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novthirty · 1 month ago

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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter one]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — oh how i wish to leave my academically rigorous life and get isekai-d… next chapter will be sometime next week as i’m on the brink with finals (the class average on the exam is 7/45 we are not okay) i might not reply to all comments but i want u to know i see all of them n blush & kick my feet every time 🥰

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part two

chapter one: descent — after finding yourself in an unfortunate accident, you wake up in the world of love and deepspace. you go from burned out college student to secretary at your wit's end. wc: 4k

January snow falls on your tongue, plumes of warm air escaping your breath into the cold. It was just your luck to get saddled with a 7 PM class this semester, relegated to walking home in the late winter chill. You clutch your bag tighter as you walk down the desolate road, devoid of any streetlights— when a vehicle swerves and crashes into you. The impact is that of a sledgehammer to your body, as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones.

This is the end, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

—————————————————————

You rise to consciousness upon hearing a steady, mechanical beeping— and promptly have a panic attack upon seeing the IV attached to your arm. You feel yourself hyperventilating, the heart rate monitor crashing as a triad of nurses comes in to restrain you. You desperately thrash against their hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use; your injuries and the numerous drugs running through your system hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back into slumber.

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting casually by your bedside. You do a double take at the silver-haired man. And you laugh. You must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you have been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting here in flesh and blood? You say as much, and he deigns you with the response, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. As days passed, you gradually had to accept that— whether reality or not— you were going to be stuck here until you figured out how to return to your world.

Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward. Your conversations are minimal, mostly veiled threats as he questions your intentions and identity. “I’ll give you one last chance,” He exhales in frustration as he interrogates you for the hundredth time, “To explain why you’ve trespassed here, before I decide for myself.”

“…I didn’t want to die?” You answer meekly. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s not being as menacing as he thinks he is, hovering over a patient confined to their hospital bed. You take a spoonful of your pudding when he looks away. Better than hospital food back home, at least.

There's little you can say that won’t make him think you’ve gone mad. But, maybe you are. A strong part of you believes that any moment, you’ll be waking up in a padded room, wearing a straitjacket.

You spend your days drifting in and out of sleep, staring out the window into the underbelly of the N109 Zone. Each day you awaken to the sight of the dark cityscape fills you with disappointment and dread, as you realize this may not be a dream. You miss the warmth of your own bed. You miss the soft daylight streaming into your apartment. (You miss home.)

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.

You corner him in the hallway outside your room, dressed in the ill-fitting clothes given to you. (The ones you wore during the accident couldn’t be salvaged, they said, handing the torn and bloody garments to you. Your only possessions in this world, now ruined.) You fidget with your hands, daring yourself to look him in the eye. “I don't have a lot of work experience, but…” You earnestly list off all of the projects and internships you’ve undertaken in the previous years, selling your skills with the desperation of someone who has nowhere else to go.

You were just a college student, months away from graduation before you found yourself here. Your life was tiring; an endless backlog of readings and back-to-back assignments waiting for you at the end of each day, the pressure to succeed constantly weighing down on your conscience. But despite it all, it was a fulfilling life; working every day to the bone in order to achieve your dreams.

Now, it fills you with spite— how everything you had worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone being one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t be able to survive here alone.

You don’t spare a breath until the very end of your spiel, “—and, it would only have to be until I find a way to return home,” You finish. All the while, you’re hiding your anxiety; because how exactly do you get home? (A part of you cruelly whispers: if you can.)

“Pretty please?” You add with a grimace, when the silence becomes overwhelming.

He looks at you with cruel amusement, chin tilted down like a king with a peasant at his feet. The Sylus of Love and Deepspace may have been a devoted lover, but the man in front of you now is a cold and ruthless criminal. He takes a step forward— you think he plans to rid you from his sight, when he says, “Don’t make me regret it.”

—————————————————————

Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary.

The past few weeks before the accident had been spent in the post-holiday rush of schoolwork. With only your job to keep you occupied now, you’ve never found yourself with so much time on your hands. Years of building time management skills helps you to cope with the high-paced nature of this world, so you put your whole blood, sweat, and tears into this job, repaying Sylus’s generosity with your efforts to earn your keep around here.

As his personal assistant, you have no precedent to follow because Sylus just… does everything on his own. Despite the number of minions and associates he has at his disposal, when it comes to his personal business, Sylus is a one-man army. So, you insert yourself into his workflow and commandeer his schedule; the man doesn’t even have a calendar, for crying out loud. Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues and associates observe the stark change in the following months.

“Miss Secretary,” Luke and Kieran affectionately call you, “What’s your secret to dealing with the bossman?” They ask, in dramatically hushed whispers.

Sylus was untouchable— unrivaled at his job— which often enabled his imperious disregard for everyone else’s time and patience. Being late or completely missing meetings if something he deems more important arises (an auction for a vintage record is not something you deem important enough over an executive meeting), expecting his minions to accomplish the impossible in a matter of days. “I did the heavy lifting, surely you can manage the scraps,” He drawls from his leather, ergonomic chair, looking bored to bits.

Though you already knew this from your time playing the game, it was different to experience it, and extremely more difficult to tolerate.

But you’ve dealt with worse in the form of freeloader group mates and hard-headed cousins. Over time, you whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. “And what if I don't?” He asked with an edged smile on his face, the first time you admonished him.

As you learned with your experience with children over the years: disappointment hits harder than anger. You cross your arms, holding back your true frustration. “Well, you’d be making mine and everyone else’s job ten times harder. And I would think much less of you.” You thought you’d get sacked the moment the words came out of your mouth.

But instead, momentary shock flitted through his eyes— a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Well, I can't have my lovely secretary think so lowly of me, now can I?” He gave you a demeaning pat on the head, your irritation coming back in full swing.

Over time, you grow to have a deeper respect for Sylus and how he runs Onychinus. He surprisingly takes criticism very well. At least, when it comes from you. You vividly remember the time he used his evol on an associate who dared to criticize his business practices. (He was being rude, anyway.) Neither is he the type to exaggerate his capabilities, easily admitting to his limitations. “I suppose I’ll have to learn then,” Is his attitude when it comes to his shortcomings, and you admire it.

However, none of this stops him from being a bastard from time to time and making your job harder than it needed to be.

—————————————————————

Once Sylus started entrusting you with more responsibilities, you started handling his work line. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “You’ve reached the Onychinus hotline, how may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

This especially came in handy when certain little rats wouldn’t stop bothering him on the phone. “You want to know if he’ll attend the anniversary ball on the 21st?” You made eye contact with him across the room. He immediately shook his head, as he caught wind of the brown-nosing colleague who couldn’t take a hint. “He’s not here right now, unfortunately. I'll get back to you through email as soon as I can.” (You never did.)

Another new responsibility you’ve been given is to mediate dissatisfied clients. You’re surprisingly good at it; sometimes he wonders if you’ve taken some sort of PR training before. With how you handle these grown men acting like children without offending them, you’re either the most patient person to exist or very discreetly planning murder. He would’ve just resorted to threats of maiming (and execution of said threats when necessary). It makes things a lot easier since— according to you— his abrasive personality creates more problems than necessary.

He initially gave you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life.

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims.

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he can admit. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; like another little crow chirping from his shoulder at all times of the day.

“Chop chop, Sylus! You have a 9 o’clock meeting at The Nest and it’s already 8:30,” You storm into his office to remind him. You can count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to overhaul his schedule into oblivion because of a single missed meeting.

“Don’t worry, dear,” He idly spins in his chair, with no intention of leaving anytime soon. “It’ll only take me fifteen minutes.”

You whipped your head at him in alarm, “I’d rather you not break the speed limits to get there on time.”

It takes you one look at his daily schedule to nag him about his more concerning eating habits, even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance. “Are you going to explain to me why you’ve spent two whole hours on a single meal?” You sit across from him at the table; stunned would be an understatement at how you feel seeing all the empty plates surrounding him.

He huffs. It’s not his fault his more… draconic habits carried over into this life. “Can I not even have my lunch in peace?”

“At least space your meals out. Or eat dinner. You’re going to get hunger pangs before you go to bed, at this rate.”

Sometimes, you even resort to physically forcing him out of his office the moment noon hits, in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.” He’s long since learned not to fight you on this. Even if your attempts to push at his back are puny, at best.

Your days together go by in this peacefully chaotic nature; your presence likening to a storm that has come to uproot his life. He pays you egregious amounts of money to make his job easier, and in turn, you make sure he’s fed, well-rested, and most importantly, aware of his goddamn schedule.

It helps that your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.)

He could shut the doors to your “reception area,” as he likes to call it, but he finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime. Your desk is in the perfect position to observe you from the corner of his eye. It had been a strategic decision, when he knew nothing of you or your intentions. Now, it’s become a pastime for him to watch you and your silly habits. Twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen, as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation.

He’s not accustomed to being in such close quarters with someone, to letting someone into the crevices of his life. Yet slowly but surely, you weave your way into not only his work, but into the threads of his everyday existence. You leave your mark all throughout his home; from small trinkets magically finding their way onto random surfaces, your sweater claiming its new home on the couch armrest, a new mug in your favorite color left in the kitchen sink. Sometimes he can tell you’ve just left a room, when he inhales the lingering traces of your perfume.

Your presence slips its way into that of his found family, too. The moment you laid eyes on Mephisto, the mechanical crow had immediately claimed a soft spot in your heart. You affectionately call him Mephie. From feeding him tiny bites of your dinner (he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he can’t digest food), to finding shiny trinkets such as coins and jewelry to add to his collection, you’re very close to displacing Sylus as the crow’s favorite in the house.

Despite only being a few years older than Luke and Kieran— the exact middle between their and Sylus’s age— you both indulge and scold them. You join in on their pranks (you’re often the key to setting it up, what with your way around his schedule) but become extremely disappointed if their fun results in collateral damage; from a broken vase, to a rescheduled mission. Similar to Sylus, you keep them in check but stand right alongside them in the chaos.

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The snow melts and spring creeps in, marking three months since you found yourself in this strange new world. Most days feel like a haze to you. Your secretarial duties keep your mind occupied, leaving little room for sorrow to settle in. But when you clock out and are left in solitude, your thoughts become your worst enemy. For that, you linger around the base a lot. Commandeering the kitchen to make midnight snacks, playing cards with Luke and Kieran in the living room, bothering Sylus when he’s cleaning his quarters. You toe the line for how much sleep you need to make it through the day— a bit hypocritical, you admit, given how you scold Sylus when he works at his office late into the night.

Misguided as it was, maybe it was a drop of fortune that you found yourself in his world. You’ve read stories of being transported to other worlds— of lions, witches, and wardrobes; of tornados, munchkins, and wicked witches. But the rabbit hole you’ve fallen down has been nothing like those tumultuous journeys. Your days in the office are warm and lovely— far from the crazed rush of deadlines and youthful chase of dreams you were living out in university, but a quiet contentment, nonetheless. Over time, you find yourself growing attached to the new life you’ve built, to the new family you’ve found.

But the moment your head hits the pillow, it is the image of your family glued to the back of your eyelids. You see them worried sick about your disappearance, posting missing papers and wondering where you are, if you’ve become another statistic. (You don’t want to face the possibility that they may not be worried at all. That they may know exactly where you are, buried you there themselves.) For every smile and moment of laughter is a whisper in the back of your mind: Don’t you miss us? Don’t you miss home?

You invest all your guilt and spare energy into combing through the hoard of resources at your disposal. The reach of your information is almost endless, with Onychinus being the reigning authority in the N109 Zone (and secretly, some cities, too). Yet, there’s nothing. Your search feels futile, each failed lead adding to your ever-growing hopelessness.

During the day, no one would know any better; with how you hide your inner turmoil, composing yourself into your role as Sylus’s secretary. But your ghosts ambush you into the night. Nightmares plague you throughout your intermittent slumber, as you constantly arise from vivid memories of the accident and of your past life (of waking up and finding yourself six feet underground). Your anxieties have evolved from a restlessness to return to a growing fear of what might await you.

One night, you find yourself near-suffocating under plush sheets, thrashing as you dream of dirt piling on top of you. Sorrowful figures shoveling you into the ground and muffling your pleas, I'm here. I'm still here. Your terror carries over into reality, a scream leaving your throat as you jolt up in bed, once again finding the sight of the cityscape before you— now a source of comfort, rather than despair.

An imaginative mind is a gift at best, and haunts you at worst. You stumble as you leave your bed, heart racing and the fictional taste of dirt still in your mouth. You feel that you will vomit if you stay here, in sweat soaked sheets and stuffy air. So you grab a coat and make your way to the rooftop, where you find that someone had the same thought as you.

