?

When you wake up the next morning in chains and not in your shared bed, you begin to cry for Jason

He tries to ignore you, but he can't bring himself to hear your sad voice calling out to him

You try your best to tell him that you don't remember what happened, and that you would never leave him

And maybe he's too trusting, but he believes you

You just seem so sad and so genuine that it's impossible for him to think it's anything other than honesty

You couldn't be that stupid anyways

You'd get lost in those woods alone at night, he knows that

So he just has to believe you

He loves you, and love means trust, right?

Thomas Hewitt

But you were being so sweet to him just hours before

How could you lie to his face like that?

He wakes up without you in his arms, and he just about loses it

Frantically searches for you around the house and finally finds you at one of the nailed in windows

He pulls you away quickly, staring at you sadly

He's waiting for an explanation, but you don't say anything

You just stare

You weren't acting like yourself

He pushes you back towards the bedroom and you walk the rest of the way yourself, climbing back into bed with ease

He's confused, but decides to see if it will happen again

You can't leave anyways

The whole house is locked up, and you don't even know where the keys are

You act just like your normal self the next day

And that night, you're back to walking around with a blank stare

He figures this just might be a thing you do

Doesn't really try to stop you, but he does follow you most nights to make sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself

On nights he wants you in bed, he ties some old fabric around your ankle and holds you tight while you sleep

You might not ever know about your late night adventures unless he decides to tell you

Bubba Sawyer

He's quite literally blubbering to you

He's crying, he's frantic, he even shakes you a bit, and you just stand there not responding

He keeps waiting, and when you start to just wander around again, he loses it

What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?

He ties you back into bed and stays up the rest of the night, watching you

The next morning, he confronts you stressfully

You keep telling him over and over that you don't know what he's talking about

But he refuses to believe you

(He wants to believe you, he's just scared)

He only finally realizes you were being honest when in the middle of the day during your nap, he finds you wandering back to the window with his whole family watching you

You weren't stupid

Why would you try to leave when literally everyone could see you in broad daylight?

His family begins laughing and saying things like "looks like you got yourself a sleepwalker"

So you weren't purposefully trying to leave him?

He cries tears of joy and spends the next couple of days pampering you and giving you just about everything you want

He does his best to show you that he's sorry

Brahms Heelshire

It's quite literally known that Brahms has abandonment issues at this point

So when he catches you climbing up onto the window sill

He loses it

Will grab you and roughly pull you off, your body falling to the ground

This immediately wakes you up, your eyes searching around frantically

When you see Brahms standing above you, you try to reach for him, but he only shoves you away

You look so sad and confused at this, but Brahms is too stubborn to give in

He starts tying you up again each night, still very hurt that you would try to leave like that

It takes weeks for you to gain his trust again

And the one night he lets you sleep freely, he catches you by the window again

But instead of grabbing you immediately, he decides to just watch

He wants to see how far you'll go so he knows just how severe your punishment will need to be

But instead, you just give up on unlocking the window (it was jammed), and you just turn around and walk straight back to bed, not even registering Brahms being right there

This is odd

You need to explain the concept of sleepwalking to him the next day

He still remains skeptical for a while, but he'll come around

You just need to be extra attentive for a while...

Norman Bates

Norman already knows a lot about sleepwalking

(It's what he thought was going on for a while when he couldn't remember large chunks of time throughout the week)

When he finds you opening a window in the middle of the night, he bolts at you, ready to lock you back up in one of the motel rooms again

However, when you don't respond or reveal any emotion on your face, he immediately knows what's going on

He's surprised

He didn't know you'd be a sleepwalker

He decides to just lead you back to bed, knowing that waking you isn't the best idea

Sits you down the next morning and talks with you about it

When you seem very apologetic, he uses it to his advantage

Has you cuddle up with him even more than normal and stay by his side at all hours of the day

He still gives you some freedom

But he's always watching

He does take some precautions and ties your wrist up in the middle of the night

He has to, for your safety of course

Billy Loomis

To be honest, you don't make it very far

Billy has an iron grip on you at all times, and he's a light sleeper

The moment you get up, he's awake, observing you carefully

Sometimes you have to pee in the middle of the night, but he still makes sure you aren't lying to him

His ability to trust is practically in the ground

The moment you turn the wrong way, he's up and chasing after you

Were you that dumb? You knew he watched you every time you got up from bed

He grabs your wrist quickly and points a knife at your throat as a threat

He can't bring himself to actually hurt you though, not that you knew that

Or did you?

Because you just stand there not even moving away from the blade

Billy becomes very confused

He takes his hand and begins to wake it in front of your face, looking for some sort of reaction

You don't give him one

Are you still... asleep?

He shakes you a bit until you finally look at him, confusion written all over your face

You're a sleepwalker, aren't you?

He just rolls his eyes annoyed and drags you back to bed, not explaining anything

Just another thing he needs to look out for now

You sometimes wake up to bruises on your hips and waist from how hard Billy holds you in the night, but he's just trying to protect you, right?

He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just refuses to lose another person in his life

Stu Macher

Stu literally sleeps on you, so it's nearly impossible for you to leave the bed most nights

But if you somehow wiggle your way out, you wouldn't make it outside the house

The windows have been nailed so that they only open a small amount

When he finds you the next morning, curled up under a partially opened window, he just smiles

Call it naive, but he just assumes you were getting too warm in the bed

When you wake up in a confused state however, he becomes concerned

What do you mean you don't remember opening that window?

He honestly just becomes more worried that there's something wrong with your memory rather than you trying to leave him

He'll likely talk to Billy about it

He just hears laughter from the other end of the phone

"Sounds like they sleep walk," he'd say

Stu does a bunch of research on it later

He doesn't really mind though

All of the unsafe objects are already hidden away, and every possible exit is locked down

You aren't going anywhere

If anything, he finds it fun to wake up some mornings and look around for you

It's like a game, and Stu loves games

[bdudette]

Sleeping In Their Clothes | hobbit / lotr

how they would react to finding you asleep in their clothes

characters: Thranduil, Bard, Aragorn, Legolas x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of Boromir's death (Aragorn), age gap (Bard), romantic shipping

word count: 5,7k

an: trying something new! Have been struggling to write after some personal issues so please excuse the slow updates on this blog

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil:

Thranduil’s mood darkens the halls, clouds the air around him bitter and ashen. The elves he passes lower their heads at his strides, at his cloak billowing behind him as thunder rolls over the skies. No one dares to speak, no one dares to whisper or raise their voice at any volume below the hushed glances they share after he disappears behind a corner. The foul stench of anger and frustration traces his path, starting right in front of the doors he slammed after another day of negotiations and down the direct route to his chambers. 

He grits his teeth at the servants hurrying toward him and bellows a low: “Get out!” as hands reach forward and there’s enough fury in his eyes for the servants to scatter away like a heap of leaves blown apart by a particularly harsh wind. 

Even the thought of skin touching him when he is burning up… he shudders. 

There’s only one who he wants close to him right now.

He reaches out for you long before he’s in the bedroom, feeling for your fëa entangled with his in an inseparable union and he makes sure to be gentle, brushing you with his love rather than the anger bubbling hot inside him. 

The calling stays unanswered – a deep wave of security and comfort labs over him but by the tenderness of it rather than your usual playfulness, and by the time Thranduil sees the seethrough white curtains around the bed, he knows exactly what state you will be in.

And never one to disappoint him, your unconscious yet dreamy smile is all Thranduil needs to forget about the anger he yielded like a sharp sword; used to cut down any and all offers from the dwarfs and their stubborn and unreasonable trading offers. 

Instead of ripping apart conversations and insults, Thranduil’s hands are gentle as he parts the curtains and kneels on the feathery mattress with your shapes ingrained in it. All those nights spent close together and his warrior-heart will never fail to skip a beat at the sight of you wrapped in his robes. It’s one of the older, worn ones as well. Fabric that thins out at the cuffs – not that this would be a problem; you’re not close to reaching them –, a few cuts and holes in places twigs and branches bore themselves into the crimson, featherlight velvet. 

Thranduil sees your skin flashing through some of them. The one above your knee, drawn up, another one below your biceps, relaxed because you know nothing can hurt you here, and some more all over your chest, hinting that you are not wearing much else. 

He knows you well enough that you won’t be bitter if woken up and so he leans in closer from behind. One hand finds your head, cradling it into his large palm until you, still in dreams comfortable embrace, roll to the side and bury your face inside it, nose pressed right against his steady pulse while his fingers gently trace the curve of your ear. 

No time spent together will ever sicken him of this, your complete surrender into his care, the doubtless trust that wherever you laid down to rest, he would sit by and be there. The oath of protection is one Thranduil promised his folk the day he was crowned their King as well, not once has he doubted he would abandon it all for the vow he gave you the night you offered your heart and he gifted you his; you above all.

His thumb just brushes over your temple and the fine hairs that come loose of your braid when your lashes flutter, leaving him to readily dive into the pools filled with love and sleep.

While he maneuvers with cunning, a master of actions and power, playing a game of chess on a board he alone commands, you stand unrivaled with the art of words. Your tongue, sharp and precise, weaves wit and wisdom into every phrase. Whenever he acts rationally and leads by his heart, you would listen first, hearing out heart as well as brain, and come to a conclusion serving everyone. 

Your voice has the power to sway wars and balance the scales of battle. When you speak, your tone, thick with the remnants of sleep yet razor-sharp in purpose, reduces him to nothing more than a mere soldier—helpless in the face of your command, whether in war or love:

“I dreamt we were air.”

“Invisible?” Thranduil's voice is laced with a touch of curiosity as he revels in the warmth of your laughter, the puff of hot breath meeting his wrist like a secret kiss. Your presence is a balm, a reminder of everything that is tender and true.

“You, my love, know that this is not true.”

“It is not?” 

“No,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tender skin, lingering with your lips over the pulse and the veins rushing blood to the heart, your heart, inside his chest. A puppeteer of words. Even the silent ones. 

“I agree,” Thranduil muses, enticed by this playful exchange, “that the wind is what we notice, a fleeting glimpse of nature’s breath. But air – air is the unseen force that dances around us, invisible yet ever-present, until our souls merge with the very fabric of the universe.” He glides his other hand to your legs, slipping underneath his warmed robe. 

You squeak as he anchors his arm around your thigh and tugs you over to face him in a swift movement. Faced to lie underneath his larger figure, you shoot him a crooked grin. 

“You can see the air just as much as you can see the wind it turns into,” you start and get comfortable in his lap. Thranduil immediately jumps the chance to idly with the robe that’s draped all over your body. 

“In the particles that dance in the sunlight,” you continue, your voice soft and thoughtful, “in the flags that hiss and flutter. In the vapor rising from steaming ponds, and in the mist that clings to the earth in the morning fog.” He watches, entranced, as your palm flattens against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I see it here,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and he follows your gaze as you watch your hand rise with each of his inhales and fall with each exhale.

Your fingertips, soft and gentle, curl slightly into the fabric of his current robe – soon, undoubtedly, those same fingers will find comfort in the folds of this robe, curling into it as you slip into sleep.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, he will see the air too, in the way your breath mingles with his, in the way your presence fills every space around him, making the invisible tangible, making the unseen profoundly felt.

The air catches in his throat and he sees your eyes twinkle.

Then, not looking away from you, he lies down as well. He has no need for the blanket crumpled underneath you both, the sight of you facing him, drawing your knees back to your chest and skin flashing whenever the fabric of his robes part to allow him these glimpses, is warmth enough. He loves you, even if you have a habit of taking what is his. A spray of his scents to drive him crazy, a feather that you take between your teeth as you write, or his robes but all of those mean nothing and all since you have him as well, fully and completely. 

So he will request ten new robes, in colors that you like, and await the day he gets to your bedroom and finds you sleeping in them.

“So,” Thranduil repeats slowly. His hand drifts to your face, trailing lines over the smile you give him. “You dreamt we were air?”

“Yes,” the corner of your lips quirk into a quick smirk, one that fades quickly yet leaves traces all over, “and we were invisible –”

“Oh, you little minx!”

“Ahhh – Thran, stop, oh I beg you, stop tickling me!”

Bard:

The brittle stairs heave and sigh, creak and groan under Bard’s boots, once honeyed planks now gray from the flow time, heavy rain and the dampness of the lake coloring the edges mossy green, and with the days passing by, the steps taken as he rushes down to work or tiredly drags himself up, one hand curved around the splintered railing, he wonders how many steps these stairs will endure before his house comes crashing down into the murky lake. 

This winter seems to be harsher than the ones before, with the wind howling loud at night and rattling on the walls that he wakes to frames shattered on the ground and the curtains ruffled even if the windows are closed. This winter, he swears the ice is thicker, a nearly impenetrable obstacle for his boat and his clothes are never warm enough but then, in the end, he knows the next winter will be worse and he doesn’t dare to complain out loud, doesn’t think it’s right to curse for hands shaking and feet aching and his nose running. 

As exhausted as he is, and Bard is, so exhausted, so tired, so drained, he’s mindful enough to skip the last plank of the stairs. He lifts his feet higher, ignores how the muscles in his thighs complain, and steps over the plank that always sounds like it’s waiting to break through, always moans the loudest when he needs to be quiet as if his state isn’t mockery enough. 

Bard slips through the door, opening it barely to keep the cold outside, and when he turns around, finally, warmth takes over. 

It starts in his hands, in the tips of his reddened fingers, exposed to nature's icy companions the moment he sneaks out to work before the sun rises. It creeps higher, up his arms and to his shoulders strong enough to carry his family more than he can hold himself, parting ways to fill his cheeks in the softest of glow, a simmering fire that colors his skin an ember-red and travels down through his swooping stomach, lightening a hunger he knows food will not sate, and when the heat reaches his feet, Bard releases a small sigh. 

There, in the low and flickering light of a candle burned down to a hardened wax puddle, his eyes immediately find you resting underneath the only window whose curtains are drawn open. Most of you is covered by a dark blanket, hiding your face but that doesn’t matter to Bard; he has every inch, every freckle, every crinkle of laughter and wrinkle of pain memorized. 

Not that he should; you’re kind enough to look after his children while he works, accepting no money and hearing no ‘buts’, and here Bard stands, a decade older, widowed and tired, and knows exactly that your mouth will be slightly opened and that your lashes will fan over the rosy apples of your cheeks and that your shoulders will ache because you rather sleep on the bench under the window than take away Bard’s pillow. 

Stubborn girl.

Bard crosses the cluttered floor, avoiding Tilda's drawings hung up to dry on the wooden ceiling beams and Sigrid's books and tomorrow, he will tut over Bain’s clothes left hanging on chairs and stools, but tonight he walks past them and their sight burns in his chest. 

As Bard gets closer to you, he nearly trips. 

That’s not a blanket that you hide your face in, that keeps away the winds creeping through the gaps in the wood behind you, that you use as a shield against the cold yet the greatest thing it fights are the walls Bard pulls up around his heart.

That’s his coat. 

The dark blue coat he left to dry over the oven after last night's rain. 

You must’ve taken it and that dismantles Bard into millions of pieces, chips away on his walls like nature takes layer after layer away from the stairs outside. 

While he can’t know when exactly the latter will be too much to take on any more pressure, he feels the heavy weight of his coat around your sleeping body, and just like the stairs, his personal defenses creak and groan, heave and sigh and crumble down around him in a thumping echo in his ears, that Bard fears his choked breath will wake you up.

He is helpless. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you directly, as much as he yearns to brush away the strands of hair fluttering in your even breaths. Bard’s hands are rough from his work and your soft skin deserves better than the callouses and scars he bears, so Bard gently lays his hand on your shoulder, covered by his coat – his coat, Lord how ever will he survive knowing the fabric kissed your body?

