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my-snowbaz-shit-idk · 9 months

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You Feel A Little Warm Love

Simon Snow gets a cold and a horrifying fever hallucination helps him realise that he doesn't hate Baz as much as he thought he did. Baz just wants his crush to feel better.

Fluff, but first some angst then fluff so much fluff. Alternating P.O.Vs Baz & Simon

(2,601 words)

BAZ

I get out of bed stretching my legs out. I don’t bother worrying about Simon; he's always down at breakfast by now. As I finally focus on my surroundings I hear someone’s breathing, but it’s all wrong, congested. I’m the only one in here, or I should be at least . . .

I turn to look at Simon, he's just where he should be, or not. He should be at breakfast scarfing down barbaric amounts of food but he’s not. For once I’m up earlier than him and I can’t ignore the stab of worry it sends through me. Not to mention he’s huddled in what has got to be every blanket not currently in use at Watford. His hair is matted (even more so than usual) (which is saying something) and sticks to his forehead with sweat. He shivers. It’s wrong to see him like this, I think about going over to shut the window but it’s already shut, he always sleeps with the window open. That isn’t good.

I want to help him somehow but he wouldn’t want that and he’d probably think I was crazy or trying to dispose of him while he’s weak. He’s such an idiot. Why can’t he just see that I’m so desperately in love with him? I do know that it’s much better for everyone involved if he doesn’t because if he ever found out that would be disastrous.

Now I’m staring, even like this he’s beautiful. He probably has a fever. I should probably take him to the nurse. No I couldn’t wake him, I should get the nurse to come here. He’s always warm. I bet he feels like a radiator now, I can imagine his gorgeous blue eyes, bright and sparkling with the fever. I shake my head. Allister Crowley! I’m so fucking disturbed. (Ask anyone)

I make myself leave our room and go down to breakfast but as I fill my plate I realise I’m reaching for everything Simon usually gets. I sigh and try to focus, I take some food for myself but I can’t focus on eating. I keep thinking about Simon lying there all huddled up, he looked adorable and sick. I have time before class so I could check on him and I may as well take him some food. That seems like a totally roommate-appropriate platonic thing to do, right?

SIMON

I wake up to a horrible burning sensation, not like when I’m about to go off, but an ache that spreads throughout my whole body, I groan. Something cold touches me, and I turn.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Simon is still asleep.

I should say something nasty to him like “Wake up Snow, an idiot like you can’t afford to miss any classes!” Or “You look like death, shame, I was hoping to end you myself.” or “You look pathetic and sound disgusting! Get out, before you fill the entire room with your germs.” but looking at him all I can say is his name.

Simon Snow

“Simon,” he says. Baz stands over me. I call for my sword and it appears, he steps back surprised.

I want to confront him, he was clearly watching me sleep and plotting to kill me but all that comes out is a cough and then another. I dissolve into a coughing fit that takes my breath away. My nose starts to run and I wait miserably for Baz to laugh at me or tell me I’m disgusting.

Instead, he hands me a handkerchief. I don’t reach for it, letting fall onto the bed and staring at him open-mouthed. I realize I’m probably spreading my germs and putting my elbow to my face. Why would he give me his handkerchief, or for that matter anything of his when I’m coughing all over the place? I’m only going to get it gross. I look at him, really look. He doesn’t look patronising, he looks . . . worried.

And wait … Simon? He-he called me by my name, he called me . . . Simon. What. The. Bloody. Hell is happening to me?

BAZ

He looks like he’s trying to glare at me. I panic. What should I tell him, I was obviously watching him sleep. Then he starts coughing, harsh wet hacking coughs that rumble from deep inside his chest.

It sounds awful, I’ve obviously seen sick people before but I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t sound like this. His nose starts running and I hate myself for thinking it but he looks cute all wrapped in blankets. I want to wipe his nose for him but instead, I just take my handkerchief from my nightstand and hold it out to him, he looks confused and lets it fall.

Tentatively he picks it up and holds it up to his face. He looks a mess and I encourage him.

“It’s okay, I don't mind.” He looks like he wants to be suspicious but doesn’t have the energy. I hide my wince when he blows his nose. The sound is thick. I'm surprised he can breathe.

“I’mb sowry, I’mb a bess.” He says he still looks confused and I don’t blame him. Me being nice all of a sudden he probably thinks it’s a fever dream.

SIMON

I’m not sure what to do but snot is getting all over my face so I press the handkerchief gently to it to try and stifle it. It’s soft and smells like Baz . . . it’s nice. I don’t know what to say and for a moment I feel guilty for dirtying the nice clean fabric but then I remember who it belongs to. Yet he’s being so nice I don't want to be a jerk.

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess” I say cringing at how bunged up I sound

“I don’t mind.” He says

I don’t mind? What the hell Baz, did I hear that right?

“I brought you some breakfast.” He continues casually casting a Some like it hot on two plates of food. The food doesn’t start to smoke, I’m jealous once again of his ability. But more than that I’m confused. Baz. Baz Pitch. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch brought me, his arch enemy, breakfast?

Did the Mage ask him to, he doesn’t look annoyed like he’s doing work he doesn’t want to in fact he’s focusing very hard on carrying a plate over. As he walks closer I can smell it even through my clogged-up nose.

All my favourite foods:

Beans

Toast

Eggs

Sausage

Bacon

And scones a pile of sour cherry scones.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch brought me scones, I feel a bit light headed then it goes black.

BAZ

He’s staring at me so I stare at the plates being very careful not to drop them, his gawking doesn’t help, and then he slumps over. I almost drop the plates as I run over.

“Snow. Simon. Simon!”

He blinks and I’m so relieved that I say the first thing that comes to mind “Crowley Snow! I only brought you some scones. No need to be dramatic” I mean to sound annoyed but I’m laughing in panicked relief. He looks dazed and unfocused, feverish. I want to hug him, I want to put my arms around him and never let go, but I don’t. However, I am close enough to feel the heat coming off him. What have I gotten myself into?

SIMON

I open my eyes and see Baz’s face. This is closer than we’ve ever been before and for the first time, I can properly see his eyes. The colours in them, (yes colours plural) not one but many swirling together, mesmerising.

I should move, I should get myself as far away from him as possible but I can’t stop watching his eyes. They’re filled with something I can’t define because I’ve never seen it on his face before. It doesn’t look like hatred . . . is it sadness? Fear?