“Can’t sleep?” Sylus asks with his back turned, having sensed your presence before you could make yourself known.

You ignore his question, breathing in the dew and the early March air, breezing past even in the barren cityscape of the N109 Zone. “It's late, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Why aren’t you?” He retorts, scooting over in a silent invitation. You shiver as you take a seat beside him on the cold metal bench.

“It’s nothing, really,” You shake your head, voice trembling as you try to voice the terror that had taken over you, “Just nightmares, you know. They happen sometimes…”

Bathed under soft moonlight, he quietly admits, “I understand. I get them, too. I often find myself here when I can't go back to sleep, when it feels too stifling inside.”

“Before, I used to be mad at myself for falling asleep. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters for college, back then,” You explain, hitting your feet against the metal leg of the bench. “There were only so many hours in a day, but so much left to do… It’s ironic. Now that I want to sleep, I can't.” You laugh, but it’s hollow and empty.

“What is it that you dream about?”

You muse upon it, “Home. My family and friends. I dream of my childhood home a lot, but those are the good dreams. But then there are ones about all the things I'll need to catch up with at university, when I return,” Everything you have lost. Everything that was taken away from you. You laugh, thinking about it, “Those are the real nightmares. My to-do list is going to be taller than me once I get back. But what about you?”

A bittersweet smile paints his face, “Oh, the usual. Just about everything I've done wrong in my existence.”

You gasp dramatically, slamming a fist to your chest, “The great ole’ Sylus, ruler of all that breathes and crawls in the zone, feeling guilt?”

“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He playfully rolls his eyes, before turning somber once again, “I feel regret, maybe, at what I could have done differently. Sometimes I dream of turning back time.” He dreams of his days inside the chapel, a short refuge within a terrible era of this world. Is it so wrong that he wishes to return to it? To live within that bubble of peace forever?

“That’s interesting. I don't know if anything would change if I could turn back time… I have a feeling I'd still be where I am.” Unease grows within you the more time passes. That however hard you try, you are bound to the direction you’re headed in. (That you have been for a while.)

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence, as the two of you gaze at the nocturne before you. You stare into the sea of lights glittering below, headlights and neon signs glowing within the city that never rests. They blur together, these lights. Soft colors of blue, green, red, growing ever duller until you find yourself falling back into a peaceful slumber.

—————————————————————

He sits in quiet tranquility, your slumbering figure resting on his shoulder, the smell of your shampoo overwhelming his senses. Once you’re sound asleep, he carries you back to your bedroom, careful not to disturb the long sought-for sleep you had just achieved.

What was once a potential threat is now precious cargo in his arms, muttering incomprehensible murmurs in her sleep. How can someone be so harmless and lovely? He thinks, brushing aside your stray wisps of hair. As he walks down the opulent halls of his home, he muses on how, like a storm rolling in, you have swept your way into his life. He lays you in your bed, tucking you gently underneath the cotton sheets.

It happens here, during the first breath of spring after winter, as he gazes upon your soft form. For the first time in a millennia, he feels the quiet stirrings of his heart, beating for something he cannot yet name.

—————————————————————

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pucksandpower · 7 months ago

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Mirror Mirror

Day 12 → Mirror Sex 💋 Oscar Piastri

Warnings: 18+ content and body image issues

Kinktober Masterlist

Oscar swings open the door of the apartment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The training session ran longer than he expected, and every muscle in his body aches with that familiar, satisfying burn. His shirt sticks to his back as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“Hey, I’m home!” He calls out, already loosening his shoes by the door.

There’s no immediate response, just the quiet hum of life within the walls. The soft sound of typing, a quick, anxious tap-tap-tap, echoes from the living room.

Oscar frowns. “You in there?”

He rounds the corner and catches sight of you sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, fingers moving at a furious pace across the keyboard. There’s something about the way you're hunched over the screen that makes him pause. Your shoulders are tense, like you’re trying to shield the screen from view, your eyes darting up only when he steps into the room.

You slam the laptop shut so fast it nearly snaps.

His brows furrow, eyes narrowing as he approaches. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, standing up quickly, a little too quickly, the laptop clutched in your hands as if it’s a lifeline. “Just … work stuff.”

Oscar doesn’t buy it for a second. “Work stuff?” He takes another step forward, his voice low, suspicious. “Since when do you hide work stuff from me?”

You swallow hard, eyes darting toward the bedroom as if you’re calculating the distance. “It’s nothing, Oscar. Just let it go.”

But he doesn’t. He’s not the kind of guy who lets things slide, especially when something feels off. And this? This feels way off.

Before you can react, he reaches out, fingers closing around the edge of the laptop, pulling it out of your grip with a swift, practiced motion. You make a sound of protest, stepping forward to try to grab it back, but he’s already moving, holding it up and out of your reach.

“Oscar, please,” you say, your voice tight with panic now. “Just don’t-”

Too late. He flips the screen open, eyes scanning the tabs that fill the screen.

Silence.

Plastic surgeons. Breast augmentation. Rhinoplasty. Procedures. Prices. Clinics in Monaco.

Oscar’s jaw clenches. His entire body stiffens as he scrolls through the endless pages of information, his mind trying to piece together what he’s seeing, trying to make sense of it.

He looks up, his voice low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “What the hell is this?”

You’re standing there, rooted to the spot, hands trembling slightly at your sides. Your eyes are wide, like you’ve been caught doing something unspeakable, something you’ve been desperately trying to keep hidden.

“I-” you start, but your voice cracks. You look away, like you can’t stand to meet his gaze, like his disappointment, his shock, is too much to bear.

He doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his grip tightening on the laptop, like he’s trying to hold onto some version of reality that isn’t unraveling right in front of him. “Why?” He asks, his voice still low, but now there's something almost pleading in it. “Why are you looking at this?”

You blink, eyes glistening with tears that haven’t yet fallen. You open your mouth to speak, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. Finally, you force them out, barely a whisper. “Because … I don’t … I don’t look like them.”

Oscar frowns, confused. “Like who?”

“The other girls,” you say, your voice breaking now. “The other girlfriends. The WAGs. I’ll never … I’ll never look like them.”

Oscar just stares at you for a long moment, completely blindsided. “What are you talking about?”

You let out a shaky breath, finally looking at him, your eyes pleading for him to understand. “I see them, Oscar. Every time we go to a race, every time I’m at the paddock. They’re all so … perfect. Their bodies, their faces … they all look like they belong there. Like they’re meant to be with someone like you.”

He feels something twist painfully in his chest, something dark and heavy that he wasn’t prepared for. “And you think you don’t?”

You shake your head, blinking away tears. “I don’t. I mean, look at me. I’m not … I’m not like them.”

Oscar sets the laptop down on the coffee table, the sound of it hitting the wood sharp and final. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to push through the wave of disbelief that’s crashing over him. He steps closer to you, his hands reaching out, grabbing your arms gently but firmly, like he needs to hold you steady, like he needs to make sure you don’t slip away from him.

“Are you serious?” His voice is rough now, the controlled calm slipping. “You think you need to change something? For what? To look like them? To, what, fit in?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I can’t believe you’d even think this. I can’t believe you …” His voice trails off, and he releases your arms, stepping back like he needs the space to breathe, to think. "You’re not … them. You’re you. You’re the person I wake up next to every day, the person I chose. And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You think I care about … what? If you fit some stupid image of what a WAG is supposed to look like?”

You shake your head, but you’re still crying, silent tears that slide down your cheeks, and Oscar feels like his heart is breaking in a way he’s never known before. He steps closer again, softer this time, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your shoulders slump, and you wipe at your face, frustrated with yourself, with the tears, with the words that won’t stop spilling out. “Because I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to … fix it, or say something just to make me feel better. It’s my problem, not yours.”

“No,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “No, it’s not just your problem. It’s our problem. You’re my girlfriend. What affects you affects me, too. How could you think that changing yourself like that would fix anything?”

You look at him then, really look at him, and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, like you didn’t expect this from him, this depth, this intensity.

“I just …” you start, and then falter, shaking your head. “I just feel like … I’m not enough.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He’s never heard you say anything like that before, never thought you could feel that way. He takes another step closer, his hands finding yours, holding them tight. “You’re more than enough. You always have been.”

Oscar’s voice is steady, but there’s a fire in his eyes now, something burning there, something fierce. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears still spilling down your cheeks, and he reaches up, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb, his touch gentle, careful. “You’re perfect the way you are. I need you to see that. I need you to believe that.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, and for a moment, the world feels quiet again, like the storm that’s been raging inside you has finally begun to settle.

Oscar’s jaw tightens, and he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear. He presses his lips to the top of your head, murmuring against your hair, “I love you, just the way you are.”

And as he holds you, as the silence stretches between you, he makes a silent promise to himself. He’s going to show you. Every day. Until you see yourself the way he sees you.

The most beautiful woman in the world.

***

Oscar watches you sleep beside him, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, he can still see the faint traces of yesterday’s conversation lingering in your features. The vulnerability in your voice when you said you weren’t enough echoes in his head, and it’s all he can think about.

You had fallen asleep easily, but Oscar couldn’t. His mind had been racing, going over every word you said, every tear that slipped down your cheek. You didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, and that truth made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know were possible.

You stir slightly, your hand curling around the edge of the pillow, your face turning away from him as you sink deeper into sleep. His fingers itch to touch your cheek, but he holds back, not wanting to wake you.

Instead, he slips out of bed, moving silently across the room and into the hallway. He has to do something. He can’t just let you go on feeling this way, believing that you aren’t enough, that you need to change yourself to measure up to some imaginary standard.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at the notification. It’s an email — one of the many he sent in the middle of the night, after tossing and turning with frustration and resolve. It’s the response he’s been waiting for.

Oscar’s thumb hovers over the screen for a second before he taps the email open. He skims it quickly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The installation can happen today.

It’s a risky plan, but Oscar’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. He’s already planned every detail down to the minute, ensuring that everything will be in place before you come home from work. The hardest part was keeping this a secret — and making sure the logistics didn’t fall through.

Money, thankfully, speeds things up.

Oscar pads back into the bedroom, careful not to make a sound as he crawls into bed beside you. His body is buzzing with excitement now, anticipation humming under his skin. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

You let out a sleepy murmur, shifting slightly in his arms, and he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering there.

“Good morning,” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning.” His voice is soft, but there’s an energy behind it that you don’t seem to catch. Not yet.

You blink a few times, still disoriented from sleep, and roll over to face him. "You're up early."

“Just couldn’t sleep,” he says with a small smile. “You have work today?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to go in for a meeting,” you reply, rubbing your eyes. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

Oscar nods, trying to keep his excitement in check. “Good, good. I’ll probably just do some stuff around here. Get a workout in.”

You stretch, still half-asleep, and he watches you with a soft smile. He wonders if you’ll notice the change when you get home, or if it’ll take a little prompting. Either way, the plan is in motion, and there’s no going back now.

***

As soon as you leave the apartment, Oscar is a man on a mission. He paces the living room, waiting for the delivery crew to arrive. He checks his phone constantly, looking at the notifications from Life360 to track your movements. He doesn’t have much time, and every minute feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

Finally, there’s a knock at the door.

He practically sprints to open it, greeting the installation team with an eager wave. "You guys are here. Great, come on in."

The lead installer, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense expression, steps inside, glancing around. "So, we’ve got the specs here. Full ceiling mirror in the bedroom, right?"

Oscar nods, ushering them down the hallway to the bedroom. "Yeah, I need it to cover the entire ceiling. Exactly like we discussed."

The installer inspects the space, his eyes scanning the ceiling as he whistles under his breath. "Alright, shouldn’t be too complicated. We’ll need a couple of hours to get everything up and secured."

Oscar glances at his phone, calculating the time. You’ve been gone for about an hour. There’s a small window — tight, but doable. "That’s fine. Just make sure it’s done before two. She’ll be back around then."

The installer raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. "We’ll get it done."

Oscar watches as they bring in the equipment, laying down protective sheets to keep the floor clean. The mirror panels are large, delicate things, and the precision required for the installation is intense. He finds himself pacing the hallway, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listens to the distant sounds of drills and hammers.

Everything has to be perfect.

He knows it’s a bold move. Some might even call it crazy. But Oscar doesn’t care. He wants you to see yourself every day, to have no choice but to confront the truth: you’re stunning, exactly as you are. He doesn’t need you to be one of those women in the paddock, doesn’t need you to conform to some ridiculous image. You, in all your imperfections, are everything he could ever want.

He glances at his phone again — two hours left. The installers are moving quickly, efficiently, but it still feels like time is slipping away faster than he can keep up with.