“Darlin’,” he whispers in a voice that’s horse and gravely, though it softens as he speaks your name, daring to follow it up fast enough there’s no room for a pause between the term of affection to be separated from your name.

You stir in your sleep, shift to reveal your face some more and the crease between your eyebrows and the effort it takes Bard to hold back from smoothing it out with his thump could have moved mountains. Bard ignores to notice how your nose is buried deep into the coat and that no washing could’ve ever cleaned the heavy fabric of his smell; he swallows hard. 

A low sigh blows away the hair and Bard’s eyes fall on the plushness of your lips. You wake up slowly, closing your mouth and you pull the coat tighter around you, holding onto it, while Bard lets go of his restraints.

“Darlin’,” he repeats, and this time you hear him enough to evoke a tired smile.

When you open your eyes and turn towards Bard, the candle flickers in the reflection of them. “You’re back,” you mumble into his coat, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I know, Bard wants to say, I skip the last stair so the noise does not take away my chance to wake you up.

Instead, he shakes his head: “You shouldn’ be sleeping on this bench, it’s too hard and uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, the coat still far too large around your frame and you don’t make any attempt to part from it, “This bench is sufficient enough for a short nap, and I–,” a yawn interrupts and you grin sheepishly, “What I wanted to say is that I wasn’t that tired anyway.”

“Sure,” Bard's laughter is quiet but fills the entirety of his lungs and his own lips mirror yours in a grin. 

The look you share in the darkness makes him feel like he’s young again, filled with infinite love for a limited body, bursting through his cells and flooding every vein, rushing blood that burns hot for you up to his battered heart. Bard can see your eyes wandering over his face and he wonders if you can tell that this smile is only for you and that he fights a lost battle in telling himself he can stop what’s tugging you closer. 

He leans in further and lets his hand fall from your shoulders to run his fingertips over his coat. His knees brush against yours, and Bard tells himself it's only the late hour that makes him tender, that his weary, overburdened mind is surrendering to the forbidden's allure in the quiet moments when no one else is watching. Yet, deep down, he knows this is merely the rationalization of a lost man, drawn to the woman who cares for his children who are not her own in some ways and are in others, who sleeps wrapped in his coat, and who gazes at him as though he could reach up and give her the stars he can see through the hole in his roof. 

“C’mon,” Bard nods his head toward the back of the house, an offer he speaks out every night, “I won’t let you go home all alone this late.” 

All other nights you shrugged his offer off, had him walk you home over the planks and gurgling water until you kissed his cheek goodnight and Bard snuck back to his home, falling into bed to fall asleep to an aching heart. He prepares for it now, the apologetic smile that usually takes over your face, the tilt of your head to hide your eyes, all of it is memorized to his memory and even though they’re always quiet he hears your “I can’t, I must go home,” like the drums of war that shoot the heart that beats for you.

He awaits it. He will ask again and again, no matter how desperate it makes him seem and how the hurt will take over and push him through the day only for the night to repeat itself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Bard freezes.

You blink up at him, eyes full of sleep and dreams that shouldn’t have the image of an old man and his children in them, but you’re never one to listen to what’s expected from you. 

There’s no ache in his bones as he gathers you up in his arms, your head resting against his beating heart.

There’s no groan in his muscles as he carries you through his house and over the threshold to the little corner where he lays you on his bed, blue coat pooling over you as you smile and pat the small free space next to you. 

He doesn’t feel the pain of work, the exhaustion of days of darkness and the fear of surviving the night to get through the week.

Bard kicks off his shoes, discards his dirt-stained pants, and shrugs off the shirt dampened by water, ice, and snow. He vows that tonight, you won’t feel the cold. As he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under the weight of his trembling legs. You lift the blankets without hesitation, inviting him closer, and he accepts, silently aching for the warmth you offer. Your body radiates heat as you nestle in beside him, your smooth skin brushing against his legs. Almost timidly, you curl into him, your smaller form pressing against his chest and stomach. His arms wrap around you and when he allows himself to breathe a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder, he catches his musky scent left behind by his coat. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the crown of your head, feeling the fast beat of your heart under his hand, “my love.”

Aragorn:

Aragorn has been familiar with the pain of war ever since his father was murdered by orks when he was two. He knows how it flits through the body like lightning through water, cracking into all the ends of a being to render them helpless, burning through whatever energy and fight is left, and killing easily and efficiently. 

And yes, he has felt the pain of war on himself before, in the years he spent fighting as Thorongil under the hands of Lords and Kings in the West. Aragorn saw good men fall, saw better men than him die to the growing threat of Sauron and there has been a cloud of thunderstorm in his heart from there on.

Nothing hurts as much as the pain that took over your lovely eyes the moment you saw Boromir lying on the ground in colorful dried crunching leaves, pierced by arrows that had been aimed at you too, though that didn’t matter – to you – then. The scream that came next pierced through Aragorn blindingly white and he could do nothing but try to grab you, as you fell to the ground, scrambling away from his strong arms to get closer to Boromir, your weak efforts nothing but agony for him. You had cried bitterly, hitting Aragorn with curled-up fists and he took every punch, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

It only got worse when you realized the Hobbits were gone too. 

Aragorn saw the flame of hope flickering inside your eyes, a darkness of grief and pain behind them that he knew and yet he had no idea how to help you. 

He still doesn’t. 

The sun rose hours ago, red bleeding into gold, Boromir waving a last goodbye in the clouds, and the rustle of the wind brings shivers to the four of the Fellowship who are left. You’re setting up camp for the day; Legolas and Aragorn have not much need for speed but exhaustion can be a much crueler enemy combined with death and grief. Aragorn’s gaze wanders to you ever so often as you stand in front of the burning skies, staring at the pack that was once Boromirs and he casts his eyes downwards to where his heart aches. 

You suffer, obviously, and Aragorn, who fought for more years in his life than not, doesn’t know how he can battle your demons. 

If he could he would draw his sword and head into the fight, only return bloody-knuckled, the shadows wrapped between his tight fingers. He can’t though, and that may be what pains him more than the obvious heavy weight of witnessing Boromir’s last moments; his inability to take on your emotional baggage. It tears through his heart in aggressive jibes and stings like liquor on an open wound. 

This is why he’s the first volunteer when Legolas suggests splitting up. 

Aragorn nods at Gimli and they disappear into the forest, leaving Legolas who rests even less than Aragorn, and you, the walking example of why avoiding sleep after such traumatic events should be mandatory: your eyes drop, your hands shake and no amount of effort on your side is enough to hide the sacking of your shoulders. Every day that you walked further away from when you were nine – Mithrandir’s absence not accounted for – you distance yourself more, most likely to hide your suffering yet all that this behavior accomplishes is that Aragorn notices it all. 

How could he not?

He cares for you, most ardently, and these feelings brought forth a vulnerability, an open spot in his heart for love to slip in and make itself at home.

Aragorn leaves you in Legolas' care; the trust he places in the elf to protect you in your fragile state is grander than the one he has in himself. One soft whimper as you hide your face in your shoulder and stumble over feet that won’t listen and Aragorn might do something naive as pack his sack back up and hunt the orcs that took the Hobbits, the one coated in Boromir’s blood, on his own. 

It would be reckless, ignorant, a troubled journey without Legolas or Gimli or even you.

So Aragorn goes against his heart's urges and patrols – clearing the forest and trying not to think about your frail form, hugging yourself out of desperation and grief.

Gimli and he return hours later, under the warm rays of the sun – the gentle strings far too bright and calming for the last day's events, the wind a breeze swirling through the leaves crunching under his light feet and Legolas lifts a finger to his lips as soon as Aragorn makes eye contact.

He assures his steps are as silent as possible, avoiding the logs and twigs they would collect later for a fire to warm them, and walks past the elf, nodding his head and quietly thanking Legolas for keeping an eye on you. 

A hand lands on Aragorn’s shoulder, stopping him in his movement. 

“She’s asleep,” Legolas says quietly, leaning in closer, “We shall move forward when she awakes, rested.”

“No sooner,” Aragorn agrees and lets out a relieved breath that had been lodged deep inside his chest. He looks to the elf, then to the bundle of a small human shape underneath a tree. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Aragorn, we need your focus as much as we need hers.” The grip on his shoulder loosens, and the weight stays in Legolas’ eyes and Aragorn almost winces, would he not know his friend only means well. 

His voice is gravel, his words soft and exhausted: “I know.” He didn’t know his heart had been such an open show but then, Legolas knows him like no other, a companion that found him and a friend that he can always count on, a partner in battle and nowadays, Legolas seems to have taken on the role of fates worst messenger – reminding Aragorn that this, you, the differences, the looming war and the ones that never end… 

When Aragorn approaches you, the pain he carries with him dims, a candle dying out in refreshing winds. Bending his knees, he carefully sits down, resting his back against the tree's rough bark covering your gentle face in dancing shadows and flickering golden spots of sunlight that kiss your closed eyelids. Around your shoulders and over most of your body, Aragorn recognizes the cloak he’d asked Legolas to stow away when Gimli and him took off. Now that he sees you, finally asleep, he is glad the cloak found a better use than being shoved inside a bag where it would have never touched your skin. 

He reaches out, soft and slowly, making sure his movements will not wake you and pulls off his leather coat as well, placing it across the uncovered part of your boots and legs.

Aragorn is tired but he will keep watch, protecting you to sleep safely.

He is weak but only for you, so he will fight harder than ever before to ensure the Hobbits return to see the smile he loves so much on your face again.

There is a possibility this will all change faster than any of you could realize, these times are unpredictable and there is a taste of danger on his tongue and in the air. The journey of the Fellowship has barely begun and already the sun bleeds into the horizon in colors that mark the grounds of battlefields awaiting you.

Aragorn clenches his jaw and only unclenches it when he hears the smallest of sighs. Looking down at you, he dares to smooth away some strands of hair, leaving a streak of dirt on your sunkissed temple. 

In the grand scheme of things, there is of course the need for the bigger picture and the importance of all that connects to this journey, but in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of the forests and your breathing, Aragorn takes comfort in knowing he has this moment with you to remember all the small things count just as much. 

A cloak to sleep in.

The shadow of a tree.

Even the pain seems to have fallen into a slumber, resting to surely come back and hit him square in the chest like it has never left him but Aragorn has never felt this free as in the pain’s short-lived absence. 

And he can hear it in the silence and in the way you keep his cloak close to you.

War brings pain but you bring love.

Legolas:

Legolas may agree that abandoning his father's task of informing Lord Elrond of the disappearance of their captive to travel through the lands and destroy a ring in Mordor – whether the Fellowship will make it this far is still unknown – but then Aragorn brought you to the Council and suddenly Legolas finds himself months away from his home, listening to your laughter as you flip rocks over the lake you’re standing in front of. 

He can not remember the last time he saw someone be this amused by the ripple of water and the stones skipping across the otherwise calm reflection of the skies that cause the growing disturbance. Then again, Legolas never met anyone like you in general and every aspect of your personality that he gets to watch unfold like the meadows you ride across, the hills you climb up, the more eager he feels to find out what makes you laugh.

Stones, apparently. 

“No, not this one!” you chime in and take the stone he picked up out of his hand, your skin brushing his and sending ripples over his skin. 

“No?” he inquires and tilts his head in genuine confusion. “This one seems perfectly adequate for this, no different to the ones you chose.” 

You scoff, giddy giggling followed. “That’s outrageous! Calling this one adequate when it's clearly in no shape to even compare to these –” you lift your hand to his face and present the collection of rocks that you seem to keep in the pockets of your vest, a grin blooming across your face, “Look! They’re thinner, perfect to hop.. hopefully, four times?”

Legolas smiles, one that’s more tugged into his cheeks and corners of his eyes to really be called one. “I will leave you to find what you think–”

“I don’t think,” you interrupt him and roll your eyes, already turning your back to him again and bending your knee slightly. You turn your head over your shoulder and the sun reflects beautifully in your cheeky gaze, “I know. I feel. Look!” Then you twist your arm, pulling it into your chest at an angle before flicking the stone across the lake.

Five times.

You cackle loudly. 

And Legolas picks up the stone you thought not to be perfect and slides it into his pockets, ignoring how his heart skips five times.

The day flies by like the stones dance over water, fast, too fast for Legolas' liking yet by the time the sun burns low on the horizon, he is glad for the calmness that settles over the little camp they’d set up earlier. The others are scattered around the fire crackling behind Legolas, the warmth creeping into his bones and settling high in his cheeks, as he turns his head slightly and catches you staring out onto the water; the red fire and golden sunset basking you in a glow that pulls him into you like busy bees to the sweetest of flowers.

He can’t help but stare, even if it’s everything but appropriate. Your face is lit up, not only by the embers fluttering to you and the last of the sun's rays caressing the fullness of your cheeks but ever since you decided to tag along on this journey, nature bathes you in an aphrodisiac of wind-swept hair that Legolas wants to braid, rosy fingertips that he wants to hold and kiss each one of them. Whenever he looks at you – he could not tell how much, time is a rush of emotions, a whirlwind of hair and laughter, hands playfully slapping him and he counts the days by how often you blink up tiredly after waking up rather than the sun sets and rises – he is astounded of the beauty someone could possess and carry it out freely like it sits in your heart and not in your face. 

The sun sets and your eyes are full of wonder and molten gold, an open letter of your adoration for the nature that equally loves you back. 

Behind him, Legolas hears Merry and Pippin sing, hears the low chuckles of Aragorn, and lips that curve around a pipe, teeth clacking against shaped and glazed wood filled with smoke. He also hears your intake of breath as the wind swipes over you, gliding over the lapping water first, over the croaking frogs and wreathes around your naked arms. He hears the sound of your hand smoothing over the fine hairs that stand up on your prickled skin. 

He hears himself talk, before he thinks: “Here, this cloak will keep some of the cold away.”

Your eyes widen.

His heart skips five times on each breath taken in the moment of silence.

Legolas is sure that you would take the offer one way, but then you nod, lower lip pulled between your teeth as if that could stop the shy smile from tugging up the corners of your mouth, and you scoot closer, lifting yourself up by your hands and leaning in, until your shoulders brush his side.

He almost freezes, not because of the cold – this he can not feel, for multiple reasons, and mostly the advantages of being an elf though the warmth radiating from your body, suddenly so close to yours and the blush that he must blame on the fire – but because the way you slid into his side as he holds up one side of the green cloak leaves only the option to drape the fabric over your shoulder and awkwardly pull his arm away or–

There must be some of his father's braveness in Legolas for he lowers his arm around you, shaking ever so slightly. 

You sigh, contentedly, and draw your legs up to your chest. “Much better at this than skipping stones,” you mumble and a tired yawn accompanies your huff of laughter. 

Despite the teasing tone, Legolas can’t stop his smile. “Is this.. perfectly adequate?”

“No,” your head drops and maybe you don’t notice but you rest it on the arm, oblivious to the halt this causes to every single thought Legolas has ever had. “This,” you whisper and he can hear the flutter of your lashes trying to stay open, “is just perfect.”

All Legolas can do is hum in agreement, and even this sounds as shaky as his words would have been had he any of them readily and not swallowed up by the swarm of butterflies swooping through his stomach.

The sun disappears behind the line of trees on the other side of the lake, throwing one last wink of gold over you both before the silver light of the moon laps over you like the waves onto the shore. By the time your hair twinkles like the stars you seem to have lost the fight of keeping your head up; it rests against Legolas, just like most of your upper body that followed one last yawn. He sits still, not daring to move much now that you’re this close to him, your nose against his chest, the bones of your knees resting against his thigh, and all of you enveloped in his cloak.

The fabric rustles slightly as his arm slips from your shoulders to your middle, tugging you closer to keep the heat encased in this cloak and moment you’re sharing.

