#( but it slowly starts to encroach on it ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 1 year ago

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old, grizzled retired alpha!Price who gets stuck in his cabin with omega!Reader when the winter roads, the only way in and out of his domain, melt with the encroaching spring. and really. what's an alpha like him supposed to do when an untouched, unclaimed omega like you—so sweet, so desperate—is thrown headfirst into a vicious, blistering heat without any suppressants. it's not like either of you really have a choice, after all.

dub con; age difference; power imbalance; rough sex; size difference, size kink; abo dynamics: knotting; breeding kink (astronomical); mean!Price, Dom!Price; unsafe sex; oral (f!receiving); slight innocence kink; implied kidnapping; coercion; slight baby trapping; possessive, greedy Price pulling strings from behind the scenes, as per usual. this is basically Alpha John Price knotting Omega Reader in mating press, bullying you into submission

It's an accident, of course.

An unfortunate combination of poor timing and human error.

But this accident culminates in Price folding his body over you—mating press, you note a touch hysterically; you'd have expected him to be all tradition: presenting to an alpha on your hands and knees, cunt bare for the taking, waiting to be claimed. And while it might not be traditional, Price will claim you tonight. Bully his cock into your drenched cunt, split you wide on the thick of him, on his knot (fuck, fuck, fuck—), and keep you plugged up around him until the unexpected heat passes.

And really. What's an old, grizzled alpha like him supposed to do when an untouched, unclaimed omega like you—so sweet, so desperate—is thrown headfirst into a vicious, blistering heat. It's not like either of you really have a choice, after all. It's agony. It's want. Primal, instinctual. You need him. Ache with it. The urge, the desperation, to be filled. Claimed. Conquered. Owned.

As he presses bluntly against your drenching slit, notching heavy and insistent into your fluttering, aching hole, spilling slick in thick rivulets down your thighs, over the engorged head of his cock, you can't help but wonder how could you be so stupid?

“Spread your legs for me.”

The command rolls off of his tongue, slips—liquid, molten—down his chin, where it dangles for a moment. Pebbled hest. A globbing demand. You want to roll away when it starts to fall, unspooling slowly until it drips down to your chest, but you can't. You're stuck. Trapped. All you can do is watch helplessly as this barking order, matchstick casuistry, touches your kerosene-slick skin, igniting in a bloom of fire that spreads, rapidly, through your veins. Your body.

An Alpha's whim must be met. Even this one. This one—

Your former chief, boss. Now retired in the mountains, chiselling out a little place for himself in a corrie, pitching this log bivouac beside a marbled blue tarn. Cut off from the rest of civilisation every spring when the only way in—and out—melted into a raging, uncrossable stretch of river. The ravine frothing too furiously for boats to dock safely on either side. Trapped here with him until next winter—

(oh god oh god—)

You don't know how it got to this point. Scorched. Soaked. With him leaning over you, in all his tartarean glory, making demands of your body as easily as pulling on loose thread between his thick fingers.

You could blame Gaz for this.

Sat pretty at his desk, idling a jar of gun oil in his hands. Your gun is spread out on the desk, taken apart. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he said, “someone should check in on Price. Haven't heard from him in a while.”

Through a quick game of hierarchy, that someone ended up being you. Forced to trek halfway up a mountain just to make sure your mercurial boss didn't die over the winter. Bitten off more than he could chew and too much of a proud Alpha to admit defeat, and call for help.

You had enough suppressants to last you there and back. Three days. One in the morning, one in the afternoon. Price, despite his surly disposition, is an intense Alpha to be around—

Even for Betas.

Some, unintentionally, succumb to his whims without even a forethought spared on rationality. It's innate. He says something, and people listen—

Like now. Hours after you discovered your suppressants were gone, and his heavy, cloying scent thickened in the air, suffocating you. When he leaned against the thick log doorframe on the porch of his cabin, thick arms folded across his broad chest, murmured, “come all this way just to see me?” and all at once, the world fell out from under you—

Plunging you into his arms, his embrace. His growl in your ear, “you’re in heat,” he grunted, fists balled against your sides. “fuckin’ Christ—” and the death sentence he imparted on you: “either I take care of this, or your heat becomes too much for me, and I tear you to pieces. But it doesn't matter does it, mm? You can't make it back down in this state,” more snarling anger, dry heat. Scorching. His chin jerked to the river at the foot of the mountain. “In a few hours, It’ll be melted through. Uncrossable.”

Per usual, John Price leaves you very little room for choice, doesn't he?

Slowly, shakily, your pitched knees part, unveiling your bare cunt to the man towering over you with a condescending coo on his lips, red-hot desire in his smouldering Tartarean eyes.

“Tha’s it,” he murmurs, voice full of sarky delight. “Such a good omega for me, aren't you?”

It’s not meant to be answered—the jeer chock full of hyperbole. Despite this, your body responds instantly. Back arching, legs spreading out wider around the bulk of his frame, nearly flush against the warmed fur covering the floor of the cabin—wolf, he muttered proudly before he pushed you down against the soft pelt, mouthing teasing at your jaw. Chest heaving. Fingers curling, knotting into the pelt.

The urge to present for him is intense. An unanswerable call when he pins you down on your back, body a cage keeping you trapped where you lay. Open, inviting. All for him.

This surly, awful man—

His hands are rough, padded with calluses and hard, jagged scars that jut up from his flesh. It feels abrasive, sandpaper grit, when he leans down, hand pressed against your knee. The drag, then, when he lets it drop down the skin of your inner thigh, makes you keen in the back of your throat. Gnarled palms bleed heat into your soft skin. The contrast is dizzying—size, scale, texture; it all leaves you breathless. Victim to your own instincts, ones that scream at you to roll over. To run. To make this massive, virile alpha yours—

He cups your pussy in the palm of his hand, heel pressed against your clit, fingers sliding between your slit, touching your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. The way the length of it swallows you whole, long, thick fingers reaching beneath you, grazing the cheeks of your ass, sets you on fire in a way you've never felt before.

Price sees it. He must. He leans back on his haunches, broad chest heaving as he stares, transfixed, at his hand folding over you, wrist propped against your mons.

He groans low in his chest. When he speaks, desire scorches his words to cinders.

“Ever had an Alpha's cock here?”

His question is scorching.

In a small town, choice is slim. The ratio of alpha to omega, and beta to both, is skewed highly in the latter's favour. You think, Price included, there are maybe five eligible alphas in the whole township. Two omegas, yourself included. Everyone else—

Unbothered, unburdened by this horrific anomaly of genetics, of lingering animal instinct. A relic of when people were more beast than man.

But even with that, the suitors lining up ready to claim you since you arrived three years ago is negligible. Nearly nonexistent.

The shame of it is absurd. You know without any shadow of a doubt that your worth is not measured by the number of Alpha's wanting to claim you, but that prickling unease in the back of your head won't be quelled by common sense. Who cares, you want to scream. Who fucking cares—

“No,” you bluster; choking on your anger, your shame. Despite being an omega—rare as they are—everyone in town seemed soured by your scent. Adverse to the pungent pheromones you released innately.

“No?” He echoes, and the stab of worthlessness needling into your pericardium makes you want to howl, want to cry.

He doesn't let you. He leans down, hand resting on the floor beside your head, the other still anchored to your cunt, and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. His breath is a humid kiss that tickles across your flesh.

“Good.”

The praise bubbles in your marrow. You melt under the heat, whimpering. Head lulling to the side, exposing your neck. Offered up for him to take.

He huffs, chest expanding. The coarse bed of hair tangled on his sternum in a smattering of black catches on your nipples, the rough graze making you gasp, soundless, into the humid space between your bodies. Aching already and he barely touched you.

Price follows the twist of your chin, lips pressed flush to your ear. With him crowding so close, you can feel the rumble, the low vibration, through his chest before he even speaks. A soft purr, sultry and rich. Pulling you deeper into the throes of your submission with a startling ease.

“I don't share, and I'd hate to have to tear another alpha apart for touching you,” his beard scrapes against your cheek, words soaked in possessive fury at the thought alone. “You're mine.”

You want to fight against it. Against him. No one owns you. Has claimed you.

You have only ever belonged to yourself.

“M’not—”

Price shushes you with a nip, blunt teeth dragging down the plush flesh of your earlobe. “Don't fight it, love. Just—give in.”

You won't. Can't—

Despite the heat—heavy, oppressive, and wet, like the balmy swelter of a tropical jungle; bubbling dross on molten metal—you fight. Rage. Push back against the heady scent he exudes, ones meant to soothe, melt. Until you're malleable. Tensile. Mouldable to fit his needs, his desires, his cock. Putty in his scorching hands.

It bleeds through, though—noxious and potent. The acrid miasma of a wild, untameable man: leather, hide, and animal rot; bleached bones; felled timbre. A wet forest after a wildfire; charred wood, argillaceous soil. Damp. Cloying. Choking.

Reeking of authoritative power, he leans over you, breathes in the heaving exhales you let out. Lets the taste of you sit on his tongue, curl between his crooked teeth.

He's close like this. All fire, all heat. And underneath the scent of a pursuing alpha, you pick up hints of him. Of what he smelled like before, when you were his subordinate and he spent most of his days making yours miserable. Stale smoke, wet tobacco, old leather, dry whiskey.

You hate how much it calls to you.

Maybe sensing your defiance, or growing tired of this push-pull game, he huffs out a breath that sounds less aggrieved than you'd want it to, full of playful amusement. Like he expected this. Like he knew you'd fight back with brittle fists and wicked teeth.

Price pulls back, leaning against his haunches. Content now to devour you at a distance. His eyes leave a scorching trail from your heaving breast, your quivering stomach before fixing once again on the way your pussy is swallowed by his hand. His middle finger circles your sopping hole. The tease is a burst of pleasure, of sensation. A tickle, a taunt. The drag of it makes a loud, sticky noise; the unmistakable slosh, the squelch of just how wet you are for him.

And it is for him. All for him.

Your heat is an incipient bloom on the horizon—a slow, crawling sunrise. You shouldn't be this slick yet. This drenched.

The embarrassment blisters through you when he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. A loan bitten, swallowed before it can fully form.

Price coos, voice scorched. Full of char. “All’fer me, mm? Such a good little omega.”

You hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it—

—but nearly choke yourself on a moan.

He chuckles, dark and rich. The sound entirely too similar to crushing a fistful of charcoal, and you're reminded suddenly why he's unmated at the age he is.

Surly bastard. As approachable as a fucking grizzly bear in a rut.

Your lips twist, jerking downward. “Fuck you—”

He circles your rim once more, chuffing low as he does so, letting the slick noise of your soaked cunt speak on his behalf.

You bite back a snarl, letting it fizzle out in the back of your throat. However reckless you might be, however much you might dislike him, he's still an alpha. Snarling in his face would only get you bent over his knee (at best).

And at worst, well. Maybe they'll find whatever is left of you next spring.

Next spring.

Thinking about just how long you're trapped here with him—no phone, no service—makes you want to cry. To break down, to—

No. You can't. Won't. Not in front of him.

Not Price. The awful man who spent three years picking away at everything you've ever done. Writing you up for every little misstep. You wondered then, and you still wonder now, if he hated you because you were an omega who dared to work with him, as his equal, or if his brand of distaste was just for you.

(The latter, it must be—he’s always been so kind to Alex, an older omega.

You're just the exception.)

This sprawling train of thought is clipped when he sinks his finger into you, to the second knuckle, and you choke.

“Ah, fuck, don't—”

He curls his finger. “Protest as much as you'd like, but if you didn't want this, your pussy wouldn't be this fuckin’ wet would it, love?”

He's right. You hate him for it.

But he doesn't give you a chance to complain. He slips his finger out, the wet drag of your flesh pulling on him, unwilling to let go, is loud. Awful. You burn hot—hotter still when he groans at the noise.

“Such a good girl for me, ain't you?”

Price circles your entrance as he says it, pressing two fingers against your rim, rubbing. Gathering slick. You wish it didn't feel as good as it did—electric shocks of pleasure sparking at his touch, but the feel of it is a tease. You want more. Much more—

He presses those long, thick fingers inside again. Two this time. All you can do is mewl around the sudden stretch, the sting.

Your discomfort is a palpable thing. Unease, distress—the acid scent plumes around you, leaking from your pores. Price stops suddenly, fingers still crooked in a half knot inside you.

“You're tight,” he drawls, jowls working. Tensing. His eyes flash, heat lightning. “You—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowing into slits. They drop down to where he disappears inside of you, flesh stretched tight around him. Drilling into the way the slick runs down his fingers, over his knuckles, drenching the back of his hand, and he hums.

“Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

More shame. It bubbles in your chest, this awful, insidious thing.

It hasn't been for a lack of suitors, really. But rather, other things have always taken precedence over heats, over ruts. School, then your career. And well—

Betas around here don't seem very interested, either.

Maybe you have peculiar wants. Urges, needs, that you've always been hesitant to fill. A wellspool of desire that runs deep, vicious. You want to mate. For keeps.

Maybe they can scent that on you. A loud cry that says, stay away.

You take a shuddering breath before nodding shallowly, twisting your head away so you don't have to look at the patronising gleam swirling in frothing Tryhennian.

“Look at me.”

The command bludgeons your resolve. Your chin jerks back immediately. Desperate to obey. To listen. Frantic with the urge to quell the alpha, to soothe his plight—

But where you expect anger, you're met with the most peculiar sort of expression etching itself into his brow, his rugged face.

His lips parted, lax. The picture of surprise.

Your eyes widen. A gasp is ripped from your throat at the raw, fractured look in his eyes. It's new, this. Unexpected. Where you anticipated scorn is instead a slow, unwinding look of want, of greed, so thick, it glues to the air.

Patchwork hunger, predatory and damning, hews into your skin. Fine needles piercing, pricking, along your flesh.

Branded ownership. You feel it settle against your chest. Dig in when his chest expands with his, hissing inhale.

There's a dark tremble to his shoulders that makes your toes curl.

“I should take this slow, then, mm? Prep you. Get you nice and ready for my cock,” his words have you keening, arching for him. Achingly empty. His hand lifts, settles against your quivering stomach. The slightest pressure makes you shake, quieten; submitting to the touch. “But. I don't have the patience for that.”

He slots his thighs between your legs, pressing it tight against your cunt. The pressure—blissful pleasure; frantic at the touch—is almost your undoing, but there's a plexiglass between full submission and the urge to flee. Still. The heat is rapacious. The desire, the yearning, doesn't abate.

The haze is thick. So thick. It would be easy to slip under the veil, to let yourself go. To give in—

"Easy, omega," it comes out as a guttural rasp; the charcoaled command uttered in a mockingly placating tone. The sort one might use to soothe a wild animal or a startled mare. Fitting, of course, when you're rutting against the thick spread of his thigh, leaking slick all over him.

down girl, he doesn't say, but he might as well have because you're clenched tight around nothing, aching hollowly in a way that rings through your bones. You can't help it, you want to whine when he huffs, lips pulling downward in a frown. Disappointed in you, perhaps. But how do you fight instinct when you're hardwired to want to spread your legs at the pungent, lour stench of a virile alpha's incipient rut, the briny tang of his pre-cum saturating the air. A heady elixir that sends shockwaves of agonising need through your body.

It's too much. The burn of your heat is a vicious, deadly combatant. Knife to your jugular, hand around your throat, it demands compliance.

And when he reaches down to his stained slacks, drawing your eye to the tent in the front, to the dark pool at the front where he leaks his spend into the fabric, you keen. Jealousy scorching through you instantly at the sight; animal instinct that makes you want to bare your teeth at it because his cum is just for you, all for you—

Amusement pierces the air. Punctuates it with the heavy, noxious weight of his satisfaction.

He hums, reaches into his slacks. Curls his fist around the thick of himself.

“Want this, don't you?”

You gnash your teeth against your desperation, legs popping open further. Inviting. Eager.

“Of course you do. Want this—” he frees his cock, pulling it over the band of his trousers, and you choke.

It's wet with his spend, and angry looking. The mushroomed head engorged, swollen. Flushed a deep vermillion. Veins run the length of it. Pulsing with his need. His want.

Price groans, strokes his hand down his shaft. Pearlescent beads of pre-cum bubble up from the tip.

You ache. Suddenly, viciously. Hollow. Empty. You want him. Need him—

“Yeah? Want this fat cock inside of you, mm?”

And you, finally, give in—

"Please, please, Price—"

"No." He taps the head of his cock against your clit once, twice. A warning. A reprimand. You keen at the whitehot agony, the unfathomable burn of pleasure ripping through your body. He coos into it. Echoing your whimper with a derisive snort. Mocking. Cruel. You hate him. Hate him. Need him so badly you think you might go insane if he doesn't pry you apart right this instant—

"I'll give you my knot when I'm good and ready. Now, be good for me, mm?” His eyes are dark in the harsh flicker of the wood stove. Burning liquid black. Molten puddles of crushed sapphire. You hate the way he looks at you. Hate how it makes you want to roll over on your belly, soft and submissive, giving all of yourself over to this terrible man. “That's it. Good omegas get what they want. Bad ones get punished. And I don't think you'll like being taken over my knee, would you?"

His words send a fresh wave of heat through your veins. Hellfire. Scorching. You want to blame the fever on the stove burning away in the corner of the room, on a sickness you can't scrape off of your bones no matter how many times you chisel into your skin. An infection eating away at you from the inside out.

But it's futile. He doesn't care about your excuses. He never has—

“Spread yourself. Go on and show me that pretty cunt you want me to ruin so badly.”

Unspooled, liquid under his bulk, you don't even hesitate before your fingers unfurl from their fight knot in the fur, making a slow, timorous crawl down the supine length of your sun-scorched body.

Your flesh feels foreign, like it belongs to a stranger. To someone else. Each touch is a phantom whisper gliding along sweat-slicked skin; new and different, and not yours.

Not yours at all because your skin would never prickle with goosebumps over the sight of your chief kneeling between your legs, the hair on his thigh matted, slick with your wetness. The unruly black thatch darkening into a patch where you shamelessly rutted against him, eagerly seeking friction over the place you ache the most.

For him. All for him.

It's impossible. Impossible. And yet—

As your fingers curl over the tops of your thighs, notching into the soft, heated flesh at the bend of your hip and groin, you feel just how soaked you are for him. How wet. How eager. It stains your skin, reaches almost down your bent knees. Beneath you is a puddle drenching the fur.