I try to look closer and feel his grey irises pulling me in, I wonder what I’ll find there in the depths of Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s eyes. They’re beautiful, he’s beautiful. Well, now he’s blurry, everything is I feel heavy and sleep tugged at my aching body while the kaleidoscope of colours continues to swirl around me. It’s pretty at first but it soon becomes dizzying.

It hurts. I scream. I call out for the one person here. I hope he can hear me, I hope listens. Maybe he doesn’t hear me, maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll let me die in the colourful world all alone.

The thought brings despair down like a heavy weight on me and soon it’s eating everything, the colours are disappearing. Being sucked away and I feel the sucking itching feeling too. The Humdrum, I feel him but he's nowhere else to be seen, nothing is anywhere to be seen actually.

It’s all just black, black, black, black and more black. No colour or texture I can’t even feel my hands anymore but I feel heavy, so heavy. I feel like I’m getting heavier by the second and I just know that if I get too heavy I’ll fall, deep, deep, deep, down, down, down into the darkness.

I think I liked the colours better. I don’t want to fall. I want to see him again, Baz, I mean, just one more time. I want to see him, to remind me that all of this is real, that Magick is real, that I’m real. I try to reach out but the crushing weight holds me back.

I suppose any mage could remind me, but I want it to be Baz. I need it to be Baz, actually. Because even when everything was shifting and changing and nothing was certain Baz was, Baz was certain. He’s been the one constant in my life since I was eleven.

Even if The Mage was away, even if he went away and never came back and even if Penny gave up on putting up with me and stopped being my friend, even if Agatha broke up with me even if no one else was there by my side Baz would still be my roommate.

I want to hear his voice again, his footsteps around the room reminding me that someone is still here, his clean comforting scent like cedar and bergamot and Magick. I want to hear him play the violin again. I love his music. I think that if I could hear it now I could bring some of the colour back. I don’t want to die, I still have to save The World of Mages, but then again, would my death really matter? I’ve never been welcomed in the Normal world and I’ve only ever caused The World of Mages trouble but I don’t want to go without seeing Baz at least one more time.

I stay there, in the blackness for what feels like hours—days and whenever I catch myself slipping away, deep down into the darkness I hold onto the one thing I’m always sure of:

Knowing that he’s still alive

Grey eyes

Black hair

The fact that Basilton Pitch is a vampire.

And I don’t know what I’d do without him.

It’s okay now though the black, as long as I keep Baz in my mind I can manage the crushing weight and the piercing all-consuming darkness. I imagine I hear him saying my name, my real name, not Snow but Simon. I’d do anything to hear him call me Simon again. I can hear him but it’s vague and muffled and just too faint to make out but it makes me happy anyway. If I have to be trapped here at least I have that memory.

Then I feel something cold, I look around but there’s still nothing. And then the blackness begins to crack. The colours come roaring back and I’m yanked up through the kaleidoscope back into our room. I’m face to face with Baz— literally.

BAZ

I place my hand against his forehead, he doesn’t seem to notice. Even with my cooler temperature, I know he’s burning up. I cast the first temperature-checking spell that comes to mind which is embarrassingly “You feel a little warm, love!”( it only works for parents/guardians casting it on children or on someone you love romantically.)

I push my thoughts aside and look at the number glowing over his sweaty forehead. 40, I panic! Then I remember that he runs higher than most people because of all the Magick.

When we were sent to the infirmary after the Chimera the nurse checked us both over for injuries. She took both of our temperatures and declared us healthy. I remember glancing over and seeing that Simon’s was about 38 degrees.

But 40 is still high. I take a deep breath and shake his shoulders, he doesn’t move, he doesn't even blink, his eyes are fixed on the wall behind me. I need to get him to the nurse. I try to pull him off but he’s too heavy like he’s given himself extra weight.

If we can’t go to the nurse then I’ll have to do something. Healing spells! I force myself to stop take another deep breath and recall all of the healing spells I know.

I cast “Get Well Soon!” and check his temperature again, but nothing changed. I try “Early To Bed And Early To Rise” but still it stays the same. Simon is sobbing now. He calls my name in a broken way reaching out but stiffly, like he’s being restrained.

“I’m here Simon” I say, “I’m right here”. I always have been. I cast “Right As Rain!” his temperature is down to 39.5 but that’s still too high. Desperate, I try “Good As New!” and it goes down to 39 almost there . . . “Fit As A Fiddle”

I cast “You feel a little warm, love!” again and 38 glows above his forehead. I’m relieved but he’s still staring at the wall. I shake him again, call his name, practically shout it. He doesn’t respond. I whisper in his ear “Simon?” I dare to say the things I’ve always wanted to surely that will startle him awake. “Simon, love I’m right here, I’ve always been here.” He says nothing still staring at the wall.

“Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are!” I cast but there’s nothing but wall.

I stare at him for another long agonising moment and then I’m staring at him, his beautiful blue eyes, his lips I bet they’re so soft, I’ve always wondered what they would feel like. What it would feel like to kiss Simon Snow I’ve always wanted to, I bet it’s warm. I bet I could kiss him right now and he wouldn’t even notice. I could. No, that wouldn’t be fair, it would be like kissing a drunk person. It wouldn't mean anything and I would only feel worse afterwards. Knowing how good it feels and knowing I’d never get to experience it again.

But I feel awful now, don’t I? I feel absolutely terrible. What if he dies? And then I’ll never be able to kiss him and I’ll always be thinking about it, about him. It’s just one little kiss. Right?

And so I do it. The one thing I’ve always wanted to do. It isn’t hard with him sitting up as he is. I kissed him. It isn’t as good as I imagined but then again that's probably because he’s edging on close to half-dead at this point. But either way, I’m kissing him, I’m kissing Simon Snow.

And then he blinks.