Legolas's other hand glides into his pockets, finding the stone hidden inside. His hand wraps around it, pressing the smooth surface against his palm.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

[bdudette]

Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

[bdudette]

Prey Sigil

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Prompt: Their s/o’s family sigil is something that is prey to theirs. Characters: Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister “You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles.” – Illyrio Mopatis, A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion I

•───────•°•❀•°•❀•°•❀•°•───────•

Robb Stark

Sigil: Rabbit / Hare ✿ Robb would likely find it somewhat amusing. He definitely sees the humor in the direwolf joining with the hare and would occasionally joke about it with you. ✿ He would probably give you a pet name like “my little rabbit” or something along those lines. Though, he would only call you that in private once you are more familiar with one other. He might affectionately refer to you as his rabbit to those he is close to after a while. ✿ The tone of his pet name for you would depend on your personality, but the fondness (and teasing) in it would be the same. ✿ Robb is a protective person, and he would be protective of you regardless, but especially if you’re more meek and less likely to stand up for yourself. Rabbits are often seen as symbols of innocence and vulnerability, so he would find that your house’s sigil is fitting. ✿ Now, if you’re more confident and assertive, he would be much more teasing in calling you a rabbit. He would likely add that you were his “fierce little rabbit” and say that there was a wolf in you yet. ✿ He would commission small wood carvings of a direwolf and a rabbit that you keep on your bedside table as a wedding or anniversary gift. They are not to be separated. ✿ If the two of you were to discuss having children (he does need his heir), he would refer to them as “wobbits”. ✿ On that topic, another thing that rabbits are well-known for is how quickly they reproduce (eg “fucking like rabbits”), and so he would probably joke and tease you about that in the privacy of your bedchamber. ✿ You kinda need to be a rabbit to keep up with his ass honestly. ✿ He is very eager to have “a full brood of wobbits hopping around”

Theon Greyjoy

Sigil: A ship with ten fish (Krakens are difficult okay)

✿ Bro’s got jokes (and they aren’t funny) ✿ He’s just a really handsy person in general. He likes to have his hands on you whenever he can. If he can pull you onto his lap and wrap his arms around you waist, he will. It is not a matter of if: it is absolutely a matter of when. ✿ Literally, his favorite thing is to catch your waist when you’re walking by and just pull you down onto him when you’re least expecting it. Just like a Kracken would pull a ship down into the sea. ✿ He just likes to be wrapped around you (he says he thinks he prefers it when you’re wrapped around him, but this isn’t about that). ✿ Except it is about that because most of the jokes he makes will be sexual. ✿ Before he goes down on you, he would jest about a Kraken eating (out) a ship. When he finds how wet you are, he would say that you were flooding/swamping and that it was time for him to sink (into) you. ✿ If you don’t find him funny, he might stop (maybe), but he finds himself funny and that’s all that matters. (He isn't funny). ✿ Very specific, but if you can’t swim, he would never let you hear the end of it. He would offer to teach you (since a boat should know how to float), and while a genuine effort would be made, he would also play around with you in the water, pulling you down into the water. Probably ends up almost drowning you once or twice (accidental baptism, what is dead may never die 🙏). ✿ He actually would likely enjoy being wet with you though, whether you can swim or not. Whether it’s in the hot springs in the godswood of Winterfell or just in a tub during a bath, he’d like how you look with water dripping down your body. He’d joke that you’re both in your natural habitat… mostly. ✿ Gods have mercy if he ever gets you with child because now the ship is manned and he would not shut up about it. The Kraken added life to the ship instead of taking from it.

Cersei Lannister

Sigil: Antelope

✿ She would feel slightly annoyed that an antelope is similar to a stag, but she would eventually learn to ignore it (until you do something that annoys her, then she remembers again and makes it your problem, but you shouldn’t have annoyed her, so it’s actually still your fault).

✿ But you’re not a stag, she would remind herself. An antelope is not a stag; they are prettier than a stag and more graceful. You’re not Robert. You’re not a King; you’re beneath her in every way, and she finds comfort in that.

✿ As you can guess, your relationship likely would not be the healthiest.

✿ Cersei would like to brand you as hers in some way, but she knows that she would have to do it discreetly, so she would use your own coat of arms to do it. You can expect certain gifts from her, as rewards for your services.

✿ Accessories for your hair, shaped similarly to antelope horns, rings with grooves similar to that of an antelope, and she would sneak some reds and golds into them, along with the colors of your own house.

✿ Another way she would “brand” you would be by biting you. As much as she would like to leave it somewhere visible, she is more sensible than that. Your thighs are free game though. You’d be able to tell if she’s upset with you (or in general) by whether she draws blood or not. She would tend to take certain emotions out on you. If you whimper, she would remind you that this is what you’re here for. You’re an antelope, and she is the lion.

✿ She’s also clawing the absolute hell out of the back of your neck while you’re eating her out, but it’s okay because you’ll just wear your hair in a way that hides it.

Jaime Lannister

Sigil: Striped Horse (Zebra) [Note: I don’t think Zebras are ever name-dropped in ASOIAF. Zorses are, but not Zebras. But Zorses come from Zebras and I like Zebras so we’re using Zebras ok? cool.] ✿ You will never get a chance to ask him to do anything without him saying that the striped horse should not give be giving orders to the lion (but he will still do what you asked… if he feels like it and begrudgingly. But if he thinks it would be funnier to ignore your request, you’re on your own).

✿ Big “I know the striped horse is not talking rn” energy whenever you say anything ever. Unfortunately, bullying is one of his love languages.

✿ He would be similar to Cersei in the aspect that he would want you to have some piece of him that connects you to him, thus in a way branding you, but he would also want to have a piece of you that connects him to you.

✿ He is more likely to give you something with a lion on it straight up but perhaps in your colors. He might subtly take on your colors as well with something small with plausible deniability. For example, he carried a white ribbon on him (he is a knight of the Kingsguard, so it would not be questioned) and you carry a black one on you. If he were feeling more daring, he might take the black ribbon while you keep the white. He keeps it for good luck but would openly deny doing such a thing if you mentioned it.

✿ He is a yearner (something else he denies). If he is away from you for a certain amount of time, he will begin to find ways to see you in everything. He sees horses and that makes him think of striped horses and then that makes him think of you because that’s your house’s sigil. He sees a black and white cat, and you know what else is black and white? A striped horse :(

✿ Would literally bite your ass while undressing you, but it would be more of a nip than an actual bite. If your eyes widened and you looked down at him in shock, he would just smirk and say, “What? I’m a lion.”

✿ He would enjoy pinning you down in bed and playfully taunting you while nipping at your skin. He’d like it if you ‘fought back’ just so he can pin you down again.

Tyrion Lannister

Sigil: Warthog ✿ He would find a bit of irony in the idea of him being a lion and your somehow being a warthog and he would probably make self-deprecating jokes about it, likely that he thinks it should be reversed. He thinks that you are strong and beautiful like a lion, whereas he would put his appearance something closer to a warthog. But Tyrion does hold some complicated pride in being a lion, and he would be happy to make you one as well. ✿ He would probably do something similar to Robb, having something commissioned to honor both of your houses, but it would likely be on a grander scale (might as well put that Lannister gold to good use). Instead of wood carvings, it would likely be marble figures with rubies for the lion’s eyes and a stone of your house’s colors for your warthog. He would be very happy if you liked them. ✿ At some point in the relationship, he would jest that you’re certainly the prettiest pig that he has ever seen, that is for sure… and then immediately backpedal, saying perhaps he should not liken you to a pig. If you found humor in it, he would be relieved. ✿ Tyrion would have fun with it. He’s a very knowledgeable person, so he likely has some fun facts about warthogs stored up there to bring out whenever you do something he can compare it to. You’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be? Hogging (ha) the blankets? Well, warthogs are notorious trespassers and thieves (they steal other animals’ burrows) and you are truly a testament to that. ✿ He will have most definitely make the comment that he has no desire to strip the skin from your bones, but he does wish to strip you of something before reaching for your clothing. ✿ Cersei would be quite fond of your coat of arms, even more so once it is joined with the lion. A warthog is not a boar, but they are close enough in appearance as far as she is concerned. She would commission you clothes just to see a lion and a “boar” close together whenever she sees you, and she would pass it off as a good-sisterly gift. Tyrion suspects that his sister finds glee in the prospect because of how King Robert died (he is correct).

[bdudette]

Kinktober Day 26: Overstimulation- Ivar Ragnarsson

Summary: Ivar shows his new wife just how much pleasure a cripple can give her

Word count: 2, 002

Many people would think that being wed to a prince would be a blessing, especially if he was a brave warrior as well, but those people did not have to marry Prince Ivar. Your mother had assured you that he couldn’t be too bad, but you had heard differently. The many awful stories from many people ran through your mind when you had to walk up that aisle.

Now you sat beside him at the celebration of your arranged marriage and he had still not spoken a word to you. He’d barely even glanced at you since you’d wed five hours earlier, even the kiss he had to give you was barely a peck. Although it was disappointing to have such an inattentive husband, from what you heard it was better than the wrath he could inflict on you.

Despite Ivar’s actions you still managed to have a good evening thus far, his three elder brothers being a lot more charismatic and funny than your new husband. Your previous anxieties were beginning to dull as Hvitserk and Ubbe continued to make you laugh with tales of their childhood and adventures.

While the alcohol seemed to make you feel more excited and Hvitserk and Ubbe to be more funny, it seemed to have the opposite affect on the youngest of the three, Sigurd. The more he drank the more passing comments and glares at Ivar he seemed to dish out. The other two brothers did a good job of distracting you to not notice, but the elder brothers, and unfortunately Ivar, definitely did notice.

So far others had managed to distract Ivar enough that he didn’t react as violently as Sigurd had hoped, that was until a certain comment seemed to cut just a little too deep.

“You know, Y/N, if you ever notice that Ivar is lacking as a husband, I’m more than happy to keep your bed warm in the evening. I mean hahaha I am sorry to say but he is a cripple with a cock that doesn’t work!” He loudly laughed, unknowingly embarrassing himself as he was the only one laughing.

The room stood still, most people in the large hall having heard the suggestive comment.

At hearing such a crass comment you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. It was the forwardness of such a suggestion that caused you to cough out your wine, but unfortunately Ivar thought you were laughing.

“This is my wedding, Sigurd! Y/N is my wife!” His intimidating voice boomed at his brother, startling you slightly.

“Ivar, careful.” Ubbe gently warned as all eyes landed on your table.

With dangerous eyes, Ivar snarled at both you and Sigurd before angrily hobbling away on his crutch.

Even though Ivar was apparently a brute and hot-headed, he was still your husband and you believed his reaction was warranted.

“Wait! Ivar!” You found yourself calling after him as you ran to catch up with the surprisingly fast Viking.

Ivar made you follow him all the way to your shared bedroom, his steps fast and full of understandable rage. If you hadn’t been quick enough to catch the door with your palm, it would have slammed right in your face.

Stepping into the spacious room you make tentative steps towards your rage-filled husband.

“Ivar?…” you quietly call to him.

His head quickly whips around to you, a rage-filled look etched onto his face. Before you could even attempt to calm him, he had you pinned to the door, his strong forearm digging into your chest.

“You are my wife and you laugh with my brother about me.” He angrily growled at you.

“Ivar- I-I…” You began, before his strong hand around your throat stopped you in your tracks.

Seeing your startled reaction to his anger seemed to switch something in Ivar. Though he was infamous for his rage and his bloodthirsty reputation on the battle field, you were his wife and though many saw him as a brute, he didn’t want you to despise him. Ivar had worried what you’d think of him or that he’d ruin his chance at this relationship working out, that’s why he’d been so distant.

His breathing seemed to calm, his breaths coming out in slow huffs through his nose. Though his grip on you loosened and his breathing slowed, he still had a dangerous look in his eye.

His eyes never leave yours as his hand around your throat descends. The light touches across your chest and abdomen surprise you, there was fire in his eyes but grace in his touch. As his hand makes its way to your hip, he grasps it tightly in a strong hold. Though his hold was strong, it was not violent, it was filled more with passion then pure anger.

“What my brother says about me is true, my cock does not work. Though I can not bare you a child, I can however still bring you pleasure and consummate this marriage.” He confidently declares to you.

His gaze was so intense and his voice so powerful, you had not noticed that both of his hands had moved to the neckline of your dress. It wasn’t until you heard a loud ripping sound and you were pulled slightly away from the door that you noticed where his hands had moved to. Your eyes widened and your body shuddered, but whether it was from the strength your new husband had just shown or from the sudden warmth of the fire on your exposed skin, you couldn’t be sure.

Taking his eyes away from yours, they traveled down to your now exposed breasts. His strong calloused hands began holding and squeezing them, looking upon you with marvel.

“You are a beautiful woman, and you deserve someone who can provide you with the pleasure you deserve. Let me show you how much pleasure I can provide.” He tells you, his eyes once again landing back on yours, his gaze softer now.

One of his hands leaves your breast, making its way to cup your cheek lovingly. You lean into his soft touch as he brings his face closer to yours. His lips press against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate. Your tongues do not meet, but he seems to have no problem showing his passion and causing your core to flutter in excitement.

“Take off your dress and lay on the bed for me, my beautiful wife. I will show you just how much pleasure a cripple can give you.” He tells you, his forehead resting against yours as dominance returns to his voice.

Intrigue filled your body and mind as you quickly pushed off the door, the eager way you rush to remove your clothes causing your new husband to chuckle. His eyes never leave your body as new skin is exposed to him.

Finally laying on the soft furs of the large bed, you find your breathing getting heavier just from watching Ivar make his way over to you. Though he walks with support from a crutch, there is still dominance and power in every step.

Finding his place on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly trace from your ankle to your inner thigh, goosebumps following the path of his light touch. His passion filled eyes meet yours again as his fingers inch closer to your core. Your legs instinctively bend and spread at his touch.

Taking his other hand, his strength surprises you once again as it wraps around your thigh and drags you closer to his seated spot. Your surprised yelp quickly becomes a moan as his fingers make contact with your warm wet core. He has barely touched you and already your body is alight. Dragging his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his eyes marvel at the way your body responds.

“You’re so beautiful and you’re all mine.” He speaks softly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“All yours, Ivar.” Your soft voice speaks up, causing his head to shoot up, like you’re a dream he’s just realised is real.

His eyes become slightly dangerous again as his strong fingers begin to push into and circle your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your head pushes back into the soft bed and the sweet moan that escapes your lips, drives Ivar wild. He craves to hear more of your sounds as he positions his body to be between yours legs.

Leaning down he begins to bite and kiss your already quaking thighs, desperately trying to pull more of those sounds from your gorgeous lips.

The feel of his fingers on your clit mixed with the hot kisses he leaves all over your sensitive skin is quickly pushing you to your release. You can feel your core tightening, desperate to come undone.

“Oooh-Ooohh! Ivar, I’m gonna cum!” You call out, your nails digging into his strong forearm.

“Mhmmm. Do it, my love. Scream my name and let everyone hear who makes you feel so good.” He demands, the force and speed on your clit growing more intense.

“Oh fuck! Ivaaarrr!” You scream out in pleasure as your head shoots back in pleasure and your nails dig into his skin harder.

As you lay there catching your breath, you barely register your husband manoeuvring your body to lay against his against the headboard, until you feel his fingers on your sensitive clit.

“Ooohh Ivar! It’s too much!” You pathetically cry out.

His strong arm wraps itself around your centre, holding your squirming body still. You attempt to escape the intense pleasure by closing your legs, causing Ivar to growl and bite at your neck.

“Do not deny me your sweet sounds, my darling wife. I wish to draw as much pleasure out of you tonight as your body is able to take. Be good and keep your gorgeous legs open for me.” He growls lowly in your ear.

Though the overstimulation begins to hurt slightly, you can not deny such a command.