Your fingers slip, sliding in the mess you made. You flush when he huffs, humoured by it all, and dip your chin away from the scorching, piercing look in his cerulean eyes, drilling holes in the apex of your thighs. Greedily taking in his fill as your fingers glide over your sopping folds, gingerly parting them. Presenting to him on your back. Ripe for the taking.

“One hand,” he rasps, words clicking in his throat. He holds his hand up, curling his fingers down and leaving his index and middle finger up in a pointed V. “And the other—” he swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing. “I want you to touch your clit for me.”

You follow his instructions, slipping your fingers between your folds, opening yourself up for him. Your other hand sits on your mons, fingertips brushing your swollen clit as heat floods you. Electric. Each touch is a shock of pleasure roiling down your spine, and more slick dribbles out of you, dripping down your aching, empty hole, down your ass, until it soaks into the furs below.

The scent of a needy omega fills the air. Your scent.

Where most are sweet, supple, yours has always had a bite. A tartness to it, an earthy tang. Boysenberry. Loam. Lemongrass. Beeswax. You bluster. Flushing. Embarrassment plumes up, mushrooming in the air—smoked orange peels, coral berry sour—and you wonder if he's repelled by it, this strange smell of yours—

Price’s head rolls back, nose pitched in the air. Breathing in deep, groaning with his exhale. Eyes fluttering, flashing. He eats it clean from the air. Mouth dropping open, panting.

It's then when the unmistakable musk of a pleased Alpha—smoked tobacco and sage—clots beside your scent do you feel the prickle of free will hewing into your periphery.

None of what he demanded of you carried the unignorable weight of a command. Before you can even think of the ramifications of that, he's moving. Heavy body falling, sliding down the furs. His hands come to rest, hot and firm, on your knees, spreading you wider, wider, to fit the boxy heft of his broad body between them.

He hovers over you, head bending to fit in the brackets of your thighs. Leading with nose, nostrils flaring, fluttering, as he pulls in deep lungfuls of your scent. Over and over, and—

His head bows. Humid air ghosting over your sopping cunt when he exhales. It's then when he dips his chin further, further, until the bottom of his face is flush with your pussy, mouth parting around a groan that reverberates through the floorboards, rattles your bones.

“You smell s’fuckin’ good, love,” he rasps, choked. His eyes are gyres. They might just swallow you whole. You fight back a shiver, resolve threadbare. Stitches coming apart. “Bet you'd taste even better.”

It's all the warning you get before he pushes his face into you, mouth dropping open to let his tongue lull out. Licking a scorching stripe from hole to clit. And, oh—

Oh.

Your head drops, eyes slipping closed at the liquid feeling between your thighs. The whitehot sensation of his tongue laving across your slit.

So this—this—is what you've been missing out on. Pure feeling. Molten. It blooms in your loins, knots tight like a spooled bow.

Your fingertips are in the way from him pressing his tongue flat against your clit, where you throb the most, and you move to pull your hand away. To give him access to everything, all of it. Every part of you he wants. It's all his, his, so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with his mouth, his tongue—

But his hand slashes through the air, snatching your wrist in a vice grip. Stopping your retreat. You whimper, hips flexing up, wanting his mouth. Needing more of what he's doing between your thighs.

“Look at me,” he demands. You obey. Instantly. His eyes are black holes. Everdark. Eclipsed, totally, by the bleed of his black pupils spreading out. You moan, thighs parting wider, wider. “Good girl. Such a good omega for me, aren't you?”

He doesn't let you answer. Draws your wet fingers to his mouth, pressing the pads against his lower lip, nails scratching his teeth. He breathes in, shoulders bunching up. Eyes fluttering again, rolling back in his head. And it's divine—

To have such a surly, contemptuous Alpha on his knees for you, fat, heavy cock drooping between his thighs, spitting a steady stream of spend onto the floor. Wasteful. You keen again, back arching. Needy. Wanting—

Price sucks in your fingers, tongue laving between your knuckles. The pressure, the feeling, is good. You like this. Like his mouth.

But your fingers are not where you want him.

“Please, Price. Please—”

He pulls off with a pop. Leans his cheek on your inner thigh.

“What do you want? Use your words, omega.”

Heat blooms in your chest, but you're long past the point of embarrassment anymore. Shame. It's all awash under the torrent of need. Desire. Swept in the rage of your heat. Nearly rendered delirious by it.

“Want your mouth.”

“Where?”

“M–my—” you swallow, fingers spreading your folds wider. Opening yourself up to him. He glances down, nostrils flaring once again. But he doesn't move. Won't. You groan, head rolling back. “My pussy. Please. Want your mouth on my pussy, Price—”

He groans, low. Dark. But then he's moving. Head bowing. His tongue is scorching. Whitehot. He drags it through your folds, teasing at your rim. Presses it inside, just a touch, a shallow thrust. And—

Ah.

You make a noise in the back of your throat. Awful, wet. Choking. The feeling of his tongue inside of you is good. Beyond words.

It slips in more. The full length. Stuffed. You keen, arching. Aching. Hips flexing, jerking against his mouth. He lets you ride his face like this, fucking your hole with his fat tongue, nose glued tight to your clit.

All you can do is sob his name, fingers curling, knotting, into his damp hair, holding him close.

His tongue leaves you, sliding up your seam until it cups your clit. Laves over it. He lifts his chin, and seals his mouth over you. Sucks—

The spool unravels. Pressure released. You flood around him, on him. Pussy gushing slick over his chin, drenching him. Drowning him.

Lips sealed over your throbbing clit, he moans low. Deep. Eyes rolling back in his head. Gyre blue.

“Tha’s it,” he coos, pushing two thick fingers inside your throbbing cunt. “Think you're about ready for my cock, ain't you?”

He doesn't let you answer. And—

You don't think you can form a coherent thought. Running on sensation. On instinct. You make to roll over on your belly, ass pushed into the air, ready for his knot, but he stops you. Hands squeezing your hips. Firm.

“No. I'll take you like this.”

And it's hard to reconcile the urge to present with his demands. His wants. You whimper. He answers it with a grunt.

“Stay still.”

You flatten to the fur, body melting. Lax.

“Good girl.”

The praise is a serrated knife to your jugular, cutting a jagged line across your skin. Spilling blood. You quieten under his bulk, now. Desperate. Docile. Collared in blood.

His hands push behind your knees, lifting your legs. Pushing, pushing. Until they rest under your ears. Spread open for him. Ready to be claimed, owned. Bred.

“Price, Price, please—”

He shushes you with a coo, pitching your heels over his shoulders. Shuffling closer until his heavy cock, hanging thick and fat between his legs, bumps against your ass. Your cunt. You whimper, back arching. Needing him to fill you up. Split you apart.

Ruin you—

“Gonna fuck you now. Knot you.”

It's a warning. A threat. You feel it trail over your skin, branding. A collar. You lift your chin, letting it settle there. So long as he makes you feel this good, he can do whatever he wants to you. Anything—

And so, he does.

His cock is a heavy weight against you, pressing. Pushing. He doesn't wait for you to adjust, for your body to acclimate to the burning stretch of him splitting you apart.

Your slick aids in the brutal onslaught of his cock prying your untouched flesh apart, chiselling open a space just for him to fit.

It should hurt more. And maybe it would if you weren't drowning in the throes of a vicious heat, numbed to everything but the way his cock feels as it slides, inch after inch, inside of you. Thick, fat. Pulsing. You pant shallowly, head turning. Chin pressing into your shoulder.

It's good. This burn, this ache. This madness—

“Christ—” he spits, sounding almost angry. Furious. You peer up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. Through the murky haze, you catch the clench of his jaw, the prominent divot between his brows. Face tightening with pleasure. Rapturous. “This cunt was made for me, wasn't it, love?”

“Yes—” it's breathless. An airless whisper. “All yours, all yours, John—”

You repeat this as he reaches halfway inside of you. As he bends down, mouth feverish he slots it greedily over your lips in a bruising, sloppy kiss. You mutter it against his teeth, his tongue. He swallows your acquiescence, your submission, down with a moan. Drinks you in as he takes, takes, until you're full of him. Stuffed.

John bottoms out with a moan that trembles down your throat, balls pressed flush against your ass. Split apart on him. Claimed.

He settles, letting you adjust to the sensation. Content to simply mouth sloppy kisses over your face, your cheek, jaw. Nipping your skin. Basking in this, in finally having you stretched around him. His pleasure is ripe in the air. Heavy and acrid. Smoked leather. Fresh, and heady.

It's novice, this feeling. This pressure. This fullness. Your hand drops, falls, palm sliding between his heavy, hairy belly, resting over yours. Feeling the unmistakable bump of him rearranging your anatomy to fit—barely—in you.

He lifts up, elbow dropping to the floor beside your head so he, too, can feel for himself the way he fits within you. His hand comes to lay beside yours, flattening over the bulge of him protruding from your flesh. His cock jerks inside of you, twitching. The feeling makes your toes curl, your cunt throb.

“Like that, huh?”

Your nod is slowly, languorous. Everything feels unreal. Like you're staring at the world from underwater. Inky. Fractured. Raw.

The burn of the stretch is there, throbbing like a bruise. A contusion. He scents the sting, the ache, and slides his hand down, cupped over your swollen, stuffed pussy. Fingers tangling into the thick bed of curls grazing your mons. Price quells the burn with a swipe of his thumb rolling over your clit.

It has you clenching, tightening even further around him. Feeling the thick stretch thrumming inside of you. Plugging you up. And fuck—

If that doesn't just light you up from the inside out. Supernova. Blistering heat.

Pieces of yourself chip off, fluttering to the soft, downy fur below you with each heavy breath he takes. Your heat swells to a crescendo, breaking over the edge of your lingering cognisance. It's all sensation now. Pure, unfettered feeling.

And Price takes no time at all to exploit it. To batter your melting, liquid body into submission even further.

It starts with shallow grinds against the plug of your womb. Carving more space inside of you for him to fit, to ruin.

He fucks you like this. Cock heavy and fat inside of you. Giving you the full length until your rim catches on the burgeoning swell of his knot. Over and over again. Pulling deep, delirious moans from your throat. Breaking you to pieces on the spread of him seated deep. Tugging more and more compliance from your body, wringing pleasure out of every nerve ending.

The sounds are horrific, and had you any sense of self left to mull over them, your shame, embarrassment, would have burned you alive. The wet squelch of your cunt swallowing him down, over and over and over again—

“Needy little pussy,” he bites out, blunt teeth skirting over your pulse point. A tease.

The press of them heightens everything, elevating it to a tipping point.

This is what you were made for. What every atom in your body screams out to. Wanting. Needing to be spread out under him, this dark, awful man.

“I'm not going to claim you,” he's saying, words wet against your temple, tongue snaking out to catch the droplets of sweat beading on your hairline.

It makes you whine in dismay, desperate for his teeth buried in your skin.

“No, no, please—! I need it, John, I need it—”

“Then beg me. Beg for it—”

You do. It babbles out of you. Broken, fractured. Pleas, orisons, screamed to heavens; aching for his teeth on you, in you. Claiming you for his own. You want it more than you think you've ever wanted anything in your whole thing. Half of you, empty and vacant, hollow, begging to be filled. To be completed.

And really—

You've felt it from the beginning. This stirring, agonising want. Desire. A bone-deep yearning for the man who looked at you, up and down, and dismissed you with a charred scoff and shallow shake of his head.

“What's a little omega like you doin’ runnin’ around the woods, love? Ought to be at home—”

Where you belong.

It didn't make sense at the time. He's so different with everyone else—Alex, Farah—but reserves his scorn, his discrimination, just for you. Special little thing, aren't you?

But even still. Still. You tried. Struggled against the crushing weight of his derision, burying your fingers into the rubble, clinging on for three, devastating years until your nails broke, bled. Left stains on the pavement. Until he, stiff-lipped and clipped, told you he was retiring. Escaping the loose binds of a non-existent town on the fringes of civilisation for the sanctum of the wild, untamed forest. The mountains.

You wanted him to say, come with me, even if you might have gouged his eyes out for even asking. Tore his still-beating heart out with your bare hands.

But instead, he nodded at you. A quiet goodbye. Left you bewildered, furious, and unclaimed, unwanted, and now—

Those blood-stained fingers dig into the softness of his nape, biting flesh until it gives, breaks, under the jagged stumps of your nails, and you wrench him forward, into you, snarling mad. Apoplectic with fury at being denied so long.

“Fuck you,” you bite out, brittle with ire. Disobedient even through the noxious curdle of heat subduing your senses. Your rationale. “Fuck you, John—!”

His skin breaks first. The bitter scent of hot, wet pavement, pennies in the summer sun, sickly sweet iron, fills the balmy cabin. He groans, choked, throat bobbing, jaw clenching. You don't let him get anything out.

You pull him by the scruff of his neck into you, face buried in your collarbones. Heels dig in, sliding along the slick sweat of his broad back. Finding purchase against the knob of his spine, and pressing. Pushing. Kicking at him until he slots his hips into yours, pressed as deep as he could possibly go. Throbbing inside of you. Spitting molten spend as he wrenches you open.

The first person to ever do so.

He must know this, feel it simmering in the air, because he groans low, deep. It bubbles out of his chest, a half-bitten snarl saturated in the smoke of his desire. Feverish, possessive.

“Mate me,” you demand, head tilting back into the awaiting plinth of his palm, cushioning your crown. “Claim me.”

He—John, you think, delirious; gone—John places a tender kiss to your pulse point, soft despite the uneven, desperate way he fucks into you now. All that careful finesse falling to pieces under your foot, growing choppier as he sinks in deep. Pistoning shallowly into your sloppy cunt, taking. Taking.

“Please, John,” you breathe, clenching tight around him. Needing that last push to drop over this vertiginous precipice that yawns out, a growling, hungry chasm, before you. Heat spears into your marrow, drowning out all the fight inside of you. Dousing those flames until they're a smouldering heap; clumps of hot, wet ash in your hands. “Please take me—”

The growl he makes is inhuman. Lingering in the shadow of it is a mocking burst of laughter. Dark, hellish. He leans in close, mouth tight against your skin, and whispers, “already have, love.”

Those words lose any meaning when he opens his mouth wider, licking a stripe over your neck. A soothing rinse. And then he buries his teeth into your pulse, tearing through your skin. Claiming. Owning. It rips through you—all heat, sensation: blistering, inferno. You burn alive beneath him, smouldered under his possessive, heavy bulk.

Price leans back with a vicious, terrible growl. Blood dripping down his chin, mixing with the tacky slick of you still covering his face. Pinkish under the waning light of the dying sun.

The sight of it, the horrible throb in your throat, breaks over you.

His tongue flicks out, chasing the drops. With a swipe of his finger over your clit, you fall to pieces around him, clenching. Throbbing. Screaming with your release. Gushing around him as he grips you tight, working you through it, muscles fluttering, flexing. The deluge of pleasure is molten, spreading liquid through your body. Inescapable bliss.

He grunts, pace slowing to a sloppy grind. Letting you leech pleasure from the overfull feeling of being speared open on him. Knot swelling. Bumping into your rim. John gives you respite for a moment, content to hump against your messy cunt until you melt into the furs, panting with exertion. With pleasure.

He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, stroking. Shoving you into the side of too much, of pleasure-pain. Overstimulated. You mewl, whimpering.

“Greedy girl,” he chides, cruel, and pulls back. The wet drag of his cock against your sore, sensitive walls is overwhelming. You keen, shaking under him. “Couldn't wait to cum around my knot, mm?”

He doesn't wait for your excuses. He never does. He just thrusts into you again, a slow climb until his knot bludgeons into you. Fatten up at the base of his cock. He holds it there, grinding it against your pussy as you arch, mewling at the sting of your hole being stretched further around the curve of his knot.

“You can take it,” he coos. The muscles in his shoulders flex. You reach out, petting along his chest. feeling him. All powerful, corded muscles hiding under a thick layer of pelt. Soft flesh.

His knot catches. Slips. He bullies it against your sore, stuffed rim, throwing the full heft of his weight behind his shallow grinds until finally, finally, your body yields. Giving in. Opening for him.

He sinks in with a broken groan, mouth dropping open. Lax. His shoulders slump under your hands as he pumps you full of cum. Plugged up tight on his fat, pulsing knot. It's too much. Too much. All you do is cling to him, nails biting into his flesh. Marking him like the bloody ring around your neck marks you as his.

Locked together, damned, he leans down. Huffs in your ear.

“Gonna fuck you full all spring until it takes, love. Until you're swollen, fat, with our kid.” His voice is a thunderclap. A promise. A threat. “Won't keep them lonely for long, though, will you? We'll give him a sister or brother. Gonna breed this pussy as much as I want, mm. Give us a big family. I've already started on the nursery for you. After your heat, I'll let you pick the colours, yeah?”

Satiated Alpha permeates the air. It's thick in the back of your throat, clogging your senses. Drowning you. Pulling you under.

The last thought before you sink below the waterline is a broken, fragmented sense of dread, confusion. It comes in a daze. Flickering embers. Quickly snuffed out by his palm gliding across your eyes, closing them.

“Sleep now,” he rasps, hips stuttering as he fills you with more cum. Uncomfortably full, it floods your cunt, locked tight against your womb. “Gonna need it when my rut starts later.”

And, docile, collared, you obey, drifting. Dazed. But wondering, in the back of your head, in the part of you not yet consumed by the ink-black darkness that eats away at you, why did he build a nursery for you if he didn't know you were coming today—

—swallowed, eaten. his teeth are buried in your neck once more, and all thoughts dissolve in an instant. Dissipate into the gnawing aether where he splits them between his molars, gulps them down.

nothing matters anymore. you belong to him—

The cabin reeks of satiated omega—sweet, pungent. Rotten apple peels, and burnt orange. It's this heavy scent—sex, loam, and you—that draws him out of his doze, tired eyes blinking against the flickering light of the wood stove pushed into the corner.

Price groans when he shifts, body aching. Muscles stiff, sore, from disuse.