The crew works in near silence, their movements calculated and precise. They measure the ceiling, check the panels, and begin the painstaking task of securing each mirrored piece in place. Oscar hovers nearby, watching them work, his nerves jangling like live wires.

“How much longer do you think?” He asks, not for the first time.

The lead installer doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone is patient. “We’re on schedule, mate. We’ve done this a hundred times. Just give us a bit.”

Oscar nods, forcing himself to step back. He paces again, trying to distract himself with his phone, but his mind keeps drifting back to you — to your face when you told him you didn’t feel like you measured up.

He needs this to be perfect. For you.

At long last, the sound of the drill ceases, and the lead installer steps back, wiping his hands on a rag. He surveys the ceiling with a critical eye, then turns to Oscar with a nod. "All done."

Oscar steps into the bedroom, and his breath catches in his throat.

The mirror covers the entire ceiling, gleaming and pristine, reflecting the room in perfect detail. It’s stunning — sleek, modern, but most importantly, it’s exactly what he envisioned.

“Looks great,” the installer says, clearly satisfied with the job.

Oscar nods, still staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. It’s … perfect.”

The installers gather their things, and Oscar sees them out, barely able to contain his anticipation. He checks his phone one last time as the door closes behind them.

Life360 pings with a notification.

Y/N has arrived at home.

Oscar’s heart leaps into his throat. He has maybe five minutes before you walk through the door. He rushes back into the bedroom, doing a quick sweep to make sure everything is in place. The bed is made, the room is spotless, and the mirror … the mirror is flawless.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can hear your footsteps approaching the door now, the jingle of your keys as you unlock it.

This is it.

The door opens, and you step inside, calling out, “Oscar? You here?”

“In the bedroom!” He calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, casual.

You walk down the hallway, setting your bag on the floor as you approach. “I thought you were working out or something.”

Oscar stands by the bed, watching as you enter the room. For a second, you don’t notice it. You’re too busy taking off your jacket, distracted by the mundaneness of the day.

But then, as you move toward the bed, your eyes flicker upward, and you freeze.

“What the …”

Your voice trails off, your gaze locked on the ceiling, on the massive mirror that now dominates the room. You stand there, stunned, your mouth slightly open as you take it in.

Oscar watches you closely, his heart pounding. He takes a step closer, his voice low, almost tentative. “What do you think?”

You blink, still staring at the reflection above you. “You … put a mirror on the ceiling?”

He nods, stepping behind you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently back against him. “I wanted you to see yourself.”

Your eyes flick to his in the reflection, confusion mingling with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

Oscar leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice soft but firm. “Every day, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to look at yourself. You’re going to see what I see. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You swallow, your eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. “Oscar …”

He turns you around slowly, guiding you until you’re facing him. “You don’t need to change a thing. Not your nose, not your body. Nothing. You’re perfect, just like this.”

Oscar’s hands slide from your waist to your hips, slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours, but in the mirror above, he can see the reflection of both of you, bodies so close, your breath mingling with his. There’s a moment of quiet between you, tension hanging in the air like a thread about to snap.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low and steady. “Let me show you.”

Your breath hitches, and you bite your lip, your eyes flicking between his face and the mirror. You don’t say anything, but you don’t resist, either. You’re standing still, waiting, nervous but trusting him completely.

Oscar takes his time. He starts by pulling at the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it slowly over your head. You lift your arms for him, and the shirt falls to the floor. His hands return to your hips, sliding up to your waist, fingers tracing the soft curve of your ribs, then higher.

You shiver under his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but he doesn’t rush. He’s watching you in the mirror, your body, your face, your eyes — taking in every reaction, every small shift in your expression.

“Look at yourself,” he says softly, his voice firm but gentle. His fingers move to the clasp of your bra, and with a quick flick, it comes undone. He pulls it away, tossing it aside, and you’re left standing in front of him, exposed.

Your eyes flicker up to the mirror, but you don’t linger on your own reflection. You quickly glance back at Oscar, as if seeking reassurance.

His hands are on you again, warm and steady, guiding you back toward the bed. He lowers you gently onto the mattress, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets, and you feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling in your chest.

Oscar climbs onto the bed with you, his movements controlled, deliberate. He kneels beside you, his eyes burning with something deep, something raw, as he looks down at you. The mirror above reflects everything — the way your chest rises and falls, the soft flush creeping up your neck, the way your body reacts to the intensity of his gaze.

He reaches for the waistband of your pants, his fingers sliding under the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs, and you do as he asks, allowing him to peel the material away from your skin. The cool air of the room makes you shiver, but it’s the warmth of his hands that sends a surge of heat through you.

Oscar lets out a quiet hum of approval, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, admiring every inch of you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your belly, just above the waistband of your underwear, and you feel a jolt of electricity run through you.

“Look,” he whispers, his voice commanding yet soft. “Look at yourself.”

You hesitate, your eyes flicking toward the mirror but not quite settling on your reflection. You’re still unsure, still caught in the doubt that’s been gnawing at you for so long.

But Oscar won’t let you hide.

He trails his kisses up your body, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, then higher, to the sensitive skin near your collarbone. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips barely leaving your skin. “You’re perfect.”

You close your eyes, trying to absorb his words, trying to believe them, but the insecurity lingers.

Oscar’s hand moves lower, sliding down your body, his fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear again, but this time he tugs them down, pulling them off completely. You’re laid bare before him now, vulnerable, exposed, but you trust him. You trust him with everything.

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, and you feel the heat of his body so close to yours. His hands find your thighs, gently parting them, and he leans down, his breath hot against your skin. His lips press a kiss to your inner thigh, and you shudder, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

“Oscar,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he moves higher, his mouth tracing a path up your thigh until his lips are where you need them most. The first touch of his tongue is slow, deliberate, and it sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

You gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed, your hands flying to grip the sheets tighter. He takes his time, his tongue moving in slow, measured strokes, teasing you, building the heat in your core until it feels like you’re going to unravel.

But he doesn’t let you. Not yet.

His hand moves up your body, finding your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in the same slow, teasing rhythm. Your breath comes in ragged gasps now, and your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

“Look at yourself,” Oscar says again, his voice low and commanding. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You force your eyes open, glancing up at the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, your body laid out beneath Oscar, your skin flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You see the way his hand moves over you, the way his mouth works between your legs, and it’s a surreal, intimate moment — seeing yourself through his eyes, the way he sees you.

You bite your lip, a moan escaping your throat as Oscar increases the pressure, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your legs tremble. You feel the tension building inside you, the heat growing unbearable, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back.

You let out a desperate whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily toward him, but he doesn’t relent.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice firm. He leans up, his body hovering over yours now, his face inches from yours. “Not until you say it.”

You blink up at him, breathless and confused. “Say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”

Your heart races in your chest, the vulnerability of the moment crashing into you. You’ve never said those words, not out loud, not with any kind of conviction. But the way Oscar looks at you, the way his hands move over your body, it makes you want to believe it — makes you want to see yourself the way he does.

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you whisper, “I’m beautiful.”

Oscar’s eyes darken with approval, but he’s not done. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Say it again. Louder.”

Your body is aching for release, every nerve on fire, but you know he won’t let you have it until you give him what he wants — what you need to believe.

“I’m beautiful,” you say again, louder this time, your voice shaky but filled with more certainty.

Oscar’s hand moves between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, his touch deliberate, precise. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now say it one more time. Like you mean it.”

You gasp as his fingers press against that bundle of nerves again, your body writhing beneath him, the pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. But you force yourself to say it, to believe it, because in this moment, you do.

“I’m beautiful,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the force of the admission.

And that’s when Oscar lets you go.

His mouth is on you again, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, and the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You arch off the bed, your hands flying to his hair, your body trembling as you finally, finally fall over the edge.

Oscar doesn’t stop. He keeps his pace steady, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re shaking, gasping for breath, your body limp and boneless beneath him.

When you finally come down, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears, Oscar moves up beside you, his body pressing against yours, his arm wrapping around your waist.

He kisses your forehead, his voice soft but firm as he whispers, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe him.

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zae-heeyyy · 1 month ago

Text

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety.

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown.

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.”

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.”

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself. The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava.

“S’a fancy shirt.”

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible.

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.”

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him.

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...”

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully.

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.”

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.”

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted.

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

#wrote the last sentence in my Castiel voice lol #i thought his hands looked so heavenly in the coach pic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 arthur #read dead redemption 2 photography #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #zaefic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan fluff #request

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solsticehymns · 2 months ago

Text

sweater weather: drabble

bsf!remus x f!reader / fluffff / light teasing / oblivious!reader

summary: Remus Lupin is usually calm, composed—until he sees you wearing his sweater. Suddenly, his world tilts, his thoughts scramble, and his heart betrays him. Sirius and James pick up on it immediately, but you? Completely oblivious. And when you try to give it back? Not a chance.

wc: 700

Remus prided himself on being level-headed. He wasn’t the type to make a scene, wasn’t the type to get flustered easily. But when you strolled into the Great Hall that morning, wrapped up in his sweater like it had always belonged to you—well.

It hit him like a full-body hex.

His breath caught, fingers tightening around his fork. His brain, usually sharp and composed, went utterly blank. Because there you were—wearing his sweater. The one he’d worn through winter after winter, the one that had been stretched to fit his long limbs and softened over time into something impossibly comfortable. And now, it was on you—swallowing your frame, hanging off your shoulders like it had found its rightful home.

The sleeves engulfed your hands, only your fingertips peeking out as you rubbed at your tired eyes. The neckline was just loose enough to slip slightly off one shoulder, exposing warm skin beneath, and Remus swore he felt his heartbeat stutter.

You slid into the seat beside him with a sleepy yawn, reaching for the pumpkin juice like it was just another morning, like you weren’t unknowingly rewiring his entire brain.

Remus swallowed hard. Looked down at his plate. Breathed. Be normal, for Merlin’s sake.

A slow grin spread across Sirius’ face from across the table. “Well, well, well,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What do we have here?”

Remus shot him a warning glance. Don’t.

Sirius, naturally, ignored it. “Didn’t peg you for the sharing type, Moony,” he drawled. “But look at you. Giving away your favorite sweater.”

James hummed, catching on immediately. “It’s a good look on her,” he added, smirking. “Wouldn’t have guessed you were the possessive type, but I suppose we all learn something new every day.”

You blinked between them, confused. “What?”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, nothing.”

Remus clenched his jaw, willing himself not to react, but he could already feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. His grip on his fork tightened. He was not going to entertain them.

Completely oblivious to his internal crisis, you tugged at the sleeves, frowning slightly. “Oh—right, sorry, Rem,” you said, already reaching to pull it off. “I didn’t even ask, I just kind of found it and—”

The second your fingers started pulling at the hem, panic shot through him like a lightning strike.

“No.”

It came out too fast. Too sharp. Almost desperate.

You froze. So did the other boys.

His heart was pounding. He forced himself to breathe, to not let it show, but his face betrayed him—the slight wideness in his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed like he’d just been hexed. He cleared his throat, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity.

“I mean—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, voice softer now, deliberate. “It’s fine. You can keep it.”

You blinked, still clearly confused. “Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

Remus shook his head immediately. Too quick. Again.

“It’s yours now.”

That was it. That was all Sirius needed. He let out a long, low whistle, nudging James. “Oh, he’s gone.”

James grinned. “Absolutely wrecked.”

Remus sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

Sirius just smirked. “I mean, who knew? All this time, we thought Moony here was the responsible one. Turns out he’s just as much of a sucker as the rest of us.”

Remus refused to engage. Refused to give them the satisfaction. Instead, he glanced back at you, still swimming in his sweater, still looking at him with mild confusion and zero understanding of what had just happened.

He could not believe how utterly, completely oblivious you were.

But he just shook his head, reaching under the table to give your hand a quick squeeze. “It looks better on you anyway,” he murmured.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. I think I might be sick.”

James laughed. “I give it a week before they’re sharing scarves, too.”

Remus ignored them. The teasing was inevitable. What mattered was that you were still wearing his sweater, still curled up beside him like you belonged there.

And, Merlin help him, he did not want it back.

☀️🌻 masterlist

#remus lupin fic #remus lupin #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin x reader #remus x you #harry potter #marauders headcanon #marauders #the maraunders map #dead gay wizards from the 70s

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puckinghischier · 10 months ago

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Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

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omgfangirlland · 3 months ago

Text

The Shadows That Nurture 11

Ch 12 is done and I'm kinda foaming at the mouth to give it to y'all- but I need to wait to finish ch 13-

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 11 >>next

Finding The Immortal was harder than expected but you weren’t surprised. Cecil worked The Guardians to the bone, you were sure. Nevertheless, you found him in the end, quickly flying next to him to greet him.