Your next orgasm approaches embarrassingly quickly as you loudly shout Ivars names once again, your head slamming back onto his chest. Ivar chuckles delightedly at your state of overstimulated pleasure.

Once again giving you no time to come down from your orgasm, Ivar deftly thrusts two fingers into your wet pulsing pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You shout out in surprise at the intrusion.

Wasting no time, his fingers begin to curl and thrust into you as his arm holding your middle moves slightly to rub your clit. The combined pleasure of Ivars skilful fingers hitting the sweet spot inside you and rubbing deliciously on your clit is too much for your body to handle, and once again your body thrashes and scream out in overstimulated ecstasy.

“No more, Ivar, no more.” You weakly beg him, your mind feeling fuzzy and your body heavy at the way he’s now made you cum three times.

“Just one more for me, my gorgeous princess. I know you can give me one more.” He almost begs you, sweetly kissing the side of your face as his hand strokes along your inner thigh.

“Just one more.” You weakly nod to him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He excitedly chants as he kisses your cheeks and his fingers return to your clit.

The light chuckle that his sweet kisses cause are quickly cut off by a loud moan of pleasure. This being the fourth time of the night you will cum, your body takes barely twenty seconds before it is thrown into a feeling of blinding ecstasy once more.

The pleasured scream that leaves your body is animalistic as your body goes completely limp against Ivar. Breathing heavily, your eyes begin to close as you feel sleep taking over you.

“You did so well, my love.” He gently coos as he positions you under the soft furs.

His strong arms wrap around you and you feel a sweet kiss on your forehead before you fall into a blissful sleep.

[bdudette]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[bdudette]

Reverse Interrogation -

Part 3

[sub!Feitan Portor x top!Reader]

‼️NSFW / MDNI‼️

Synopsis: For the first time in his life, Feitan fails an interrogation. Refusing to admit defeat and give up his perfect track record when it comes to his specialty, he begrudgingly allows reader to strike a bargain in exchange for her secrets.. and is shocked to learn what she truly wants. His body. Frustrated and furious with his predicament, he angrily accepts her conditions purely for the sake of the Troupe, agreeing to do as she says. No other reason...

[afab reader is more experienced, Feitan is a deprived virgin & gets edged / mind broken into submission.]

Tw: smut, torture, violence, NSFW/MDNI, vulgar language, Feitan gives verbal consent but still isn't happy with the situation/ (dubcon????)

taglist: @chrollosbiggeststan @astresoleil

If you are not tagged after asking, it's because your settings don't allow it.

Feitan regarded the woman above him in silent awe, drinking in her image as he reflected on the surrealism of the current moment. She moved with such effortless grace, and his eyes watched her back curve into a perfect arch as she straightened up a bit, not failing to notice the way her exquisite body became a living work of art with each fluid motion. All for exclusively him to witness.. and just his eyes only. it felt like an odd privilege to be here. Her shoulders rolled backwards, lifting her breasts along with the movement in a seamless display of striking beauty.

"Are you ready?"

She asked him softly. Before he knew it, she was reaching out to him, and he flinched beneath her touch. He was still unaccustomed to any kind of gentle, harmless physical contact. A tender thumb, tracing a smooth and delicate line down his cheek had him shying away. It felt out of place for someone like him to be touched in such a manner.

There was so much of her that he hated, including her awful need to always have the last word.. her entitled attitude and her cleverness which she consistently weaponized to make him feel powerless. She always succeeded, and eventually got the better of him, to his dismay. He could not handle how she backed him into a corner so well and left him without options. It was legitimately maddening.

But there were also parts of her that he found himself drawn to like a lost moth to a flame. He couldn't describe it.. or put it into words. But she was, in a way, comparable to all things associated with comfort. The more time he spent flush against her wonderful body, the more his own would ease and melt into the mattress beneath him. In his eyes, she carried the same sweetness of a first flower blooming in the spring, sprouting out from beneath the snowfall to clear away the biting cold. Like a hot meal after days of starvation, clutching at a warm bowl with trembling hands and savoring the swaying steam that warmed his cheeks and left a blanket of humidity on his skin. Like quilts, pillows, and clouds.. she was indescribably inviting.

All of this a stark contrast, to him - and his jagged, sharp, ruthless edges. If she were those wonderful things, he was a merciless blizzard wind that left sharp ice gnawing at your flesh and your fingers freezing off in morbid chunks of necrotic lifelessness.

He wasn't sure how to answer her question other than to nod.. just once. A bob of his head to indicate she could proceed. Feitan turned his gaze away from her, closing his eyes as his heart began to squeeze, and skipped a few beats. The palpations of nervousness made him a bit nauseous.. or maybe it was that odd phenomenon people described as butterflies? Either way he didn't like it. He wished his stresses would ease away because it was just an added discomfort to his insecurities with the situation.

Feitan's breath hitched as she began to sway her hips from the position of her naked straddle, feeling a rush of warmth wash over him like a wave both from the physical stimulation and also the slick of her arousal coating his hard length. It was all so new and so strange.. and he gave a shudder as she started to pick up into a slow rhythm. It felt so nice.

Maybe she was trying to properly lube him up before penetration, or maybe it was a teasing behavior, now that she was grinding back and forth over the shaft of his member in order to experience some contact on her clit. He was just waiting and hoping for the moment where she'd be gracing him with the generous experience of her pussy, if just this was enough to make him disintegrate into mush.

"You're so beautiful, did you know that? You really are breathtaking to look at, even if you're insufferable to talk to. Pretty eyes, pretty face... Beautiful voice,"

"...Don't understand you.." he admitted quietly, averting his gaze yet again in the opposite direction as she tried to lean in and catch his attention. At this point he was definitely thinking she was just fucking off her rocker. Nothing she said could ever be factual in any sense.

"You don't have to, love," she replied, matching his uncertain tone with a soft one. This has his head reeling with confusion. He'd never ever experienced feminine care before. Not that this was necessarily genuine care, it couldn't be - but this stranger really was pushing him far out of his comfort zone in more ways than he initially expected.

He wasn't sure if he even liked being brought face to face with comfort like this. It felt.. wrong, for someone like him to have. He was a bad person - he'd made peace with that long ago. It was difficult to endure such affection as a result. But it was unmistakable now that they were going a step further - there was more than just desire alone in her body language and her tone. Especially her eyes.. There was something softer there too. He hated it. Kind of. Maybe?

The woman paused in her movements to kiss him, dipping down to savor his lips, and for the first time, Feitan made a conscious effort to reciprocate. He was simply curious and engaged now, setting aside his personal feelings of a grudge to get a taste for these things and see what he might like.

He gave a soft exhale. A gentle, pleased sound. He had to admit, the sensation was relaxing in a way. "You're being so good for me. I'm very impressed. I'll let you continue to touch me as you wish, while I take care of your needs."

He was taken aback a bit by these words. Ever since he'd agreed verbally to continue towards heavier sexual intimacy, and after he'd eased up and started returning physical contact.. her entire demeanor had changed. It felt like she was almost amorous towards him.

There was something Feitan wanted to do, ever since he took in the full sight of her body under these contexts, so with her blessing on the matter he went ahead and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her downward in a deliberate motion. One hand went to clutch at her left breast, lightly squeezing the second his palm enclosed around it, while his mouth reached for the right. His lips locked over the erogenous zone, suckling experimentally.

The delighted cry of surprise she gave was very satisfying indeed. Enough that he instinctively rolled his hips upwards with a desire to fuck what made such nice sounds. Feitan doubted she would let him actually take full initiative here, but this small act of defiance was all he really needed to be satisfied for now. It was something he decided on for himself.

Sucking on her with a tad more confidence, he swiped his tongue over her nipple to see how it would feel, immediately grunting in surprise as he felt her grind a bit harder than before in a more sudden motion from the base of his length to the head. His dick twitched, a few droplets of desperate precum finding their way up his tip and immediately becoming indestinguishable from all the fluids, mixed in the excessive slick of his bed partner's arousal as she smeared the two together with a single motion. In his opinion.. it was mean to be using him like this, stimulating him with minimal friction while his cock essentially rubbed up the sensitive rim of her entrance.

He began to meet with her smooth motions, thrusting in harmony with her rhythm to feel himself glide between her vaginal lips, still brushing past her actual hole each time. He humped against her greedily, and she gave back a slow pace just to tease, easing him between the petals of her wet core and lightly petting her own clit with his cockhead. At the perfect time, a bit more of his virgin precum beaded together at his slit, kissing her clitoris and leaving the runny wet remnants over the sensitive bud.

"I'm going to put you inside now.. alright?" She whispered softly. Feitan unlatched himself from her breast, giving nothing but a small nod, bracing himself as he moved his hands from her chest to her waist.

"But I have another command for you. One you have to follow.. for the sake of this whole trade. Look me straight in the eyes while I take you inside me, okay?"

The woman, who's name he didn't even know yet, lowered herself slowly to align her body, and she even kissed softly a few times over his flushed neck in a way that was unmistakably adoring. She couldn't possibly be mistaking this for some kind of romantic exchange.. it wasn't. Nonetheless, he felt kind of lightheaded, but in a good way. Cheeks warm.. stomach warm.. everything was warm. Her body heat was like utter sustenance to his skin.

He glanced down to watch where they were soon to be connected as one, noticing his penis was an angry red near the top, swollen from how much he'd been sexually tortured, teased, and turned on since the start. He was sure the relief would be worth everything.

Feitan really craved to be imbedded in her core. Perhaps it originated from how touch starved he was. But he was not the first to move and shove himself upwards into her like he wanted. Instead he felt the soft head of his desperate length penetrate past the initial coating of her wetness, stretching and pulling apart tight walls, and he held his breath for a split second. His jaw dropped upon feeling himself deliciously slide into her with perfect fucking ease.

Something about the way she so sensually and teasingly took her time with him here made him shake with impatience. He could feel the warm, velvety walls squeeze around his most sensitive place in a way that made his body practically melt into puty. He moaned quietly, quick to tighten his lips around the sound to stifle it.

All the while he was sure to follow her order. Don't look away, she'd said. He remembered it. He watched her eyes soften into a look of satisfaction, maybe something even more than that - her lips parting into a gasp as she also assumingly felt something by him filling up her cunt to the brim. It was all horribly vulnerable, and he was sure she had witnessed every miniscule piece of him that shattered and broke into a messy pile of transparent honesty.. screaming the truth out that he fucking needed this so badly. But also.. it was hot watching her face contort in response to the penetration.

Feitan knew he couldn't pull himself together enough to keep the shameful evidence off his expression with how quickly he was unravelling here. He knew his cheeks and ears were blistering red because they felt scorching, and he knew his look had changed, and his eyes too - all by the way she was staring at him with such smugness.

Still.. the intimacy of conjoining bodies really hit him differently with the eye contact all throughout start to finish. He felt humiliated and yet... More frantically turned on at the same time.

Mouth slightly parted, moistened lips trembling, he involuntarily gave a sweet sound once he bottomed out. The sinfully sensual embrace ripped a shudder from his body, too - all so barely audible. His mouth started forming words before he could even comprehend them leaving his tongue.

"Ohh fuck.. so good.. tight.."

he spluttered out these vulgarities, eyes glassy and hazy. "I know baby.. it's all just for you," He faintly heard her chuckle. But all he could focus on, all he could drown in, was this feeling of being sheathed in a pretty, tight hole between her plush thighs. Wrapped within her body, he squirmed a bit, pressing his hips forward to feel her cervix rub a few circles over his tip, and it made him groan.

Did she really want him to push past here and dump his cum so far up into her? Did she wanna get knocked up or something? Well.. he didn't care. Not his problem. He was eagerly thinking about filling her up, clear into the deepest part of her womb if she would let him reach her there with his seed.

All Feitan could really reflect on right then was how beautifully blank his headspace was. No stress.. no tension or suffering. He just felt good and there was nothing else to consider. Nothing else mattered but just how much of this feeling he could milk out of her, all for himself. He hated to admit it even to himself, but it was a much needed relief. Total, absolute freedom in that moment from responsibilities. he felt disentangled from all the millions of little things that weighed him down day by day.

"Oh-"

A second later said feeling was amplified so quickly he felt his stomach.. and other places.. light up as if on fire, but much more pleasant.. a fizzy summersault sensation just squeezing together under his tummy. She'd started moving. He got maybe two or three slow bounces from her before she halted. Suddenly and without any verbal explanation.

"Nng.. Don't.. s-stop.."

He clawed with impatience at her hips, realizing he had been digging his nails recklessly into her skin just a moment ago. Well.. what was to be done about it? After she let him pick out something to touch earlier and he'd gotten a brief moment of victory earlier, touching her breasts - he'd been pretty unreserved with his fingers. Trailing all over and exploring.. sometimes squeezing over her curves to absorb as much as he could before this all ended.

But to his disgruntlement, she was frowning at him a bit. But.. she looked.. thoughtful? Lost in an idea perhaps.

"Stay right here."

Feitan didn't know he could lose so much so quickly. He gave a breathless gasp of protest as she moved upwards and removed herself from his body, his sound of despair warping into a strangled whimper of agony the second he lost that tight warm grip around his leaking and ready cock. His rock hard dick was again deprived of attention, left throbbing and painful in the exposed chilly air.

He flushed red immediately, he hadn't ever thought he was capable of such a lewd noise like the one he just made. His lip quivered, his breathing becoming almost erratic as he realized..

This was it. His last fucking straw. His breaking point.

It was like giving a microdose to a full fledged addict and watching them crash instantly.. a truly evil power play.

He struggled to stop himself from succumbing to panic and doing something he would regret later.. like begging. He would rather die than plead or ask.

Instead he coped by slipping back into his first language, his gut reaction being so strong that he had to curse profusely in Mandarin to feel even slightly better about her depriving him.

A few more disgustingly pathetic whines made their way out against his will and he realized that if she wasn't gonna touch him then maybe he just needed to do it himself finally. It was her fucking fault for being so fickle and deceitful.

Hand wrapping around his cock before he could think straight, he began jerking himself, breathing labored and coming out in short puffs. This had always been the perfect solution to frustrations he had with unfulfilled lust but suddenly he realized his dry, icy hand lost all appeal in less than a second.

After one new experience for half a second, suddenly.. compared to the luxury of vaginal stimulation, this idea ultimately delivered no sense of relief either. It also would get him in trouble apparently.

"What do you think you're doing? I didn't say you could jerk off in front of me. What an insult. Can't you wait two more seconds? I just decided.. I want to bind you down. Have some damn dignity."

He flushed with a mix of rage and exasperation at her words, completely baffled she would suggest he could ever throw his dignity away as if SHE hadn't pushed him to this point.

He stuttered, unable to even begin reprimanding her about that, because he was simply too flustered and disheveled to feel confident doing so. Rather, he could only tense up and give a hitched gasp as soon as her body came into contact with his again. Her precious warmth returned, and he noticed she was indeed holding the same restraints he'd used earlier to bind her to his torture chair.

She must've remembered them and where he set them down. But why bind him up? He felt an uncomfortable lurch of suspicion cloud his emotions, wondering if he was failing to proceed with proper judgement here just because her seduction was so effective. He still hated himself for his weak will in this particular scenario.. but.. he had to reassure himself that he could break out of those bonds if need be. Feitan was already certain she would demand him to wear them, and not hinder her plans, as per the rules of this agreement in the first place. So it might displease her if he didn't obey.

He hadn't come this far for nothing, so he sighed and growled in disapproval the whole time she worked to lock his wrists together. Sure, he'd take it, but he'd let her know he was pissed about it.

"Sorry about that baby. I just figured this might be my only chance to enjoy you like this.. so I wanted to add this little detail last minute. You'll forgive me if I do a good job riding you, right?" She gave him a devilish smirk and Feitan's jaw went slack the second she took hold of his painful erection again, lined him up effortlessly, and.. slid completely down to the hilt in one instant motion.