It’s been a long, long time since he knotted an omega, and he underestimated the sharpness of your claws, your needle-like teeth. But he wears the marks, the scars, of your aggressive coupling on his shoulders, his back. Clawed up, torn. He grimaces when a clotting scab breaks, peels back from the wound. Blood drips down his spine in a steady, ticklish trickle.

It took a lot more than he expected to make you submit. Had to force you to take his knot twice more before you finally, fully, relented, slurring his name into the sheets as he rutted into you from behind, begging for your Alpha to fill you up.

Had you again after that—so soft and sweet for him now. Pulled you down on his lap, let you take what you wanted from him, sluggish and lazy, until he gripped your hips tight, fucking up into you as he thickened with his release. Plugged you up nicely as you drooled on his shoulder, lulled to sleep from three brutal rounds of fucking.

But the battle was worth the victory in the end. To have you tucked into his chest, purring with contentment and too blissed out from heat exhaustion to worry about anything else, was enough. More than, really.

Especially now, with you curled on him, snoring lightly, breath tickling his chest hair, he feels more sated than he ever had, breathing in the heaviness of your smell. Your thick miasma. New, now. Different.

His scent, his mere essence within you, changes your smell already. Chemicals admixing. Body moulding, morphing, to adapt to him. His presence. You smell like the sea, salt water. Algae blooms. He leans down, breathes you in. Tastes his own headiness in the back of his throat—charred timber, smoke; leather. It clings to you. A second skin.

No matter where you go, everyone will know you belong to him.

This thought, this truism, makes him purr. A deep rumble from the pit of his gut. Satisfaction rolls off of him in towering waves, hewing the air where it congeals into plumes of conquest. Hard earned, too—

Three years. It only took three years to get to this point. To chisel under your skin, to break you down in his paws. Fine powder.

He lifts his hand from your back, and scours it down his salt-slickened face. He feels heat blooming under his skin. A telltale flush of his approaching rut. Perfectly timed, too. And that reminds him—

He pushes away from you slightly, spent cock slipping free from your warm, drenched cunt. His cum drips out of you, a deluge that leaks steadily onto your thigh, the ruined fur below. It puddles there and stains the air with his unmistakable musk. The conquering of an omega in heat; claimed. Owned.

He doesn't go far. Can't. There's a possessive, needy thrill under his veins. A snarling growl in the back of his head, snapping rabid jowls at him. Demanding he stay close to his mate. His omega. Don't leave the nest, it warns, or another could crawl in, fill the empty space—

Price cuts that thought off with an aborted snarl. There are no others. He made sure of it. Bloodied his knuckles against every alpha within a one-hundred-square-mile radius of his territory. Growled in their faces, hand against their throat, and told them to stay away from, you, this pretty little omega.

Message received, of course. But you were a prickly little thing. Bitter. As much as he wanted to roll you on your belly, make you present your cunt to him, he knew he had to tread carefully. Baby steps until you were close enough to his jaws to snap up, all his. Always. Ever since you stepped foot into his domain, your tart scent coalescing perfectly with the pine, oakmoss, tang of him. You've been his before you even knew who he was—

Wily omega with your shaking fists and bared teeth. Skittish little thing. Needed to play his hand slowly, to box you into a corner before you were even aware of the walls closing in around you. Snapped up tight his maw. Bear Trap quick. Had to be smart about it, bide his time. Push and push until all you thought about was him.

(checkmate)

John reaches for the loose floorboard, prying it open, and pulls his cell phone out—one he knows he’ll have to bury in the yard before you wake. There are very few contacts on his list, and he idly scrolls through the messages (steaming Jesus, the smell o’er—ye sure ye don’ share, cap?; better take her, Price, before I do) before he finds Gaz’s.

The last message sent was hours ago from Kyle. on her way. but fuck, didn't realise how fast fake suppressants worked, chief. gonna have to find her quick. might not make it up the mountain smellin as good as she does—

Good boy, he types with one hand, the other petting possessively down your spine. Curled there, a weighty pressure. You found him in the end, right on the cusp of your burgeoning heat. Pawing desperately for the suppressants Kyle made sure wouldn't be there.

(His parting gift brought on by a conversation ages ago—

“why haven't you mated, cap? not gettin’ any younger.”

“haven't found the right one. ain't gonna settle.”

“more like, your shitty attitude scares all the pretty omegas away, huh?”

“that, too,” he bit down into his cigar. suddenly angry, viciously so. “‘cept one.”

Kyle followed his gaze, and—

“so, take her. she wants you. reeks like she does. you can smell it, too, can't you?” his eyes flashed. playful. “maybe that'll be my retirement gift to you.”

“not funny, Garrick.”

“m’not tryin’ t’be, cap.”)

Three dots appear almost instantly. It takes a moment. Then: fuckin’ prick. Another message from Kyle pops up seconds after. told you, didn't i? i wasn't bein funny. congrats, cap ;)

As if sensing the sudden whiplash of his mood—deep, proprietorial—you stir in his arms, mewling in confusion. John drops the phone, hiding it from view, and pulls you tighter in his arms. In his embrace. Mouth pressed tight to your hairline, he rumbles, “shush, shush. I got you.”

His words make you quieten slightly. Quelled under the susurrus lull of his bellowing purr. But there's still a deep ravine between your brows. Unease lashes the air, acidic. Bubbling up from deep within you.

None of this must make any sense to you. Mercurial boss to mate, but he knows you'll come around to the idea of him soon enough. After all,

he has you all to himself until winter.

all to himself.

His hand falls, cups your lower belly possessively. Covetous. You grimace in your sleep, shifting away from the heavy, oppressive brunt of his smell. Obsessive. Potent like a wildfire. Dangerous.

But there's nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to go except deeper into his arms, his hold. Gyves around your throat; a bloody ring of his teeth.

Price hums. “Best gift I've ever gotten.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #alpha price #alpha john price x omega reader #idk how this is like 8k its all just smut lmao #captian john price #john price #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #cod #pricefics

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pathologicalreid · 11 months ago

Text

orange juice | S.R.

you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not quite sure how to do it

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: bau!reader, pregnant!reader, nausea and pregnancy symptoms, slightly protective spencer, mentions blood tests and doctors, not proofread word count: 906 a/n: this week has been so atrocious and awful and stressful!!! fuck cancer!! fuck student loans!!! i need spencer reid fluff!!!

“Drink it,” Spencer murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the file on his desk in front of him while noting the way you hadn’t so much as budged in his periphery. You were leaning a bit too far to the left, and the more he observed you, the more he worried that you were going to topple over. “It’ll make you feel better,” he prodded.

Your head jolted as he continued to watch you as if he had woken you from a deep sleep, “What? Sorry,” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the bottle of orange juice that he had placed on your desk upon your arrival at the BAU.

A laugh caught your attention as you slowly turned your office chair around, “Late night, pretty girl?” Derek quipped, winking in your direction before turning back to his own work.

Turning back around, you shared a look with Spencer while rolling your chair closer to your desk, hoping to be able to better prop your head up. The real answer was that you had an early morning, woken up by a roiling stomach courtesy of the first trimester.

Spencer had gotten up with you at five this morning and your queasiness showed no sign of faltering. Your stomach had nothing left to give by the time you went to your doctor’s appointment, but you assured your husband that you were fine when you arrived in Quantico after having your blood drawn.

The issue was that no one knew. Other than Hotch – for obvious personal safety reasons – no members of the BAU were aware that you were pregnant. It started as wariness, wanting to reach a certain milestone before letting your team know, but it quickly turned into a different form of anxiety. You hadn’t let your team know you were even talking about having a baby. Neither of you were entirely sure how to broach the subject or announce your pregnancy, so you didn’t.

Hidden in plain sight, resting on Spencer’s desk was a sonogram, a three-by-five, black-and-white photo of your baby, the two of you were simply waiting for a profiler observant enough to notice. You weren’t showing, yet, as you encroached upon the second trimester, you worried you were running out of time.

His theory was that your nausea was being exacerbated by low blood sugar, which is why he made sure to give you orange juice – you weren’t so convinced, orange juice was brutal coming back out.

You heard the familiar woosh of the glass doors to the bullpen swing as someone entered, the click-clack of Garcia’s heels snapping you back to attention, it was almost time for morning debrief. If you were lucky, you’d remain at your desk for the rest of the day. If your luck ran out, you’d have to pop a Zofran before getting on the jet.

Sighing, you rested your chin in your hand before going back to clicking through your emails, pausing for just a moment when Spencer reached across the short barrier between your desks and opened the bottle for you. To appease him, you took a small sip of the orange juice, pleased when you saw him settle in his desk chair.

“What’s that?” Garcia asked, nearly stumbling to a stop behind Spencer’s desk as her eyes snagged on something on the surface. “No, no I know what that is,” she continued, stammering and flicking her eyes between you and Spencer.

Penelope’s rising voice garnered the attention of other people in the bullpen, bringing them to your and Spencer’s adjacent desks. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” Derek piped up, making his way over and setting a hand on the back of your chair.

Pointing at you, the technical analyst wagged her finger as she made the connections in her brain. The doctor’s appointments and the sudden aversion to girl’s night made sense to her now, and you could see it in the way her gaze softened when she stepped around the desks in order to give you a hug, “Is that real?”

As you reciprocated her hug, you nodded, glancing over at your husband as you knew your secret was now out. “Yeah,” you mumbled into her blonde hair, “It’s real.”

“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Morgan said, looking around, sharing a confused look with Emily but earning a ‘dude, really?’ look from JJ.

Releasing you from the hug, Penelope reached over the acrylic barrier, plucked the sonogram off Spencer’s desk, and presented it to the rest of the team Vanna White style, “Baby genius is imminent!” She announced, beaming at you and Spencer as you snuck around them to stand at his side.

One by one, Emily, JJ, and Derek embraced both you and Spencer, “Wait, how long has that picture been there?” Emily questioned, arching a dark brow at you and Spencer.

“Two weeks,” Spencer answered quickly, snaking an arm around you and resting a hand on your hip, squeezing it reassuringly.

You leaned into him slightly before nodding in affirmation, “Yeah, some profilers you guys are!”

Rolling his eyes, Morgan came back at you for another hug, holding you so tightly that your feet lifted slightly off the ground. “Woah, hey, be careful,” Spencer said, waiting expectantly for your coworker to let you go.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back to where Spencer was standing while Emily spoke again, “Oh, he’s going to be insufferable by the end of this.”

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 6 months ago

Note

Hello love!! How are you doing? 💕

I LOVE your works so much!! You are so amazing and talented!! I wanted to thank you for writing the 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 cursed technique Nanami fic, and especially not judging me for it 🫶🏽. I don’t know you but you seem like such a nice and cool person, with that being said… I was thinking about a fic I saw where Saturo Gojo got his wisdom teeth removed and he falls in love with you over again and I thought that would ADORABLE but with Kento 😭 (also I can’t remember who wrote the fic to give credit sorry) So like yeah Nanami would get his wisdom teeth removed and you’d take care of him and he would be such a charming man (he already is) but like just the most fluff thing he’d be like “you’re a very beautiful nurse” “I’m not a nurse but thank you” you feel me? Anyways that was it lol

Much love and take care!! 💗💗

(I don’t know what anon is 😅 is it like your followers cause I see request and people ask if they can be added as anon and I’m like so confused)

You’re my…. my wife?

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, suggestive at the end.

An: Hey Anon! Tysm for requesting again. I’m glad you liked the freaky energy fic!! Also, ofc I’ll never judge you for any fic idea (as long as it’s not like straight up deplorable with nasty kinks).

I hope it’s okay, but I changed this fic idea a little because I fear it was a bit too close to the original creator’s idea, and I don’t want to encroach on their idea. However, I hope the vibes are still there that you wanted!!

Your normally strong, doting, intelligent husband has been reduced to a confused mess. Lying in the bed in the sterile infirmary, Shoko carefully monitors his vitals while Satoru recites exactly how it all happened for the nth time.

Your loving, sweet, charming husband was hit with a very specific cursed technique while he was out on a mission with Gojo. Luckily, he was physically unharmed and mostly mentally unharmed as well… except the cursed technique is one that messes with the memory.

The curse didn’t just want to kill Nanami; it wanted to break him. The curse robbed Nanami of his memory of his most precious moments: the one’s that included you.

His hazel eyes scanned the room, wondering why everyone was making such a big fuss over him. He was fine - really.

You sat beside his hospital bed, wanting to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Shoko said that his mind may be a bit fragile after having such a crucial part of his memory tampered with.

When his hazel eyes met yours, Nanami stared at you for a moment before shifting in his bed slightly. He looked to be uncomfortable with your sheer presence, which only broke your heart more.

“Were you hit with the cursed technique too?” He finally speaks, looking over at you with a bit of a confused look. He was really trying to piece together why you were here with him.

“Oh, um… no..” You quietly respond with a forced smile. Your heart longed for your husband, and he was right here but he wasn’t your husband.

“Forgive me… Are you Shoko’s apprentice..?” He tries once again to remember. He’s seen your face before. Maybe in a different lifetime.

Satoru and Shoko are silent as they both witness what’s going on between you and Nanami. Holding their breaths, they’re hopeful that he’ll regain his memory at some point. The curse couldn’t just extract memories. As Shoko explained it, the curse probably just kept the memories hidden from Nanami. Your husband will probably slowly start to remember you over time.

“No… I’m not Shoko’s apprentice.” You politely answer again. As bittersweet as this is, it’s certainly a cute scene to see Kento trying to make conversation with you.

“Hm.” He hums to himself quietly before he gazes at you again. His hand combs through his hair, trying to fix it up from lying in the hospital bed, and Satoru quietly snickers.

“Trying to look good for her, Nanamin?” He teases lightheartedly, earning a death glare from your husband. You softly giggle too, realizing what’s going on. Your poor husband isn’t uncomfortable with your presence. He’s nervous.

“Don’t be crude, Satoru. There’s a lady in the room.” He huffs, shaking his head at Satoru’s audacity.

“Aww, thank you, Nanami.” Shoko grins, subtly playing along with Satoru’s tactic.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Nanami responds flatly before his eyes shift to you in another “secretive” glance, except everyone notices how he keeps looking at you. Your husband can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“I.. apologize for being a bit forward, but do you think we could…” His eyes flicker down to the wedding band that’s proudly sat upon your finger. His face subtly drops to a disappointed look. “Ah, I see. forget what I was saying.”

Shoko and Satoru are nearly losing it. The irony that Nanami is disappointed that he can’t ask you out because you’re married to him is hilarious. You give them a look, and they both quickly excuse themselves from the room, so they can go laugh together.

Once the two are finally out of the room, you smile softly before placing your hand over your husband’s, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. He looks at you with an unsure look, but he doesn’t remove his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly.

“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like you touching another man like that…” He mutters quietly, causing you to softly giggle.

“Well, it’s a good thing I am your wife.” You finally reveal to him, unable to keep the secret any longer.

Nanami’s eyes widen, and he looks at you with sparkling eyes but also utter confusion written all over his face. His heart is racing in his chest. The heart monitor starts to beep at a more pressured pace. The pretty woman that has been sitting next to him is his wife…?

“You’re my… my wife?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement before lacing your fingers with his. Your wedding band rubs against his. Both of the gems were cut from the same diamond. His eyes then focus on the joining of your hands, and he notices it too. “We’ve been married for a few years now.” You explain in a calm tone, trying to ease him into the idea of it all.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t-“ Nanami is rarely off kilter like this, but he’s just trying to wrap his head around it all. You’re his wife… You’re his wife. “I’m sorry- I just can’t seem to remember…”

“It’s okay, Ken. Take your time.” You encourage as you rub on his hand gently.

His eyes fall to his lap, and a small smile curls on his lips. He may not completely comprehend what’s going on, but he knows in his very soul that he’s the luckiest man alive because you’re his wife.

Watching Ken fall in love with you all over again and rediscover all his daily pleasures was a treat. He slowly regained his memory over time: prompted by his senses randomly picking up on familiar sighs, smells, or even tastes.

Ken didn’t only fall in love with you all over again. He fell in love with the life he cultivated with you again. He found himself laughing a bit harder. He squeezed you a bit tighter. He lounged in bed for an extra ten minutes in the morning time to bask in your presence.

Oh, and that’s not to mention the literal tears he cried the first time he felt your cherished cunt after the incident. The way you squeezed around him so intensely… the way it’s so fucking wet — greedily sucking him in… Goddamn, he’s so lucky to have you.

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #drabble #jjk nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk gojo #jjk shoko #kento x y/n #kento x you #jjk kento #kento fluff

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pellucid-constellations · 8 months ago

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If You Cared to Ask

Azriel hasn't been listening. You got hurt. Sometimes, an argument can't be boiled down to just one instance.

Part 2

“You never listen! I have tried over and over to get you to understand but it’s like you don’t even care.”

Azriel’s brow twitched in irritation, the only tell on his otherwise passive face. “That is not true. We have sat down and discussed this at length, y/n. I listen.”

You laughed, an incredulous pressure weighing down your shoulders. “Okay, fine. You listen, but you never hear me, Azriel! I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall most of the time.”

“I can reiterate every word you’ve ever said to me. I hear you and I listen to you.”

Anger twisted through your gut at his nonchalance. You clenched and unclenched your fists and tried to ignore the heat slowly encroaching upon your ability to remain composed. Although, compared to Azriel, you were not even close to the picture of calm.

“Tell me why it bothers me then,” you seethed through clenched teeth. “Reiterate it for me, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw shifted as he clasped his hands together in his lap, the faelight in the kitchen clashing harshly with the planes of his face. He leaned back in his chair and let out a tortured sigh that almost sent you reeling.

“You seem to believe,” Azriel began, his voice a low drawl. “That I am blatantly avoiding you—that I am choosing to serve my high lord in place of spending time with you. Both of which, I am not doing. I simply have a duty to this court, y/n. You know that.”

“Oh, fuck you, Azriel,” you rolled your eyes. “Making this about duty and honor. Making me seem like I’m the crazy one for being angry when you promised me—”

“You know there is little I can do about promises,” Azriel snapped, a hint of anger finally showing through in the darkness of his eyes. “You knew when we were mated that I have responsibilities that go beyond our relationship.”

You pushed back from your seat at the table and set to pacing in the kitchen, fighting the urge to tug at the roots of your hair. “Yes, obviously, Azriel, but this was so important to me. I needed you there and this isn’t the first time I’ve been abandoned without even a word.”