(A/N: to be continued . . . )

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twntyfiveotwo · 10 months

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i know my fking issue

yes i know. i fking know. i dont care about love. i dont care about who loves me or who i love. all i love is the feeling of being loved. which is why i always become insanely infatuated when i have a dream of me being delicately loved by a face i dont recognise. which is why i lock myself in my memories and reminisce all the good feelings i once had. you see, i know how insane and pathetic it sounds. but it feels good. to know, to remember that i was once loved.

he loved me at a time when i didnt know how to love myself. he loved me at my lowest, when i was so fking depressed and so desperate for love. he was my double edge sword - the cause of my anxiety because i would spend hours with him rather than on things i should do. but also, my safe space. if anything, every night i always always looked forward to our pillow talk with one another. and we would share our vulnerabilities with each other. it feels so raw, yet so real. and the first time he said "i love you" was before we even met each other. i wanted to see him, but i also would rather save myself the look of disgust that would appear on his face because i knew for sure no one would accept my physical appearance. impulsively, we made plans to meet, we booked all our places. and 2 days before meeting, i pushed myself to face my fear and sent him a real time picture of me. he told me, "i'm sorry but i dont think i can continue this". understandable, at least he got the courage to reject me directly.

i travelled as planned. i persuaded him to come down. i said "no strings attached, just come out and we hang as friends if thats ok. i dont have any other company here". he declined. he said he doesnt think it's appropriate. but yet we continued to play games and talked like nothing was wrong. later that night, he told me he was coming down to hang. im like sure, knowing full well how the night would go. we watched a horror movie, and after the movie ended we fucked. as always. allowing my body to be used by a man that doesnt love me. but who the fk cares at this point. the next day i went out with my friends. i left half of my cash with him because he said he was going out and i was concerned that he might not have enough money. we met later at night at a bar, together with my friends. we all drank and played drinking games together. at that point of time tbh fwb was probably the best description for whatever we shared. so we didnt cross each others' boundaries. then as we were going back to where i stayed together, i got tipsy-excited and started doing little skips in front of him. i remember turning back to wait for him, and then walking off side by side with him. as we were about to cross a road, he held my hand. i didnt dare to hold back. i just thought to myself, "what a kind gesture. he is probably worried for me because im drunk and he wouldnt want me running across the road". what caught me off guard was that he didnt let go even after we crossed the road. he continued to hold my hand as we walked all the way back to our accomodation. and when we were back, we fucked again. after the fucking, i asked him, "does this mean that we are back together?" he said, "what do you think?" i said "i dont know" he questioned me, "do you want us to be back together?" and i said, "yea". he nodded his head. i asked him, "what is it that made you want to reconcile?" he said, "im not sure either". i assumed it was cause i happened to be convenient.

or maybe not. because if it was just out of convenience he didn't have to be so sweet to me:

i still remember how we ran under the sudden downpour when we were walking to one of our karaoke sessions. we both ended up being soaking wet. but the first thing he did was to make sure i was alright. he tried to wipe me dry, despite how much of a mess i was. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how excited he looked when i came down from the bus during my second trip. and when we arrived at our hotel, i found it hard to use the toilet because i couldnt stand floor with small tiles. he offered and asked me to stand on his feet despite my size. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how much of a crowd there was during new years eve. and there were all those annoying fuckers that would horn the new year trumpet right in front of our faces. i was overwhelmed. the moment he noticed that, instead of leading me from the front, he walked behind me and cupped my ears as we walked through the crowd. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how there was one time he went out with he friends to drink. he called me when he was drunk and started crying, saying that he missed me. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember on my third trip there, he squeezed in a part time job shift just so we can use some extra cash for our date. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how we climaxed together for the last sex that we had, and i guess it felt really good for him. when we were showering together, he looked at me with those googly eyes. i shyed away from it, and asked him why was he looking at me like that. he said he found me cute. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how he came back from his pt shift way past midnight and craved for some cold beer. i offered to go down to buy by myself cause he said he was tired. i went to the convenience store and snapped a pic asking him if that was the correct beer. he called me and asked me where was i. i said the convenience store. he said "stand there, im coming down. when i asked you to go down and buy i meant the front counter of the hotel, not the convenience store! do you know how dangerous it is for you to go out alone this late at night?" and when he reached, the first thing he did was to check up and down that i was alright while holding on to my shoulders. despite being tired. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

but so what. so fking what. all the moments above didnt change the fact that he ghosted on me. he could have said something if he wanted to break up. maybe my anxious attachment style made it hard for him to breathe. but say something darling, i would have let you go. because truth be told, neither of us were made for long distance r/s. i want to believe that there were some pocket of moments when he loved me. actually, you know what, i do believe there were some moments that he loved me. but i guess, the love was not enough for us to overcome the struggles of a ldr. not that it matter, because this r/s is long over.

but thanks, i guess. he made me feel loved during a time when i didnt think anyone was capable of loving me. and while the rs was short lived, it was one of the sweetest rs i had. in fact, listening to the songs he shared to me & reliving through all these memories made me feel like wow, i actually once had a novel-like romance. so, thanks for that i guess. i still miss you sometimes, why wouldnt i. but boy, the heartbreak you gave me at that time. it drove me insane. but since when does love not drive me crazy. it always does.

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sunstaar · 2 years

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Forgetful

Kakashi Hatake x gn!reader

Word Count: 0,9k

Ao3

Summary: You are very forgetful, but luckily for you, Kakashi always comes prepared.

There was something delicate yet so harsh about the snow falling down from the sky, decorating the landscape surrounding yourself and Kakashi. The two of you were dressed in weather-appropriate clothing to keep you warm as snowflakes began adorning your bodies, only to melt in the end and soak whatever they touched. Against the heavy puffer jacket, you did not mind the nature-born speckles standing out, making you look so as though moments prior you had been rolling in the snow.

What you did mind, however, was how the snowflakes felt against the uncovered parts of your neck: first cold and then wet, making you shiver immediately upon contact. While several flakes lost their way to the ground and instead nestled in the space where your neck was not covered by both your knitted scarf and jacket, most of them had your hands feeling as though at any moment they might fall off.

It was then that you also realized that you forgot your gloves at home. You didn’t need to be told that it was stupid of you, idiotic even. While Konoha wasn’t known for harsh winters that exceeded the expectations and forecasts, covering your skin was always advised to avoid any kinds of health issues from the snow falling from the sky and ice forming on the ground.

But of course, you of all people just had to forget your gloves. If your cheeks weren’t feeling quite hot already from how compressed you were in your winter wear, akin to a sushi roll as Kakashi had commented moments before you two stepped outside, they would be feeling by now due to the embarrassment coursing through you.

“‘Kashi,” You began hesitantly. By now, you were already rubbing your hands together in the hope that the resulting friction would create enough heat to keep you at least somewhat warm. “I forgot my gloves at home.”

In your opinion, you did sound a bit pathetic as you spoke these words, because what was he supposed to do about your forgetfulness? Throughout your relationship, had it not been for Kakashi, you probably would not have your head on your neck anymore, as by now, you would have forgotten it somewhere. When beginning to date him it hadn’t been your intention for him to make sure you don’t forget anything, he had taken on the roll without any protest and always looked over your shoulder, checking that you have everything with you.