Being fully sheathed for the second time so abruptly, was like a straight hit of heroin to the body. He began to quiver and shake, wrists catching on the bindings as he gave an instinctive tug, and he gave a deafening moan, the first sound ripped clean out of him against his wishes similarly to the violent method in which he could tear someone's tongue from beneath their teeth.

"F-fuck!"

He hissed sharply, writhing as she started to bounce on him repeatedly. She was picking back up on where she left off so casually, not allowing him any kind of readjustment before stimulating him. With every rhythmic rock of her hips, he gave a soft pant, eyes glazing over with pleasure as he scatteredly obsessed over how incredible her body felt.

"Does it feel good sweetheart?"

More of his shy little squeaks and whimpers were immediately coaxed from his throat in a sequence one after another, completely out of his control.. as she began to really grind her hips and rub him up with friction. It felt as if her core was practically sucking him in with every drag of his cock back to the rim of her entrance, inviting him to plunge back in and stretch her cunt.. and he was losing it. He'd never experienced anything so mind numbingly pleasurable. "Something about your beautiful voice really gets me going, my dear~"

He whined again, realizing he didn't have much control anymore over his noises. And it dawned on him why she'd restrained his arms above his head to the bedrame. Knowing his tendency to close off and evade embarrassment.. she'd probably guessed he would cover his mouth or bite on his fingers to withhold his sounds from her. He didn't want her to have evidence of his weakness, and yet here he was, a complete mess. A sweaty, panting, flushed red puddle of shame and ecstasy whom she was playing with like a fun new toy. Indeed, there was nothing he could use to stifle any noise now that his hands were taken from him, and he felt all the more helpless.

Transfixed, Feitan's gaze lowered, and he adjusted his head to both relax better and watch better. He observed her body intently, seeing her hips and her waist move in a repetitive swaying pattern which was almost fucking hypnotic to witness.

He could literally see his dick sliding with perfect ease in and out of her.. profusely coated in what he presumed was her aroused lubrication. She would pull him out, feeling the suction of her pussy resisting the loss of contact, before she sunk back down on him in an instant and the head of his cock kissed the surface of her womb.

He was fucking frantic, fingers curling hard to make indents into the bindings, groaning and hissing at every last jolt of stimulation to his groin.

Every once in a while, despite his best efforts, his normally raspy and soft-spoken voice would escape through the form of a moan or a whimper. He really couldn't help it - the whining was more or less a result of him being overly sensitive as an inexperienced virgin as well as his natural tone of voice typically raising a few octaves when he was normally pleased. He did have an overall softer voice. She'd been complimenting it.. and as he watched her face, her look of approval with every sound that slipped by made him wonder if he could earn her favor this way. Should he contemplate being louder?

The bed he'd brought into this basement area was for rare occasions when a victim of his lasted through the night, or longer than he was able to really stay awake for. It almost never happened, but when it did, he would sleep here to keep an eye on them and ensure they stayed put. He also liked that it kept them up, feeling paranoid and threatened by his mere looming presence.

Therefore, it wasn't a very nice bed, being seldom used, and the frame was flimsy at best. Their intense fornicating made the metal squeak and cry with every plunge of the mattress, mixing in beautifully with their shared heavy breaths and moans. She wasn't apologetic about her sounds, a few of them making his body tremble, thinking to himself that girls sound nicer than he thought when fucking someone like him. She really sounded happy.

He tugged on his restraints a bit as he felt his skin grow more heated and sticky with sweat, his lips slightly dry from his repetitive pants. Everything was so heavy and thick with tension between them, but in the best way possible, and his head swimming with euphoria. By now, he was eagerly meeting her descending motions with light thrusts of his own, trying to encourage her to speed up. He was becoming a little feral with more impatience by now, chasing his orgasm with over eagerness.

His respiratory rate began to heighten into excited hyperventilating, his eyes widening in ecstasy as she sped up for him too, to accomodate his need to be pushed into climax. Feitan began to assert a little more strength with his yanking on the bonds, feeling the bed creak again under the pull of his ungodly strength. He shut his eyes tight, biting on his lip as he felt the wave fast approaching.

"Gonna.. gonna c-cum.. gonna cum-" he husked breathlessly.

"What's the matter, love? Am I making your pretty dick feel really good? Is it too much to handle..? I can stop if you want."

And she fucking did. He gave a choked dry sob this time, eyes brimming with a look of genuine torment as he felt his impending orgasm slip away from sight. The searing heat in his nether regions ebbed away into a far more subtle tingle of warmth. And then, it disappeared altogether.

She giggled, amused by his flustered state. And it only made more blood rush to his cheeks, if even possible. He was being brought to the cliff of his own frail sanity, and pushed by her to the edge in so many ways. He couldn't believe she was teasing him again. And at this point his face and his body were feverish, his limbs shaking with withdrawal from the whiplash of complete orgasm denial during his first time.

This.. this was torture.

Forget the many times he'd lost blood, suffered a bone snapping in two, or his body mangled in some way through the countless grueling trials he'd endured in life.

THIS was what he found insufferable.

"D-don't s-stop, want more.. give m-more-" he gave a sharp snarl as she suddenly leaned over him, snaking her hands behind his neck to grip some tufts of his hair and tug his head roughly upwards to force eye contact.. her lips capturing the silky smooth skin of his neck, just above the collarbone. His weak spot too, apparently..

"Ah-ah, you must wait a moment longer now," she purred softly, smoothing back some of his hair ever so gently despite having just performed such a cruel act on his body.

Oh God. His response to this was simply a low, drawn out groan, his expression becoming even more faraway and wanton with broken desperation. He was practically a melting puddle in her arms by now. A ragdoll that was her plaything. And Christ did part of him despise this fact. Nonetheless, this didn't change the fact that it was somehow.. very much needed. Without the movement, his dick twitched momentarily, and like an animal in heat he started trying to rut back up into her by his own volition.

"I n-need it.."

He tried again, still hesitant to plead too much in any way, gripping onto his last miniscule shred of pride like his life depended on it. There wasn't much left to salvage, of his image and reputation. At least in her eyes, as of now. Should he just give it up?

"I know baby... You really wanna cum don't you? You poor thing.. how about, if you're good for me, I'll promise not to tease anymore and I'll let you finish."

He nodded frantically, eyes wide with urgency as he attempted to get her to understand how much he needed this and therefore how crucial it was that she let him have it.

"I think that pretty voice of yours would sound so nice begging me to let you finish. Hm? Can you do that just for me?"

Now.. Feitan did hesitate. He had never been pushed that far before, and he'd never succumbed to defeat like this, pledging to never mirror how his victims acted. He could never judge them again if he ever did this. He couldn't maintain his sense of superiority and indifference to their pain, if he was just as much of a weak man at the end of the day, too.

So this was a major ultimatum for him. He just blinked, terrified of what she'd done to him and how. The fact that this would bring him to this fork in the road, of all things. After all, his victims didn't have a choice at the end of the day. Uvogin had once stated - Feitan didn't ask his captives to spill their secrets by speaking to their minds. He asked their bodies.

She was doing the same.

Who knew pleasure could be as motivating as pain.

"I...."

He struggled to find the words. It went against every fiber of his being.

But his violent shaking and his tortured, swollen cock demanded it of him. There was no room for a choice.

"Please.." he tried weakly. He felt himself shrivel up internally with self loathing.

"Please.. have to.. h-have to cum.. n-need it.. hurry.."

And his expression began to sink with defeat. She could pinpoint it, unbeknownst to him, that this was finally, officially the moment she'd broken him into submission. His eyes said it all.

The look of euphoric satisfaction on her face might give it away though, as her tongue dragged across her lips hungrily.

"That's a good boy~!" She drawled in complete delight. "You've done it, the hard part's over, so now I'll let you cum like I promised. Make sure you really enjoy it, I won't hold back anymore."

And he could only give a deep shuddering exhale of relief. He purred softly, as she started moving again, only fidgeting slightly when he realized that all the cock teasing made him even more sensitive than before.

Feitan was the type of person who had to be in control of everything at all times. It took a toll on his body, and his mental health - to be so constantly wound up like a pressure pot about to explode. All the pressure was seeping from his body right now, though.. he was succumbing to her will and her plans for him.

And honestly? It wasn't anything like he had expected before. He didn't feel any less of himself at this point.. at least not by the amount he was dreading. Perhaps this was just the nature of rock bottom.

He just felt complete desire. For once in his life he didn't have to have total obsessive control over how things were around him. Whether it be the situation, what was to come, and what was happening to him... He just let her do whatever and found that the feeling was truly liberating. He knew somehow now that she wouldn't harm him. That it was something his mind needed, to let go.

Did he have a choice? Not necessarily. She had seduced him with tricks he didn't understand, to get him stranded in this weird state of hypnosis. It wasn't natural for someone like him and therefore still new. Kind of foreign.

For a while she laid some wet kisses over his neck, sensual and slow, before moving upwards to suck softly on his earlobe. Another kryptonite spot for him. By then he was practically buzzing with overwhelming bliss.. instinctually chasing the rising feeling of pleasure, threatening to burst. A melody of whispered praises and pleasures began to slip past his lips in his native tongue, reverting again to what was natural to him in such a mindless state. He would speak in her language, though, to make a request.

"More.. more, m-more" he began, seemingly only capable of forming the one simplistic word. She wasn't fucking moving enough, dammit. He was getting fidgety and extra impatient again. With all these interactions with her though, he thought briefly to himself that she was putting actual effort into this. Not just fucking him. Actually, the woman was gushing all over his dick by now. It was very enticing.

She had decided to have mercy on him.. mostly because he'd been so wonderfully responsive to her wishes.

"Feitan~" she moaned his name for first time during the entirety of the session as the beautiful woman nearly doubled her pace, reacting in her own way to his cockhead now pushing harder against her cervix with every bounce. And good Lord did it turn him on. He didn't like being called submissive but he found that he couldn't bother to cause a problem when he really was focused on chasing his high right now.

She leaned over him, gripping onto his shoulders for leverage as she increased her speed and roughness more and more, in turn the result being a much higher level of stimulation for them both.

This new rhythm elicited sounds of wet skin slapping together, as he felt himself penetrate her deeper than before with the new angle she'd adjusted him to. She gave a cry, hips stuttering, and he responded with a low groan.

"Feitan, I want it in my cunt, p-please, I could touch myself just thinking about your cum dripping down my thighs. I want it.. g-gimme it.. baby.."

The slow, intimate love making had really done it for him.. but this was something he definitely found himself addicted to as well, just moments after she initiated the rougher sex. Their passion ignited further as she loomed over him, hair cascading like curtains and tickling his cheeks, whilst a hot and heavy open mouthed kiss began. Moans suffocated by her mouth, he put more effort into his own thrusts, lifting his body to meet with hers in the middle each time.

What qualified prior as potential gentle fornicating became the two of them fucking into wild abandon - short, harsh thrusts to achieve a heightened speed. Both just wanted to cum so badly.

Such shamelessly lewd, dirty language could have gotten him off alone. But when paired with so much stimulation, well.. he broke down completely, helpless and at her mercy pressed into the mattress. He gave a broken whimper, followed by a deafening moan as he hit his limit.

His orgasm hit him with blinding force which he was not entirely prepared for, white hot pleasure viciously tore through his mind and body, stranding him into a welcome purgatory of ecstasy. He thought deliriously to himself that he loved this woman- For a second, for making him feel this way. It all stole his breath away.

He could only ever worship someone who ignited his body in such a way. So, he drank in her image like that of a benevolent deity, feeling her also come undone as her muscles went slack and she collapsed upon him to ride out her orgasm in a clouded high. She sighed and ground her hips lazily a few more times, using his lasting erection just to gently coax her high into dragging on a little longer.

He felt more warmth, as his semen released into her drooling, hungry cunt just in the way as he'd hoped, his eyes rolling backwards in motion with his head as he let his climax overtake his senses. The amount of prolonged repression and teasing during the entire session caused his brief moment of euphoria to extend as well.

The high of dopamine that he felt right then was simply intoxicating, even as he began to cool down from the rush. His mind was so wonderfully blank of anything but contentment and relaxation. He oddly felt warm, and deeply happy with the current moment in time. Sure, he still didn't like this girl, but the sex had been incredible. He kind of somehow hoped she felt the same.

It felt so nice, to the point that his body was still involuntarily pulsing and twitching with the rapid sequence of his cum stuffing her fuller in spurts, pulling a second groan from her at the sensation of being properly filled.

He caught his breath, both of their panting slowly beginning to return to normal, and he sighed one last time, collapsing without a word. He felt very loose, and careless. It was nice to be at ease like this, feeling her walls still flutter around him on occasion in recovery from everything that had happened.

He said nothing, closing his eyes and trying to bask in a rare moment where he felt no pain and no discomfort whatsoever. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm.

He wasn't thinking about the interrogation at all or the original trade they'd agreed upon, either. Not even a little bit. It just wasn't really on his mind right now because that was all work related - he was in a completely different headspace, reflecting on his first time having sex and how he definitely already knew he enjoyed it significantly.

His first wasn't very appealing personality wise but she was cute and pretty, both things he was admittedly grateful for. Her body had done a good job helping him adjust, being how soft and inviting she was from the start. He just thought.. she might've been perfect if only her ruthless teasing habit went out the window. That was his only enormous critique.

Now, he gave a half-hearted groan as she eventually pulled herself off of him, vaguely taking note of the fact some of his own cum had apparently eased its way out of her body and pooled between his legs during their moment of recovery, and he'd have to clean that up. But his legs were jelly, his body was tired, and he oddly felt like someone had drugged him with a bit of melatonin, not realizing that cumming too hard can make you sleepy.

He blinked tiredly, seeing her rise to her feet, wondering if she'd untie him. But it was oddly quiet, save for a bit of shuffling around and a humming melody in her voice.

He tried to lift his head and see what she was doing but he just couldn't bring himself to give a fuck right now. She was still here, she hadn't escaped. It was fine.

A rustling of paper could be heard and then she returned to his side - he felt her presence again.

"You did so wonderfully~" she purred gently. "I don't cum very often, did you know that? But you were perfect. So perfect. And it felt good."

He purred softly as she cooed at him, and he was only half awake by now, feeling her hand which was now semi familiar settle on his forehead to pet his hair out of his eyes. She kissed his forehead. Feitan sighed wistfully, feeling his exhaustion start to pull him under.

........

When he awoke, Feitan sat up abruptly, brows knitting together in concern as the issue dawned on him almost immediately.

He felt a lot less tense than usual, which was a nice surprise. But he was instantly overcome with stress as he whipped his head around and noticed the woman he needed to complete an exchange with was missing.

Fucking lying snake...

She hadn't told him her secret as she had so insistently promised.

He noticed he was clean and had been bundled up into a cocoon of fresh blankets, shielding his naked body from any eyes, but also the cold. It didn't seem like anyone had come in here, as they would likely wake him up and scold him for losing sight of the Troupe's prisoner.

Nonetheless, something caught his eye that was out of place whilst looking around in a panic for traces of her whereabouts.

A note, in handwriting he didn't recognize.

In a rush, he scurried over, hopping to pull on his underwear and pants in the process. She'd left it by the rest of his tools, which were never completely cleaned from their first interrogation together. Her blood still caked onto three in particular. But he wasn't looking at that right now.

Her message certainly made him feel many things at once. For one, she had left him what he'd worked so hard for, and sacrificed so much of his dignity to obtain. A detailed secret, written perfectly with concise wording but nothing left vague for his mind to guess at.

Despite all that effort, that wasn't really what he was staring at in complete disbelief.

She'd left an address for him. And beneath it, a short but sweet departing message.

I had fun. See you again sometime soon.