Surprised, the man looked at you before giving a small, weary smile while greeting you back. “This may sound crazy and like I’m digging into your life, and I understand if you don’t wish to speak about it, but I really need-“ You stopped as soon as he grabbed your shoulders, making you both stop midair and face each other. “It’s okay, take a breath.”

“See- that’s the thing! I don’t need to breathe, I don’t need to eat, I can’t die because I’m immortal like you due to magic and I need to talk to someone who gets it because this past week I feel everyone’s been acting crazy and it’s making me feel crazy- And- and I’ve lost you.” You looked at the shocked man. “You’re immortal?...”

“Yep.” You nod. “… Long story?” The Immortal asks slowly, getting the same response in return. His beeper goes off and without even looking at it he turns it off. “That may have been important.” You pointed it out, but he just chuckled and smiled. “This is important too. I’m sure the others can do well without me for a bit. Now, how about we talk over some food? I know this little family dinner in Las Vegas.” You relaxed, nodding at his suggestion.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“- and then he just tells me to be careful around certain magical weapons because they might hurt me- Like dude, you told me I’m immortal, taught me a bit of magic, and then dipped telling me to see him in a week at the same spot- he could have at least given me a way to contact him after telling me that something might kill me!” You sigh and take a bite of your burger and fries. “You were right, by the way, this is a great spot.”

Immortal chuckles at your complaint. “At least there is someone who is helping.” He furrowed his brows as he also ate bits of his steak. “Or is trying. I had a mental breakdown the first time I realized that I’m not aging and keep defying death.”

“Two days after I had a panic attack thinking about how everyone I love will eventually die, even Nolan and Mark- sure it’ll take a few centuries but that’s still nothing to immortality! The old bastard has been acting weird since I told them too, and Luthor keeps annoying me about his blasted party- which I’m like 90% sure is a front for my birthday- and today I’m supposed to meet the British bastard, but before I have to visit someone else-”

“Breathe, it’ll be fine, you’ll live.” The ancient man tried to reassure you with a small joke about the situation. “I can’t give much advice about this- your immortality seems very different from mine, and to be honest, I never actively think about it considering how sensible of a subject it is. Especially the ‘how many people will pass right by you’ topic. It’s…”

“Terrifying?” He sighs and nods at the completion. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone anymore, and that you thought I’d be the best person to talk about it with.” He plays with his food. “Therapists say that it’s good to talk about your feelings, right? I think it will be great for us both to talk openly about it- I don’t have a phone, but I do hang by the hero memorial stone every other Sunday- if, you know-“

“I’d love that, thank you Immortal…Abraham? Have you chosen a new name?” As your soft smile turned to a confused look the man only laughed, assuring you to call him whatever. Perhaps after that many years, names do lose their importance, or maybe it was the fact that he never had one when he was born in the Stone Age that could be translated to New World speech. “The honey pancakes are to die for, by the way.” His choice of words makes you snort with amusement.

“…You and Lex Luthor are friends?” He asks, a mix of confusion and surprise filling his tone. You just give a long sigh. “Friends is such a strong word…”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You waited patiently in front of the manor’s front entrance, smiling once the doors opened, immediately being greeted by the butler. “I’ll never hear you call me by my first name, will I Sanford?” You teased the older man as he led you through the halls. “I fear not, ma’am.” He smiled as he bowed, leaving you once you walked by him, getting closer to Samson.

You set the little box of treats on the accent table in between the two armchairs as you took your place across Samson while you both greeted each other. “How have you been? How’s that suit going?” Your soft-spoken questions are met with a defeated sigh and a shrug. “It’ll take two more days.”

“You know… You don’t need the suit or powers to do some good. Let me finish, please-” You quickly interrupted. These men were always so quick to jump the gun. “You’re rotting here. I’m not telling you to drop the suit but in these two days, you could go see the outside. It won’t kill you. There is this kid, Adam. He is staying at the hospital I volunteer at and he’s quite a big fan of Black Samson-“

“He’d be disappointed to see me-“ You swiftly but gently tapped his foot. “He’s one of the kids you saved when you lost your powers, Sam. He saw you lose your powers and still hold up kilograms of ruble just so he could have a chance at escape. That boy admires you now more than ever. You need to face things and it’ll be better for you if you do it before you feel like you’re worthy again just because you’ve got powers again.”

“That’s harsh, kid.” Samson almost pouted. “Learned from the best.” You shrug and he smiles. A moment of silence passes between you two before he finally asks where the hospital is.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

John was on his tenth cigarette, he was showing great restraint, really. He knew he made a mistake in asking Zatanna for help, but he seemed unable to do the opposite lately. They both had been arguing for an hour, Constantine knew that the girl would take to Zee like a cat to catnip, but this was making him regret letting Zatanna know more beyond a magical kid needs help. “I’m just saying- maybe Batman should know, she’s his kid-“

“The numpty has been locking her up in his mansion and ignoring her for years, her daft siblings too. The rogues had to raise and give her the attention Bruce wasn’t willing to.” He scratched at his chin before taking another puff.

“Maybe Bruce-“ John didn’t let her finish. “Don’t. Don’t you dare finish that, Zee. She’s just a kid- a kid who ran away because she thought Batman would kill her. Between the two of us, you should know better. You’re giving him too much grace.”

“Are you two mind reading or just mean mugging each other? Sorry for being late, by the way. Was finishing my project and lost track of time.” Your voice broke the two from their argument. Zatanna looked at John with a raised eyebrow. “She doesn’t look like the little kid you described.” John clears his throat, brushing off the comment on his manipulation before he introduces the two. “I thought it would be good to expose you to different kinds of magic-“

“You’re ditching me.” John choked on his words as you crossed your arms, quickly denying the accusation. “- It’s just- I- Zatanna is a great Elemental mage, I thought you’d like to learn more about Umbrakinesis-“ Zatanna, at John’s rambling and pleading look, stepped forward. “It’s nice to finally meet you, John spoke highly of you.”

You gave her a gentle smile as you came closer and landed in front of her. “I doubt that, though, it’s nice to meet you too. Love your shows.” Your eyes moved to Constantine. “So, you two are going to teach me how to manipulate shadows? Can I learn the other elements and the mind-reading thingy you both were doing?”

“Telepathy, love.” John sighs as you give him a blank stare and double down. “Mind-reading thingy.” Zatanna chuckles softly at the look of pure defeat on John’s face.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dinner was quiet. For the past week it’s been awkward, especially as Nolan kept missing dinners and breakfasts, and seemingly avoiding you and Mark specifically. “So… how has your day been?” Debbie asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“Amber and I got together, like- for real. And I mostly dealt with small stuff today. Robberies, Elephant Man, three times, the sort… Did dad text or- call, at least?” Mark mumbles, tired and slightly sore. Debbie shook her head. “No, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

You shrug once all eyes are on you. “Talked to Immortal about- you know. Also trained my magic some more and found out some elemental magic just hates me. Water tried to drown me…” You glared at the glass as you spoke, getting up with a groan after you finished half of the food. “My everything hurts. I’ll go sleep, thanks for the meal mama.”

“Aren’t you going to wait for dad?” Debbie asks softly, trying to hide her worry. You just shake your head and take your plate to trash the remains and put it in the sink. “Nah. He wants to act like the sperm donor, he’s going to get treated as such. Besides, gotta check up with my friends in Gotham. Good night.” You waved her off, not noticing Mark’s brows furrowing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

While Hal was gaging as he encased the mangled body of The Joker, calling for the Watchtower to notify Batman that Joker had been found, Red Hood and the Sirens were celebrating, well- Jason and Harley were.

“Batman is going to be angry.” Pamela sighs in her wine glass. “Batman? Angry? Why, he’d never.” Selina joked, laughing before sipping on her own wine glass. “He’ll bust a vein when he finds out it was our little hero who did it.” Selina’s eyes catch Jason’s figure as he tries to climb onto her coffee table. “Wait- No! It’s-“ She and Pam cringe as the table wrecks to the side, the man’s body making a loud thud as he kisses the ground.

“Broken.” Catwoman sighs. “You good kid?” Ivy asks, almost being drowned by Harley's hysterical laughing. “I’m amazing! Best day of my life!” He slurs, giving two thumbs up before dropping his hands and groaning. “B-man is going to be so mad.”

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere!mark grayson #yandere!nolan grayson #yandere!debbie grayson

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sluttysnowangel666 · 3 months ago

Text

sweet like candy - choi su bong / thanos

pairings : thanos/ su bong x fem reader part 2

summary/request : despite only a few insignificant interactions with thanos, he grows jealous when he sees you talking to an ex marine, dae ho.

warnings: jealous thanos, use of drugs, swearing, violence, ooc thanos bc he’s kinda nice most of the time except for when he’s jealous, lowkey sub thanos idk how it happened but bros a good boy😭, oral(f receiving), hand job, sex(p in v)

ngl this is not my best work unfortunately:( it just feels like i rushed too much at certain parts but i just didn’t want it to be too repetitive to other stories with too much detail when we all know how the games work. send me some requests, i wanna do au or write for thanos where the reader and him are outside of the games

not responsible for the content you consume, use discretion when reading past the border. 18+

“Señorita, excuse me.”

You turn, an eyebrow already raised at the strange pet name you’d just been called. It’s a tall, young ish man. You take in his appearance; his hair is a bright shade of purple, slender fingers painted like infinity stones, marked with dark tattoos, chunky rings, and a cross necklace.

You don’t respond, instead continuing to walk in the eerie room painted like the sky, with a giant doll at the other side.

You sigh, still confused at how you ended up here with 456 other people in ugly green tracksuits and millions, if not billions, of won in debt.

He raps you a song, also stating his name is Thanos, which you try to tune out but its mediocrity makes you stifle a laugh. He notices, and your sweet smile makes him smile.

“I like you.” He says, flashing you a little heart with his fingers. You roll your eyes, walking past him as he lingers on your trail.

A man runs out, player 456, you note. He begins screaming, saying the game was “Red Light, Green Light” and the doll was going to kill us if we moved. His reaction makes you nervous, his fear seemed so genuine.

“My dad comes home like this sometimes,” Thanos says, noticing your shift in demeanor. “Saying there’s bugs in the walls and his phone’s been tapped by the government.”

“Do you think the guy yelling is high?” You ask.

He smirks a little before answering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Fuck no.”

The game begins, and Thanos takes your hand. You go to pull away but his grip is tight.

“Let go.” You whisper, on a red light.

“Come on, señorita. Let’s stick together.” He whispers back.

Before you can respond, the girl in front of you starts screaming about a bee landing on her. She faces you both and laughs a little.

“Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

Bang.

Blood splatters on you and Thanos’ face.

“Don’t scream.” He whispers, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your body is in shock, frozen. You grip his hand in return now, trying to hold your shaking.

More rounds continue, but neither of you move. That is until the man tells you to finish you have to be behind the doll. Thanos moves you behind him, and you press your head into his back with your eyes shut tight, gripping his jacket. He slowly moves, pulling you with him.

A woman reacts to the body, and an another shot goes off. Panic ensues, as people run and shots fire continuously. All you can hear is screaming and shooting.

During the next green light Thanos doesn’t move, but you feel him fidgeting around. Two rounds go by of this before he finally moves again.

He lurches forward, and you feel him go “Ding” as he pushes a group of people down. Three shots ring off, and during the next green light you let go of him. He doesn’t even notice, skipping and jumping and dancing during every green light.

In the end, you survive. Splattered in blood, yes, but alive nonetheless.

You avoid him after that, feeling unnerved by the way he played during the games. You noticed him sharing a pill with a guy later, which made his behavior in the game make sense to you.

You sat on your bed, your face buried in your knees as you rocked back and forth. The lights were out, everyone going to sleep but, how could you? After everything you saw?

You glanced up at the piggy bank, glowing gold

and filled with won.

———

The next game was about to begin.

You had been brought into a room, eerily similar to the one with the doll, except the room had rainbow tracks and pink suit men standing around it. They ordered you to get into teams of 5.

You wandered around, searching for a group of people who wouldn’t kill you for fun.

“Hi.”

You turned, facing a handsome dark haired man, his hair half tied up. He was neatly kept, carrying himself with confidence and grace, despite everything.

“Hi.” You respond, meekly.

“Would you like to join our group?” He motions to the 4 men behind him. Their faces are stoic, but they look friendly enough. You notice the one man on the team was the one who warned everyone about the last games. You accept their offer; it’s not like you really had a choice anyway. Besides, why not let them pity you if they felt sorry enough to offer you a spot? No one else was itching to have you on your team…

Or so you thought.