(The fact that you would forget was something you should have seen coming by now and somehow, you didn’t.)

Your boyfriend looked over at you, several strands of his silver hair falling out of his knitted cap as he moved his head. They fell near his eyes, but not close enough to obscure his sole charcoal eye from glancing down at your almost blue hands, before looking up at your face again.

Kakashi let out a slow sigh, shaking his head with a smile. “I knew this was going to happen,” He said in a tone that reminded you of a parent scolding their child. Quicker than your eyes could follow, Kakashi pulled something out of one of the pockets of his jacket and held it out to you. Your eyes widened as you saw the pair of gloves he held in his own gloved hand, nudging you to take them. “so I came prepared.” There was a twinkle in his eye when he spoke his words, one of mirth mixed with mischief.

“‘Kashi …” You whispered, evidently surprised by his action. To call it ‘heart-warming’ would be a major understatement in your opinion. You turned your head to look at him and the soft smile visible from underneath his mask. With a smile of your own, you said, “You didn’t have to.”

The silver-haired Shinobi shrugged leisurely, his scarf moving with the motion of his shoulders. “Better safe than sorry.” While he hadn’t noticed your lack of gloves the moment the two of you made your way out of the door, he was glad that he had taken an extra pair with him, just to be safe.

Carefully, you took the pair of gloves out of his hand and into your own, your hand noticeably shaking from the cold as you did so. The way your fingers clamped around the warm material worried him, so much so that he took the gloves into his hand again.

“Let me help you.” Kakashi said, not giving you any room to argue with you.

Without hesitating, you held your hands out to him and watched as he stuffed one of the gloves into his jacket again before he slipped the right glove onto your right hand. He first made sure that your fingers were all in the right spot before he pulled it down to fit snuggly. Then, Kakashi repeated the same steps with the left glove and left hand, making sure that it too, kept your cold fingers warm.

To seal the deal, Kakashi gently lifted both of your now gloved hands and pressed a masked kiss to each of them before intertwining one of his hands with yours, smiling at you. “Shall we?”

How could you say no to him? There was no doubt, that you were lucky to be dating such a thoughtful man as Kakashi.

The smile you offered him was genuine. Now that your hands no longer felt cold due to you being so forgetful, you were ready to enjoy your day out with your boyfriend. “We shall.”

#kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake x reader #naruto x reader #gender neutral reader #hatake kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi x you #kakashi hatake x y/n #kakashi hatake x you #hatake kakashi x y/n #kakashi

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offtorivendell · 2 years

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Elain Archeron's trauma should not be mocked

Not least because we shouldn't mock any of their respective traumas, but there could also be a plot or magic-based reason that would account for Elain's avoidance of crowds and war camps etc, rather than the typical cries of "she's just weak and pathetic."

Please don't share or screenshot this post without credit.

Disclaimer: this post isn't about any one instance, as belittling Elain's trauma, and her response to it, is pretty much pervasive in the fandom by now. I just hope people see this post and realise that Elain being so affected after she was Made was both a completely reasonable response to what she had experienced, and that there may also be a narrative based reason that she reacted like that. Ship neutral.

TW: mentions of an event being an allegory of rape, as well as canon typical violence, childhood trauma and grooming.

We're all entitled to our character preferences, and I'll never be mad at people for just not jiving with Elain Archeron's character - I have my preferences, too! - but this is just a gentle reminder to ACOTAR's fandom at large that mocking trauma isn't a good look. We shouldn't have to tear down one character to build up another, when their achievements can speak for themselves.

Trauma isn't a competition, though one can absolutely argue that Elain has experienced a lot of hardship over the course of her life, and...

There may be a reason that Elain struggled so much in the beginning, especially during the war, that furthers her character and the plot.

Elain handled her trauma differently, which doesn't mean it was less than.

It shouldn't need to be said, but here we are. People frequently reduce the entirety of Elain's trauma to "a bad break-up." This is unfair, not only because the breakdown of a relationship can and will cause many people to shut down - especially if their ex partner seemed to change over night, as Graysen must have done if Nesta's ACOMAF report that he and Elain were smitten with each other was accurate - but also because she experienced so much more.

Elain experienced period appropriate grooming from childhood, by her mother, who sought to use her as a pawn on the marriage market, equated her worth with her beauty, and thought that she couldn't, or possibly ensured that she wouldn't, ever dream of more. It's unclear how much of this continued after their mother died, but regardless, that sort of belief - or lack thereof - in and about yourself can take years to overcome.

She, like Feyre and Nesta, were impoverished at a young age, when their father's business lost everything. They then fell further, as what little money they had ran out, and they experienced starvation at certain times of the year. If Feyre hadn't taken it upon herself to hunt, they likely would have died. Elain may live comfortably now, but for a good long while she did not, and I'm sure that, like Feyre and Nesta, she does not take their current existence for granted.

Just like Nesta, Elain was kidnapped and Made into a faerie. Disregarding the fact that humans were taught to fear faeries from childhood, and all of the emotions that she (and Nesta) would have had to deal with purely to unpack all of that when they became their biggest fear, Elain's autonomy was ignored, and her body changed without her permission at a cellular level, which could reasonably be interpreted as an allegory of r*pe or SA. Elain went into the Cauldron first with no expectation of surviving the incident, and then experienced the guards around her laughing at her naked form, which was exposed through her shear/wet nightgown, and described in detail to the point Feyre said she hadn't seen Elain's legs for years. Just to be clear, acknowledging this possibility doesn't negate the trauma of any other character in the series, because we have already established that trauma should not be a competition.

After having her species changed against her will, Elain started to experience visions that she could neither explain nor understand. Her sisters, and others, thought she was going "mad," and didn't heed her cryptic warnings when in reality she was lost in her unknown powers. This must have been an incredibly scary time for her, as we have decent evidence that some of what she was Seeing was at least unpleasant, if not outright violent.

After all that she had been through, Graysen - her fiance, who supposedly loved her - cast her off in an incredibly public and painful manner. I personally suspect that Elain knew her marriage to Graysen could no longer go ahead (though I don't blame her for trying to tell him she loved him anyway), and she went to his land to beg for sanctuary for the other humans, regardless. However, his harsh betrayal of her would have understandably left fresh wounds on her already raw soul, and to laugh at this is, in my opinion, pretty shitty; Elain was planning her future with Graysen - running her own home, likely a family (given the times, and associated societal expectations)... everything she had been raised to attain - and it was gone, lost. Even if this was all Elain had experienced, she would be well within her rights to take time to heal before embarking on a new romance, or plotting her new life's course. Throw in the looming war and being a new, magical species, and she had a lot to deal with.