-(Name)

[bdudette]

Reverse Interrogation -

Part 4

[Top!Feitan Portor x sub!Reader]

‼️NSFW / MDNI‼️

Synopsis: For the first time in his life, Feitan fails an interrogation. Refusing to admit defeat and give up his perfect track record when it comes to his specialty, he begrudgingly allows reader to strike a bargain in exchange for her secrets.. and is shocked to learn what she truly wants. His body. Frustrated and furious with his predicament, he angrily accepts her conditions purely for the sake of the Troupe, agreeing to do as she says. No other reason...

[After their first frivolous encounter together, Feitan finds himself unable to forget about the woman who took him so eagerly. He breaks into her house unannounced and returns the favor.]

TW: smut, mentions of torture / violence, stalking, breaking and entering, vulgar language, degradation, shower sex, (dubcon???)

Taglist: @chrollosbiggeststan @astresoleil @altaircc

If you are not tagged after asking, it's because your settings don't allow it.

Feitan stared at his bland expression reflecting in the bathroom mirror, blinking slowly in the midst of deep thought as he took in the details of his face. He almost never used to do this, but lately, he'd found himself lingering here in this spot, for longer than normal. He studied his features and sighed in discontentment, eyes narrowing into frustrated puzzlement.

What did she see in this face that she liked so much? He could not find it.

A thin finger was raised to gingerly trace over stress lines hollowing out the appearance of his dark gray eyes. He looked.. worn down. Moreso than he realized he probably did on a daily basis prior to paying more attention. He could at least understand now what she meant about that, calling him an overworked man - but he also failed to see why she called him pretty so many times, too. Was she blind?

His conclusion after so much self analysis was that he was rather boring and unremarkable looking. His face had softer features, almost dainty for a typical male, but his eyes were sharp and cold. He was just unapproachable as a whole. There was nothing particularly special here, that he could understand might catch the attention of a beautiful girl. Therefore, to his dismay, he couldn't emphasize whatever it was to maybe... He didn't even know.. earn more of her favor?

That thought entered his mind completely out of nowhere as he understood the truth about his behavior and he scoffed in disgust at himself.

A girl fucking complimented him and made him feel special...now he was apparently putting subconscious effort into earning more positive attention. What an intolerable display of attachment. Surely his friends in the Troupe would laugh at him for this.

He gave up on twirling his shoulder length ebony locks between his fingers, slipping his hands back into his pockets and giving himself one last disapproving sneer in the mirror before turning tail and stalking off. He had showered and groomed himself more nicely lately, and a little more meticulously, even if he had had fairly good habits prior.

There was nothing Feitan could think of, to make himself look nicer anyway. He'd briefly considered maybe asking Machi for a haircut or something.. but he was frightened to mess it up when that girl had pointed out how perfect it was to her already. He didn't get it.. he never fussed with his hairstyle and it wasn't anything special, just a plain midlength look with minimal effort put into it, and his long bangs framed his face. He combed it sometimes. That was it.

But he didn't want to acknowledge what he was doing right now and why - that he even cared remotely what that woman thought of him. Because that was embarrassing. And he also didn't want to draw attention to himself amongst his fellow Troupe mates, and accidentally tip them off that something was on his mind lately. He would still rather fucking die than let them find out about that interrogation.

As a result, he probably ended up looking more suspicious than not, slinking around the base at night all mysteriously. He'd glance around nervously with a flash of guilt in his eye as he disappeared out an open window, completely silent and stealthy. Phinks had caught him down the hall once, smiling and casually asking what he was up to at this hour, and Feitan quickly blurted out some poor excuse before proceeding on his little private mission. Good thing Phinks could be kind of obtuse.

But.. Chrollo.. curse him and his keen eyes. Chrollo kept a sharp watch on his Troupe and he was also insufferably intelligent. Multiple times now, he'd felt Chrollo's eyes lock upon the crested skull on the back of his jacket, and even worse - the man didn't question him or speak. He just watched... Observing Feitan's hurried, frantic efforts to slip away without speaking up a single time. Feitan would hunch down lower and attempt to conceal his presence, picking up his pace until he was moving as quickly as one could while also trying to seem nonchalant. If he could just.. look busy. Appear casual, but like he had something important to do that was normal and not shameful or secretive. All a very difficult task wrapped in a painful contradiction.

But so long as the man didn't say a word to him, he would continue doing as he pleased, and worry about the stress this caused him later during the following day. Sure enough, it would eat away at him. He'd accidentally shoot a few anxious glances in Chrollo's direction as if trying to determine if the man knew and if he was upset about it or not.

Yeah... Chrollo probably knew about his private activities.

Their boss wasn't a fool. Feitan knew that. And he also hated that Chrollo so happened to be the only one who knew what was done to him recently. He almost wished the dark haired man would question him on his nightly werabouts... Since it would make everything less vague between them.

Luckily, that night, he was pretty sure he'd managed to sneak away without being noticed or seen. The Phantom Troupe were encouraged to be individualistic and persue their own interests of course, so it wasn't a rule he was breaking or anything like that, he just didn't want anyone to figure out that something was different for him. Feitan was not ready to admit to any sort of interest in someone, whether it be physical attraction or plain selfish desire. Therefore it was instinct for him, and also simply just easier, to keep denying it to himself and others in his proximity.

He was an assassin, so this was his strong suit. In fact, he could daresay that he was the best of the best, at his current skill level. He was a prodigy in a sense amongst most other nen users, in terms of statistics.

Feitan broke into a swift, anxious trot once he was out of sight from the Troupe's base, weaving skillfully through the city once he reached the actual territories of dense civilization. He had a ways to go, and would often pick up a taxi, just to make the journey easier over to her suburban home. He never minded though - he enjoyed the private time in silence, wondering if today... He would finally break through his stubbornness and actually show himself.

For the past few weeks he would get himself ready, fretting over how he looked like a god damn teenage girl, and then show up at her home just to stand there and stare at it in defeat. The cute little house was warm and inviting, with a lot of thought put into both the exterior and interior. It all just felt like territory a man like him shouldn't trespass on. Like a devil, setting foot in a church.

But how did he know about the interior if he'd never broken in? Well, he trespassed anyway, finding what he considered to be a god damn gift from the heavens above - a window with clear visibility into both her bedroom and bathroom areas, and a wonderfully planted thick brush of foliage to keep him hidden as well. His dark attire easily blended in, and just as he was conditioned to do in Meteor City, he used his perfect stealth to slip completely unnoticed to and from his spot as he pleased. Eventually, Feitan scouted out other places to watch her activities if she didn't happen to be in her room, but it was rare. The only times she'd venture out was on the occasion of eating or needing to complete chores.

So, he slinked carefully into his usual spot, planting his feet down into the slight dip in the dirt which had been weighed down and compacted over time beneath his constant presence these past few weeks. She didn't do much besides eat ice cream in bed and watch TV.. sometimes she would read, or draw, or perhaps listen to music.

He knew her routines by now - roughly what time she would start her bedtime ritual, and when she actually fell asleep. He knew how often she showered, and how long it took her to do so. Feitan even knew that she didn't like to wear much other than her underwear to bed.

He hadn't caught a glimpse of her in the shower yet, as it was just out of view, but he had caught a lovely peek of her changing at one point, the unexpected occurrence having made his dick go hard in his pants within a matter of seconds. He had stood up and rushed home to take care of the problem, trying to immortalize the image in his brain forever.. or at least until he finished jerking off.

The frustration was near intolerable. Especially after that incident. It was as if, her body had awoken something in him after he was first introduced to such intimacy with a girl like her, and since then.. he was insatiable. His mind was plauged by visions, dreams, memories.. replaying sounds and delightful images in his head of how she moved, how she spoke.. god.. and how she looked. Mind hazy with lust, he wanted her again so badly. But how could he have her? Why was he hesitant?

His need only grew over time. He couldn't just have such a wonderful thing one time and then let it go. Rather, that seemed more cruel, than allowing a person to just remain blissfully ignorant to what they're missing out on. Now.. she'd ruined him. He partially loathed her for it.

Breaking and entering wasn't difficult. He was small, and he knew what he was doing. Rather, this was practically the easiest task you could give to someone like him. Chrollo often gave him the assignment of being the first to enter during high stakes heists, and he pulled it off without a sweat each time, having full confidence in his capabilities.

He wasn't sure what did him in that evening but upon that specific night, his resolve finally broke down, and he felt his feet moving before he could think. Maybe it was the fact that his target for obsession had disappeared, out of sight from his hungry gaze to bathe in the shower. And he was tired of waiting. Tired of teasing himself - of travelling this far only to never actually indulge.

So why now, of all times, was he restless?

Feitan's heart raced as he crept in through an open window.. he kept track of what safety aspects this girl was most prone to forgetting when her house was involved and he oftentimes would find himself chiding - shaking his head. "Stupid, dumb girl.." he would mutter to himself.

"Just asking for bad people to take advantage. So reckless." Her ignorance and naivety displeased him. Drove him insane, actually. When he was gone he sometimes worried that her antics would attract another not much unlike himself. Well.. he was said dangerous person now, in this instance. The intruder he so feared might infringe on her life was him. But.. what he actually meant was someone other than him. That would be unacceptable.

His clothes would silent pool into a puddle of fabric beside her own just outside the shower - the pitter patter of flowing water concealing whatever sound that would've made.. had Feitan been an amateur that is. Completely bare, on light feet, he brushed aside her shower curtain and felt the heat rush to his body as his eyes finally landed on her stunning visage.

As he glided through a separate open window like a ghost, it was difficult not to tremble with excitement, and in that moment Feitan felt a similar rush of thrill, to the adrenaline he got stalking an unknowning victim before silencing them for good. He knew the layout - he was familiar with her home after weeks of stalking. Mapping it all out for this moment. He felt like an animal again, closing in on a prey item, heart racing while he compensated for his lust with absolute flawless nen control. Yes, he could easily hush his aura into silence, and keep himself concealed despite his intentions.

His chest tightened, a blooming warmth rising down below as he took in the lovely feminine shape of her backside. So soft.. glistening.. fingers gliding through her wet hair. She was entirely preoccupied.. lost and caught up in her own little world. He could almost laugh to himself, sinisterly wondering why a woman in such a dire political standing with a bunch of criminals would ever live alone. He'd teach her a lesson.

At the same time, he pressed his warm body to her back, feeling hot water collide with his skin as he joined her under the stream. Feitan chuckled.. a low and dark noise whilst a smirk played across his cheeks. It was satisfying to strike fear into her heart after all the blasphemous embarrassment she put him through last time their bodies embraced like this. He could barely hold back a groan of satisfaction, the power trip of restraining her and bending her over in such a vulgar way making his blood tremble with euphoria.

Having stepped into the shower to join her, unbeknownst to her, Feitan inched forward.. slowly. He could hardly believe their closeness. His skin was vibrating, as if realizing and responding of its own volition to his stunning, beautiful, flawless object of obsession being only mere centimeters away. He suddenly lurched fast - a hand wrapping around her face to lock around her jaw in an iron grip, effectively cutting off her voice and muffling her recoiling scream of terror.

"What is wrong.. not expecting me?" He mocked her in his soft, leering tone. The woman was shaking, attempting to recover from the jolt to her fight or flight brain. Surprisingly, she was compliant, or perhaps she was shocked into a frozen state. "Don't recognize me..? You invite me here yourself.. not very hospitable..."

He snickered in delight as she recalled his name correctly. "That's right... smart girl.. saying my name.." he was satisfied that she realized who he was just by the sound of his voice and the feel of his firm body, despite their one-off naughty interaction having taken place weeks ago. He groaned, feeling a hint of relief as he traced his cockhead against the tight rim of her entrance, the muscles clenching of their own accord at the feeling of his intrusion as if to kiss his tip. Inviting him in... He thought.

Feitan released his firm grip from her mouth as he had mainly wanted to just give her a quick fright for revenge, and also, to silence the scream he knew would annoy him if he didn't intervene with it. As soon as she was allowed her voice again, she just gasped, feeling the man behind her begin to rub needily against her. "F-Feitan-"

Feitan had done enough waiting. He knew she wanted him, of course she did - she went out of her way to have sex with him before and even sacrificed a great deal for it. He didn't give her a chance to move, reposition, anything.. he just wanted to take her right here like an animal and fuck her wildly into abandon. So he did. One second he had stepped into her shower and the next he was pushing his dick into her without restraint.

He heard his favorite woman cry out in astonishment, her hips bending to lift her ass and accomodate his advances, a sneer of triumph appearing on his features as he realized this signalled she did want it. So.. no formalities after all. This was exactly, precisely, perfectly what he'd wanted. No talk - just sex. Part of him began to marvel and question all over again how mad she must be, to not mind a man breaking into her secure home just to torment her with fear, bend her over, and take her like a whore.. but... he had basically already established before during their first time together that she was fucking mental anyway. A woman that knew no fear - either because of her inhuman tolerance to pain, or because something else was amiss.

Feitan didn't hesitate to start at an eager pace, pumping long strokes into her with selfish force behind every thrust, his hips kissing her supple thighs and ass in a passionate rhythm. Given her dominant attitude before, Feitan was surprised to have caught her off guard this badly, and that she wasn't fighting back - but then again he hadn't really given her a chance to turn the tables on purpose.

She was clever and she'd won with her wits before. He hadn't given her the opportunity to speak. Rather, he utilized his upper hand. Physical strength. What could she do now? Feitan had her at his mercy, her dainty hands reaching desperately for the slippery shower walls to hold herself up, moaning and whimpering loudly enough that it reverberated into the space above.

The slick, wet noises of shower fucking were a drug to him. She felt good at this angle.. fucking incredible actually. The more he pushed her body and bent her over into a strenuous position, the more her walls would tighten in response around him. A glimmer of his cruel side shone through, as his love for total control often caused this to happen when he received maybe too much power. It appeared as a mean twinkle in his eye, the sides of them crinkling up.

"Disappointed how easy you break.. thought you were tough. Now you cry my name out, like I own you as personal toy..."

Feitan wrapped a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, hoisting her up slightly by the hips to fuck her deeper and better, a sinister giggle of glee passing by his lips and through his breathless pants of ecstasy. The shrill whimper he'd earned from the shift in position let him know he was rubbing up on a good spot for her.

The woman was sobbing under him, stuttering out syllables of his name like a chant to a God, and Feitan purred in response to this pathetic display which so pleased him.

"What's wrong..? Feel so good you can't even talk? Use words, girl... If you can even use brain right now..."

His husky groans and growls were drowned out by her cries and wails, Feitan deciding at one point to shove his fingers into her mouth to somewhat stifle the volume when it reached levels slightly beyond his preference. He liked her tightly pressed beneath his body, his chest flush against her back just below her shoulder blades, and his strong arm supporting her weight as her weak legs could barely keep her upright.

Feitan watched her knees tremble, and her pretty, soaked hair fall around her face into a curtain that concealed every feature except her gaping "O" shaped lips, fingers having found the faucet to the tub to clench onto for support. Or for dear life, rather.

At some point, nonetheless, Feitan had had his fun teasing her and he was done with that, focused moreso now on mindless pleasure and chasing that sensation of how good he felt. She was taking his rough treatment rather well, but.. he was calming down.

While typically sex tends to escalate in speed and pace, Feitan found himself going from a feral approach to a softer one once he had relaxed here with her in the shower, and his instinctive predatory prey drive had gone down after the initial spike of thrills.

He was just fixated on how her vaginal walls made him feel right now.. velvety and smooth with such a comforting squeezing grip right around where he was most sensitive. Like a snug sleeve, he revelled in the sensation, subconsciously going slower to revisit and remember the particular shapes, textures, and structure of her insides. His breathing ragged and heavy, he dragged his cock in and out of her while watching himself enter her each time in total fascination. His eyes, transfixed, as if under a charmed spell.