“Abandoned,” Azriel scoffed. “I would hardly call not showing up to your clinic at the camps one day abandoning you. Rhys needed me to—”

“I needed you!” you shouted, your hands pressed to the countertops and your gaze frantic as you stared at Azriel’s unmoving figure. “I needed you, Azriel. I had every eye on me in that camp and when Devlon’s men had me yanked from the clinic for what I was doing I needed you to—”

“He did what?”

“Oh, don’t act like you care now.” You waved off the staunch posture he had adopted and rolled your eyes for a second time at the piercing hatred that had taken over his expression. “Don’t you dare act like you have the right.”

“You are my mate, y/n. If anyone put their hands on you—”

“Well, they did. Bruised up my arms and everything. But you were so busy with your duty to your high lord that you couldn’t give a shit until after I was thrown into the mud surrounded by the women I was supposed to be helping up there.”

Azriel’s hands turned white as he clenched them in his lap. His lashes fluttered and his brow furrowed and he looked utterly lost at the situation—unable to formulate any kind of response to what could be considered his failure.

“I thought you were simply setting up the back rooms. I didn’t know you were starting the practice or speaking to the camp,” he croaked, eyes downcast and searching the floor.

“Except I told you I was. I told you two weeks ago and then again right before I left.”

“I—I can’t remember you saying that.”

“Of course you can’t. Because if it isn’t Rhys giving you orders or Cassian leading training you’re absent. You stand right in front of me and you’re not even here.”

Azriel finally looked up from the ground and met your eyes with the same torture his sigh made you privy to earlier. But this time it was rooted in something else—this time, he seemed to finally grasp the weight behind your words.

But you were utterly sick of trying to get him to this point. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he expressed, pain in the furrow of his brow. “I hadn’t realized—with Rhys just returning to Velaris I’ve been so caught up in—”

“I’m sorry too,” you cut him off.

Azriel froze. “What?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the dread begin to rise. You knew you were going to hate this part, but you hadn’t expected Azriel to apologize. He hadn’t apologized for anything in months. You’d been alone in this relationship and he chose the day you’d packed your bags to show remorse.

“I can’t do this, Azriel. Not right now.”

“Can’t do what?”

The silence in the kitchen was oppressive. Azriel had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and you were on the other side of the kitchen counter, protected by a barrier you knew you should have put up weeks ago. Your eyes never left his.

“I can’t do this with you.”

Azriel breathed in sharply, his eyes widening. “No,” he stressed, heaving up from the chair. “No, y/n, don’t—what do you mean you can’t do this? Explain it to me.”

Your mate attempted to round the counter and reach for you, but you weren’t going to accept the affection…not when you had been begging for it for months. Not when he was only ready to give it to you now.

You backpeddled until you reached the hall. Azriel didn’t follow, afraid you would take off.

“I’ve been telling you this was a problem for months now. I thought it was just an adjustment period—I knew that having Rhys back would change things at first and I was okay with that. Your brother returned from hell and you needed to be there to support him. To support your family.

“But I’m your family, too. And you forgot that. I can’t—I can’t be relying on someone like that right now. I’m doing too much at the camps for you to… forget about me so easily. I can’t keep building you up in my mind just to be disappointed and hurt.”

Azriel's jaw quivered.

“Emotionally and physically. I would’ve asked someone else to come to the clinic with me yesterday, but I chose you. And you forgot about me.”

Azirel looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach, his shoulders caving in with his anguished breath out. You pressed your lips together as you watched him, all of your anger morphing into a twisted sort of guilt that didn’t sit right in your gut.

“Please,” Azriel whispered. His hands shook at his side. “Please, I’m so sorry, my love. I never wanted—Please, don’t leave me.”

“You don’t get to have both, Azriel.” Your voice was as weak as his. “You don’t get to have me and treat me like I’m something you deal with on the side. I matter more than—

Azriel shook his head and broke through your words. “You matter more than anything. I’ve been a fool. I know I’m an ass. Please, let me fix this, my love. Please don’t leave.”

You clenched your fists so hard your nails embedded into your palms.

“I need time to be alone.”

Azriel was quick to nod. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll leave and—”

“No, I need… more time than that. I have some things packed. I’ll be back, but… I need to leave. I can’t think clearly around you.”

A choked cry left Azriel’s throat and the sound burned at your waterline. “Where?”

You only shook your head.

“Tell me where. Please. How am I supposed to know you’re safe?”

“How were you supposed to know before?”

Part 2

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel

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vexedcoast · 2 months ago

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I can be a better boyfriend than him

ft. fdom vi. and afab sub reader

a/n: pillow princess femme reader taking hexstrap like a champ . not much plot bc I'm lazy as fuck. if a man tried to flirt like this I'd call the c0ps but,, if vi did this 🤭 hehe .

cw : heavy cheating ( readers boyfriend is an asshole , and cheats on reader . . so ,,, justified ). pet names ( princess, bunny, pretty girl — for reader , daddy, sir — for vi ). hexstrap is referred to as cock a few times .

this party was going to be the death of you — it was supposed to be an escape from the hell you were in . your boyfriend of two years cheated — took someone else into your bed . not just once, but three times ( that he admitted ). you hadn't officially broken it off yet — seeking out piltover's shadiest party that you could find on such short notice .

the music, the bodies — everything was too much . what you needed was a god damn distraction . anything, anyone, to take away the pain . a drink in your hand — the bitter taste of alcohol burned your throat before the barkeep could even ask for your name to build you a tab for the night . you slid over a few crumbled bills, mumbling a soft thank you.

the night bustled on — but you kept feeling eyes on you . but no matter where you looked, you couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from . that was until your gaze finally found her, scarlet haired — bruised knuckles and muscles where you had no ideas muscles could be so defined . your expression must have been pitiful, she approached within half a second . your mouth agape , scarlet staining your cheeks .

"what's a sweet thing like you doing all alone in such a scary place ?"

her voice rasped — rough palm cupping your cheek . your expression and lips moved like a fish out of water . stunned, floored at not just her prescene but her confidence . the way she ever so slowly backed you against a wall near the bar — hand resting on the chipped paint , not exactly caging you in but encroaching you . her other hand shifted to your waist with a bit more hesitation, giving you enough time to push her away .

" looking for a distraction. "

you answered breathlessly — lower lip quivering ever so slightly . leaning into her touch as though it recharged your own body .

"I can give you a good distraction, just not here."

her lips skimmed your ear, whispering into it with a wolf like grin — teeth barring. before you could think twice, you mewled out a soft please . oh, she was going to devour you.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚

"c'mon puppy, suck."

battered hand dug into your hair — pushing you forward , you opened your mouth without having to be told twice. lips wrapped around the strap, eyes rolling back as vi slid it down your throat . slow at first, giving you a few seconds to adjust yourself . her hand brushed soothingly against your scalp, trimmed nails scratching ever so slightly .

you began to move - bobbing your head up and down, taking her deeper and deeper. your eyes set back to vi's gaze, keeping hold of it as you started to gag on the cock . your hands were invisibly tied behind you — not having to any room to argue when vi told you exactly what to do and how to do it .

" such a good puppy — i can't believe someone would let you go. you're so loyal and obedient."

vi graveled, palm shifting to your chin — tipping it up to maintain eye contact . her thumb brushed your cute little tears away, rocking her hips forward and cooing as you gagged even more . so pretty, she whispered.

as fast as her cock parted your lips, it was gone . she pulled away , unable to hide laughter as you looked pathetically up at her like you were just deprived of air . poor puppy . her fingers remained on your chin, cooing at you .

"on the bed, hands and knees."

she stated as a fact rather than a question. you obeyed instantly, nearly jumping onto the shoddy mattress. squirming, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

vi moved like a lioness going for the kill . gruff hand gripping your hip while another slapped the strap against your clit.

"beg."

once again, an easy command to follow — lips parting almost like you'd been given an electric shock from the demand.

"please, please fuck me. please daddy — i need you so badly. I'm throbbing for you. "

the pet name slipped without even thinking about it . you could feel her entire body stiffen at the two syllables .

"oh, fuck I'm sorry it just slipped out – I didn't mean to—."

the apology spat out quickly, your eyes widening .

violet flipped you over like you were a little feather. trapping you between her and the mattress. it took several beats before you realized exactly what happened. a thumb slid past your lips and held your tongue down .

"you need daddy to fuck you? need daddy's cock, puppy? you beg so sweetly — i bet that pussy is dripping, and i haven't even touched you yet."

she kneed open your legs — which you complied , spreading your thighs open like the red sea . her thumb remained on your tongue, now allowing a response.

"its big, but you can take it, right? be good for daddy. fuck, how could someone see you like this and not keep you as their own personal fuck toy? so good. take daddy's cock."

her words stung, just a bit . but she was right, how could he cheat on you when you lowered such a gorgeous, drooling mess? all you could do was nod, bucking your hips up . vi shifted her hands to hold down your waist, teasing your entrance with just the tip.

" don't even think about trying to set the pace. don't fucking move those hips without permission, understood?"

you yelped as the head of her strap pushed inside, whimpering out yes sir's over and over again. you needed more.

"good girl. oh you're already taking my cock so well."

she didn't go any further, which you were rather thankful for. the strap was nearly nine inches and thick — breaking you apart bit by bit. your jaw slacked whimpering out nothing more than begs. her hand and thumb released you, only to wrap around behind your knee - hiking it over her shoulder.

"don't stop, please daddy."

your whines got louder, trying once more to buck your hips up. which was met with a slam into you — strap kissing deep inside you without warning.

"i told you not to do any work, princess."

she warned — pulling herself back out all the way , unable to hide laughter as you squirmed under her. your legs shook with anticipation, trying your best not to move. her nails dug into the plushness of your tights, imprinting crescent shapes into your skin.

"take my strap c'mon puppy."

you did as you were told, arching your back up as she slid herself back into you till the hilt kissed your clit once more, the leather harness straps digging in just a bit. your core dripped, ached as she stretched you out with no mercy. with every thrust, her muscles tensed and fuck— she had so many. your eyes had a hard time focusing on just one part of her.

your hands dug into her biceps, gripping tight while she slid in and out at a merciless pace — giving you no time to even think, let alone try to move your hips. but now, — her thumb pushed down on your clit, finding it with her eyes closed – like a well trained marksman. it rubbed slow, deep, methodical circles — pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

"can I cum sir, please please please. I've been so good."

you cried, trying to hold on — wanting to be a good, sweet girl for her.

"cum for daddy, cum on my cock."

she urged you, but really — you hadn't really needed a blessing. already tipping over the edge before she called herself daddy. tears pricked in the outer corners of your eyes, cat like nails scratching against her battered and bruised skin - whining.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

"stay."

her voice was firm, pulling you back to her chest — tucking your head into her neck.

"but I —, he. ."

you tried, but failed — mumbling against her skin .

"is nothing to you anymore. I can be a better boyfriend than he ever could be."

#arcane #arcane smut #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane vi x reader #smut #vi x fem reader #idk what else to tag #sorry this is lowkey bad

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yukinohiko · 3 months ago

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A Deal with a Dragon | Zhongli

✧ A/N: I quite enjoyed writing this and, with its premise, might expand on it in the future. Consequences of our actions, and all.

✧ Synopsis: Upon watching a stranger navigate Liyue Harbour, you start to theorize about their true identity. In this case, you believe the funeral parlour consultant is the Archon of Liyue, believed to be dead. The only course of action is to confront them, don’t you think? But sleeping dragons should never be woken.

You have a theory. It's not well-founded or even likely to be believed by the citizens of Liyue. Sharing such an idea would have a better chance resulting in your ostracization or even arrest for spreading sacrilegious delusions.

However, you are certain: the man who works at the funeral parlour is the former Archon of Liyue.

It took you a while to come to this conclusion. You had seen him around the port city, walking the streets and engaging the stall-keepers in idle conversation, often to the detriment of their business; eating at Liuli Pavilion, paying with another man's mora; gazing out toward the mountains, as though looking beyond this world somehow.

His speech patterns were strange, as well. More formal than the typical citizen, rich and cultured, his words eloquent as he spoke of even the most trifling things. His suspiciously astute knowledge of history; however, was the final nail in the coffin.

Because why else would a random man know the exact temperature that Morax took his mulled wine, the exact ratio of osmanthus flavouring he preferred, or the exact crag of the mountain he enjoyed drinking atop of?

"I know what you are," you say one day, making what you will later learn was a grave lapse in judgement.

Zhongli sits before you in his funeral parlour's office, raising an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?" he says calmly.

"I know," you say slowly, pronouncing each word, "what you are. Or who, I should say. I've figured you out."

For a moment, Zhongli only gazes at you. He looks neither surprised nor unsurprised by your words. "And what exactly is that, might I ask?"

"You're —" You hesitate. Speaking the words aloud seems taboo, even in this private space. "You're him. Morax."

"Am I." He sounds indulgent, like someone much older humouring the grand declarations of a child at their feet.

"I know you are," you insist. "It just makes sense. I've had an eye on you for a while now, so don't try and make me out as a fool. You're Rex Lapis. You're Morax. You're Liyue's Archon!"

Zhongli exhales a low breath. If you looked closer, you might have seen the glint of something sharper than teeth under his lip. "And have you shared this theory with anyone?"

"Well, no —"

"No? You haven't gone to inform the Millelith of your suspicions that their Archon remains in their midst? You haven't sent letters to share your concerns with the Liyue Qixing?"

Despite the fact that he's essentially feeding you ideas to give his identity away, he looks unbothered. He watches you serenely across the table, eyes amber in the dusky sunlight pouring in from the window.

At your silence, he leans forward.

"Tell me, then," he says, almost gently, "what did you hope to gain from this confrontation? Though, I doubt I can call it something so hostile. You seem uncertain as to your own next steps in this matter."

It’s true. To be frank, you hadn’t really expected him to entertain your conversation this long. You had expected denial if not outright labelling your theory blasphemous. But his tranquil manner of coaxing further answers out of you is strangely unsettling.

Something similar to the feeling of encroaching upon a pit viper’s den. What was the old phrase? Never wake a sleeping dragon?

“Why did you abandon your people?” you ask, voice wavering despite yourself.

“I have not abandoned anyone.” He gazes upon you evenly. “I am a man of Liyue, and here I remain, do I not?”

“But — you’re not acting like you should be — a God — they deserve to know! We had funeral rites and everything, for someone still alive!”

He raises his cup and drinks. Never moving his eyes from you. It is a peculiar sensation. When he lowers the cup, you see the wine-dark colouring of his mouth, so alike something less innocent.

The back of your neck prickles forebodingly, though you cannot see or hear anything amiss. Despite the lack of evidence, you trust your instinct and attempt to back out of the situation.

"Forgive my intrusion. I'm sorry if it came across like an accusation. I'll leave you be —"

You manage to turn, before he speaks out from behind you.

"I can forgive the transgression," he says silkily, "of speaking out of turn. My most prosperous citizens have always been the most brazen across history, I've found."

You stiffen at his words. At his implicit confession to your accusation. You glance back over your shoulder, quivering slightly. "You mean, you really are —?"

"Morax, former Archon of Liyue." He smiles, and it's less kind than before. Two salivating fangs bare at you. "As to what I was saying, while I can forgive your boldness, I cannot forgive the threat you've implanted of revealing my identity to those I've decided to conceal my presence from. You see, I took great pains to remove my influence from the nation, and it would not do to allow you to counter my efforts."

"I won't," you say quickly, taking a step back. Your nape is stinging anxiously. "I can promise you that I won't tell anyone."

"No? But I'm afraid I let slip potential methods for you to do so. The Millelith, the Liyue Qixing. All viable options, and you could select any one."

"I won't! I really won't —”

“And, as you so keenly declared, you feel my people deserve to know I linger in their lives. That is as blatant a threat as I can take it.”

He stands slowly, and you wonder if it's a trick of the light, or if he's taller than before. Larger. His silken dark hair, burnt umber, sweeps the floor as he circles the table toward you. Smoke exhales from his mouth. Draconic.

Without pausing to wait, to give another inch, you turn tail and attempt to flee. Terror pulses within you. The parlour seems like a labyrinth suddenly, every door leading to another room rather than an exit back out to Liyue's crowded streets. Just as you finally reach the front lobby; however, a massive block of golden stone erupts from the ground, shattering the tiled floors, rising to barricade the door.

You skid to a stop and stare in dismay. Behind you, shoes click and a soft sound, almost serpent-like, breathes by your ear, "Let's make a contract, shall we, little one?"

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comatosebunny09 · 13 days ago

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more ex-assassin!reader shenanigans

cw: non-mc reader, reader implied to be femme, crossover, mild language, unrequited (?) feelings, mild jealousy, angst, not proofread, stream of consciousness

You throw your door open, prepared to go into town for groceries. But you don’t expect to see a familiar riotous mop of white hair and the unmistakable scarlet eyes that always accompany them standing at your door.

Six months. He’s been an apparition living in the bowels of your mind for six months. You were starting to get over him. Slowly beginning to release those feelings squeezing your heart in their unrelenting grasp.

And then he had to go and fuck it up by showing his stupid face.

“Hi,” he says, voice a little shaky, a little unsure as he peers down at you with a twitch of a smile. That tone still disturbs the dust particles around you. His presence is still overwhelming, as if commanding time and space to bend just for him.

When you pick your jaw up off the floorboards, you manage a meek, “Um, hi.”

His shoulders drop the tiniest bit. To anyone outside, he’s a confident hulk of a man. But to you, still well-versed in his tells after all these years of working under him, you know he’s stalling. A scared little man who didn’t expect to see the woman he jilted thriving and free. Alive and putting herself back together, brick by rickety brick.

“Can we talk?” he asks, tone so low, it barely carries above the breeze sifting through the grass on your lawn.

Always straight to the point. Always down to business. No, ‘How are you?’ No, ‘How have you been?’ Just straight to the nitty gritty, to the meat and potatoes. Of course, that’s one of the things that drew you to him—you hated when people beat around the bush.

You will your voice to work in your favor today. Not to waver, not to belie the conglomerate of emotions welling in your chest—fear, anguish, resentment.

One hand on the door, you step aside to usher him in with a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Sure. Come in.”