Not only would experiencing a war, and all that it would entail, be traumatic enough, but Elain was kidnapped once more. The Cauldron - we assume - used her remaining love for Graysen against her and lured her outside the wards of their camp, where it winnowed her back to the Hybern army's camp. We don't know who she met, or what she experienced, while there, but we do know that she managed to remain calm and collected, and aid Feyre and Azriel as much as she could in her own rescue, given the spelled chains she still wore (chains that had to be removed by Helion Spell-Cleaver no less, so let's not shame a newly Made faerie for being unable to escape them herself).

Like her sisters, Elain likely saw her father die. Perhaps she even Saw his death, but had to choose between saving him or Nesta (and Cassian). At the "very least," she lost her father, whom she loved, in the war, and was unable to say goodbye.

I'll expand on this below, but isolating herself through the war may have been a way to cope with her Sight, as Nesta used sex and alcohol to cope with her Cauldron/Death magic and PTSD in general. And to clarify, I'm absolutely not shaming Nesta for this, just pointing out the parallel: both sisters found ways to cope with their trauma and new powers. Their methods matched their needs.

If I've forgotten anything, please feel free to add on!

What if Elain was Seeing all the awful potential futures they could live?

Elain spent a lot of time with glazed, foggy eyes, or blinking, throughout ACOWAR. @wingedblooms has discussed this before (here and here), and I agree, that Elain's near constant blinking could possibly hint at her Sight being active. As I suggested in the final point before, her self-enforced isolation may not have only been the result of her dealing with her recent kidnapping, species change and heartbreak.

What if she was secluding herself to manage her visions?

Elain, on her first vision to Windhaven, saw all of the gathered soldiers, then asked if many would die. Wouldn't you know it, she was blinking at the time.

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army. Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. “Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta said beneath lowered brows. [...] Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground. [...] Elain at last slid into the chair near Mor’s, her dawn-pink dress—finer than the ones she usually wore—crinkling beneath her. “Will—will many of these soldiers die?” - ACOWAR, chapter 51

It's likely Elain also Saw Cassian's death, which many think might have been at the hands of the King of Hybern, if she hadn't acted to save him and Nesta.

“Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.” Nesta’s nostrils flared, but Elain peered up at Cassian, blinking twice. “He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” I tried to shut out the sound of Cassian’s scream—the memory of the spraying blood. Nesta stared at her plate. Elain, at least, was out of her room, but … “It’ll take more than that to kill me,” Cassian said with a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. Elain only said to Cassian, “No, it will not.” - ACOWAR, chapter 30

It doesn't seem much of a stretch, then, to wonder if Elain may have been keeping herself in her tent whenever possible to avoid visions of death and destruction that were triggered by her proximity* to the warriors, or the war camp in general. And I wouldn't blame her at all for that. She had been a human, with no personal experience with magic of her own, only a few months ago. She was only told she was a Seer - ie. not going "mad" - no more than two months before the war began. That is a LOT to get on top of in a very short amount of time.

* This could also be why - at least in part - Elain has chosen to lead a quiet life, avoiding large gatherings like drinking halls etc, until she gets on top of her powers; which, I assume, will be in her book.

Feyre suggested, in ACOWAR, that she should have made sure Elain trained as Nesta did; was this not only to ensure her powers would be at their most useful, but because - unbeknownst to them - out of control Sight has the potential to be either painful or unbearable? In an era when historically momentous upheaval - like a great war - is about to occur, would Seers be more likely to experience unprompted visions, due to the uncertainty of the future?

Imagine going from having a mind that was entirely your own, to one that is - hypothetically - being inundated with awful visions of battles and death that you haven't yet learnt to control. Then, because you know how worried your family was before, and you don't want to stress them out again, especially as they're preparing for war, you keep it to yourself and do what you can to manage it all, quietly. If Elain was experiencing such waves of premonition, it could nicely explain her actions, though once again, no one should be shamed for being overwhelmed by a war camp and the stress of an upcoming battle! Avoidance is not the healthiest of options, granted, but that's where Elain's subsequent character growth, and future book, have and will come in.

Just like her sisters, her time will come.

Please remain respectful in the comments/reblogs.

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taechaos · 3 years

Text

Little Secret

pairing: step-dad!Jungkook x fem!Reader

synopsis: From a fun celebration to not getting to the bathroom on time, you pee yourself in the middle of the living room and your step-dad has to take care of you.

warnings: smut, pseudo-incest, urine, fingering in tub, dubcon

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is the disgusting fic i was talking about 🥰 not proofread, just smth i wrote in one day for fun. enjoy as long as u dont hate piss lol 😔👍

It's a night of celebration—the end of high school. It's the best celebration yet because you, after surviving hell of twelve years, are at the legal age to drink in a bar with your friends; the best night you can recall in your drunken state. Dancing, singing karaoke, giggling: pure joy.

So why are you crying while stumbling around in the living room? You sob and hiccup with a hand over your face and the other holding the couch for support. It has never been so difficult to stand straight, and you're thankful your mother's sleep is so heavy that she wouldn't wake up from your wails.

But your step-dad's sleep is as light as a cat's, and you don't hear his heavy footsteps or grumbles as he climbs down the stairs. He rubs the sleep away from his eyes and they widen the moment they lay on you. He's about to call your name until his eyes trail down to the dark patch on your jeans. He doesn't need to ask why you're crying so loudly; it's easy to tell you're under the influence, and well, it apparently makes you very emotional since you're so upset about peeing your pants.

But you're not exactly doing anything about it.

"Oh, it's okay," Jungkook coos and walks over to you to bring you into a light hug.

You snuggle your face into his loose white shirt and sniffle. "I didn't– I didn't mean to," you snivel. "I-I couldn't get to the," you inhale shakily, "b-bathroom on time."

"That's okay," he runs his fingers through your hair soothingly, equally disheveled as his. "Don't cry, sweetheart. It happens; it's not a big deal. We'll get you cleaned up."

"I-I ruined it!"