Fuck. He'd had wet dreams about her just like this for ages now.. he'd closed his eyes and desperately tried to cling onto every detail from that single experience, cursing and swearing in frustration when he realized he'd been too flustered and brainless that time to actually focus on storing memory for future use. Now.. this time.. he would be sure to burn it into his mind and never take this for granted. He would etch every detail of her beautiful weeping pussy into his permanent memory, from the sensory pleasures of his body, to forever reference when he craved this again.

He liked the way he could feel his tip bend further into her if he pressed his hips a little deeper, and the bump of her cervical entrance when he bottomed out.

He was losing himself in it like the first time.

"S-so good.." he let this slip mindlessly and without meaning to. His intention was to refrain from showing weakness this time around but he was really starting to throb and ache down there, the octave of his moans raising slightly into a more wanton, needy sound.

"Feitan-" the woman who'd caught his eye spoke his name so sweetly and so blissfully. It was music to his ears, making him sigh in delight at hearing it spoken so adorably. She was too fucking good.. so good. So strangely demure and fragile in all the right ways. Or perhaps it was just feminine allure, the kind that had him carnivorous and hellbent on his primitive breeding urges.

"Feitan, can I have your cum again please..?"

She used the most honey sweet voice on him.. he shuddered and felt his eyes roll backwards in ecstasy at the mere idea of her begging to have his seed just one more time. She sounded like an angel beckoning him in.

Feitan wanted to taunt her but he couldn't do it. He couldn't hold out any longer and he lacked control. Rather, he was too weak to this, breaking down into a quivering mess whilst violently spilling his semen into her rather disgracefully. It was the strength of the orgasm that made it so vicious - a shiver ripping through his body and tearing through his spine like an unforgiving jolt of electric shock. His whole body was left tingling and throbbing.

Feitan was not so ashamed this time, having had the satisfaction of dominating her; his shakey moans filled their shared space and he rode out his high with a few last shallow ruts into her heat. All he could think about was how good his dick felt. How good his body was feeling right now.

Rather than pushing her further down to take his load in an unbecoming position, he pulled his woman upright and pressed her into him, a hand wrapping firm around her hip to press down possessively over her womb as he stuffed it with his essence. He felt he was marking her in a way - claiming her, by cumming in her. While such an intimate part of him remained inside of her, she would always be tainted by him.

Faintly, he sort of comprehended that she was saying his name now.. praising him in some way which he could only half understand as he gained back his senses. Feitan felt his ears were sort of ringing and pounding.. his vision had gone a little strange. White at the corners. But he wasn't concerned really, nothing hurt and it wasn't in a bad way. Rather, the climax had been so good that he still felt a nice radiant warmth in his lower parts. He could tell he was very sensitive.

This would become a problem soon after when the women unexpectedly flipped around in his grasp, the light movement being enough to make Feitan hiss her name out in protest. His girl would pause and raise a brow.

"...you alright then?"

She would ask. After all it was the first time he had ever actually voiced her name. She'd left it for him on her note, but.. until now he hadn't seemed to want to use it. Perhaps it was a subconscious mistake.

Feitan, on the other hand, just huffed at her in exasperation. He couldn't believe that she was worried about him. The reliable strength of his arms were the only thing holding her up anyway - her legs were jelly and he could tell. "Fine, fine-" he brushed her off, panting just a few more times to regain his breath and his composure. The woman giggled and Feitan tensed. The contraction of her diaphragm had caused a light squeeze - an unexpected sensation.

That's right. That laugh.. the sound she made usually before making fun of him.

"So then are you done fucking me like a desperate, male dog in a rut... or what? You're way too horny."

Feitan just deadpanned at her. Was she really calling him something like that right now? Unfortunately, deep down, he knew it was true. He just sniffed bitterly in reply.

"That's now how I taught you to touch women. Remember? I showed you how. Before you got anything from me.. I made you watch. Tsk.. did you not absorb a damn thing I so graciously demonstrated?"

Feitan winced and he gave a choked gasp as the girl pressed her hips down gently. They were still connected by their sexes - and the simple movement, despite how gentle, was enough to send him reeling due to sensitivity.

"Naughty, selfish, self centered.. I was trying to condition you to understand you have to wait to get off and put your woman first. Clearly it didn't sink in. Maybe you need.. a refresher? You'll never make a woman cum if you fuck her like that. Sloppy work."

Feitan's jaw dropped at her ridicules and critiques. Mostly because of her arrogance. For the first time though since before, he was seeing her personality shine through. The one he had been expecting to have to counteract - the one that tied him up in a knot before and had him melted into a mess by the time she was done with him.

Admittedly he both loved and despised it. Even now, her words made his blood boil. The sheer arrogance. He wanted to snap at her for even thinking that a man who'd just broken into her apartment unannounced had a single care for how she felt. But he also found himself speechless by the madness of it all. Reminded, again and again, that a screw must be loose somewhere in that brain. He wasn't a disobedient animal to be trained. He was a very real, very dangerous criminal with a bloody body count to his name.

It was also difficult to protest because the woman was actually facing him now and that intense gaze of hers was locked on his eyes. Her body was so close.. her tits flush to his chest and her hips locked to his. Her arms were beginning to dance around his waist, and Feitan whined softly as she started moving again.

"I'm gonna show you one more time.. how to touch a girl..."

Feitan was frozen as he felt her hand reach for his and as he expected, it was placed at the perfect seam between her legs.

Admittedly, he didn't want this to end. She was so close.. her smell was intoxicating even beneath the steam of the hot water, her eyes were filled to the brim with promises of a tempting challenge, and her voice was hypnotic. Drawn in, Feitan was carried by his desire to stay comfortably nestled deep inside her. He was softening up a bit but he was still blissfully comfortable like this. He loved warming his cock inside her.

Hesitantly, he would play along, knowing what she wanted. His middle finger coaxed her folds apart gently and be began to press his fingers down, anticipating the need to work quickly if he wanted to stimulate her.

To his surprise the woman gasped sharply and stopped him, snatching his wrist. "S-soft.. softer.. go slow. Like you're petting something gently. Sensual circles.. but that's.. the right spot.

Feitan prodded lightly at her clit again and felt her stiffen. Was it really that sensitive? He paused, finding himself admittedly curious, before he traced his finger in a leisurely, light circle around the bundle of nerves. To his surprise and fascination, she immediately writhed, jaw dropping into an unapologetic moan as he touched her. Feitan was not known for having gentle touches.. but this was a circumstance where he oddly felt his slender, long fingers were good for the precision work.

This really wasn't difficult - he could see that perhaps many others would over compensate under the assumption that it was hard. He was perceptive and began to observe almost immediately what she liked best.

Feitan decided to kiss her once he noticed her vaginal walls were beginning to flutter and squeeze around his cock again. It seemed that the intense stimulation to her clit was making her muscles react and he sighed - it was feeling really good. Maybe touching her like this was worth it for him in some ways, after all.

"Fei... That's.. t-thats perfect.."

She purred and melted into a puddle in his arms. And Feitan snickered. This was enjoyable, to his surprise, watching her actually react to him and become putty against his body. All of this..

It was a different kind of control.

He wasn't imposing his will anymore by threatening her, overpowering her, and fucking her mindlessly like a toy. That had been a lot of fun too, admittedly - but this was different. He had the power to affect her now. He could touch her right here.. just the slightest bit. And Feitan understood he had her absolute compliance. Effortless.

His twisted smirk returned and he reflected on how pathetic she sounded. Perhaps his newfound joy in pleasuring her had some kind of sick and twisted link to his sadistic glee when inflicting pain. The reactions.. the surge of adrenaline.. it was all eerily similar. His hands, his touch, he could weaponize pleasure now the same way he so expertly did with agony. And he intended to be just as skilled in this area as he was with the latter. Years of practice counted for something, right?

It was like a lightbulb of correlation went off in his head. That's right. Could he perhaps utilize some of the same knowledge he'd so meticulously absorbed during his studies to understand torture - to instead inflict a different kind of intense physical sensation? Erogenous zones.. start with highly sensitive parts on the body.

Feitan began to thrust into her again, albeit very slowly and hesitantly, being that he himself was still extremely sensitive from cumming a few minutes prior. Switching from rotating his slick fingers around her clit, to rubbing the top of the delicate tissue, he grinned as she really began to fucking lose it. He decided to experiment, kissing and nibbling on her ear as she clenched around him with a vice grip.

A symphony of his name followed, followed by her whimpers and sighs. Feitan liked that so far, she was very honest and genuine about her pleasure - it served as reward and praise so that he could learn accuracy much quicker. He would continue, practicing his perfected and keen approach until she unravelled around him.

When she came, it reminded him of the first time, feeling her gush around him and soak his entire length in her excessive juices. He smirked, thrusting without remorse to keep her strung along the climax as long as possible, soon finishing for the second time with a groan. He leaned into her and pressed forward, causing her back to make contact with the wall as he steadied himself with an arm.

She gasped as her skin made contact with the cold ceramic. He panted heavily.. knowing full well he was spent. Her sounds died out, and soon he was left hearing a waterfall of praises from her. Good. She should be as whipped for him as he unfortunately was for her in this way. Now, she was chained and enslaved to this situation like him, and they could both be humiliated. It was only fair.

Feitan breathed heavily, reflecting on all the new, different experiences he'd just had. He had just tried out two different ways of engaging in intercourse and he could appreciate different aspects of either for different reasons. The first felt like rough and mindless fucking while the second.. well.. he was still processing. He struggled with bigger feelings and anything tied to legitimate intimacy was a touchy topic. But he had to admit there was some sort of strange, unexplainable charm to softer, slower lovemaking. Maybe though, he just really liked having sex in general.

Was that what he should even call it -? Lovemaking?

No, not really. Neither of them loved each other.

Not even remotely. Not even close. It dawned on him that he still barely knew her. Not that Feitan cared right then to get to know her.. at least he thought. She was troublesome and annoying sometimes.

"I'll see you next week then?" She asked, as Feitan finally pulled out of her with a hitched breath. Even the slightest friction from the one motion was overstimulating.

The dark haired man scowled - he didn't like her being presumptuous like that. Assuming that he should be tied down to some kind of visitation schedule. That would make things seem more like.. he was coming to her for what he needed and wanted. No, he wanted to come when he decided to. So he just clicked his tongue, already deciding that because of that one remark, he unfortunately couldn't show up next week. He'd have to wait.

Perhaps she would've gotten fully chastised if he was in a bad mood. But how could he be, when he was in his own quiet version of afterglow?

This time, at least, he left her with something. Perhaps in a similar way to her leaving him a note before she'd been done using him, and left him behind.

"Goodbye. Lock window, stupid." He said. And that was all he could emotionally afford to muster.

He'd stayed for far too long.. his next worry was going to be concerning how he might sneak back into base while appearing as if he never left to begin with.

He unashamedly stole one last greedy glance up and down her naked form before he left her there, drying off (with her only remaining towel) and dressing in a hurry to leave. Before he did, her voice left him with one departing message. "Just use the front door next time."

As if.

Nonetheless, he was distracted. Enough that he could hardly care if someone noticed the odd detail of his hair being damp. It wasn't raining out.

Feitan was too busy reminiscing on his sinful, pleasurable escapade. And the exciting fact that...

Someone wanted him like this.

[bdudette]

TENDER LOVE - A. A.

Summary: You hold such a strong, infatuated and gentle love for him. And you always loved showing it to him with a gentle and non-sexual intimacy. Astarion really can’t have enough of it.

A|N: Did this as soon as I knew more of this beautiful man that deserved and deserves everything.

Warning: Pure love. Rusty writing.

Love. Trust. Kindness. These were three things that he never knew of for 200 years. Things he never experienced throughout his extended life. Things he had long forgotten after being under service of the evil bastard, Cazador. Until he met You. You were … an anomaly to him — not a bad kind of course but … You were someone he never though would ever meet in his time alive in this cruel world. At first, you were just someone he wanted to use, manipulate for his own gain of protection. And it was working, everything was working his way. Until he missed one thing he never thought he’d actually have to worry about.

And that was — him falling in love with you. Genuinely falling in love — with your kindness towards him, your protectiveness over him, your respect and supportiveness of his own autonomy.

He really never thought that — you would stick with him, support his decisions, help him destroy the rat bastard of Cazador, and then … staying with him at the very end of everything.

But here you were, here you are. Caressing him ever so gently with your roughened hands. Caressing his face with your tender love. Your tender gentleness.

“ I love you. “

You’d whisper to him every single day, every single minute. You’d sing praises of him so gently. Ask if he was alright with you touching him. And despite you two being together, doing this for over a year now — he still couldn’t get used to it.

He was not used to the kindness and love you gave him — at times, he couldn’t help but crack an awkward joke here or there as his own voice cracked and tears filled his beautiful crimson eyes.

You both laid on the bed of the tavern room you were in. Surprisingly with all your clothes on — except for shoes. And all you did to him at this vulnerable moment, behind the curtains of the hidden light, was show him such tender, non-sexual love.

You went ahead with placing a kiss on his forehead, going for his right cheek, going for his chin, going for the crease in between his brows — if he had a still beating and warm heart, it would stop beating multiple times at this show of calm passion. Tears couldn’t help but run out of the corners of his own eyes, unstoppable at how gentle his own lover was with him. He was so used to the roughness, the darkness, the mask of others and himself that this true, genuine love of yours towards him felt so foreign. Not an unpleasant one that’s for sure.

He couldn’t even speak at this moment. Voice coming out in a broken hoarse when he tried to call out your name so gently. A groan slipping out at moments from how caring and soft you were being. He would be lying if he said that he wouldn’t have been asking for more, more, more if he had his voice right now.

You kept on snuggling against him, the heat of your own body and passion being enough to warm him up further more despite your own blood coursing through his veins.

A sniffle left him again, but he tried to mask it as a soft laugh. Not that you wouldn’t notice either way. You softly chuckled as well either way, not saying anything about your own, beautiful lovers tears that hit your hands as you continued to caress him further.

Oh, such a sweet darling you were to him. He still felt like he didn’t deserve you. The perfect you. You were someone who deserved far better than a broken shell of a vampiric monster such as himself. But — as if hearing his self deprecating thoughts once more, you whispered your profound, everlasting love for him. Your loyalty to him and only him.

And he couldn’t help but groan out weakly against you. Especially as you kissed him so sweetly with your own lips against his own. But it didn’t last long before you went back to holding him softly, delicately as if he were a porcelain doll. Which he wouldn’t be far off in comparison. Not that he would say it out loud.

“ ‘ love you. I love you. From the bottom of my own heart. I’d go to the farthest parts of lands to the deepest pits of hell to the highest of heaven just to see you happy. My love, my only love. “

You whispered into his ear, one that twitched and tinged in a dark red that followed down to his perfect cheeks. Your own blood and the ones from the animals he hunted helping him to do so.

“ Such a flatterer, aren’t you, My Treasure? “

Astarion rasped out. Eyes full of love and adoration for you. You could only chuckle as you held him so close to your own body. Kissing his lids so gently before speaking again.

“ For you, my star, I only speak the truth. You deserve the world. Deserve everything you want. I would strike down the sun if you so ever asked me to. And I would do so whenever you want me to. “

You spoke to him again. And Astarion couldn’t help but laugh lightly at your words. But he knew better than to not trust your words on that. He knew better.

“ Such a tempting thing, my cheeky pup. Perhaps it’ll be something I’ll ask of later. “

He mused before gasping ever so lightly as you kissed at his long ear. Running your fingers at the back of his neck before going through his beautiful, voluptuous curls.

“ I will do as you wish. Only for you. My love. “

Speaking with pure tenderness heavy on your voice. You continued to shower your lover with more care and everything you had at the moment. The thought of perhaps destroying the sun — or looking for a ring sitting heavy on the back of your mind while doing so.