On the other side of the room, Thanos was searching for you to be in his group. He felt inclined to protect you now after the events of the first game. The drugs were fueling him into wanting to be the hero of your story. He was convinced he could you get out of here, and you would tell the world Thanos the Great saved you with a snap of his fingers. Besides, such a sweet face like yours? It would be such a waste for you to die somewhere so silly.

He finds you, in the sea of people, talking to another man.

He fumes with rage, the ecstasy making him react more uncontrollably than usual.

He bites his lip, all of his prior convictions now forgotten. Let the bitch die then, he thinks to himself.

The games start, and players drop like flies from the first groups alone.

Thanos’ team goes, and you can’t help but cheer when you see them play successfully. You jump up and down, laughing and clapping at their win.

Thanos locks his eyes on yours, noticing your childlike joy at his win. It makes him strangely prideful, makes him forget why he was so mad at you in the first place.

He bows to you, like a musician after a performance. You blush a little, smiling at him, forgetting why he scared you in the first place.

Your team is last, and you’re up first playing ddakji. Your whole team plays successfully, and you survive another round of the games.

You go back to your bunks, Dae Ho wrapping a friendly and comforting arm around you as you both walk. You sit with your group, eating and laughing while you slowly forget the chaos around you.

Thanos watched it all play out with Dae Ho again. His palms were sweaty the whole time, hoping you’d survive and walk back into that room. The second you walked back through the door alive, his eyes were on you.

“Are you good?” Nam Gyu asks Thanos, noticing his eyes constantly following you.

“I don’t know what the fuck are you talking about.” Thanos spits, defensively. He takes another pill, needing the courage for his next move.

“Let me have one.” Nam Gyu begs. Thanos reluctantly hands one over.

Nam Gyu takes it with haste, as Thanos stands and makes his way towards you. He quickly gets up and follows his friend, ready for whatever fight may come.

Each time you laugh at Dae Ho, Thanos picks his pace up a little faster. He’s convinced that it’s like with each laugh that slips past your honey coated lips, then the closer Dae Ho is to getting to taste them. He sways his body unnaturally as he walks, wanting to appear more bad ass than he really felt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says as he approaches you.

“Thanos.” You say, a warning in your voice to leave you alone.

“You good, bro?” Dae Ho asks.

“Why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” He addresses Dae Ho now. You and Dae Ho both scoff in disbelief, but this is how your reaction played out in Thanos’ mind.

They both laugh

“Dae Ho, you’re so funny.”

“Well, you’re sexy.”

“Let’s make out and fuck right here in front of Thanos.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

He reaches his hand out, grabbing you by your jacket and yanking you to your feet.

“Thanos!” You yell. Dae Ho and In Ho stand up to diffuse the situation. Before they can even intervene, you land a closed fist to Thanos’ eye.

He backs away, holding it as a little cut forms.

“Crazy bitch.” He says. He points at Dae Ho. “You stay away from her.”

“Fuck off.” You yell at Thanos. He backs away, still facing you and nodding his head in anger. His face reads This isn’t over.

“You okay?” Dae Ho asks. You nod, slightly breathless.

The way Thanos grabbed you was rude,

unnecessary,

controlling…

and hot.

You wanted to kick yourself for feeling so attracted to him in that moment. He was mentally unstable, high; everything that could be wrong with a man, he was.

Yet here you were, yearning for a piece of him just as he yearned for you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep in your bunk. You were stressed with nerves, with the thought that each next day could be your last. You tapped your foot relentlessly against the frame of the bed, until a person above you made a threat.

You sighed, getting up and walking to the door to be let to the bathroom.

You washed your face again for what was probably the 15th time, feeling like the blood was still on you.

You didn’t even hear the door, didn’t hear him walk up behind you, didn’t notice he was there until his hands were on your hips.

You gasped, turning with your fist, ready to make a collision; but Thanos was quicker than you this time, catching your wrist before you could seal the hit.

“Whoa.” He said, “Relax, girl.”

“What are you doing in here?” You yelled at him. He shushed you, making a tcht tcht tcht sound.

“You embarrassed me out there.” He said, tilting his head to show you his bruised eye.

“You? How about you yanking me to my feet in a room full of people?”

He says nothing, but he smirks at you.

“You’re just so pretty. How am I supposed to sit back and watch my girl flirt with other men?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what I know you are.” He says lowly, his hand resting against your throat. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours. You don’t ask, you just take from people. You’re a bully.”

“What are we, kids on a school yard? I’m a bully?” He steps closer than he already was, pressing himself into you.

“Yes.” You whisper out.

“Quiet now, aren’t we?” He teases, his voice low.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” You say.

He laughs loudly, “Kill you? Get serious, girl.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You say nothing. Your hands are pressed against the counter top of the sink, and his body is pressed against yours. Chest to chest, you have nowhere to go.

“Move.” You say. Your eyes are locked, and you feel like prey being tortured by predator. Tortured in the way he’s doing nothing, just staring you down. He doesn’t budge still.

You grab him by his collar, pulling his face inches from yours.

“Move.” You say again, your voice pleading.

He notices. You’re not pleading him to move because of fear, you’re pleading for him to move because of lust.

His fingers trail up your arm, then trace your jaw to pull your chin up. He laces his fingers through your hair, pulling you so that your lips are on his.

He didn’t expect you to kiss him the way you did, it took him by such surprise, which he dared never admit because he was almost never surprised. But the way you grabbed his collar, trying to pull him so deep into you that you both might collapse into each other like stars.

“Where’d this come from?” He asks breathlessly, barely able to break away from you to get the question out.

“Can you just shut up?” You say quickly, pulling him back into you.

“As my queen commands.” He says, matching your ferocity with the kiss.

Both of his hands rest on your cheeks while he kisses you, but you take one and slowly push it down to your sweats.

“Why so eager?” He asks, breathlessly.

“You’re talking too much.” You say, pushing him off you. “Get on your knees.”

He scoffs, shocked. “Are you serious?”

You nod, and so he listens. He kisses down your body, tugging on your sweats when he’s on his knees. He kisses your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings about your body that were too soft to hear.

“Thanos-“

“Su Bong.” He corrects you, needing to hear you moan his real name.

“Su Bong, please don’t tease me.” You whine, so he concedes. Lifting up your leg onto his shoulder so he can kiss and lick and suck every part of you. You whine, pulling his purple tufts of hair.

“You are so sweet,” He whispers. “Sweet like candy.”

“Oh, my boy.” You moan, egging him on. His nails grip into your thighs unintentionally. He’s just so desperate for you, desperate to taste every drop.

Your nails dig into his forearm, scratching for release.

“Please, oh, please, Su Bong.”

He looks up at you, pupils dilated like the size of black holes. You throw your head back, grinding your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

You pull his hair harshly, and he digs his nails into your thighs even more as you release. You cry out, repeating his name like a prayer, and he moans into you, fueling your release. He doesn’t miss a drop.

He comes off you, breathless. He sets your leg down, pulling your sweats back up as he stands.

You stare at each other, both of you panting in silence for a few moments. You sneak your hand down, resting it against his hard crotch. You smirk a little, and he mirrors it.

“I think I love you.” He moans as you rub him.

“I think you’re high.” You respond, and he laughs and nods. He leans down to kiss you again, gentler this time.

“Do you want one?” He asks, nodding to his necklace. You hesitate, but end up shaking your head no.

“I think we should head back.” You whisper, still rubbing him. He shakes his head no, moaning into your neck. He grips your jacket in desperate agony.

“I need you so bad.” He finally admits.

“Fine.” You fold, and he’s ever so quick to pull your sweats back down. He unhooks one of your legs from the pants, pulling it up so he can rest it around his hips as he pushes his sweats down just slightly so he can insert himself into you.

So, there you both are. Standing with one leg hooked around him and absolutely gripping the sink as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You don’t even try to hide your moans, throwing your head back in euphoria as Thanos buries his face in your neck with shameful whimpers. You grip onto whatever part of him you can for support. Your back is slamming into the edge of the sink over and over, surely leaving a bruise on your tailbone.

He kisses and sucks on your neck, leaving dark bruised purple hickeys on every inch. Marking you, so that you knew who you belong to and so that everyone else out there knew too.

His thrusts were relentless, and the angle he fucked you was crucial, hitting into your cervix each time. Your hands pushed on his hips, resisting his movements slightly, which only fueled him more.

“Stop it.” He moans.

“You stop, you’re being so rough.” You whimper.

“This is me being gentle,” He says. “You want something less than this, then I better not ever catch you speaking to another man again.”

You moan in defeated acceptance, grasping at his shoulders instead for balance. His perfect thrusts make you leak all over him, his pants soaked with your juices.

“You’re so wet.” He moans. “I think you’re gonna make me cum.”

You tighten around him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, and you yank him by the collar to pull his lips onto yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh please.” You beg him, between kisses.

“I’ve got you.” He manages to get out, holding you as you let out the most heavenly cry. Your moans send him over, and he pulls out to spill himself all over your cunt.

He smears it on your folds with his hands, and you smack his chest, giving him a push off you while he laughs at your irritability.

“You’re such a dick.” You say, wiping yourself with a paper towel from the dispenser. He kisses your neck with a smirk.

“Come lay with me when you’re done.” He says, walking out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes, cleaning yourself up before walking out.

You re enter the bunks, searching the room for his bed. He’s in a lower ish one, laying down with hands resting behind his head and his eyes blissfully closed. Your eyes move back and forth between his bed and your empty one, until your feet start moving before your mind can even decide.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when you crawl in beside him. He just wraps his arm around you, kissing your temple as you both drift off to sleep,

both of you blissfully unaware of the horrors of tomorrow’s game…

Part 2?

#choi su bong #choi seung hyun #t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #thanos squid game #thanos smut #thanos #squid game #squid game thanos #thanos x reader #nam gyu #gi hun squid game #squid games

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inlovewrafe · 4 months ago

Text

I still love you, I promise (pt 2)

pairings: ex!lovers; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia;

warnings: angst; sickness; ed; pregnancy;

"Do you need to sit down?” You hear a muffled voice as you feel your feet beginning to give up on you. "What- What do you mean I'm pregnant?” You ask with a shaky voice. You had a feeling that you were but now that your suspicions are confirmed, and you hear it out loud, you can't believe it. Don't want to believe it. You are denying it. "No, I can't-“ You choke on your words, trying to make sense of what you were going to do. You feel a sharp pain in your heart as you realize. He isn't here. He isn't yours. He is hers.

You realize you will have to raise the baby alone. His baby. You were forever going to have a reminder of him. Every time you'll look at the baby, all you'll see is him.

"What if I don't want the baby? Can't I do anything about it?" You blurt out without even thinking. But as soon as the words leave your mouth you regret ever saying them. “I'm afraid you can't. You are already three months and a half in. Your boy is developing.” You freeze in your spot. "What do you mean boy?” “You are having a baby boy, congratulations!” She gives you a warm smile but you feel your stomach drop. A boy. You were having a boy. 'What will Rafe say when he finds out? Should I tell him?' You were deep in your thoughts when you heard the doctor talk to you again. “That'll be all. We'll schedule an appointment to check on him but we'll do that later on the phone.” “Thank you.”

You made your way towards your car as you stood frozen in your seat. You'll be all alone, raising your baby, while he plays happy couple with Sofia. You took a shaky breath as you pulled out of the parking lot, driving to your house.

When you got there you quickly made your way inside, seeing all of them displayed on the couch. The sound of the door closing made them all look towards where you stood. “Where have you been? Do you know how concerned we were?” Topper yells as he is quick to stand up from the couch. “I know, I'm sorry.” You mumble while fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. Sarah and Rafe spare a concerned glance to each other before they turn their attention back to you. “Sarah I need to talk to you. It's important." You say still fidgeting with the rings. "Yeah, 'course” She replies as she starts walking out of the room, following you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” But you don’t answer, instead you pull her in a hug as she remains confused but squeezes you hard as she reciprocates the hug. “I need to tell you something but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone, especially not Rafe.” “I promise! What is it?” You take a shaky breath as you say the words out loud. “I’m- I’m pregnant.” You wipe away a single tear that escaped your eye. “WHAT?” She looked at you shocked and excited at the same time. “Shhh” You hush her because you don’t want the boys to find out. “I’m sorry. Is it Rafes?” She asks just to make sure. “Of course, who else’s would it be?” She nodded her head with an obvious expression on her face. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t- He isn’t even- How will I raise-“ You mutter between choked sobs as you panic. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here for you. You’ll be fine.” She tries to reassure you, but you can’t calm down. You sob into your hands as she pulls you in a hug. “It’s okay, let’s just eat something and we’ll sleep, yeah? We can deal with it tomorrow, okay?” She mumbles as she gives you gentle strokes on your back.