"The washing machine—"

"No," you whimper pathetically, "it's ruined. My denim—" your head rolls back along with your eyes to the back of your skull. You go limp for a few seconds, and Jungkook holds you tightly. Just as he's about to ask you if you're alright, you continue, "the denim is forever ruined!"

Stepping away from his clutches, you rub your palms against the knees of your jeans and then the damp crotch area. The crotch and knees feel different; it makes your face scrunch up in sorrow. "Never the same," you exhale in a trembling voice.

Jungkook watches you in surprise and amusement. You tend to be closed off around him, well in the past year that he's been married to your mother at least. It makes him feel guilty to like you better drunk—extroverted.

"We'll get you new jeans then," he tries to comfort, but you only shake your head.

"Feel it."

He sighs with a breathy chuckle and feels your jeans as you asked. He touches your pockets and then your crotch, practically cupping your heat. It's still warm with your urine and you pout at the look he gives you. You misinterpret it as disappointment, but it's a look of suppressing laughter. "Like I said, it's not a big deal. I'll wash it, okay? Your mother won't know."

You scoff and wipe your tears away. "Thank you. I-I'm very sorry, so sorry."

"Don't be. Let's go to your room," he slings his arm around your shoulder and walks you upstairs. You hold onto his waist and keep your gaze downcast.

Your hiccups don't cease when you face the door of your bedroom. He twists the doorknob and lets you enter first. With puckered lips and tear stains on your face, you wait for him to come after you. He does, and then turns away from you. "Hand your jeans over to me, okay? I won't look."

He hears you shuffling behind him, and you don't take long to place the tainted pants in his waiting open palm. Your feet don't stay planted on the floor and you eventually land on your bed. The bathroom is right behind you, but you can't muster the energy to sit up nor open your eyes. "My underwear," you mumble with the side of your face squished against the sheets.

At your indirect request, he cranes his neck and takes a peek at you. You're lying on your stomach and his eyes unintentionally travel to your ass. For being your step-dad, he thinks it to be okay for him to drink in this erotic sight. It isn't as if he's about to take advantage of a drunk girl, no less his step-daughter.

"You can't take them off?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head.

He blows out a deep breath and stands before your feet. The sight of your wet panties isn't meant to be attractive, but it does get his stomach in knots. He grabs the edges of your underwear and asks you to lift your hips, which you do sluggishly. They're off within seconds and he picks up your jeans from the floor before aiming to exit. He has to get out and cleanse his mind of all his filthy thoughts from seeing your bare pussy two inches from his mouth. "Don't fall asleep before taking a shower first," he reminds with flushed cheeks and pushes the door open.

"Help me," you whine childishly before he can leave.

He sighs your name as if exhausted—reluctant.

"Please!"

As if it's not bad enough that he got a small glimpse of your pussy, now you're asking him to give you a shower while completely naked. He's trying to be respectful by keeping his focal point at bay, but your ass is still hanging out while you're on the verge of a tantrum.

"Oh God," he mutters to himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. He gives in.

After throwing your dirty clothes in the washing machine downstairs, he returns quickly so he doesn't catch you fast asleep. Thankfully you're still awake, but not so alert.

He warns you to keep your eyes open while he fills the tub in your bathroom. There's a water bottle on your bedside table, which he tells you to drink lots from until he's back. He throws in a pink bath bomb sitting on the edge of your tub so you can hopefully relax. Never has he seen someone be in such a childlike headspace after drinking.

But childlike doesn't fit the current scenario when he's lying under your naked body in his boxers in the bathtub because you seem to be a lot clingier when drunk. You don't move a lot, which is a plus, but your butt is pressed against his crotch, which doesn't make the situation any better.

"I'm sorry," you slur sleepily, "I really didn't mean to." He can pick up the strong scent of vodka lingering around you better in this position.

He tightens his arms around your shoulders with his hands clasped above your chest as he whispers, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. You won't remember this when you wake up, and I'll keep it a secret. Don't you worry about a thing."

"Why are you crying?" he asks softly when you start to sob again. It's a dry cry, and he's certain you don't know what you're doing yourself at this point.

"I can't do anything," you complain, "I'm so tired and-and I can't move."

He stays silent so you can comfortably babble on and on about nothing until you say, "Wash me. Please."

Jungkook lightly pecks your neck and eyes your tits before dipping his hands in the warm, pinkish water and scrubbing your shoulders. You sigh at his gentle touch, prompting him to switch to your knees. "My knees are not dirty," you grumble incoherently.

"Hm? You're not dirty?"

"I'm not dirty there."

"And you're dirty where?" He's teasing you, knowing exactly where you want to be cleaned, but that'd further agonize him with how little freedom his erection has under the tight restraints of his briefs. It wouldn't be appropriate of him to use you to get rid of it, but is it against the law to simply bathe you?

"Down," you vaguely murmur.

He can't see anything of your lower region from the courtesy of the blanket of colorful hue that the bath bomb transitioned to, which both annoys and relieves Jungkook. But his hand only listens to you as it trails down to your pelvis. "Here?"

You nod against his shoulder, and that's all the confirmation he needs to palm your vulva. You gasp and slightly jump before adjusting to the feeling of his hand. The adjustment proves to be futile when a small moan slips past your lips at his fingers grazing your labia.

“You want me to stop?”

“No, no,” you breathe with a shake of your head. “I want to be clean, otherwise no sleep.”

“That’s right,” he chuckles and starts running his fingers down your folds. Stopping at your clit, he starts to circle the hood to thoroughly give you the cleaning you desire so much. It isn’t with any ill intentions that he gently cups your pussy and moves it up and down while you squeak out moans without shame. After a few rubs and touches, he's confident there is no more remaints of your drunk mistake. “You’re clean now, love. Want to go to bed?”

“I’m not,” you whine loudly and hold his wrist to keep his hand in place. “I’m not clean,” you cry out and he knows you’re going to start sobbing again, which you do—except your volume might risk waking your mother.

He tries to hush you, but you don’t stop with the crocodile tears. “Baby, baby, look at me,” he pulls your face by your chin, but you escape his grip easily and continue with your tantrum. “I won’t clean you if you don’t look at me.”

With your newfound defiant attitude, it's with a few huffs and puffs that you finally face him and he silences your sniveling with a press of his lips. It's not a kiss in his defence; neither of you are moving your mouths, which he appreciates now that you've gone quiet.