You’re going to learn to regret this. You’re doing more than just inviting your old boss into your home; it’s almost like you’re inviting him back into your life.

—

Of course, seeing Sylus, a dark cutout of power and refinement, sitting on your quaint armchair with a teacup and saucer in his giant hands, surveying your humble surroundings, loosens some of the tension in the air—just a little bit.

You stifle a snort behind your fist, setting your tea down on the coffee table. He reminds you of a Doberman puppy, still capable of violence in the right hands and situation, but curious and unassuming as he takes in the pastel colors and grandma-esque decor littering your home.

It’s nothing like the luxurious fibers adorning his mansion in the N109. Nothing like the posh furniture he decked your safe house with in Linkon, reasoning you needed the best. It’s a simple style that suits you and this new life you lead. Earthy, minimalistic. Nothing complicated, but still synonymous with this soft-girl thing you’ve been trying out.

“I didn’t know you liked pink,” he says into his teacup once he’s done quietly judging you, taking a sip, eyes creased with a bit of humor over the rim, watching you.

You adjust on your armchair, halfway offended. Cross your legs, throwing up that mask of nonchalance he seasoned you into wearing. “Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

There’s a bite of malice to your voice. An underlying resentment beneath the playfulness. He catches it if the tightening of his jaw is anything to go by—the slightest sharpening of his gaze, gleaming like heated steel.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t dare try him like that. Sure, you’ve teased and bantered with your old boss. But saying anything else would warrant a fate worse than death.

But, do you really care right now? He’s the one encroaching on your space, your peace, with his stupid, still handsome face and his ridiculous stature that still makes you feel a sparkle of something low in your belly.

He could kill you right here and now for running away. For leaving his side after he shattered your heart like sea waves scattering against the rocks. That prospect doesn’t scare you. Not like it used to when you first fled. No one would notice. No one would miss you, save for Leon, who would eventually get over the tiny crater you left in his life.

Sylus sets his teacup down, and you stiffen, half-expecting him to snap his fingers and turn you into cinders. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he hits you with a “Fair enough,” around the resigned curl of his lips as if he missed you giving him shit.

You blink owlishly, watching him sit back in your armchair as if he’s always been a part of the decor. He props his elbows on the armrests, tapping the tips of his fingers together, scrutinizing you like a rare protocore he’s hellbent on buying.

You try not to shiver under the weight that gaze still carries. Under the power he still boasts over your body, your psyche, and he’s only said a few things to you.

Ignoring how your heart pounds something violent in your throat and how your throat feels dry as if coated with sand, you pitch yourself forward, elbows on your thighs, gaze narrowing. The buzz of questions in your mind outweighs that of fear. You want him out of your home, this town, your life, as quickly as possible. But not before you interrogate him on how and why he’s here.

He beats you to the punch, eyes softening, smile a little more disarming. “You look well.”

You’re taken aback again. You half-anticipated him insulting you. You blink, your mouth trying vainly to form coherent words. “Uh, thanks.”

He leans forward to mirror your posture, and you get a good look at those scarlet irises. “You got a tan? It looks good on you.”

You chuckle nervously, sweeping an errant lock of hair behind your ear. Inwardly admonish yourself, because what’s with you acting like an enamored little teen in the face of your heartbreaker?

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Putting back up that indifferent, tough girl front. He’s trying to manipulate you. Wear you down. He knows he’s fucked up. You won’t fall for it.

“Yeah. Easy to get a little color when I’m not stuck somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.”

It’s like you punched him in the gut. He flinches the slightest bit. Winces, huffing out a quiet chuckle as he studies the floor. Good. You want him to hurt.

Tired of beating around the proverbial bush, you spout out, “Why are you here, Sylus? The twins send you? I know you sent them and Mephisto to snoop around. Keep tabs on me. You trying to drag me back? Because I’m not going back to that shit hole or anywhere with you without a fight.”

You brim with confidence beneath the glacial fear snaking down your spine. You mean every word—even if you know you’ll lose, he’ll have to drag you back kicking and screaming.

He made his choice. You weren’t it. And you’ll be damned if you fall back at his side like a sad, lovestruck puppy, watching him fall in love with someone who isn’t you.

Sylus fixes his mouth to say something, a little taken aback by your defiance. A little wounded. But before he can get an excuse out, the chime of your doorbell fills the thickened atmosphere of your home, effectively disrupting whatever come-to-Jesus meeting you were having with your boss. Perfect timing.

You exchange a glance. You don’t miss the desperate flash in his gaze when you peel yourself from your chair, striding towards your front door.

You snatch the door open, relieved to see serene ocean blues staring down at you.

“Hey,” says Leon, voice all playful and smoky. He leans against your doorframe, bicep spilling from the short sleeve of his shirt, smile devastating against the stubble on his cheeks. “Your parents home, little lady?”

You snort despite yourself. Despite the tension coiling in your gut. You tamp it down, trying to play it cool. Cross your arms, propping your shoulder against your doorframe to mirror him. “How can I help you, Mr. Kennedy?”

His gaze flits between your eyes and lips. Leon grins all the more wider, straightening to gently tug at a lock of your hair. It’s a pleasant sensation, pins and needles sparkling in your scalp. You bite your lips, bite back a smile, shaking away from his touch.

He reminds you of a kicked puppy, the way his smile drops and his brows fall at the outer corners. You’ll make it up to him later—you promise.

“Came to take a look at your dryer,” he says once he’s picked up his pride, holding up a toolset.

Ah. Fuck. You forgot.

As if remembering your nefarious guest, you pull the door slightly closed, wedging yourself in the gap to blot out the sight of otherworldly white. “Can you come back tomorrow?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

You rub the scruff of your neck, a nervous titter on your lips. “Um…something came up.”

Leon chuckles, fingers skating over your cheek. “Like what?”

“Like me,” a resonant voice sounds from over your shoulder, and you stiffen.

Leon glances up, his humor traded for confusion at the towering man behind you. He narrows his eyes, and the tension brewing in the air between them is palpable. You don’t have to look back to see that stone-faced look Sylus is wearing. To see the tense set of his jaw, the fire and brimstone in his eyes.

You’re caught between them, a flimsy barrier amid their stare-down, and all you can do is sigh and shake your head.

This wouldn’t have happened if you just told Sylus to fuck off in the first place.

How do you even begin to introduce them to each other? Old love interest who broke my heart, meet boyfriend-in-training who’s mending it?

#sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #leon x reader #leon x you #leon kennedy x reader #ex-assassin reader series

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

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Hello!! I’m your new follower and honestly your fics are so good 🥺 I love the “these damn stairs” one and I wonder if u could write part 2 because shy reader and gentle super friendly Remus trope is the best heh.

Thank youuu for following ❤︎

Here is part 2 to 'These damn stairs' and there will be a part 3 because I can't just let it end here :) Might be a few days before I'm able to post part 3 because I got some really good requests in my inbox that I want to get to! (part 3 is here)

'It's a date'

Remus Lupin x reader

2.2k words

cw: fluff

Talking to Remus still felt like you had the eyes of the school on you. This meant that it was Remus who talked first. You would give him a small smile or a wave when you passed him on your way to a different class, but it was always him who came up to your desk before or after a class you had together. It was him who still came to sit with you at lunch; your friends warmed up to him quickly and proceeded to tease you about him when he was gone.

You continued to study with him too. He’d wait for you outside the library before walking with you back to the small table from that first study session. With every passing day, you slowly began to be more comfortable in his presence. You were able to hold a conversation with him. It was a slow growing friendship, but it was growing.

“You’re sure you don’t mind studying with just me?” you had asked once, worrying that he missed all of the attention that he used to get in the library because he was smart and nice.

He just smiled at you, leaning toward you to say, “I really don’t mind. I’d rather work with you over anyone else.”

That left you blushing for the rest of your time in the library that evening. Remus always knew what to say to get that blush to reappear. More often than not, you would leave your encounters with Remus with a pink face and racing heart.

You were thrown off when you showed up to study with Remus on Saturday and he wasn’t waiting for you outside the library. You considered waiting for him to show up but decided to check inside just in case. You found him sitting at a larger table with his friends. There were open chairs on either side of him with the other three boys on the opposite side of the table. The sight sent your mind spinning as you tried to remember the conversation when you discussed studying today. You didn’t recall him mentioning the rest of the Marauders would be there. Plans must’ve changed.

You headed toward a different table, your usual before you started sitting with Remus. You didn’t want to interrupt their “Marauders Study Session.”

However, as soon as he saw you, Remus called you over.

“You know James, Peter, Sirius, yeah? Hope you don’t mind they came today. I’m afraid they need the extra push to get stuff done.”

You do mind but god forbid you say something and make a scene. So you nodded and sat down next to Remus. You attempted to keep your things more consolidated than you usually do. You didn’t want to encroach on Peter’s or Sirius’ space. It took you longer to fall into your studying groove with the entirety of the Marauders at the same table as you; you’re positive that anyone and everyone passing by is confused by it. You felt like an outsider intruding on something sacred. It didn’t help that every time you looked up, you swore at least one of them was looking at you or Remus. You’re a bit uncomfortable. It’s not like you’ve ever really talked to any of them.

“So, erm, how long has this been a thing?” Peter asked after you caught your eye from across the table.

A thing? What on earth did that boy mean?

“Excuse me?”

��We’ve been studying together for a little over two weeks,” Remus said, shooting you a quick smile.

Oh That’s all.

Remus’ answer made the question make more sense. You supposed it was a thing that Remus was studying with one person rather than a herd of girls and essentially playing teacher. You berated yourself for thinking that Peter had meant something more.

“Right, studying,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Nope. What?

You pursed your lips together and train your eyes on your assignment. That is what you had been doing with Remus. That’s all you’ve been doing.

“Shut it, Padfoot,” Remus warned.

He glared at his friends. He had warned them ahead of time to be nice to you, to try not to scare you off. He knows you are shy and more reserved. He didn’t want to cancel studying with you so that his nimrod friends didn’t fall behind on their own assignments. But now, he was beginning to regret inviting them.

Remus reached for a small scrap of parchment and scribbled on it, “Don’t worry about them” before sliding it into your view. You took notice of it and nodded. He lowered his head to get into your view as well. He raised his eyebrows as if asking that you’re okay. You drew a simple smiley face on the parchment. He nodded and returned to his own assignment. With both of your heads bowed in focus, you missed the shared look between the other three boys. You were able to get some work done. The lingering feeling of eyes on you was impossible to shake. You tried to think of a reason why they would be so interested in you, but you kept coming up short. Well, not completely. You had ideas, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last and one was just downright hopeful.

“Is it true you started talking because you got your foot stuck in that damn step?” James asked as he closed a book he was using for his Herbology assignment.

“Prongs!” Remus hissed as your face turned beet red.

“Uh, I guess?” you said meekly.

You tried not to think about that embarrassing day, even if it did lead to your first real interaction with Remus. It wasn’t a moment you wanted to relive.

“Must’ve been some fall though,” James continued, despite the glared daggers from Remus. “Certainly got our boy’s attention.”

Remus’ face was beginning to turn red as well at this point. He really, really wanted James to stop talking; it was at the point where he was debating Silencio.

“Oh? What… what do you mean?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Sweetheart, you should hear how much he talks about you.”

Your eyes went wide. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it wasn’t that. It took a second for the words to fully sink in. Remus talked… about you? Often? With enough frequency that his friends made note of it? Is that why it felt like they kept staring at you? They were just trying to figure out what Remus found so intriguing about you?

You turned to see Remus holding his head in his hands. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Remus?”

A horrible thought crossed your mind: What if this was all just a prank on you and Remus was collateral? What if he didn’t actually talk about you and now he’d have to admit that?

He ran his hands through his hair before looking at you. His face was bright red, highlighting each scar that ran across his nose and cheeks brilliantly.

“Can we talk privately? Before I murder these gits?” he asked you in a low voice with pleading eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you breathed, standing up and waiting to follow Remus through the shelves.

He led you further than you would’ve expected from the table. You assumed that he really didn’t want the boys overhearing whatever you were going to talk about. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. Maybe he thought you were going to cry at what he was going to say and didn’t want to do that near them.

“I think we’re far enough. No hearing extension charm they’re capable of reaches this far,” he said, leaning back against the wall with some kind of effortless allure.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

You stood a few steps away from him. If something was going to go down, you wanted to have some space between you.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” he said as he watched you with cautious eyes. “Usually their teasing doesn’t get to me this bad.” He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Are they teasing you about being friends with me?” you asked, your chest filling with dread.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to brace for the worst. Remus was popular. He was so well-liked. He was so good with people. And you liked to stay out of the spotlight. Some people thought you were a little standoffish, but so be it. You could see where his friends were coming from.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders. And you looked up to see Remus’ warm eyes.

“They are teasing me about being just friends with you,” he said softly.

You rolled your lips against each other. What did he mean by that? Just friends?

“Because I do talk about you a lot. I practically only study with you. I go out of my way to cross paths with you so I can see your smile. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I stare at you from across the Great Hall when I don’t sit next to you.” He paused for a moment to see if you had any reaction yet. “And this is going to sound mean, but I’m so glad you fell on those stairs. It brought you into my life.” He waited again. “Please say something, love.”

“Okay,” you said as your cheeks tinged pink. “So they aren’t making fun of me? This isn’t some kind of prank?”

“No. It’s not a prank. The only one being made fun of is me because I wanted to wait longer.”

“Wait longer for what?”

“Listen. I meant it when I said you are pretty. I meant it when I said I don’t want to study with anyone else. I mean it when I say I can’t get you out of my head. I just wanted to wait longer to be sure… sure that you’d say yes. Sure that you like me.”

You tilted your head.

“Of course I like you, Remus.”

“But as more than friends? Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

Your breath hitched. Had Remus just said a bunch of sweet things about you? Yes, and it made your face feel hot. But it was the question that really sealed the deal. He wanted to be sure that you’d say yes.

“I’d really like that.” You broke into a wide smile. “You thought I wouldn’t say yes?”

Remus let out the breath he was holding and mirrored your smile. He pulled you into a tight hug before answering.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time we studied together. I didn’t want to move too fast. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump you or something.”

You laughed into his chest and he slowly let you go.

“So all of that back there, that was them being tired of listening to you pine?” you asked.

“Seems like it. I told them to be nice to you, but I guess I didn’t tell them to be nice to me.”

“I mean, I’d say it was pretty nice of them to get you a date,” you said teasingly.

“I’m still the one who asked!” he tried to defend himself.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but would you have asked if they weren’t here?”

“Not today, no. Maybe in another week or so. I told you, I was waiting to be sure.”

“For a smart bloke, you really should’ve known that if you asked me out on the stairs, I would’ve said yes.”

“Wait, what?” He looked down at you in surprise.

“Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s part of what made falling into the stair so mortifying.”

“Those damn stairs, right?” he chuckled as you started walking back to the table. Then he cleared his throat. “So, Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“It’s a date.”

The three boys were working when you returned. When they looked up, they had matching looks of anticipation on their faces. Neither of you said anything as you sat down and started to work. Without speaking, you seemed to agree that you weren’t going to say anything unless they asked.

“So?” Peter asked. “Did Remus grow a pair?”

“Always had a pair, Peter,” Remus said dryly.

“Moony,” he whined before turning his attention to you. “Did he… you know?”

“Well, she might not know. Because if he didn’t, how would she know?” Sirius said.

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.

“What if he did and she said no? That’d be something,” James mused. “Although I don’t think they’d be so… content? Peaceful? Somber? Pleased-looking?”

“But wouldn’t they both look much happier if he asked and she said yes?” Peter asked.

“Oi! We are right here,” Remus interjected. “I asked. She said yes. You are to stay away from us in Hogsmeade. Now, work. I want to see finished essays.”

“Our boy became a man!” Sirius said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Padfoot. Essay. Now,” Remus commanded before shooting you a wide grin.

You could tell that he was pretty proud of himself too.

tags: @allformoony, @oursweetmoony, @moonyswifee

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin

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penny00dreadful · 2 years ago

Text

So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷‍♀️

We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!

AO3 link for those asking! 🖤

Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.

That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.

The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.

And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.

If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.

But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.

Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.

The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.

A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.

Her people.

Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.

The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.

“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.

The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.

“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”

The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”

“Eddie, what-”

Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.

“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”

Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.

Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.

“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”

“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.

“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”

“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”

“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”

“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.”

“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.

Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.

“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.

“Oh shit. This is your friend?”

Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s… he’s really pretty.”

That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”

“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”

Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”

Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”

“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.

“Okay.”

“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”

“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.

“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”

“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”

“Inklings? Is that the place?”

Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”

“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?

“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered.

“I think… I think I just want to get home.”

“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.”

He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it.

This fucking guy.

He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.

“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.

“Likewise.”

“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.

“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”

“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.

She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.

"So."

"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"

“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”

“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“Is it because of a bad ex?”

Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.

Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.

“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”

Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.

Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.

He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.

“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.

“Yeah, sure.”

They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.

She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”

Robin, where are you?

Are you okay?

I’m on the way.

Please be okay.

Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.

“Robbie.”

Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”

“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”

“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”

“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.

Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’

Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’

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heechwe · 2 months ago

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NOT EVEN SOMETIMES | 최산

⟢ PAIRING: choi san x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 5K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, sprinkles of angst, smut ⟢ TAGS: neighbor to lovers au, healthy communication for the win, switch!san, dirty talk, pet names, heavy petting, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie ⟢ SYNOPSIS: You've never been good at planning for the unexpected, much less a new neighbor. But the man in question may just love that about you, among other things you didn't see in yourself to begin with. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is a remaster of an old fic I wrote years ago for a member of NCT, the original title being "Where We Begin." Seeing as I am not following that group anymore and I thought it'd be fun to polish up some old work, what the hell. Thank you to my betas for reading this one, @prkhaven @lovetaroandtaemin @tinycatharsis @jjunbug @innocygnet, I love you lots. Title inspiration from "Sometimes" by Ariana Grande!

Some people know the instant something begins, the start of something new brimming with possibilities palpable within the surrounding air.

For you, it’s not that simple.

It seems some things come and go in your life without warning or realization. You’ve fought enough for things to stay or leave for so many years that now it’s almost a godsend to lack that kind of perception. Whether it be for a new job opportunity, an unexpected act of kindness, or a person, it’s all the same. Beginnings can be as subtle as a wisp of wind through your window, or as abrasive as thunderclaps that rattle an entire room. Regardless, you’ve not caught on.