“Okay.” You let out a quiet response as you wipe around your eyes. “Do you want to order something? The boys already ordered when you were out. Or we can make something ourselves.” She gives you a light smile as you plop down on one of the chairs. “We can make some pasta if you want to.” You played with the necklace around your neck. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want.” She smiles as she puts a pot with water on the stove. You get up and take another pot where you can make the sauce in. You pour the sauce in the pan and add some seasonings to it.

After some time, the pasta is ready and you plate it. “Wow, this looks delicious! Ask the boys if they want some, while I wash the dishes, please!” You exit the kitchen and made your way towards the living room where you see the boys caught up in a game.

You clear your throat and all three heads snap towards you. “We made pasta. Want some?”

“Did you poison it, or why are you asking?” Topper raised a brow while snorting.

“No, but I’ll make sure to poison it next time, just for you.” You gave him a wink as you waited for an answer.

“Yeah, sure we’ll have some!”

“Come on then!”

You start walking to the kitchen with Top and Kelce in front of you and Rafe behind. You feel a hand on your wrist starting to pull you back.

“Why were you at the hospital?” He asks still holding your hand.

“I-“ You suddenly felt out of breath at the touch on your arm. You stare at his hand and back up at him, and he quickly lets go of you as if your touch was fire.

“Just had to check something.” You murmured, missing his soft hand on yours.

“Check what?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to look for an answer, but couldn’t come up with anything.

He was still staring at you, waiting for a response.

“What’s going on here?” You hear Sarah’s voice interrupt the silence between you and him.

“Uh, nothing. We were just talking.”

“Okay, come eat! You haven’t eaten anything today! Come on!” She grabbed your hand, leading you to the kitchen where you saw Top and Kelce on their second plate already.

“Oh come on! Leave some for the rest of us.” You laughed as you sat on a chair next to Sarah.

You ate half of the food on your plate when Kelce got up to go and plate a third portion.

“Kelce, chill out man! Do they keep you starved?” Everyone laughed as he sat down with his plate.

“You are the best chef ever! I might come over every day if you are cooking.” He laughed.

After you all finished eating, Rafes phone was buzzing with a few texts from next to you.

He was putting the dishes in the dishwasher with Topper so you though it won’t hurt anyone to sneak a quick glance.

As you glance at the texts with pit in your stomach you start feeling sick. The smile from your previous jokes was replaced by a sad expression as you remained quiet, taking out your phone to scroll on instagram. When you noticed the boys finished with the dishes, and he was walking towards you, you got up from your seat to retreat to your room. You repeat the texts from her over and over in your head with a heavy heart. ‘hey baby’. They were calling each other baby. Yours and his nickname. Now you were truly sick. You rushed past them and upstairs to the bathroom gaining a few concerned looks from your friends.

“What was that?” One of the boys asked but it was silent.

Sarah followed you upstairs and Rafe went to check his phone. He saw a few texts from Sofia but he ignored them. He placed his phone back on the table and raised a brow at nothing in particular.

“What was that? She was fine like a minute ago.”

“I don’t know man, she must’ve seen something on your phone when it buzzed ‘cause she seemed happy like three minutes ago!”

You were fast asleep now with Sarah massaging your scalp while you dreamed of how easy things used to be when it was just you and him.

To be honest in your head it was Rafe that was massaging your scalp while you slept next to him, not Sarah.

“Look at this view! Rafe it’s beautiful!” You said as you admired the beauty surrounding you both.

The salty breeze of the ocean giving you goosebumps as it hugged your skin. The sand and the water colliding together like they were made for each other, while the sky was displaying gold rays of sun making the sand that was sticking to your skin radiate your features more.

“It really is beautiful!” He smiled softly while watching you with only love in his eyes.

This was the moment when he truly knew that you were the one for him. That he loves you.

“I love you!” He said with a genuine and soft voice.

You turned around shocked, unsure if what you hear really came out of his mouth. You were not expecting this.

“You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to kno-“ But before he was able to finish his sentence, your lips crashed onto his, hands going behind his neck, while you got closer on the picnic blanket.

When you pulled away you both were smiling like fools.

“I love you too!” You said without hesitation as he pulled you against his chest. You sat there in a comfortable silence, watching the sunset as you replayed his words over and over in your head with a grin on your face.

You looked over your shoulder again to see what he was doing, but he wasn’t there. You sat up panicked as you started to call out for him, but to no avail. He wasn’t answering.

You looked around desperately but all you could see was a bunch of sand, no track of Rafe.

“Rafe!” You called out again, and again.

“Rafe, where are you?”

“Rafe, please, this is not funny!”

“Rafe, please don’t leave me all alone!”

“Baby, please come back!”

a/n: Hey guys!!! Hope you like the chapter. This is PART 2 of my series IslyIp!! Please leave a feedback so I know if I should keep going and also if you have any requests please lmk!!

#rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe imagine #drew starkey obx #drew starkey

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

#warm up #spilled ink #writeblr

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erwinsvow · 1 month ago

Note

imagine being in kie’s place when shy!reader and rafe got kidnapped by mr signh (ive given up his name keeps autocorrecting) and seeing him in his tux and buzz for the first time and instead of the two being scared they js fuck LOLZ😝

oh my god yes yes yes. this is my fave concept i can't believe i haven't expanded on it yet. sorry it took me a year to reply.

you have to keep reminding yourself to take deep breaths. deep in a foreign land, separated from all of your friends and trapped in a mansion with only locked doors and guards at every corner, this is probably the most anxious you've ever been.

and that is truly saying something.

you wanted to try and plead with the guards again, to explain yourself and your innocence, but you couldn't find the words. why should they believe you? what would you even say? you were never the one coming up with the crazy escape routes or talking your way out of problems. and it seemed that teary doe eyes didn't work quite as well on paid guards as it did on your best friends back home.

so you resigned yourself to start believing a singular truth—the only way out, is through. you stopped pounding fists and yelling for help, rather complying wordlessly, like when the pretty dress made its way onto your bed. you even ate the fruit in the room, deciding that you couldn't think of an escape if you starved to death first.

you don't know why the man who took you wants you clean and dressed up, but you do that too, and it's not until the door opens and you poke your head out from behind the wall, expecting the worst, do you realize just how out of the loop you really are.

you could cry.

"rafe?" you stare up at the familiar boy with watery eyes, confusion and hurt painted all over your pretty face. for a moment you believe that he might be responsible for all of this, even you couldn't have dreamed that he'd be this cruel, when-

"what the hell are you doin' here, kid?" he looks around the room quickly, like he's worried someone is going to come out from behind the walls. in one motion, he guides you to the furthest corner from the door, gripping your wrist tight while he has you sit on the edge of the bed.

"a-are you with them? t-the people outside?"

"what? no, no-they took me too. how do they have you? don't tell me those fuckin' idiots let them take you-"

"it's not their fault-"

"don't make excuses." it comes out so sternly, you shut up immediately. "i'll get us out of here. i just need to figure out-"

"b-but it's not so bad, right? at least we have each other." your words come out softly, partially because you're afraid someone will hear you and partially because you can't believe what you're saying.

your relationship with rafe is tumultuous at best. he's never had a real issue with you, and he's seen you at tannyhill with sarah several times before, but it's always been clear that he hates your friends, even if he was ambivalent—or less than—to you. you could never really tell and you didn't spend much time trying to figure it out, until now.

rafe looks back you, his eyes still showing the panic that was in yours, but mixed with something else, something you couldn't make out.

"yeah, kid. we have each other." rafe takes another deep breath, running his hands over his head, barely brushing through his buzzcut. "i'll get us out of here."

time in the room with rafe passes by slowly. you didn't know what time it was before, but rafe's watch shows that it's only noon. you can't even hear the guards footsteps anymore, the silence making your eyes droopy while you wait for something, anything to happen.

you stay perched on the bed while rafe paces, curled up into yourself and resting against the bed frame. your dress reveals most of your legs, all the way to the tops of your thighs when you sit like this, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

you stare at rafe while he treads the tiny space, wondering when he cut his hair and if he'll ever grow it back. you liked his longer hair, you think briefly, before dismissing the thought entirely. you have no business liking anything of rafe cameron's.

but then again, he's the one here with you, trying to figure out how to get you back to safety, and your friends are the ones who got you here in the first place. you try not to think of it like that, but rafe's words from earlier seep back into your mind. he's here, you're here, and everyone else is fine. so who was going to watch after you?

"rafe?" you ask quietly, and once he stops pacing and turns to lock eyes with you, your whole face feels hot. his eyes run up the course of your exposed skin before finally making eye contact, and even in this state you can tell what thoughts just ran through his mind.

"yeah, kid?"

"do you wanna sit down? you've been walking for a while."

"i need to think, baby, otherwise i'd sit down." he resumes his pace and your entire face is on fire. the nickname is enough to make your brain short-circuit for a minute. suddenly you think that you like the buzzcut, and you like the nicknames he gives you, and you like that he keeps saying he'll get you out of there. you believe that he will, no, you know that he will.

but you're not so sure you want to leave anymore. with a surge of confidence appearing from thin air, you move towards the end of the bed, sitting with your legs hanging over the frame and facing rafe, looking up at him.

"can i help you think, rafe?"

he stops walking, staring down at you while you stare up.

"do you know what you're saying right now, kid?"

"wouldn't you think better if we calmed down first?" the words come out in one shaky breath. maybe you don't know what you're asking for, but you're certain it's what you want right now. you don't break eye contact—a first for you.

"lay back for me."

you comply immediately. it's not until a knock several hours later, with a strange man walking in on you and rafe wrapped up in his sheets, that you remember the severity of the situation you're in.

oh well.

#hahah the ending is trash sorry. insert ten pages of crazy smut there #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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harrywavycurly · 5 months ago

Text

Worth the Fight Part 2: City of Love

Masterlist: Here

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, language, bit of light arguing, brief details of the hook up in the bathroom, miscommunication and a touch of panic attack symptoms mentioned.

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden

A/N: I know it’s not Thursday but I just wanted to get this up because this week is a busy one for me! Hope yall enjoy it!!✨

Summary: Harry gets the confirmation he needs but wasn’t really expecting while you try to be as nice as possible to him, oh and Harry meets your cat! So enjoy getting a little look at the way your personalities work/clash together✨

“So uh-you’re actually pregnant.” Harry says with a heavy sigh as he watches you dig around in your purse for your car keys. You pause your search so you can look up at him just in time to see him run a hand over his face. “I just really thought maybe your tests were wrong? Like maybe you got a bad batch or something and-”

“A bad batch? Harry I took four different kinds of tests.”

“Well yeah but still I just don’t know how this happened?”

“Did your parents not have the talk with you about how babies are made? Surely you know how this happened.” Harry ignores your snippy remark as you resume your search for your keys as he presses the down button for the elevator.

The two of you just got done visiting with your doctor who confirmed you are in fact pregnant and suggested a well known obstetrician and gynecologist, Dr. Andrews that could take over and do the paternity test once you call and set up an initial appointment with his office and see exactly how far along you are. You weren’t shocked by the news, but Harry on the other hand sat there with his mouth hung open as if he didn’t expect it at all and you aren’t sure why considering you told him how many tests you took and how they all said pregnant in different ways. You know he had to be reminded of how the two of you met, seeing as he meets so many people and all but you just assumed that once he had his moment of clarity and remembered meeting you that the memory of the rest of the evening would also begin to not be as fuzzy for him but he’s proving that theory very wrong with every confused glance and silly question he tosses your way.

“I thought we were careful?” He questions once the elevator doors open up allowing the two of you to step inside, you let out a chuckle as he moves to stand next to you crossing his arms over his chest while he shoots you a glare. “Are you giggling? What’s so funny about this?” You just shake your head as you finally feel your keys on the bottom of your purse.

“Oh you-you’re being serious?” You ask as you look over at him with a raised brow making him nod his head in response. “I wasn’t aware that the pull out method was really even considered a form of being careful?” Harry’s eyes go wide as his arms fall to his sides and that’s how you figure out he really is struggling to put the pieces together of what exactly happened in that bathroom so you decide to give him just one more detail to help him understand how the two of you really ended up in this situation.

“And by the way in order for that method to work you actually have to pull out.” You add casually as you reach over and press the button for the lobby while Harry’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he looks down at the floor in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“So are you going to want to be at all the appointments?” You ask a few minutes later as the two of you enter the lobby of the medical building your doctor’s office is in. Harry looks around and brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck while you adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder as you wait for him to answer.