Now that the risk of your mother waking is taken care of, his hand is on your hidden heat again. At this point, it's easy to tell you're not worried about being clean anymore. You aren't sleepy, though you keep your eyes closed from being in this intimate proximity with Jungkook, you're in need of a climax. It's a shame that he's in a similar state as you, but if you're drunk to the point of asking your step-dad to touch you, it wouldn't be clever of him to ask you to return the favor.

Despite his clear lack of vision, Jungkook is a human anatomy professor and he finds your clit and squeezes it between two fingers easily, not to mention he's already experienced in the sex field. Your lips part into a whine and he opens his mouth to swallow your sounds as he slowly rubs your clit.

You lean into the—now labelled as—kiss needily, and he lowers his hand to poke at your entrance with his middle finger. He stupidly peeks an eye open to see if he's located it correctly, but your subtle thrust is approval enough. He cautiously shoves it inside your tightness and uses his palm to continue pleasuring your sensitive nub, grabbing your tit with his other hand to play with your nipple.

"Oh God, hmmm," you moan against his lips and sloppily make out with him, smearing your slick saliva all over. He hums into you, unbothered by your raw affection as he thrusts his finger inside and pinches your nipple to get you to cum faster. He can't have you sobering up any time soon.

"Are you close, love?"

You murmur something in response, but it's not intelligible enough for him to understand, so he assumes you're at least getting somewhere. He quickens the pace of his thrusts, his palm against your clitoris; massages your boob more roughly and moves his mouth down to kiss your neck. As he's giving you a small love bite, your breathing turns into mere gasps with little broken moans. If he could, he would add a second finger to your pussy, but your clenching hole doesn't feel so ready when he curls his knuckle.

You clutch onto his hair, chanting, "I'm gonna pee again, I'm gonna pee again…"

"Try to hold it in, baby," he cuts in hoarsely without ceasing his movements. He does slow down when your legs start to shake and tremble, splashing the water as you do as he leaves calming pecks on your neck, collarbone, and a few on your lips. Not as a warning to lower your voice—your last moans are ones to savour—but to ride out your high. He has no idea if you did squirt in the tub, but he isn't going to take another shower to wash it down. He wants to feel it on his skin.

He can feel your pounding heartbeat under his hand as your body spasms and grinds on his erection. A moment of silence passes with your shaky inhales and exhales while he pets your hair.

When he feels you calm down, he asks, "Do you feel clean now?"

"Bed."

"Alright," he whispers and kisses your cheek. Your eyes are closed and he predicts you'll be fainting soon, so he pulls the plug with ease and waits for the water to drain before pulling you up by your pits. It's a bit of a struggle because of your slippery wet skin, as well as the water weight on you, but manages to get you out and immediately throws you on the bed. He grabs a towel hanging on the bathroom door and dries you before himself.

Jungkook considers himself an honorable man most of the time, but he can't refrain from jerking off to your naked body while you doze off. Like he said, you won't remember a thing, so it'll be his little secret as he releases on your tits with a groan. He wipes off the evidence of his unorthodox actions, pecks you and your pretty little pussy before dressing you in your pajamas.

He puts on his clothes and tucks you in before leaving your room with a quiet, "Good night, sweetheart."

All there's left to do is persuade you into doing this again while sober, because he didn't marry your wretched bitch of a mother after two months of meeting if not to have you all for himself. He doesn't mind letting you in on that one secret with time.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jjk smut #thekpopnetwork #networkbangtan #kpop smut #jeon jungkook smut

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mega-bastard · 4 years

Photo

Bitch in Heat Stuck Under Debris Gets WRECKED

a miki mouse whorehouse collab, the m.list you can find here

cw: sexual harrassment, abo themes, dubcon kinda

as the poor quality picture can’t really show you, I got stuckage and I chose Bakugo with the finishing touch of making it ABO <3 It’s also two days late but shhhhh we don’t talk about it uwu also 2.7 words of pain enjoy

katsuki bakugou is becoming a thorn in your side.

you’ve both been metaphorically and somewhat literally glued to each others sides since highschool. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, to be quite frank katsuki is something of a deterrent in a world of second genders and pheromones— something you capitalized on in high school.

being an omega hero isn’t something entirely world shattering, but it’s a position that comes with lots of stereotypes— stereotypes you fought tooth and nail to fight against in your younger years. being one of four omegas in your class was...irritating, to say the least. lots of preconceived notions that you needed to be helped with trivial things, and while your classmates intentions came from a good place it was maddening. save for katsuki, back when he had no restraint with his anger and aggression, he didn’t coddle you like your classmates did. Labeled a brute for his actions towards his omega classmates in trivial interaction or sparring, you thrived on the normality— katsuki was an ass to everyone. Your omega was placated, finally encountering an alpha who wasn’t belittling her with preconceived daintiness.

it was easy to hang near katsuki, ignoring the atrocity that was his vocabulary. eventually like the rest of the peanut gallery that was the bakusquad, you just existed alongside katsuki— which meant that you grew on him. katsuki swears up and down that you’re all a nuisance but you’ve seen him go up to bat for all you at some point, you knew you’d all made some sort of ragtag pack with one another. this was rather amazing to you at the time, not to sell yourself short but you’d never really imagined belonging to a close knit group of friends— especially realizing that they understood when it was appropriate to step in for you. katsuki in particular had a knack for being at the right place at the right time.

During your second year you fumbled.

interning with miruko had its perks, a top 5 hero with raw strength, cunning, and the drive to just keep going— and an omega. landing and internship with her had been a dream, even more-so when you learned she’d been watching you since your first year because of the festival. bright eyed and eager, nothing could have dampened your spirits— neither katsuki and his usual moody behavior or the standoffish alpha from shiketsu. yes, you all had landed an internship with miruko and part of you was...worried? katsuki had never looked down on heroes based on their second genders but you couldn’t speak for the shiketsu alpha, both alphas interning under an established omega hero put your inner omega on edge— you didn’t quite know why though. but you chose to squash the feeling and enjoy your internship with who was essentially your idol and continue on.

then you started getting sexually harassed.

his name was omori kisai and he was the worst. hailing from shiketsu, known for their dignified schooling, he was far from it. salacious comments dropped when no one was listening, less that appropriate touching when passing by and just general ick that had your skin crawling and omega snarling. it was easy to brush it off as banter the first time, section off the awkward contact as an accident. The second time you made it clear the comments were not liked and the touches far from appropriate, after the third time you’d snap an insult or have to hold a trembling fish from making contact. but it was coming to a head and your suppressors could only do so much to hide your souring scent. looking back you should have said something, but your pride had told you that it was a necessary step to overcome and push through— that he wouldn’t be the last. it weighed you down, day by day, a heavy cloud that wouldn’t let up. one particular bad timed comment brought tears to eyes and shame to your entire being.