Lucky for you, Choi San isn’t subtle. With a body like his, how could he be?

The first time San greets you, he’s carrying an ottoman on his shoulder and a football in his hand. The early Saturday morning permeates through the hallway window, emphasizing his stark black hair and encroaching size, but he’s so beautifully smiling you felt nothing but warmth for the man in front of you. Across from your apartment sits his door halfway open, giving you ample opportunity to notice the manila moving boxes crowding the space of his new home.

The place had been empty for almost a month before San, the pain of Jeongin saying goodbye fresh every time you came home. The kid was a hilarious neighbor and a great friend, and while he didn’t leave your life, watching him go after three years left a noticeable pang of sadness. Having a new neighbor so soon felt foreign, unwelcome. But once San drops the ottoman carefully onto the small span of tile between your apartments and extends a hand, you know you can get used to the change if the new neighbor in question is this open, welcoming, and drop-dead gorgeous.

You give San your name with a smile, a soft yet large hand enveloping your smaller one. “You’ll love it here. I’ve been here for almost five years, never a problem.”

“That’s perfect. I’ve been couch-surfing for two months, so anything is better than my friends’ smelly socks and booty calls.”

You giggle, the sound reverberating off the highway walls. It almost makes you forget your choice of clothing, the realization suddenly hitting you.

You love your duck-patterned pajama bottoms and tattered college sweatshirt, but the clothing isn’t exactly the best outfit to meet new people in. Then again, nobody dresses up to run downstairs and get their weekly mail anyway, even if there’s a chance of running into someone as handsome as your new neighbor. “Sorry I’m not that presentable. I didn’t know you’d be coming today.”

“It’s no problem. I should’ve moved in yesterday, but I had an emergency. Well, if you could call a friend needing a three-page recipe an emergency.” San grins and shrugs, twirling the ball between his hands.

You giggle, pointing a finger towards the football. “So, you play sports and cook?”

“Not really, just a parting gift from my friend Woo for the recipe I owed him. I guess it’s also a housewarming gift‌, considering.”

You nod slowly and begin your trek down the hallway and to the mailroom, remembering your initial goal when you were leaving ten minutes ago. “Well, San, if you need help unpacking, just give me a knock!”

“I definitely will!” San waves goodbye and offers you the widest smile you’ve seen yet, saccharine in a way you didn’t realize you needed so early in the morning. He enters his new apartment without another turn of his head, while you wonder if this is the moment of realization the guy across the hall will be more than a stranger. Perhaps even a welcome addition to your life.

You open up your door a day later to find San with an inquisitive pout, replacing the mesmerizing smile he left you with. His hands respectively hold a large takeout bag and a tray of two drinks, and you guess what he’s after before he says the words.

“Don’t tell me,” you say. “You need help unboxing.”

“Yes and no.”

“Oh?” You ask, partially shocked.

“So, I know you probably offered to help me unpack since I have the ‘new neighbor’ card. Which is great, since I actually do need help today. But, it would be rude to not offer food for your services, so it can be part moving part…treating a cute girl to lunch.” San tips the bag up with a grin, making you chuckle. “What do you say, neighbor?

As he waits for your answer, you discover Choi San is already too sweet to say no to. He asks so earnestly, and he’s feeding you, doing more than most of your exes ever did. The response easily slips off of your tongue. “That sounds great. Lemme just get my keys.” Following him into his apartment, you try to calm the staccato of your heart to a normal pace.

Your new neighbor truly has no shame as the two of you open all of his remaining boxes together, San confessing the origins of certain items you take out with a questioning, raised eyebrow. While he folds his clothes and sets them aside to move to his bedroom later, you tell him about your degree and how you can’t wait for the spring semester to end, your last step towards graduating in the summer.

You snap silly photos of him and take a few together to capture the moment; he ruffles your hair in a few and makes the resulting photos blurry, but you don’t mind. When you’re not unboxing and discussing your comprehensive histories, you eat pineapple fried rice and dumpling soup from the takeout containers and sip flat sodas you don’t bother replacing. The clear attachment you’ve already developed with San is worth drinking a watered-down soda.

“What do you do in your free time?” you ask before downing what’s left in your can.

“I work with my friends in a small studio downtown. It’s not much, but we love it and it helps pay for this.” He gestures to the apartment with dramatic grandeur, almost knocking over his drink. “That’s actually why I’ve been moving most of this by myself. Before you helped, I mean. There’s this production issue we glossed over, and my buddy Mingi wants it smoothed out before the song’s released.”

“Gotta love the music life.” You sigh. “The arts are tough.”

“Yeah, I do love it. I don’t know where I’d be without it, to tell you the truth.” San chuckles, the sound rumbling in his throat.

You pat his shoulder with your hand. “I’m sure you’re doing great. You seem like a person who can find fun in anything. With your work, I know your friends need that.”

“Thanks,” he replies. San dips a hand through his hair, hoping to conceal his red face alongside his aggressively beating heart. “I bet you’re someone who keeps a lot of people calm and…I don’t know, grounded? You just give off this vibe like you know what you’re doing.”

You laugh again, pressing your empty soda can to your chest. “You’re probably the first person that’s ever thought about me that way.” Your friends and family often sing their praises for you, but what would get San’s compliment laughed out of any room is the fact he thinks you have a consciously prepared bone in your body.

You can barely give your best friends proper preparation for outfit choices, much less prepare for bigger life events. It’s what your exes have harped on for ages, your impulsiveness and second-nature to lead with your heart rather than your head, your ultimate downfall. How did anyone, especially yourself, expect you to go against habit and commit to anything? If there was an option to have someone spell it out for you, you would choose that in a heartbeat. To this day, sometimes it feels like you stumble around for answers, only doing things halfway and never with full intention.

You know these things about yourself like the back of your hand.. Yet, you can’t contain the flutter in your heart from San being so sure of you already. It may just be the takeout, the fullness of his stomach making his brain fuzzy, but you don’t care. You appreciate it regardless.

“That’s a good thing, though,” you mumble, his stare tickling the edges of your skin.

“Well, I’m flattered.” He winks at you, the gesture only solidifying every positive thought you have about him. He opens another box and removes the bubble wrap inside, and in that moment, you believe a piece of your heart silently belongs between the creases of his smile.

By the time you finish, the sun is setting, and you’re sitting next to San with your backs drooping against his couch. You rub your belly in slow, tiny circles, full from the food and copious amount of snacks you munched on while moving the smaller trinkets and furniture.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known the pretzels and gummy worms would make you sick.” He pouts, staring down at your slumped body.

“No, it’s okay. Just another minute and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair. It’s too fantastic to be disturbed like that..” His confidence can be seen from space, you think as the corners of your lips rise. Without warning, San sets his head in your lap as his eyelashes flutter to a close. He’s burly at first glance, but you realize as he snuggles into your body how you fit together perfectly in this way. “I mean it. I’ve had a lot of fun today.”

Instinctively, you swipe one hand through his bangs, and he takes your fingers between his own. “We just met, but it’s like you make things slow down. I’m not running around the place like an idiot or saying the wrong things for the first time. Does that make sense?”

You close your eyes too, letting the words rumble around in your head. Responding to them with the peace within your smile and a squeeze of your hand, you know he’s smiling too without having to look down at him. “It does.”

In an array of textbooks, highlighters, and article clippings, San swipes through the words with a blue pen to mark important information for later. While it’s adorable watching him as he works, he has little to no foresight on the weekly topic in your Greek literature course.

Chan and Jisung, your study partners, left hours ago, but you stayed stuck with a pile of additional reading your professor dumped on you, including the play you still had to read.

The night seemed to only be beginning for you, and you could only give your friends a sad smile as you walked them out of your apartment. With perfect timing, San popped his head out with a smirk, his concern giving way when he noticed the defeat in your posture.

“Can I help?” were the first words out of his mouth as you were on the verge of tears, your mountain of a neighbor suddenly becoming your shining light through the storm of academic writing and assignments.

He definitely isn’t helping in the way he imagined, but watching his eyebrows furrow in concentration and catching the delight on his face when he marks the “right” sentence makes the hours feel less tedious.

“I mean, why does Euripides have to be such a tragic writer? There’s nothing wrong with writing cheerful things now and then,” San says as he drops the pen onto the paper. Rolling closer to your spot on your bedroom floor, he pouts and puts his hands underneath his chin.

“Well, San, since he wrote tragic Greek plays, I think he was just creating what he knew. Like Sophocles, he just kept his daily life in mind when he was writing.” You smile to yourself, skimming the lines of the last act within your textbook.

“Excuse me, Smarty. I’ll just nap while you do your own notes, then.” He leans against your thigh, the back of his head mushed into the fabric of your shorts.

You scoff. “I just read the materials and introduction! You give me too much credit.”

One of his eyes pops open, followed by the crossing of his arms. “You still know things! Sometimes, you really don’t see that. And I’ve been your neighbor for what, a few weeks now? Give yourself more credit, angel.”

You refuse to acknowledge the pet name, knowing he’ll sense the change in your body if you do. Going for a lighthearted response, you stick your tongue out in his direction. “Trust me, you give enough credit to yourself for the both of us.”

San says your name and sits up, mirroring your crossed-legged position. “Maybe I do, but only because I know how it feels to not give yourself the self-assurance you deserve.”

You gape in mock surprise. “Choi San, not sure of himself? I never would have guessed.”

“Yes, I’m not flawless.” He laughs and knocks his fist softly into your shoulder. “When I was younger, sometimes people thought it was all an act, me being so ‘full’ of myself, all the time. In a way, it was just to pretend that there weren’t times when I didn’t feel confident in what I could do and if I could do it. It still happens, but not as much as before.”

“That’s hard to believe.” You drop your head, staring at your hands in your lap.

He taps his fingers under your chin. “It’s true. Some days, it can be so difficult to believe you’re capable. But you are, in so many ways. Anyone who loves you could see that tenfold. But in the end, the person who needs to see that first is you. Nobody else.”

You wipe away the tears that are prepared to stream down your face, knowing it is ridiculous to cry at the comforting advice San offers. But he says all the right things every time you need them and every time you come across all the hidden fears and self-critiques you harbor.

“Are you crying,” he asks, lips curling into a frown. He presses a hand to your cheek, prepared to catch any tears before they fall, but you shake your head softly.

“I’m not sad, I promise. I just—I meant it. You give me more credit than I ever give myself, and I know it’s a bad habit, but it feels good having someone else notice…how hard it can be, even if I’m still trying.”

His thumb rubs back and forth across the apple of your cheek, sentiment and patience etched into expression. “Someone has to, don’t they?”

Staring into his eyes, you notice how much they shine, even in the dim lighting of your desk lamp. You chastise yourself for never noticing how brown and bright they were before. With a tiny vow, you promise to admire them for as long as you can, whether out loud or in silence. As long as San feels admired in the way he always should be.

The twinkle in his irises reflects in his close-lipped smile. You don’t stop to think as you lean in to kiss the sharp line of his cheek, knowing you need him as much as you need his words. He parts his mouth in shock, the hand on your cheek still. “Thank you, Sannie.”

When you rest your head on your pillow to sleep hours later, you still feel the shape of him on your lips and the fondness of his stare on your skin.

A knock on your door one Sunday afternoon reveals San with one of his hands cut up, a few scrapes visibly bleeding.

“Shit,” you curse, inspecting the cuts with your hands. He winces when you touch a deeper one, a hiss whistling through his teeth. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“I dropped some glass cups. I didn’t know what happened to my broom, so I thought picking it up would be fine if I was careful,” he mumbles, obviously embarrassed about the mishap.

You press a hand to his shoulder as a signal for him to step inside your apartment. He does, observing the living room as you run to get supplies from your bathroom. The fuzzy, polka dot blanket draped across your even fuzzier, gray couch and the rerun of some 90s comedy makes him smile to himself. How can someone be so kind and cute? San thinks to himself.

You’ve both hung out many times since you helped him unpack, especially in your bedroom, but he’s never noticed the smaller things in your place. Seeing the ins and outs of your life in the decor, the few dishes in your sink, family photos by the door, and pens left on the counter, he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding. Rather, he’s noticing the pieces of you and storing them away to remember later. That’s how the ache inside his chest would describe it. For now, at least.

“I have band-aids, ointment, and gauze,” you note the supplies in your hand as you make it back to him. You’re no stranger to mishaps like accidental bruises and bumps, so coming as prepared as possible for this one facet of everyday life is doable, even for you. “Sit down, Sannie.”

When you guide both of you to the couch, you drape the blanket across his lap and pause the show on your television. You hold up the first-aid kit, grabbing his attention and smiling behind the box. “Ready to be patched up?”

“Readier than ready.”

The minutes pass quietly as San watches the rest of the episode, and you treat his smaller cuts with small circular band-aids. You wrap the deeper gashes up with pale gauze, rubbing some cream on the wounds to start the healing process. As you grab more of the ointment from the tin, you realize San being hurt in any capacity is painful, unbearable even, for you as well as him. While you have more than an inkling of what that means, you push it out of your mind to focus on your table-side healing.

When he’s patched up, you flick his wrist. “You’re good to go, sir.”

He grins in response. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. That’s what neighbors are for right?” The word feels too simple to describe San and what he means to you.

“Definitely,” he murmurs. Your faces rest less than a foot apart from each other, knees slightly touching.

In any instance, you’d have backed away quickly and given your new friend and neighbor a proper send-off back to his apartment. However, he’s so warm, inviting, here. It has to be ridiculous to feel so safe in his presence this soon, but San is the least ridiculous person you know.

He can be vain, more confident in himself than the average person is, and satisfied with his own absurdity. Maybe those things turn some people off, but they’re only a few things that you adore about him, the exterior pieces to a beautiful interior. And adore you do, maybe too much and too fast in the month that you’ve known him. But if someone calls you senseless for that, then senseless is what you are.

When you kiss his lips, pressing your mouth firmly to his, you feel senseless. All of your feelings rotate around him, none of your own to pull from as you want nothing but him to spread inside of you. You keen when he groans into your mouth, press deeper into him as his hands clench your waist, and mewl as he pushes his song into your mouth.

“Your hand,” you call out as he tries pushing his injured fingers down your pants.

“Fuck my hand,” San says with a gasp, tugging at the material until your shorts come off. “Well, I want you to fuck it anyway.”

You whimper at his salacious words, grinding your hips down into his lap and awaiting hand. He lets out his own sounds of pleasure at the wetness pooling in your underwear, and he slips the material to the side to truly have your skin against his, the callous on his fingertips rubbing against your clit beautifully.

With your mouth falling open from the cascading waves of pleasure that have barely started, you feel you could float away if it weren’t for San’s index and middle finger suddenly buried inside of you. He whispers dirty things into your ear, your face fighting a blush despite the position you’re both in. “You’re gorgeous, you know that? So perfect for me when you’re fucked out like this.”

He adds a third finger, completely lost in your expression as you ride his hand with abandon. You continue to rut your body into him, and all he can focus on is both your pleasure and the growing erection in his pants. His body pulses with need, but he knows it’s not about him right now.

It’s about you, and he wants you to recognize how much your pleasure matters to him.

“San, I’m gonna—” You press both palms to either side of his neck, moving faster to chase the high that’s within your reach. The taste of it almost hits the center of your tongue, and you want to feel it after all this time you’ve been waiting. For him, for the two of you, for something good.

“It’s okay, don’t fight it.” He kisses your cheek, looking up at you with only adoration and patience in his eyes. “Let go, beautiful. Come with my fingers inside of you.”

Your back arches and your chest presses into San’s biceps when you finally feel your release in its full glory. Your body leaks your essence down his hand and onto your remaining clothes. You would feel like a mess in any other circumstance, but right now, you don’t care.

All you want to do is make San feel as good as he’s made you feel.

You kiss him twice more before pulling him into your bedroom. You push him onto your bed and make quick work of removing his clothes, unzipping his jeans until both that article of clothing and his underwear come off.

The head of his dick is red and leaking with pre-cum, and you fight the urge to take him into your mouth completely and finish the encounter off that way. You want to make it worth both of your whiles.

You stroke his cock a handful of times to moisten the surface, and he ruts into your hand with broken groans. “Please don’t tease me,” San begs, reaching his hands out to hold you by the hips.

“I’m not, Sannie, I promise. Just want to get you nice and ready first.” You may not be confident in a lot of arenas of your life, but you know you’re good at this, and you’re going to make a show of it.

You sink down onto San’s cock easily. Despite the stretch of his wide girth filling every space of you, you take it all with a slack jaw and a deep moan emulating from your chest. It’s been a minute since you’ve had someone of his size inside of you, but you adjust with a few minutes of doing nothing but sitting on top of him.

“Are you gonna—” You cut San’s words short by slamming down on him particularly hard, going from doing nothing to giving him everything in a matter of seconds. You press your nails into his chest as you ride him, your pace fast and unrelenting. He looks up at you through his lashes with lust-blown irises. His hands on your hips threaten to bruise your skin, and in truth, you wouldn’t mind if they did. You want him to mark you up, pin you down, make him yours. You’ve never been more sure of anything before.

Without warning, San switches positions, one large hand pinning you down as the other wraps your legs tighter around his waist. “No more playing. Hold on tight, doll.”

He sets a pace much harsher than yours, practically leaving you completely before slamming completely inside with every thrust. It’s deep in every sense of the word, and you bite into your fist to hold back how loud you’re becoming.

San takes that fist into his palm, splaying out your fingers to interlace with his. “Let me hear all of it. Don’t fight it, baby.” He takes one of your breasts into his mouth, lavishing your nipple in gentle nips and kitten licks.

You decide all of your resounding sounds matter little to you, your other neighbors and their peaceful Sunday be damned. If he wants you to be loud, you’ll be as loud as possible, especially when his hand finds your clit to rub in perfect little figure eights.

Your vocal chords are tattered and uneven by the time your second orgasm comes, your body slack and throat hoarse from the overload of pleasure. You squeeze him tighter despite your oversensitive nerves, ready for him to fall off the same precipice you lept past with no issue.