“I don’t know? I just-this is a lot.” He finally replies a few moments later making you purse your lips and slowly nod your head before you turn and head for the front entrance of the building. Harry doesn’t know what to do but he knows the two of you have things to discuss so he just quickly rushes to catch up to you and when he finds you heading for a small beat up looking car that’s parked in a very obvious no parking zone his eyebrows pinch together while his hand reaches out to grab your elbow causing you to stop walking and look at him over your shoulder.

“Look I’ll tell you how my next appointment goes and when they can do the paternity test-”

“Is this your car?” Harry asks interrupting your little rant, you watch his eyes go from your face to the car directly behind you.

“Yes. She’s very reliable even though she looks a bit rough.” You say in your car’s defense as you take a step away from him making his hand fall from its hold on your elbow as he stares at you in almost disbelief as you take your car key and unlock the passenger side door and toss your purse inside before closing it so you can turn and face Harry with your arms loosely crossed over your chest.

“This can’t be safe for you to be driving around in.” You roll your eyes at his statement as he takes a step to the side so he can give your car a proper once over and when he sees a dent on the front bumper he raises an eyebrow while pointing at it. “You run into things a lot?” He asks as he looks over at you from where he’s now stood near the front of your car.

“Leave Melanie alone okay she’s nice and gets me where I need to go.” You snap at him as you turn and place a hand on top of your car so you can give it a little pat. “I’ve had her since I was seventeen so yeah she’s got a few bumps-”

“Melanie? You named your car? Have you really had this thing since you were seventeen?”

“Yes Melanie just fits her and yeah Harry I’ve had this thing since I was seventeen because most people keep their cars for a while since we can’t all have a driver to take us places or have a fancy collection of cars we don’t use.” Harry doesn’t say anything in response so after a few moments of silence you take that as a sign the conversation is over so you just turn to round the front of the car and get into the driver’s seat.

“You’re in a no parking zone you know that right?” Harry says breaking the silence just as you open your door, you look at the sign that’s posted on the sidewalk right above where you’re parked and just shrug making Harry let out a huff as he rolls his eyes.

“I was in a hurry.”

“You mean you were running late?”

“No I mean I was in a hurry.”

“Are you late to a lot of things? Is that something I should get used to?”

“I don’t know Harry do you want to get used to me?”

“What? That’s not-not what I meant I just want to know if you’re late a lot?”

“I wasn’t late today was I?”

“No but clearly you were worried about it since you were rushing enough to just park in a no parking zone-what if your car would’ve gotten towed? What would you have done?” While he’s speaking you take the time to look him over and that’s when you notice it, his hands are clenching and unclenching fists by his sides and his cheeks are slightly flushed and his eyes are a bit wide, he looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack of some sort and him asking you these pointless questions is his attempt at holding it off.

You ignore his eyes that dart to various parts of your face and upper half of your body as if his mind can’t decide where it wants to focus as you close the driver’s side door with a bit of force making sure it stays closed and round the front of your car so you’re standing in front of him. You wonder for a moment as you stare at him if it’s your hormones already kicking in that makes you feel the need to make him feel better or if it’s just Harry who has this extremely annoying power to drive you to the brink of wanting to smack him a few time with your purse and leave him standing on the sidewalk alone and confused to all of a sudden switching it up to were you’re wanting to make sure he’s okay when he shows you any signs of distress. He watches your hands as they reach out and grab his and when you fill the gaps between his fingers with your own and give his hands a nice solid squeeze you watch his chest fall as he lets out a deep breath and his shoulders slump a bit. You look him in his eyes and give him a small smile while still giving his hands little reassuring squeezes.

“Would you like to come over? Have some tea?” Your question not only shocks Harry but you as well, not sure what came over you to even let the words slip out of your mouth, surely it’s just the hormones. Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment before he looks down at his watch on his right wrist, checking the time before he looks back up at you.

“Uh sure yeah-yeah I can come over for a bit.” He answers with a nod. You just let go of his hands and reach over for the passenger side door handle so you can open it for him. Harry quickly looks at you with worried eyes and begins shaking his head and backing away from you while trying to reach into the front pocket of his jeans for his phone.

“Oh no I’ll just call my-”

“Harry.” You say with a sigh as you continue to hold the door open for him, he stops fumbling for his phone and stares at you making you roll your eyes as you gesture to the passenger seat with a tilt of your head.

“Just get in the car.” With that Harry just lets out a groan as he reluctantly takes a step towards the open door and bends down so he can pick up your purse off the seat. You bite back a laugh as you watch him have to duck down a bit to get into your car and he makes a show of buckling himself in nice and tightly once he’s sat in the seat. You give him a smile as he places your purse in his lap just as you close the door for him so you can go and get into the driver’s seat and take the two of you to your apartment.

“Do you have a cat?” You look at Harry over your shoulder from where you’re making yourself a cup of herbal tea in the kitchen and smile when you see him messing with a random stuffed mouse that somehow ended up on your table.

As if on queue Harry looks down as he feels something rub against his shin and you see a small smile tug at the corners of his lips when he sees your orange cat greeting him with a few purrs but it’s when you see him rub his head against Harry’s ankles that you feel obligated to warn him about something.

“Oh but watch out he might-” your words get cut off by a tiny squeal from Harry as he takes a step towards you with his eyes set in a glare aimed at the orange cat that’s decided to now head into the living room since Harry didn’t allow him to fully chomp down on his ankle like he wanted.

“He just bit me.” Harry states as he watches your cat jump onto your sofa and quickly flop down into a comfortable laying position. “He bit my ankle.” He explains while turning to now give you his full attention making you just shrug as you reach for the honey to add to your mug.

“Yeah well his name is Paris so he kinda has a thing for ankles.” Harry stares at the side of your face as you go about making your tea while explaining why your cat just bit his ankle and he rolls his eyes at how casual you are about it, but that’s something Harry is learning about you, you don’t seem to take a lot of things that seriously.

“What’s the city of love have to do with ankles?” He asks as you give the liquid in your mug a nice stir, he watches the way his question makes your brows pinch together and when you turn to look at him he sees your face looks almost concerned and he can’t imagine why considering the two of you are just talking about your cat.

“He’s named after Paris as in the one who killed Achilles.” When Harry just raises an eyebrow in response to your explanation you let out a long sigh as you pick up your mug. “Have you heard of Troy?”

“The Brad Pitt movie?” You have to fight off the urge to reach over and flick him in the ear at his answer but you just shake your head and walk past him and into your living room.

“No not the Brad Pitt movie I mean the actual story of Troy? With Achilles and Hector? The Trojan horse and all that?” Harry follows you into the living room and makes a mindful choice not to sit on the couch with the orange cat that just tried to make a meal out of his ankle, opting for the loveseat that’s placed across from the couch with a little coffee table in between the two pieces of furniture.

“Hector and the little horse thing are in the Brad Pitt movie though.” Harry explains as you get comfortable on the couch making Paris lift his head and look around to see who has come into the room and disturbed his peace.

“Little horse thing? Are you-you know what it’s not important.” You take a sip of your tea to help calm yourself down before placing it on the coffee table, Harry takes the opportunity to glance down and he quirks an eyebrow when he sees the name of the tea on the little tag hanging out of the mug.

“Paris shot Achilles in the ankle so that’s why I named him Paris…because he attacks the ankles of people he doesn’t like.” You smile as the orange cat stretches out next to you placing a paw on your thigh while Harry just lets out a scoff at the idea of your cat not liking him.

“You drink peppermint tea with honey? That’s criminal. And also there’s no way he doesn’t like me considering he just met me.” You laugh as you reach over and run your hand over Paris’s back making him purr while still keeping his eyes closed.

“Oh and it’s so hard to imagine someone not liking you after just meeting you?”

“Well yeah because he doesn’t know me so how can he not like me?”

“He knows enough to want to bite your ankle the first chance he got.”

“That’s because you’ve probably poisoned him against me.” You laugh and roll your eyes as Harry leans over and grabs your mug of tea off the table and brings it to his lips so he can taste it. “And that’s disgusting by the way.” He states with a face of disgust making you glare at him as you lean over and grab the mug from his hand before he can set it back down on the table.

“And I remember you being taller.” You mumble while Harry just glares at you from his spot on the loveseat. “What? You insulted my tea so I’m allowed to insult your-”

“I can’t really do anything about my height but you can and absolutely should fix the way you make tea because no one should be mixing honey with peppermint.” He argues as he watches you with a narrowed glare as you take a sip of your tea, you watch as he leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands together.

“Is this how you always act when someone invites you into their home as a way of calming you down when you’re on the verge of a panic attack? You just insult them and-”

“I wasn’t having a panic attack.”

“You were maybe two minutes away from one and please stop interrupting me it’s so rude and isn’t your whole thing about treating people with-”

“How are you not panicking? You’re having a baby possibly my baby and you’re just sat there with your nasty tea and-”

“That’s it.” You say with a huff and Harry flinches slightly as you all but slam your mug down onto the table before standing up causing Paris to jolt awake at your sudden outburst. “You’ve insulted my car and my tea today and I was going to let it slide because that’s fine we can have differences in opinions on tea and cars but that’s on top of the fact you don’t even remember what happened between us that night and you think the story of Troy is just a Brad Pitt movie and I just-I think you should leave now.” Harry blinks up at you as your hands fall to your sides in what he almost thinks is a sign of defeat, as if you lost the internal battle you were having with yourself on trying to keep your cool with him and that makes his mouth droop a bit into a small frown.

“I remember plenty about what happened that night.” He counters as he slowly stands up while you grab your mug and turn towards the kitchen. Harry reaches for his phone in his front pocket so he can text his driver your address and a message to please come get him as soon as possible.

“If that were true then today wouldn’t have been such a shock for you.” You explain before you disappear from Harry’s sight, he can’t really put a finger on the exact feeling that comes over him as he stands there in your living room knowing that everything you said is true. He doesn’t remember exactly what went on between the two of you, at least not very clearly.

He knows that the two of you had an intimate moment in the bathroom because the evidence was shown to him this afternoon when the doctor handed him a piece of paper that told him you are truly pregnant and this is all really happening. Since then he hasn’t been able to think straight or focus on much of anything and if he’s being honest he really isn’t good in stressful situations in general, he tends to either overreact or just panic and this by far is one of the most stressful situations he’s ever found himself in and he knows he isn’t handling himself the way he should be. And your calm and relaxed demeanor just seems to make him even more unnerved because he doesn’t get how you’re not in the same panic riddled boat as him.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, giving a tug at his roots as he glances down to your couch, he catches Paris do a lengthy stretch before he sits up briefly just to look at Harry and decide that even he is fed up with him so he jumps off the couch and walks off into the kitchen. Now in that moment Harry knows he should do that as well, follow your cat’s lead and walk into your cramped kitchen so he can at least attempt to apologize for a few things but he doesn’t. Instead he just runs a knuckle under his nose as he sniffles a bit and when he feels his phone vibrate and sees a text letting him know his driver is on his way he lets out a heavy sigh. He takes one last look at your kitchen entryway, hoping that maybe you’ll come back and sit down on the couch and he thinks that he wouldn’t even mind if you didn’t say anything but just sat there not looking at him so that way he would at least be able to tell you goodbye and prove to you that he’s capable of being polite but the sound of the sink being turned on quickly wash away any traces of hope he might’ve had.

“This is so fucked.” He mumbles to himself as he walks towards your front door, he knows better than to leave the two of you like this, with certain things needing to be spoken and unkind words being the last ones said but he doesn’t have much of a choice since you won’t come out of the kitchen. So Harry opens your front door and walks out into the hallway making sure to close it as quietly as possible deciding that maybe this is for the best and at least he’s giving you exactly what you asked for, him leaving.

You watch the last bits of your tea go down the drain as the sound of your front door opening and then closing hits your ears, you take a few steps back from the sink so you can poke your head out into the living room and when you see it’s empty you just let out a sigh and go back to cleaning your mug. You didn’t want to end your afternoon like this, standing alone in your kitchen because your patience was worn too thin for the man who somehow managed to charm you into agreeing to a quickie in a bar bathroom over a month ago.

You almost don’t even know how that man and the one who was sat in your living room not even five minutes ago are the same person. The Harry you met at the bar was fun and flirty and even though he teased you throughout the night it was never with any real intention to hurt your feelings while this Harry can’t help but take every chance he can get to insult you or toss a jab your way about something. You don’t know why the corners of your mouth turn downwards at the idea of the night you two met never really meaning anything to him aside from being the night he got you pregnant. You don’t get to think about it for too much longer as Paris jumps onto the counter and makes his way over to sit next to the sink momentarily taking your mind off the curly haired boy.