[bdudette]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[bdudette]

You want X-Men requests? Well, I think I've got a few kicking around for our favorite Cajun.

Ok, so this is NSFW but like...imagine overstimulated Gambit to the point where he can only speak garbled French? Idk, I think that's super hot.

YES OMG YES. I absolutely love this idea I ran with it SO QUICK! I'm Southern, but not necessarily the Cajun flavor of Southern, so I tried to use a translator/dictionary for Cajun-French. There's not really a translator for cajun dialect specifically, so forgive me for some mistakes. I tried my best ;-;

Tw: MDNI. NSFW. Creampie, Overstim, Praise kink (kinda). Reader written while picturing AFAB but no genitals specified. No pronouns specified. Soft dom!reader

Anyone looking outside-in on Gambit's relationships would think that the man is a player, due to his flirty nature, and he could be to an extent, but you know otherwise.

Remy LeBeau was a lover boy. Sure he showed out a lot by flirting, but at the end of the day it's you he's coming home to. The moment someone tries to make a move on him and flirting goes to touching, you know he's shutting that shit down quick.

He was all talk, and you were happy to find out that extends to the bedroom.

Now having said this, it's not that Remy was a liar. He's incredible at sex, but at the end of the day when he's with someone he truly loves, his walls come down. Loverboy was putty in your hands the moment you decided to grace him with your love and praise.

"Plus, donnez-m'en un de plus, s'il vous plaît." Remy is trembling underneath you, head tossed back into the pillow and twitching inside you still as he cums hard. His hands are clenched around your thighs, grip loose enough for you to grind on him slowly as he comes down from his high.

"Remy, I can't understand you." You say softly, cocking your head at him as you brush some hair out of his face. He leans into your touch, chest still heaving. He mumbles something else you can't quite catch, before repeating "donnez-m'en un de plus, donnez-m'en un de plus." Again and again.

"Reeemmmy~" You smile, rocking back against him just slightly to make him groan and curse, before leaning forward to kiss him on the chin. He tries to catch you in a real kiss, but you don't let him, choosing to hover over his lips teasingly. "English, please, sweetheart."

"Je commence Cher, don't tease." Remy whines, leaning forward again. You let him kiss you this time, unable to stop yourself from giving into Remy's charms. You grind onto him a little more to hear him moan and gasp into the kiss, and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter. He mumbles again in Cajun, and you shake your head at him. He'd been trying to teach you, but you still weren't quite fluent. You decide you should ask him to teach you bedroom phrases soon. It'd make this a whole lot easier- but you wouldn't lie, you almost enjoy teasing him like this.

"One more, Cher. Please. Please, give me another one." Remy finally grunts. He looks at you with those pretty eyes of his, all blurry with his pupils dilated. You can't help but lean in and kiss him a few more times. You lift your hips, before sinking back down onto his cock with a little more force this time. He gasps out a broken "merci! merci," tears starting to trail down his cheeks as you start to ride him again.

"Oh- Only because you asked... so nicely." You moan. It's a struggle to get the words out, fighting your own oversensitivity, but hearing Remy crumble beneath you is worth how sore you would be in the morning ten times over.

[bdudette]

Hello! Can I request a Luck x Black bull Reader fanfiction where the reader is head over heels for him, but he's not really interested in romance. She often gives him cheesy pick up lines, and tries to flirt with him only to be met with a neutral reaction. But slowly, Luck begins to see how much she cares for him, whenever they go on missions and whenever she protects him. And he slowly starts to fall for her. Thank you so much for taking requests!! 🖤🖤

LUCK x reader

She fell first, he fell harder

. she tries her ultimate best to gain his attention, protecting him and using her ‘best’ pickup lines on him!

“dhdhd” is speech and ‘fhrhd’ is thinking!

no warnings.

“Y/N come on you know how Luck is!” Vanessa took pity on you, this was the a hundredth time Luck turned down your fruitless attempt at trying to flirt with him, “He’s just not interested at romance at all.”

“He will once I use this line!”

Vanessa could only shake her head at how stubborn you were being, it’s been over a year of your attempts.

You got up in a hurry once you heard the door to the base open; you knew it was him.

“LUUCKKK!!”

Even Gauche was rubbing his temple, knowing the outcome of what you were going to do.

Luck smiled when you came crashing down the stairs.

“Hey Y/N!”

“Luck, do you like raisins?”

Vanessa groaned, knowing what was going to be said.

“Hmm, I guess I do!”

You smirked looking back at the few members watching this play out, ‘I got this guys!!’

“Then.. how do you feel about a date!”

“I guess they’re quite nice too” Luck simply smiled and walked up the stairs in a rush, trying his best to conceal his reddening face.

… everyone looked at you in pity.

“I think it’s time you let that man go Y/N” Noelle pat your back and gave you a sad smile.

“NO” You stormed up following him to try another one of your stupid pickup lines, but we all know how that would turn out.

—

Yami knew what he was doing placing you and Luck on your fifth mission together. You were both sent to clean up after the mess he made and round boars up.

“This’ll be fun Y/N trust me!”

You sigh and keep your arms crossed, you’re running low on these pickup lines.

“Yayyy!!” You try to make the best out of this.

It’s been a few minutes since starting to round these boars up and you had the brightest idea to try again.

“Hey, hey Luck, did you just come out the oven?” You strike the boar with your magic and sit atop it.

Luck just giggles and after hitting the last boar, sits next to you.

“Because you’re hot” You looked at him hopefully.

“That one was a funny one!!” He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but his heart skipped a beat.

…

That was your last straw. It’s been coming up to a year and a half of your efforts in vain, it didn’t look like it was getting any closer to dreams coming true. Hopping off the boar, you sat down against the tree fed up.

“Yep. I’m sure you can handle the few that are left, goodluck Luck.”

He looked at you confused, but didn’t say anything in argument.

Luck went off and it had been a few minutes since he had been rounding the rest of the boars up.

But something was off.

You sensed someone with an overwhelming amount of mana nearby and that didn’t make sense considering the mission was supposedly near by a village in the forsaken realm.

You got up and went on a search for Luck.

“LUCCK”

“hey Y/N!” he just got done with the last boar.

“Did you also sense that mana?”

“Yeah, you too?”

“That’s not normal, we should go check it out”

“Never thought you’d ask!” Luck exclaimed.

Both you and Luck scouted the area, coming towards the source of mana. But you wanted to use this opportunity of silence -

“Hey Luck, have you ever had a crush?”

He giggled at that question, but he didn’t seem to happy, “Crush?! I’ve never felt that kind of thing before, I don’t think i’m even capable of feeling butterflies when I like someone”

He was lying. Of course he was. He feels it when he’s with you, although he would never admit it.

He’s been liking you since he’s realised your constant efforts of trying to protect him, since your constant attempts trying to go out with him.

He was planning on never telling you.

You paused in your place, watching him go onwards. Maybe Vanessa was right in thinking he wasn’t interested in romance, or maybe he just didn’t like you.

Not knowing how to feel, you slowed down letting Luck go first. It was getting closer to the open area near the village.

But at that moment, a strike of fireball magic was flashing towards Luck’s head.

It was instinct really, instinct for you to throw Luck out the way and for you to absorb the impact of it.

You’d die before letting Luck get hurt. Even though he might’ve not done the same.

“Y/N?!” His eyes flew open in shock and he rushed to your side. He heard a cackle coming out the bushes.

“What a shame, I wasn’t even striking for her!” The man in the cloak cackled.

Luck went silent.

‘why would she do that?’ he held onto you tight.

He got up, lightning sparking out of control in his hand.

“Yeah? well I’ll be striking for you.”

—

“Gosh this is bad!” Vanessa held her head in disappointment, staring down at your injured body covered in ointment.

Luck simply sat by you, head down next to your head.

“How’d you let this happen?”

“She threw herself in front of the fireball, for me.”

“She never gives up” she shook her head, “you damaged that man beyond full recovery too”

“He deserves it”

“Well then, make sure to also get some rest, you didn’t exactly get out unscathed either” Vanessa looked at him solemnly before shutting the door.

“… why would you do that, Y/N??”

“Because I like you, a lot”

Luck’s head shot up to look at your painful state just barely opening your eyes.

You groan, getting up and holding your head.

Luck stared at you, ‘Am I deserving of your love?’ he could only think.

“I don’t understand”

“What’s there to understand? I think you have a beautiful heart Luck, ever since I met you you’ve only given me a reason to look forward to my day, you make me happier.”

His eyes watered

“I would do anything for you” you pet his head.

Then and there, he realised how valuable he was to you and frankly how much you meant to him.

“Don’t ever do that again” he hugged you, not tight enough to hurt you but firm, “I’ll do my upmost best protecting you now”

“Can’t make any promises,” you snickered and hugged him tightly.

“I got him good! You should’ve seen his face when I kicked his ass, now he knows not to lay a fucking hand on you again - if he’s even capable enough to recover”

you were silenced.

“I thought I hated romance and love, maybe I was wrong about it” Luck gave his usual laugh and tucked you back to rest.

you were at a loss for words, mouth gaping like a fish.

“no more talking, you gotta recover so we can spar when you’re as good as new!” he grinned widely.

—

“No Noelle, I KNOW it’ll work this time!” You were determined that this attempt was going to be the finale, because it was going to work.

“I’ll have the tissues ready!” she really had no hope for you.

Vanessa giggled and hit you hard in the back.

“come on! I believe you got it this time!”

“The blind leading the blind…” Gauche mumbled.

Luck sped into the house after finishing his spar

“Hey hey Y/N!!”

He sped up and held your hand to his shirt.

“Can you feel my shirt?”

You were puzzled, raising your brow to Magna who followed behind him looking like he was preparing himself for the worst.

“Yeah?”

“You know what material it is?”

“cotton..?”

“Nah. Boyfriend material.”

..

you exploded red. Vanessa was cackling and Noelle and Magna could only shake their heads in disappointment. Finral was nodding in approval.

“And that! is how you pull girls!” Finral slapped Luck on his back.

Maybe your efforts weren’t in vain, Luck did realise his feelings for you.

“Hey Y/N? How about we spar?”

You were still lost for words yet again, but you smiled.

“Yeah, of course Luck”

[bdudette]

Arachnophobia

Summary: You’re afraid of spiders, and you want to become Tony Stark’s assistant.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Tony Stark x Platonic!Reader, Peter Parker x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: arachnophobia, fluff, scared reader, cute Peter

“You will work mostly with me and Dr. Banner.” Tony Stark, yes, the Tony Stark, explains as you try to keep up with his steady steps. You are close to reaching your goal, working as a lab assistant at the Avengers Tower.

“OH,” you nod, fearing to say something stupid and messing up this job interview.

“Don’t worry,” Tony stops in his tracks to flash you a smile, “he barely turns into his green alter ego these days.”

You giggle. “I’m not afraid of Dr. Banner because I don’t have a reason. I’m not a villain.”

Tony chuckles. “I know that you’re neither a villain nor a criminal. I did my research before even inviting you to the interview.”

Your cheeks heat up. Of course, Tony Stark would do a complete background check when receiving your application for the position. The Avengers reside in the building too. He’d never risk their safety.

“I hope you didn’t find out I stole a candy when I was four,” you reply, hoping to ease the tension in your body with a joke.

“I saw the footage,” he grins and points at the laboratory. “Let’s head inside. You can meet Dr. Banner and Peter.”

“Peter?” You question.

“I took him under my wing,” Tony replies. “He’s a good boy. Incredibly smart and kind-hearted. Hopefully, a younger version of me.”

You nod. That’s a lot to shoulder at such a young age. Being brilliant and having someone like Tony Stark want you to become his protégé. You envy and pity the young man. It’s hard to stand in a great man’s shadow.

“Shall we?” Tony puts his hand on a scanner at the door. The door beeps but doesn’t open. He leans forward, using the iris scanner to unlock the next lock. Lastly, he types in a code on the keypad. The door finally unlocks, and you can enter the laboratory.

“Wow,” you gasp. You knew that there was going to be lots of security. But Stark’s security system is still impressive.

“Welcome to the laboratory, Mr. Stark, Ms. Y/L/N.” Friday welcomes you to the laboratory. And what can you say? It’s even more impressive than you thought possible.

You look around, clasping your hands together. Bruce and Steve, who came around to let Bruce check on his shield for scientific purposes (which means Bruce wants to shoot a laser at the shield) watch you twirl around while giggling like a child.

“This is so awesome!” You exclaim, making all of them chuckle. They admire your honest enthusiasm and happiness at the sight of the laboratory.

“Hi, Mr. Stark, the new suit is awesome!” A voice stops you from getting even more excited. You look around the room, trying to find the source of the voice. Captain Rogers and Bruce didn’t say a word, nor did Tony. “Hi, miss! You must be the new lab assistant.”

“What—I?” You look around the room again before you slowly look at the ceiling. A bloodcurdling scream tears from your throat, seeing a human-sized spider on the ceiling. “Ahhhhh! No! A spider…A huge spider…A spider…a spider…”

You run toward the door, but it won’t open, so you make a beeline to jump right into Captain America’s arms. Clinging to a very surprised Steve like a koala, you wrap your legs around him and hide your face in his chest. Your teeth shatter, and you whimper in distress.

“Mr. Stark?” You hear something drop to the ground and whine loudly. “I didn’t want to scare her. What did I do?”

“Y/N,” Tony wants to laugh about the scene unfolding in front of him. You’re wrapped around Steve while he looks at Tony, wide-eyed. Steve doesn’t dare to move or say anything, afraid to scare you even more. “Uh, that’s not a spider.”

“It is a huge spider!” You sniffle and hold tight onto Steve for dear life. “HUGE! SPIDER!”

“Uh-miss,” Peter clears his throat. “I’m not a spider. I’m Spiderman.” He slowly steps toward you, tapping a hidden button on the brand-new suit, Tony invented, to let it disappear. “But you can call me Peter.”

Peter holds out his hand, giving you a cracked smile as you slowly dip your head to look his way. In front of you stands a friendly young man, not a spider wanting to scare you.

“Sorry for scaring you. I tried my new suit and crawled around the ceiling to test it,” he explains. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re…Spiderman…” Realization dawns on you. Crap, this is the Avengers’ tower, and the young man is Spiderman. “OH…no!” You sniffle, embarrassed. “I didn’t want to freak out. I’m sorry too.” You’re still shaken from the encounter, but smile at him. “Sorry…I’m just scared of spiders since one crawled up my leg and bit me when I was a kid.”

You both chuckle when Peter tells you he got bitten once too. He keeps the part of the bite turning him into a human spider out.

“Okay, let us all calm down and laugh it off.” Tony releases a shuddering breath. He feared you’d quit your job right after he hired you. “Steve, could you please let my assistant down now? We are not done with our little tour.”

Steve clears his throat. He forgot about the fact that you’re clinging to his body and that he protectively wrapped his arms around you.

“I think she needs a break,” Steve says, and refuses to let go of you. “Let’s get her some tea and something to eat. That was a stressful situation.”

Tony cocks a brow. He doesn’t like how Steve reacts to you in his arms. “Capsicle. No. We are not done with my tour.”

“What?” Steve furrows his brows. He already walks toward the door with you in his arms. “I’ll show her around. First stop, the kitchen, next to the communal room, and then her place at the tower. I think the room next to mine would be a good choice.”

Steve carefully places you on your feet. He looks you all over, listening to your heartbeat. Luckily, it slowed down.

“Shall we go?” Steve offers his arm to you. “I’ll give you the Steve tour.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony watches Steve guide you out of the laboratory.

“Great, now he stole my lab assistant before I got the chance to work with her.”

Bruce turns back to his work, while Peter still feels guilty for scaring you. He plans on making things up to you soon. Maybe he can even help you lose your fear of spiders...

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