San buries his face into your neck as he comes, his breath and beautiful groans hitting your ear as his release fills you with warmth. He kisses one of your temples as he pulls out, letting small remnants of the mixture of your releases trickle out of you and onto your bed. It all carries the same weight of importance, anyway. All that matters to you is his warm arms lulling you into comfort you’ve been without for longer than you realized.

The afternoon sky bleeds into night, and you spend all those hours in San’s arms, saying nothing yet everything in that span of time. He only rubs your back and kisses your lips every so often, letting you slip in and out of sleep.

Once you’ve been awake for longer than ten minutes, San breaks the silence by saying, “So, I’m not the best cook, but you deserve some sort of meal after all of this.” He kisses your neck before focusing his gaze back on you. “And I may or may not be collecting my repayment after helping you with those articles right now so you say yes.” He grins again, charming and electrifying. “What do you say?”

“We just had sex and you think I’ll say no to that?” you ask with a giggle.

“I’m just making sure!”

You’ve never been observant. Some cues go past your head entirely, and you know this. But San’s skin, so comfortably close to yours, sends the gentlest calm across yours like the familiar prickles of gooseflesh. You can see him and read his obvious intentions, and you know now you’re ready to welcome the start of something new with open arms. There’s no right or wrong to fear, no choice to be any less certain about. It’s easy to feel that way when sure of him when he looks at you the way he does? “I’d love to have a meal with you, San.”

Two months pass, and as San’s hand draws circles into the divot of your hip, you remember that tender stillness you felt after you first met, the first time you hung out together in what San called “your first not-first date” which you lovingly shoved him for, the first night you spent together, and all the dates that followed. Most important, that stillness never disappeared or faded into the background. Not since the first time you saw him, not when he told you it was more than fine to leave most of your stuff at his place (especially your polka dot blanket), and not when he told you he loved you hours ago.

“What are you thinking about?” San pulls you from your thoughts with his question, his whisper raspy. He kisses your bare shoulder, the soft press of his lips warming you to the bone.

“You.”

“Oh? Only good things I hope.” He smirks, trailing his kisses up to your neck. “Or bad, I prefer both.” You giggle at the few swipes of his tongue on the hollow of your throat, but you tug on the ends of his hair to pull his attention back to your face.

“The best things. How I still get excited every time I see you, and how easy it is to make you smile. How you make me feel as though I can do anything, because I have all the power in the world to do it.” You stroke the corners of his mouth, pulling them up and down to make him laugh. “How much I love you.”

In his laughter, he wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. Peppering his face with kisses, the two of you fall deeper inside the sheets, the only space in the world meant for the two of you. The smell of his cologne lingers on his body, your favorite smell. You breathe it in as he says, “I love you too.” He says the words in between more sets of kisses stamped into your face and neck.

The sunlight peeks in through San’s curtains when you retreat from underneath the comforter, the signal of a new day. Another set of beginnings and discoveries to look for, new realizations to be had. Only, this day is different. You no longer fear as you once did. If either you or San aren’t looking close enough, the other person will be there to help put the pieces together. Other days, you know you’re strong enough now to figure it all out on your own, just like San is. The two of you can be as slow or fast-paced as you want to, impulses or plans be damned. If that’s what love is supposed to be, you never want it to pass you by again.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry@lovetaroandtaemin @xomakara @pars-ley @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings

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mina-org · 2 months ago

Text

Now playing: how to disappear

୨୧ John price focus but poly implied

୨୧ yandere drabble

୨୧ warnings: kidnapping, drugging, yandere themes, dark romance

୨୧ word count: 943

"Price, we're closing in five." Your soft voice reminds him, sipping on the new overpriced water bottle Price picked up for you. He heard his pretty baby talking about not being able to afford it as your coworkers flaunted them around. Lucky for you, Price is a great listener and is eager to prove he’s a provider, anything you talk about wanting he somehow falls into having or ensuring he got a discount for his service so you don't feel bad. He knows when he overstayed his welcome, usually, and he always does, if you're on the closing shift.

"lovie, the sun is setting sooner and sooner, so you be careful out there. Stay sharp now, never know what's lurking." His voice is gruff and his brow raised with a playfulness which masked a real concern, like a disapproving dad and the natural enemy; a 'too' short skirt. You nod and keep cleaning, emptying the mop bucket out back before returning.

Giving price plenty of material to imagine you as his house spouse. He knows you’d make the house a home for him and his boys, welcome him home with open arms, he’s happy to teach you to cook, he knows you're young and heard you complain about ramen and warm up meals. Price knows that feeling well, coming home after months away and coming home to nothing. A warm up meal that does nothing for his hunger and an empty house means Price’s mind is prone to daydream about a certain barista. Price spends his time off watching you, walking to work, during and walking home, what type of gentleman would let such a doll out alone. He’s seen war, so forgive him if he’s a little protective.

You come back to Price hovering over your water bottle, more importantly, the tip jar. He always takes a smoke, standing out front watching you finish your drink before getting a refill, raising the bottle to him as a cheer and another smile, still grateful for the gift. He wanders away from view, his car leaving a few minutes after, or you assume it’s his anyway, the window tint too dark to see. Price wasn't a creepy or even bad customer, he was becoming part of the furniture at this point, able to spend 8 hours there at the cafe, with the occasional smoke break of course. He tipped well enough though and his comments were overprotective at times but he rarely overstepped, and he did have a little charm about him. He’s already slipped you twenty for such good service and an even better view, he had joked, ocean blue eyes staring into yours as he leaned in closer. He also slipped you a pain killer when you complained of a headache the last hour of the shift.

You hated winter, you'd go to work and the sun had yet to rise and you'd walk home in the same darkness. It’s bitter, chill biting through your jacket as you stuff your hands in your pockets. The street lights seemingly stretch sideways, disorienting you and turning the headache into a nauseating migraine as the same two vehicles seemingly circle like vultures, waiting for you to drop.

It felt like something was encroaching as your world seemingly started to go dark. Every walk to work and the return journey felt like you were being hunted. The sight of a white car started to haunt you and raise your heart beat when you saw it, along with its van counterpart. You saw one of them each day, originally it was the car, just parked outside your apartment and then driving past work, tinted windows, driving slowly, something out of a shitty horror movie where you can practically see what grizzly fate awaits the victims.

You never noticed how many alleyways there were but now it felt like there was something ready to jump out. If you stare into the void it'll stare back and you swear you see a skull look back at you but you look again and it’s not there, great now your mind is playing tricks on you. Anxiety propelled you towards home, or you hoped it would have, instead it sent you crashing into someone. A familiar pair of mutton chops and a knowing smile looked down on you, you felt like honey on his fingers. Price kept you steady and kept hold, unwilling to let you go.

"Doll, what did I say about lurkers?" You know that tone all too well, ‘I told you so’ in his eyes. He lets out a chuckle before continuing, his eyes studying your features "You seemed stressed." his voice smooth, almost soothing as his hands travel up and down your arm, inching you closer, almost magnetizing, coaxing you into his space. You feel the haze taking over you.

“Just tired.” You feel yourself leaning into his touch, breathing becoming more of a chore, eyelids feel like bricks,heavier and harder to keep open after every blink.

“Let me help you, alright? Just let me drive ya home love.” Not so much an ask or a request but a command. He had already been guiding you to the van. You begin thrashing, struggling to escape his grip, which quickly becomes bruising.

“Oh, love, there’s no need for that, you know we'll look after you.” A chuckle leaves his throat as he feels you try to pull away, so weak against him, it's endearing really. Before you can gather the strength to stand on your own, you find yourself in the back of the van and Price standing above you, his voice ringing out, “secured the package.”.

#yandere cod mw #yandere cod #yandere x reader #yandere john price x reader #john price x reader #john price #yandere john price #yandere captain price x reader #yandere captain price #john price cod

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hirschkuh-traumvoll · 3 months ago

Text

The shadows' dance

the plot is: alastor hates when somebody's too similar to him, and you appear his reflection with only a few differences. but what is more annoying is that his shadow simply can't leave you alone, more precisely, your shadow. but alastor isn't the only one who's tired of the situation. the ever-absence of your dark double just draws you mad... but perhaps there is something more to it? something hidden in the shadows?

words ≈ 6k

warnings: reader has an intelligent (?) shadow like alastor does, romantic interaction with alastor's shadow

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

There was a thin line between making Alastor like you and hate you. He didn't like those who were too similar to him, feeling as if they stole his individuality or perhaps even feeling that he wasn't as unique as he used to believe, but he didn't like either too different people, his antithesis, ones who didn't understand his adherence to traditions, his devotion to the past times. Such people aroused annoyance in him, because he considered them illiterates and cads.

You were not like many others in hell. In addition to you being rather well-bred and calm you also had a good taste similar to Alastor's but unique at the same time. Both of you were suckers for attention. Desiring to ravish anyone who looked at you, win their adoration, you chose the same strategy for this but realised it differently. If he dressed up in a red and old-fashioned suit, drawing the attention of everyone in a room, you preferred to charm with help of elegance and simplicity. A black long dress was perfect for your thin and high frame, for your light grey skin and black silk hair. You didn't remember how you looked on earth, but every time looking in the mirror now you felt as if you were born like this, and this shadow-like appearance was the only one fitting you. Judging by the glances of the ruby eyes on you, which slowly changed into a stare, Alastor seemed to be engaged. But your lingering looks couldn't stay unnoticed to the Radio Demon as well.

Sometimes the residents of the hotel couldn't believe that there could be another as twisted soul as Alastor, but indeed you finished each other's sentences, laughed at the same grim jokes and stupid puns, enjoyed the same music, bemused others with your rich and terrifying experience of your earthly lives… And this was another way to enchant others' hearts. It was no secret how bewitching Alastor's speech was, and not only his voice and timbre, but also the way he juggled with words easily sliding from his lips. You in reverse had a calm and slow manner of speaking as if made for sharing a secret, and in fact your low voice made your listeners believe the story you were telling was spilt especially for them. And neither Alastor nor you could help but feel a pleasant prickle over your skin when you heard each other's voices.

This all was a balance of your character, what made Alastor like you. You were different enough to be prejudiced against each other, but your outlook was so similar that you simply couldn't help but become friends. Extremes don't meet, but identical people get bored with each other; you and Alastor were the perfect tandem.

So what was stopping both of you from being together?

Your powers.

Alastor didn't forgive any encroachment on his power, but right from the start you were obviously too strong to be turned into his puppet. And though he could imagine you in the role of his ideal partner for a crime or for a night drink, the fact you had the same magical powers as him ruined everything. Alastor couldn't stand that you were similar to him in that. He had been training his shadow magic for years and then you waltzed into hell being already able to control your shadow.

In fact, it was the only similarity connected with conjure, and in actual fact it was the only magical ability of yours. And you even didn't consider it as your power, more like your shadow was alive, able to lead its own shadowlife and all you could do is accept it. But nevertheless the independence of your shadow was exactly what crossed the line of Alastor's temper.

But though your very existence in the hotel naturally bothered Alastor (firstly in the way he could call agreeable but then turned into the unbearable feeling), his own shadow seemed to enjoy the situation. It liked swirling around you and your shadow especially, as if it wanted to befriend. And Alastor couldn't deny that at first he liked it, took it as another proof that you fit each other perfectly. Until his shadow began to spend more time with you than with him. And it didn't just leave for a minute to check if you were fine (what the shadow actually asked for at first, and what Alastor happily agreed to), but disappeared for hours, and once even for the whole day. It never returned to him by itself. Every time Alastor found his umbra in the presence of your dark copy, it returned under his control only being ashamed under the owner's strict gaze. But only to escape the next day. It was insufferable.

But in his arrogance Alastor couldn't see how you worried about your own shadow disappearing more and more recently…

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since you spilt soup in your bed Niffty forbid you to eat in your quarters, so now you had to come down to eat your lunch. You hated it. It was another day when your shadow slipped away somewhere, and you knew who to blame. Catching your dark self twice and thrice with Alastor's dark silhouette near a new-made bedlam, you came to think that your always obedient shadow now turned into a real troublemaker under bad influence of Alastor’s shadow known for its mischievous character. You only didn’t comprehend why that was happening, and whether it was Alastor’s plan by irritating you, or whether it was only his shadow's decision. And as you were stepping down the maroon carpet without black spot under your feet, anger was boiling in you. You hated to show yourself in front of others without your shadow. People underestimated shadows, you felt vulnerable without yours, just too weird and lonely. After all, a shadow is what follows you wherever you go, your devoted companion, and what in hell Alastor thought of himself, depriving you from it? Or why couldn’t he keep his friend in control?

You took a deep breath to collect yourself before entering the dining room, you couldn't let others see your hurt. But to your surprise the room was empty. Almost empty. Alastor was sitting at the table, back to the doors, eating stew which was still steaming in his bowl and spoon. Seemed like he returned from the overlord meeting earlier than expected.

Approaching the table you looked at the floor. Hm, only a grey silhouette of the chair on the boards. Seemed the demon also lost his companion. You crossed the room and took your usual seat in front of Alastor. A portion of the hot meal was already on your plate, the spicy smell tickled your nose. You sighed, taking a spoon and thanked Alastor, who reservedly nodded back. Sometimes you didn't understand how he could be polite and caring at one moment and then turned into an arrogant egoist… You just wondered what side of these were sincere to you. After all, you wanted to know him. You knew how others thought about you and Alastor: you were a hellish couple. Though you were not even friends, the way you both reflected each other could seem to somebody as if you were long connected. Sometimes even you believed you were. Despite all the differences you knew you were the same in core. And to be honest you were attracted to the parts that differed you. These differences, you knew, were based on the reasons that united you, made you two so resembling. And you longed to know them better. And you hoped that every time when Alastor acted kindly to you was a signal he shared your urge of being closer.

You were eating in silence when suddenly you heard a terrible thunder from the stairs and then a furious female scream. You exchanged surprised glances with Alastor. The enraged trampling accompanied with Spanish curses approached the dining room and in the doorframe stood Vaggie. Her fits on the hips, jaws clenched, the only eye sparkled with anger.

“Who’s gonna explain what the hell?!” At your and Alastor's astonished looks she exhaled heavily, “Your shadows. Why none of you hold them on a leash?” Immediately two oblong dark silhouettes flew above her frame and landed to the feet of their owners. She glared at them angrily and looked back at you two. “So? Who will explain?”

You narrowed your eyes at Alastor, but he reacted first,

“My dear, as soon as I got back to the hotel, my shadow had already left me.” He grinned at you as if it was your fault.

“What?” You exclaimed, “What do you mean by that? I didn't do anything to your shadow. Rather, what did you do to mine?”

He tilted his head and arched his brow at you, “Don't you want to say, dear, that it is me who brought all this bedlam?”

“Hah, of course not!” You threw your hands up and evilly laughed, “You're the one who always says ‘my shadow has escaped me’, so how can I blame you? Only your shadow, the very one you can't control, the very one that always escapes you!”

His right eye nervously twitched, but his grin went wider.

“Do you doubt my authority over my own shadow, dear? That’s ridiculous!” He rolled his eyes, yellow fangs reflected the glim of your own demonic glare.

“The only ridiculous thing is how you blame me and my shadow for all the mess, though you know perfectly that it is your shadow that is the cause of everything!”

Harshly Alastor left his seat and made several long and loud steps to tower over you. With a squeak you moved your chair back and stood up, raised your head to face the demon in front of you. None of you noticed how the shoulders of Alastor's shadow slightly rose and fell as if it was chuckling.

"Hmm. Fair enough!” He tilted his head to you too close but you didn't stir, “Perhaps the fault of the havoc is on my shadow indeed. I don't deny, it likes a little chaos, but this always could be avoid because my shadow’s always in my control and never goes against my will and never did, until you came here!”

“So you blame me?! You blame me that you can't control your shadow?”

“I blame your shadow for this, darling. Yours influenced mine and… It's rather worrisome.” Alastor hissed through his fangs.

You laughed again, “So, big bad overlord can't handle a common sinner?” It was almost funny how Alastor replaced the responsibility of his shadow's behaviour on you. But you had enough. It was him who spoiled your shadow.

The pupils of his eyes turned into dials, antlers immediately increased in size, but before things could go too far Vaggie pointed her spear on his chest, standing in front of you. Your shadows, which all this time were nervously swirling at your feet, shifting their gaze from each other to you and Alastor, now froze.

“Enough! Both of you!” She looked darkly at you and Alastor, who had already returned to his usual form although his hair was still slightly disheveled. Vaggie tapped the weapon against the floor as if declaring the end of your fight, “You can blame each other endlessly, I don't care, I just want you to clear up that mess and never repeat it again. And your squabbles you can keep to yourself, I have absolutely no desire of finding out which of you is more to blame for it's-all- your-shadow's-fault bullshit.” As she stated and gave you both another frown she left the room.

The static noise popped in the air, Alastor's red eyes sharply watched you, but you tried to ignore the gaze. Your umbra still kept your feet, and Alastor's one hid behind his shoulder. Their empty eyes watched each other, but you couldn't understand what was hidden in them. Suddenly Alastor's shadow sharply turned its head to you, giving you its wide grin. You shivered and looked away. Hia umbra was even more irritating and frightening than him. Alastor still didn't utter a word, but so did you, knowing that he would shift blame on you again, so you rolled your eyes and left the room. But two pairs of red and hollow eyes never left you.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You rushed down the stairs into the lobby. Your leather shoes loudly clattered even on the carpeted floor. Your eyes, usually of dim pearly light, now blazed brightly snow-white in fury. You jumped off the last step and screamed out,

“Where is he?!”

He promised it would never happen again. And you said you would do all that was in your power to also keep it under control. You shook your hands that day, while your shadows were forced by you to clear up all the bedlam they had committed. So why then a few minutes ago you witnessed Alastor's shadow emerging out of nowhere in your room, fucking snatching your shadow and waltzing off with it?

“ALASTOR!” You rolled out the last consonant of his name growling. The whole hotel for sure heard you. And a second later a tall silhouette formed in front of you from the darkness. And when you already filled your lungs with air to shout again, his long finger was pressed to your lips. Alastor leaned to you, his sharp teeth just an inch from your face,

“I have rights to bawl and freak out as well, my dear, but I’m not doing this.” He said in low and stood straight again, grasping a cane in his fists behind his back. His posture was tense, smile patently strained, but all in all he conducted himself better than you. You breathed out. Alastor's self-control was the feature you envied.