“We can do this right? We’ll be fine won’t we?” You ask him while he sits there looking at you with his big green yellow-ish eyes that all of a sudden remind you a bit too much of the man who just left your apartment without even saying goodbye. “Next time bite him a bit harder okay?”

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pixiexdusts-world · 3 months ago

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Trust me

Thanos x reader

Summary: A shy girl finds safety in Thanos, a reckless but protective survivor.

Word count: 770

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I never thought I’d end up here—with him.

Thanos wasn’t the kind of person I usually gravitated toward. He was loud, confident, and unpredictable, while I was… well, me. Shy. Awkward. The kind of person who second-guessed every word before speaking, who blushed at the slightest attention. He was the kind of guy people either admired or feared. And yet, somehow, he had chosen me.

I met him before Squid Game, before everything fell apart. Back when he was just a man with a reputation too big for any room he walked into. I had been working part-time at a record store, hiding behind the counter, quietly existing, when he walked in one night.

“You got any old-school hip-hop?” he had asked, tapping his fingers against the counter in an impatient rhythm.

I had barely managed to stammer out a response before he smirked. “Why you so nervous?”

I hadn’t known how to answer. But for some reason, he had kept coming back, every week, teasing me, pushing past my awkwardness until I had gotten used to him.

And then life happened. Bad decisions. Wrong people. The kind of trouble that swallowed you whole before you even realized you’d stepped into it. That’s how we ended up here.

The first night in the Squid Game, I kept to myself, hugging my knees in the corner while the others talked in hushed voices. Thanos, on the other hand, was already making himself known—loud, reckless, unbothered by the fear in the air. I should have been annoyed. Maybe even a little afraid. But when he found me sitting alone, his expression softened in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, lowering his voice like it was meant just for me. “Not as long as I’m here.”

I wanted to believe him. But this wasn’t some rap battle, some night out where he could bluff his way through danger with a cocky grin. This was real. Life or death.

Still, when he sat beside me, closer than necessary, I didn’t move away.

The days blurred together, each game a crueler nightmare than the last. I wasn’t built for this. I was too quiet, too soft, too used to fading into the background. But Thanos never let me disappear.

He stood in front of me when tensions ran high, when fights broke out over food. He made sure I ate, even when he barely touched his own meal. And when I flinched at the sound of a gunshot, he grabbed my wrist, holding it just tight enough to ground me.

“Hey,” he murmured, “look at me.”

I did.

“You’re still here,” he reminded me. “And as long as you’re here, you fight.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t like him, that I didn’t know how to be fearless. But when I looked into his eyes, I realized something—he wasn’t fearless either. He just knew how to hide it.

One night, when the lights flickered and the dormitory became a battlefield, I felt panic creeping in. The sounds of screams and fists colliding filled the air, and I knew I was too weak to fight.

But then there was him.

Thanos grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shadows before anyone could reach me. He pressed me against the wall, shielding me with his body as chaos unfolded around us.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice rough but steady.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t deserve his protection. That he should be watching out for himself, not wasting his time on me. But all I could do was nod, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

As he fought off anyone who got too close, I realized something.

He wasn’t the man people thought he was. He wasn’t just reckless. He wasn’t just trouble.

He was the only person in this place who made me feel safe.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked one night, when the world had quieted again.

He looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“Because you make me feel human.”

And in that moment, despite the nightmare surrounding us, I believed him.

#squid game #squid games #squid game season 2 #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #thanos squid game #thanos #thanos x reader #thanos x you #thanos x y/n #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong x you

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤBAKING BLIND, DEAF AND MUTE * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N participates in the Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute video, but things don't go as planned.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　beginning of a panic attack, anxiety.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

"Alright guys, it's been almost a year since the last time we filmed one of these, I think..." Nick began, his body appearing in the camera frame, stopping next to Matt.

"Yeah, and today we have a special guest-" Matt was interrupted by Nick, who swallowed all the rest of his energy drink, stumbling back as he shook his head hard, feeling the burn go down his throat.

"Like she doesn't appear in almost every video." Chris ignored Nick's reaction, momentarily pointing to his girlfriend next to him.

A laugh escaped his throat, followed by a dramatic sound of pain as he received a slap from Y/N as a response, who rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms and looking at the camera.

"They love me more than they love you guys at this point." She murmured, pointing at the camera with her chin, blowing an air kiss towards it.

"Anyways!" Nick shouted, casting a scolding glance from the corner of his eye at Chris and Y/N, focusing his eyes on the lens. "Today we're going to do the baking blind, deaf and mute challenge, and we have a guest with us, Y/N!" He raised his left hand, pointing it towards the girl momentarily, who smiled big and waved.

"Exactly, and since there will be four of us, instead of three, we will repeat one position. Y/N will be blind with Matt, while I will be mute and Nick will be deaf." Chris explained, wrapping his left arm around his girl's shoulder, pulling her close and massaging her biceps slightly, sealing his lips over her head momentarily.

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"Okay, today we're going to cook a carrot cake with chocolate frosting since it's our guest's favorite." Nick spoke, his voice coming out louder than normal since his ears were covered by the headphones where music was coming out at full volume.

Y/N nodded, resting her hands on the table, unable to see exactly where she was, her eyes already covered by Chris's red bandana.

"Y/N doesn't eat ready cake mixture, so we're going to make it from scratch!" Matt added, his back resting on the counter next to the stove.

His arms were crossed, and his head was turned in the direction he thought the camera was.

"Let's begin!"

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"Can someone preheat the oven, please?" Y/N asked, her head turned to the side where she heard footsteps.

A tired sigh escaped her nose when she received no response. The girl moved slowly, using her raised arms for support, feeling wherever she went.

Sudden hands on her waist made her jump in fright, relief coursing through her veins as she quickly recognized Chris's touch. The boy holds her tightly, guiding her slowly through the kitchen, until they reach the stove.

Chris lightly held her wrist, guiding her hand to the button to turn on the oven, waiting for her to do so before letting go of her hand, moving away slightly.

"What is happening? Are you still here?" Matt's voice cut through the air, his figure doing a 360° turn as he tried to understand where the others were.

"In here, Matt." Y/N replied as she walked back to the table, feeling around until she found the ingredients already separated.

The girl reached for the carrots, feeling them to check if they were peeled. They weren't.

"Chris, can you peel it for me, please?" The girl asked loudly, lifting her chin in the air so her voice could echo better.

Footsteps approached, and soon, the carrots were taken from her hands, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board filling her ears.

The sound of screams filled the kitchen, Nick singing the songs he was listening to as loud as possible, probably dancing around the space, checking every now and then if the others were making the recipe correctly, despite Y/N and Chris knowing it by heart.

"Nick, can you shut up?" Matt asked loudly, turning in the direction where his brother's voice came from.

Nick noticed Matt trying to talk to him, looking back while furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" He screamed.

Y/N, who was blindly measuring the correct amount of oil using a measuring cup, jumped in place in fright by the sudden loud sound. Her hand holding the oil shook slightly from the movement, spilling some of the contents onto her other hand and the table.

Her shoulders slumped, but she just kept going, knowing that there was nothing she could do at that moment other than fulfill her task.

After measuring the oil and flour as correctly as possible, the girl felt the table on her right side in search of the cut carrots, no longer feeling Chris' presence there.

Her hands ran across the wooden surface, grabbing the first thing she found in the belief that it was the vegetables, but instead, it was a knife.

A wince escaped her lips, feeling a sharp burning sensation spread from her right index finger to her hand. She had cut herself.

"Can I have a paper towel?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her voice coming out choppy from the pain she felt. "Hey, somebody, a paper towel. Please?"

No one answered her, Matt and Nick's arguing voices only growing louder and louder.

The girl took a deep breath, wiping her finger on her t-shirt, feeling pain and disgust at the same time at the thought of cleaning a wound on a fabric that wasn't as clean as something specific for hygiene.

Her attention returned to the things in front of herself. Y/N replayed her last steps in her mind, making sure she did everything right.

With that, her hand rescued the fuê that she knew was on her left side and began to mix all the ingredients in the ceramic bowl carefully, despite the pain in her hand.

She felt her senses were more heightened than normal, perhaps because her eyes were covered, which made her hear the different steps of each of the triplets, their voices, and in which direction they were going.

But at that moment, her attention was so focused on the mixture that she forgot to pay attention to the three boys.

"Matt, I'm not listening to anything you're saying!" Nick shouted, his tone full of sarcasm.

"I'm just asking you to stop-"

"Don't touch me, Chris!"

"Nick, stop doing that-"

"Stop talking, I can't hear you-"

The impact came suddenly against Y/N's back, causing her to hit her belly on the corner of the table and, consequently, pushing the mixture forward due to the impact. She was certain that everything had been spilled onto the wooden surface when she heard a loud gasp coming from Matt.

Y/N's lips trembled before the tears even came. She felt her eyes burning behind her bandana while her cheeks and chest ached with anguish.

"Y/N?" Chris's voice came out softly, his hands quickly ripping the bandana from his mouth, approaching his girl, ignoring the guilty looks from Nick and Matt as they both removed their respective bandana and headphones.

Y/N didn't respond, resting her hands on the table and lowering her head, feeling the fabric over her eyes getting damp little by little.

"Baby?" Chris whispered, slowly untying the knot on the bandana behind her head, being careful not to pull out any hair. The last thing he wanted was to cause pain on his girlfriend.

He felt his heart sink at the sight of her eyes closed tightly and her eyelashes damp against her pink cheeks. His own eyes quickly caught her chest rising and falling faster than normal in agitation.

Chris moved closer to her, positioning his hands on both of his girl's hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin in an attempt to ground her.

"Hey, hey, pretty girl, it's okay. Deep breaths, hm?" The brunette whispered close to her ear, casting a quick look behind his shoulder at his brothers, silently asking them to move away. "That's right, just like that. You got it, my love."

Y/N sucked in air through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it through her mouth.

After repeating the process a few times, she could finally feel her heart calm down and the anguish slowly disappear. Y/N opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times to remove the remnants of tears.

"There's my pretty girl. Are you with me, baby?" Chris smiled kindly, his eyes shining as he looked at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

"Uhum, I am good. Thank you, baby." Her voice came out still a whisper, but in a healthier tone. "Can we continue? I really want to-"

"Wait, is that blood? Baby, are you hurt?" Chris noticed the reddish tone on her right hand, interrupting her sentence and holding her hand delicately with both of his, analyzing the small cut.

"Yeah, with that knife. It was an accident, but it's not hurting anymore." The girl tried to assure him, stroking his hands with her thumb slowly.

"Can we at least clean it? Before we continue." He asked, his tone full of hope while his eyes run through her face, trying to find any trace of pain.

"Okay." Y/N nodded, whispering with a small smile decorating her face.

The boy guided her to the sink, turning on the tap to cold water and slowly bringing her hand closer to the jet, letting the water hit the injured skin slowly, so that it didn't make her feel any more pain.

A wince escaped Y/N's throat when she felt the contact, suppressing the urge to pull her hand back.

"I know, baby. I know, I'm sorry." Chris whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her head. His free hand made small circles on her back, trying to reflect calm to her.

After a few seconds, Chris finally turned off the tap again, drying his own hand before rescuing a few sheets of paper towels. He wiped Y/N's sensitive skin slowly, wrapping her finger around a clean sheet.

"All done, honey."

"Thank you." She smiled, sealing her lips on his jaw slightly. "Can we bake now?" She asked innocently, looking at Matt and Nick, who were still watching them with guilty eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle at her comment, waving his brothers closer again.

"Are you good, girl?" Nick asked as he approached Y/N, stroking her left shoulder lightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I am good, Nick. I promise." She smiled big at her best friend, hugging him sideways and laying her head on his right shoulder for a few seconds before stepping away again.

"Okay then, let's bake a cake!" Matt smiled at the camera, grabbing the nearest roll of paper towels, ready to clean up the mess before they could start baking again.

extra - comments:

"omg I would die on Y/N's place, all this was so overwhelming 😭"

"chris is such a good boyfriend and you can see it in here, the way he helps her at the beginning? bf goals 😫😫😫"

"chris and Y/N are so beautiful together 🥺"

"the way chris was super worried about Y/N so he ripped off his bandana too quickly to help her 😔😔😔"

"I want what they have so bad"

"nick and matt feeling guilty and then worrying about her was so cute!!"

"them baking it from the beginning again only because Y/N wanted to eat that cake is so thoughtful 😭"

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