“Guess, you’re blaming me again in the absence of your shadow.” Alastor pronounced, casting a look under your feet. There was only trampled red pile, and none of you cast your shadows.

“I'm sick of this.” You exhaled. But anger boiled in you again and the next words you shouted at Alastor, “Why does your dumb shadow burst into my room and take my one away?! But! You don't like it too, do you? So why is it happening?!”

But did Alastor only open his mouth to talk, you attacked again. You didn't give him a chance to say a word and that got on his nerves, after all not only you suffered in this situation. The whole thing was outrageous but it had its reasons. And Alastor had been thinking about it a lot at least to suppose the possible causes of this all. And remembering the answer now made his foot nervously tap at the floor.

In the end of your accusation you demanded,

“Answer where’s my shadow. Now!”

Alastor smirked down at you and bent himself to you so close you had to take a step back to avoid bumping into his nose. You felt your cheeks became hotter at that closeness or maybe because of how rudely he invited your personal space.

“Must be hanging around somewhere with your shadow.” He huffed and held for a little too long, bending to you. His gaze roamed over your face until dropped down then he harshly straight himself up, leaving you amusingly staring where he just stood.

“Anyways,” You started slowly after clearing your throat, “I don't know what your shadow's trying to get from mine but it won't get it.” Alastor turned his head to you, and you gave him a sly smile full of white fangs, “Your shadow's just too weak to deal with mine.”

Alastor sniffed. Seemed like you tried to get on his nerves again. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he looked down at you and promised in low,

“You can't imagine what my shadow can do to you, darling.” Alastor growled.

“Ooh, kinky!” You both turned your head to the high voice. Angel was sitting at the bar and smirking at your quarrel. He witnessed all the skirmish, obviously enjoying the show. You headed for him, Alastor followed you.

“Angel? Do you know where is- um.. Where are our shadows?”

Angel raised his brow at you, a smirk was still on his face, then he asked, “How can I?”

“Somebody in this hotel has to know!” You were losing your patience again. “And you seem to be sitting here all the time, so perhaps you've seen something?”

“Eh.” He shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes. He shouldn’t comment on your quarrel but just watch where the drama would go. Well now under the piercing gaze of two sharp-toothed demons he couldn't hide anything. “I saw something creeping to the side stairs, but I'm not sure. I could drink too much.”

There were indeed a couple of empty glass bottles on the board. Strangely, there wasn't Husk. Could Alastor send him looking for his shadow? Well, he could.

“Don't drink alone, Angel,” You said and wanted to head to the stairs but bumped into Alastor's chest as you turned around. “Aw!” You lifted your look up. Alastor didn't step aside surprisingly. Must be waiting when you do so, you thought and moved aside.

“Which one you chose, my dear?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“Huh?”

“There are two side stairs: the left and the right one. I suggest we split up, what do you say?”

It made sense. The two stairs seemed darker than usual. They actually had a strange construction, as they were two long corridors with steps leading right to the third floor, passing the second one. You supposed there was some kind of magic behind it, for from the lobby it seemed like the stairs ended on the second floor. You took a closer look at the stairs. They indeed were much darker, but the left side was lit up with flickering scones. You considered it as a sign of Alastor's shadow presence, after all, playing with electricity was his cup of tea.

“Well. Let it be right.” You said.

“Splendid!” Alastor gave you one last glare and made his way to the left hall stairs.

The behaviour of his shadow was describable. He knew it wasn't your fault that his shadow, the incarceration of his desires, acted the way it did. Alastor knew that he… that you attracted him. But was that attraction so powerful that he could barely control these impulses to become closer to you? And interesting was the fact that his shadow almost never interacted directly with you, only with your own shadow… And Alastor wondered if your shadow was the personification of your desires too? Because if it was so it could explain why his shadow preferred the company of your dark copy and not yours directly. His umbra was wild, never worried about consequences and if it wanted to do something it did it. And so was yours in its nature, but you held it on a too short leash. For Alastor it was evidently that your shadow delighted in the chaos his shadow taught it. Alastor never minded his shadow to create a little mess here and there, it was entertaining for him! And your shadow was too quiet, too shy, always swirling somewhere at your feet. His shadow gave yours what it desired — enjoyment of chaos.

But could there be another reason? Of course. And this one seemed to Alastor, despite his disliking to it, more verisimilar. Alastor was attentive to himself and others, so he never ruled out your liking for him. He couldn't say if you really sought its attention, but you never escaped it for sure. Your slight blush when he leaned to you, your eyes always catching his figure first of all when you entered a room, your compliments to him and a bright smile when he complimented back. If this was really your desire, then your shadow wouldn't bound itself if it once learned the reciprocal feelings.

This was precisely the ground of the circumstances that led you both to these dark corridors. Own blindness for feelings and irrepressibility of the subordinates.

The burst of a light bulb interrupted his thoughts. Now the stairs drown in complete darkness, but Alastor's eyes of a predator could still discern. He blinked twice and continued his way up, his steps echoed through the narrow stair. His thoughts returned to you.

Suddenly Alastor perceived something in the darkness. It was a silhouette, slim and darker than the walls around. It was a shadow hiding in the darkness.

“Well, how do the last minutes of your freedom feel, hm? Come here.” At his command the shadow trembled slightly and sank down closer to him, and Alastor realised it had the wrong shape, not his. It was thinner, lighter.

“Oh?” Two round white flames lit up where the eyes could be, and Alastor’s teeth bared in a grin as he understood “Oh! The little one!” Alastor smiled cheerfully. He had never been in private with your shadow before, he wondered where it could lead. But his head was still full of his theories, so when he outstretched his hand to your shadow his palm was slightly sweated.

“Well, at least one of the runaways is caught. Come now, dear, let's get you to your owner.”

The silhouette slowly flew up to him and he was ready to grasp it, when suddenly the darkness pinned him to the wall with strength he could never expect from a tiny thing like this. He gasped, as your shadow put its hands against his shoulder and chest, keeping him firmly.

You stopped and looked at your palms. It felt as if you were touching some fabric, maybe tweed, but your hands were empty. And you felt a little pressure on your fingertips and base of your palms. Your shadow might come across something. The so to say co-feeling between you and your shadow was rather irksome, especially when it hung out with Alastor's umbra, because in that case when the shadow bumped into something you felt everything on your body. And now it was the same ghosting feeling on your palms, as if your double was pressing down on something. But… If it was touching something soft it could not be in this stairs-corridor, for there were nothing but steps and scones…

You dropped your hands, looked up and nearly jumped up — Alastor's hunched shadow was standing five steps higher. Its hollow orbits gazed right into you.

“Hi?” You said.

Alastor huffed as your shadow pinned his arms to the wall, its tail twined around his legs so that he couldn't make a move.

“What are you up to, dear? Does your master know what you are doing, huh? Does she?” He hated that he was nervous but he couldn't help it. This touch was cold as ice even through the fabric, it sent shivers down his spine, and he clenched his teeth in a tight smile when the grasp on his wrists became stronger. Snow white lights of the shadow's eyes moved closer and closer to his face. He knew your shadow couldn't devour unlike his, but nevertheless he tilted his head, escaping whatever your shadow was up to do. But as Alastor tilted his head to the left, your shadow brought its face to the right side of his neck, he felt the chill and then the shadow slowly moved to his other shoulder and, as being hypnotised, he tilted his head to the right, letting your twin to send the cold through his body one more time. It was thrilling. The body of your shadow was velvety, its fingers no longer held him tightly, but placed themselves in his palms, the tail around his legs loosened now caressing his calf.

“Darling, you don't know what you are doing.” He whispered, hoping his voice was trembling because of the cold. But could your shadow hear him? Could you hear him?

The lights disappeared as if the shadow lowered its eyelids. Next moment Alastor felt an icy soft touch on his lips.

As you raised your leg to step over to Alastor's shadow you froze. What was that?

Instinctively you moved your head back, but the true feeling of someone's lips on you didn't leave you. You felt being kissed. And this someone seemed to return the kiss, deepening it, traced their hands to your forearms and put them on your waist.

You never knew it could be. Your shadow..? But who?! Was it..? Could it be..? You looked up. He..? If you had found his shadow, he could find yours. But why was there this feeling? You couldn't mistake it. Definitely you felt the touch of your lips to someone, you stiffened as your shadow did, but then you felt it melt in his arms, and the trace of kiss on your lips was so realistic you struggled the urge to give into nothing that was in front of you. With foggy eyes you glanced up again, Alastor's shadow slowly tilted its head to the side. You parted your lips and made a step back, going one step down. The figure in front of you moved closer, but before you could stop to think about something else but these ghost lips on you, the shadow seized you. You only gasped when Alastor's shadow covered your mouth with its.

He felt. The cold melted, giving place to the gentle warmth on his lips. Apparently you'd found his lost shadow too, and of course now it was doing to you the same thing your shadow was doing to him. He growled as jealousy was growing in him. But most important was that Alastor felt this kiss. And though it was an indirect kiss, though he couldn't feel the taste of you, and the touches he felt wasn't actually yours but his own through the perspective of your both shadows, despite all of this Alastor didn't dare to break the kiss. The first kiss. And evidently you enjoyed this too. As your shadow cupped his face, the chill was immediately replaced with warmth, as your shadow clung to his chest, he felt as if your body pressed to him. You followed the movements of your double which conducted you. You felt the moments, the way your shadow touched him, and you hurried to repeat the gesture — from the master you turned into a shadow obediently reflecting the movements of the one who was guiding you. And now Alastor jeloused not only to his shadow which directly was holding you, but also to your shadow for its power over you. He wanted to lead the process. He wanted to be the one who made you finally surrender to your desire.

Alastor's shadow kept a possessive hold on you, squeezing your shoulders and bringing you closer. You wished it was his hands, real hands. You felt how its tendrils played around your hips, the chill around your legs told you so, and you wished it was him, caressing and slightly pinching your skin. You wished you could feel more than the pressure of your shadow to his face, because that was exactly what you were experiencing now. But you still cherished the thought that It was his shadow who was kissing you, it was him who hadn't run from your shadow, you both surrendered to the plan devised by your sly umbras. And this thought, this knowing that right now Alastor was holding your fragile frame in his hands, leaning closer, feeling the way you were feeling — these all made your heart beat painfully fast in your chest.

You felt a phantom touch on the small of your back as if guiding you closer to the kisser and you wanted to follow the silent command, but your foot missed a step and instead of falling into the arms of your lover's shadow you just fell down on the stairs.

“Ouch!” You opened your eyes as your knees and then hips landed on the hard step and looked around but saw no one and nothing around. There was only you sitting on the red carpet with a bruised hip and arms propped against the prickly pile. It was silent and dim here. Nothing reminded of the love you'd just been sharing.

With a heavy exhale you stood up and leaned against the wall with your legs standing on different steps. Well… How could you meet Alastor now? The shadow kiss felt pretty awkward, especially when you and Alastor hadn’t even had a normal kiss… How would he react? You didn’t even know how you would react when you saw him again.

“My dear, are you there?” Your heart sank deep down and immediately flew high as you heard a familiar static voice from the top of the stairs. Alastor better stop doing these things to your heart. You were sure you could die the second time with such a roller coaster in your chest.

“Y-yeah…” You looked up. The doorframe was empty, but then Alastor slowly came out of the corner, first you saw his head, then shoulders and finally he showed himself. From your position you couldn't see if he had returned his loss.

“Have you found your shadow?” He asked.

“Yes,” You were not sure, it was too dark in the corridor to perceive a shadow, but you hoped it was so. At least if Alastor was here it meant that you had found what you were looking for, right?

“Why wouldn't you then come out of the darkness, darling?” His voice sounded softer than ever and it brought another painful kick in your chest. You got out of your torpor and went upstairs. Alastor's yellow smile lit up as you went up, he outstretched his hand to you which you took with a warm tingle on your fingertips.

As you came out to him, Alastor saw how your pupils constricted and how your irises changed their colour into soft yellowish as the light pouring from the scones around. Alastor noticed long ago that the happier you were, the warmer shine of your eyes became, and now his chest filled with pride and gladness of knowing that it was him who made you feel so. You watched him discreetly as if unsure how to hold yourself in his presence. But your previous boldness hadn't disappeared wholly, your smile was still saucy.

Alastor was still holding your hand, his fingertips slowly drew circles on your knuckles. There was a special kind of silence between you, it was pleasurable and yet nervous and gave birth to the whirlpool of emotions tightening your stomachs and weakening your knees. Alastor's eyes ran over your face, his fingers jittery squeezed your wrist, he definitely wanted to say something but hesitated. Alastor hesitated.

Suddenly your eyes caught the sight of a black spot, flying out from behind Alastor's back and sliding under your feet. Well, your naughty shadow had come back. And now you also noticed a wicked grin of the other shadow behind Alastor's shoulder.

“You know what I've been thinking there.. on the stairs while… uhm...” You muttered, eyeing up at the man whose shadow you kissed two minutes ago. A tad embarrassing, but you'd already started and really wanted to finish your thoughts but Alastor's crimson eyes made every word coming to your lips stop and be swallowed by your fear.

“I wanted…” You started again, but a warm palm on your cheek interrupted you again. You closed your eyes at the touch.

“Well, dear, something tells me that our thoughts were quite… similar.” His thumb slid down, followed the contour of your lower lip, causing shivers over you. “Don't you think so?” The static hum sounded closer to your ear, you felt hot breath fanning over your face. You finally looked at Alastor again, illuminating his slightly pink cheeks with the warm light of your eyes, and murmured “Uh-huh.”

Alastor smirked at your shy answer, his palm cupped your cheek, and you stood on your tiptoes. Your lips met. It was absolutely different from what you'd been sharing on the stairs, but the warmth, the unexpected bitter and spicy taste made you lean back, escaping his lips. You didn't even know what made you do so, but Alastor seemed to be ready for this and immediately caught you again, pressing you closer to himself, kissing you once again. This time you gave in. He felt how you relaxed in his arms and smiled in the kiss. He knew he wouldn't let you rob yourself of pleasure ever again.

You ran your tongue over his lower lip and felt his quiver. It was so much better than with the shadow: now you could taste, breathe in each other's exhales, pull closer and embrace tighter. You moaned into the kiss as Alastor delved his tongue into your mouth and felt his claws sinking into your waist, it was obvious that he was holding himself back from something you would agree to without hesitation if he’d only ask.

Alastor broke the kiss, looked into your eyes. You only caught your breath, when he descended his lips on you again. The knot in your stomach turned into a flamed ball and the hands caressing your body ignited it more. Alastor often broke the kiss, but only to bring several more, and each one was longer than previous, until you felt as if endlessness of love was on your tongues.

Suddenly Vaggie stopped. Her gaze fixed to the carpet before her. More accurately, to the shadows on the carpet. The corners of her lips went down and the only eye opened wide in surprise slowly growing into shock. These shadows… They were acting strangely. At first Vaggie didn't even realise what it waswas: the silhouette wasn't similar to neither you nor Alastor. She tilted her head, looking at the spot and approaching it. She almost passed it by, when her eyes reflexively looked aside, catching some action there, and as soon as her brain realised what she'd just witnessed, she stopped and turned her head in that direction.

There in the end of the narrow corridor stood you and Alastor, illuminated by an old sconce and casting a long eldritch shadow to her feet, a shadow of two kissing sinners. That's why Vaggie couldn't understand whose shadow it was — the shadow didn't belong to one person, there were two in it. With tenderness unusual for the two of you, you held onto each other as if you were crystal and seemed absolutely lost in your kiss. There was vulnerability in you two, which none of you had shown to anyone before, and it was beautiful. The way Alastor gently cupped your face and bent himself over you, and how you stood on your tiptoes, held on his neck and tightly pressed yourself to him, while he put his hand on your back to pull you closer. Yes, it was beauty and tenderness itself. Your palm reached to Alastor's ears pressed to the crown of his head, he visibly quivered at the touch to the red fur and buried his face in the crook of your neck, whispering to you something Vaggie couldn't hear but caused a chuckle from you. All the movements and even your smiles were reflected by the shadows on the floor. Finally they behaved as they should — repeated after their owners.

But Vaggie stood there and stared too long. Alastor's lips attacked your neck, or perhaps it was his teeth, because between your quiet moans she could hear quiet cries and Alastor's low chuckle. And his hands went lower and lower…

Vaggie shook her head and turned away,

“Ew. Disgusting.” She mumbled, heading further down the corridor. She didn't notice how two grinning shadows turned their haeds to the sound of her remark, left their places and followed the fallen angel, rubbing their hands with anticipation.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

#hirschkuh's work #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor fluff

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jeongsoob · 2 months ago

Text

not even sometimes ᯓ 𝚌𝚜

SFW version of my fic posted on @heechwe .ᐟ

୨୧ pairing: choi san x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3.2k ୨୧ genre: fluff, sprinkles of angst, suggestive (just in last scene) ୨୧ tags: neighbor to lovers au, healthy communication for the win ୨୧ synopsis: You've never been good at planning for the unexpected, much less a new neighbor. But the man in question may just love that about you, among other things you didn't see in yourself to begin with. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is a remaster of an old fic I wrote years ago for a member of NCT, the original title being "Where We Begin." Seeing as I am not following that group anymore and I thought it'd be fun to polish up some old work, what the hell. Thank you to my betas for reading this one, @prkhaven @lovetaroandtaemin @tinycatharsis @jjunbug @innocygnet, I love you lots. Title inspiration from "Sometimes" by Ariana Grande!

Some people know the instant something begins, the start of something new brimming with possibilities palpable within the surrounding air.

For you, it’s not that simple.

Lucky for you, Choi San isn’t subtle. With a body like his, how could he be?

You give San your name with a smile, a soft yet large hand enveloping your smaller one. “You’ll love it here. I’ve been here for almost five years, never a problem.”

“That’s perfect. I’ve been couch-surfing for two months, so anything is better than my friends’ smelly socks and booty calls.”

You giggle, the sound reverberating off the highway walls. It almost makes you forget your choice of clothing, the realization suddenly hitting you.

You giggle, pointing a finger towards the football. “So, you play sports and cook?”

“Not really, just a parting gift from my friend Woo for the recipe I owed him. I guess it’s also a housewarming gift‌, considering.”