thankfully, as time would come to show, katsuki tended to nose into your dilemmas.

the day prior to the abrupt end of your harassment you’d been tripped up by a villian and had fallen a sizeable distance into a pitiful excuse of pond. of course, omori had taken this as an open invitation to mock you and then offer you his shitty hero costume cloak— not without hinting at you returning the favor ‘somehow’. yeah right. you had stomped off, unaware of katsuki’s presence nearby. come next day, omori avoided you like the plague and katsuki not so subtly stuck to your side like an unwilling chowchow— all growly and temperamental. but his constant presence rubbed his scent off on you. despite his less than chummy attitude, you weren’t mad; katsuki smelled like cinnamon spice and whiskey with hints of burnt caramel— absolutely overpowering yet decadent all the same.

you tried not to think about just how much you enjoyed his smell. your omega was purring about it.

the omori incident was the beginning of katsuki’s subtle hovering. though you pried the truth of his involvement in omori leaving you alone after offhandedly bringing it up to mina and jirou one day, katsuki helped you out of situations as invasively as possible time and time again. by the end of third year it was no secret to you of your classmates teasing of your relationship with katsuki; an amiable and prideful omega and the irritable powerhouse of an alpha. you brushed it off because...well you didn’t know why, but katsuki’s seeming indifference to the teasing had you quelling every jittery happiness your inner omega expressed at the thought of katsuki being your alpha.

now, three years out of highschool and beginning to climb the ranks, katsuki was becoming testy— and for the life of you the reason couldn’t be more opaque. you both work at the same agency, and due to the nature of your quirks you spend all your time together due to their compatibility. compatibility was a bitter word for you, katsuki and yours supposed compatibility had been talked about for some time now but the sobering reality is that perhaps you two were simply good friends— and now sharing your omegas endearment for the explosive alpha had reared its ugly head.

your heat was a week away and already you felt the familiar fatigue begin to lap at you alongside general moodiness. all that coupled with the annoying need to be around katsuki was maddening and sprinkling his own extra grouchy attitude on top and you were ready to snap. in hindsight, that should have been your cue to take an extra week off— instead you chose to once again to champion pride instead of your intellect.

you could have stayed home this morning, you should have.

patrol had been slow, not particularly unusual but favored nonetheless. face raised to the slowly dipping sun you couldn’t help but sigh, the warmth of the late afternoon sun was heaven sent-- you could sleep standing up with much issue. it remided you katsuki, strangely enough though most things did recently.

the sound of screaming and rushing feet shook you from your drowsy stupor. Set on alert, you spied the source of the sudden discordance and found several villains causing a commotion. quickly calling for backup for you before finding yourself facing a hulking mass of green charging you head on. tranquility gone, it was time to fight.

the ache in your body could not be more apparent but your humiliation ran more rampant in your system than any ache or pain could, your fatigue more than present as your body hummed with warmth. leave it to you to get stuck face down and ass up amongst the trashed ruins of what was an office building, weighed down between a broken desk and a collapsed bookshelf. the villain you had engaged with, some self-named idiot calling himself cruel croc, packed a punch and your bruised body and rendered office floor were a testament to that. of course, you’d done quite the bit of damage to him yourself before the entire floor collapsed underneath you both— rendering the meathead unconscious under a rather hefty pile of concrete and debris whereas you were pinned and to utterly weak to do much.

the thrum of your heat was beginning its path of vengeance through your body, feeling too pliant to get yourself out of what was otherwise easy to fix problem. you were feeling it, bad. the heat of your clothed cunt was beginning to become too apparent, unconsciously squeezing your thighs to provide relief to no avail. no, this could not be happening right now of all times. but as much as your inner monologue fought to try and will away your heat, the warmth was becoming too much and sudden breeze of wind had you trembling and whining. the feel of slick beginning to wet your hero costumes spandex set your hazing thoughts into sudden panic, if cruel croc woke up or if another villain came across you would they be above...the thought alone could’ve made you puke. flashbacks to second year had you bucking wildly for freedom, you wouldn’t let anyone have the opportunity for—

“ OI! Shitty ‘mega were are you? Are you—“

you stilled, biting hard to keep your mouth shut. your omega was whimpering, desperate for the alpha, HER alpha to relieve her from her heat. on a normal day she could melt into his scent, but right now? she could drown in it and die happy. with his scent getting stronger the closer katsuki clambered toward you, the more the head haze grew-- the slicker your thighs became. the whimper you let loose was pitiful, the need for some sort of stimulation to your cunt becoming near painful the longer you remained so close yet so far from katsuki. the pathetic little “alpha” you whined as you heard him quickly approach from behind would’ve been utterly embarrassing to you in any other situation.

but if you could have turned to see katsuki, you would’ve been met with the look of an unmistakably feral alpha-- pupils dilated to hell, fingernails blackened, and canines elongated and sharpened. but what you lacked in sight, you could hear and smell.

katsuki was the definition of an alpha as is, but the way he was pushing his scent out was like a big red sign that screamed ‘DANGER’. To you, it had you feeling utterly submissive-- if you weren’t already face down and ass up you certainly would’ve moved into position. practically salivating at the thought of what katsuki could do--

the heated palm on the globe of your ass is thought pausing, the sudden heated touch coaxing a sugary sweet moan from deep in your throat-- the small touch quickly turning to rough palming at your moaning. tt feels so good, but you want more. need more.

“Please, need more Alpha” it's breathy and whiny, something you're far from day to day but it feels too natural escaping you. mewling at the ghost of a touch over your clothed cunt, your blubbering when it presses harder-- escalating you to tears of frustration when it ceases. practically feeling katsuki’s harsh breathing near your cunt you begin to wiggle and wail with all manner of unrestrained vigor; chanting alpha and katsuki like a prayer and begging for relief like a sinner for forgiveness. it’s working, you know it is, if katsuki’s breathing is anything to go by but he refuses any further touching. you want katsuki everyday, but right now you need him.

“Only want you Katsuki, please it’s only been you,” you hiccup your words through a shrill plea, but the tearing of your soaked spandex sends an excited chill down your spine. your legs tremble with excitement when katsuki grips the tops of your thighs and spreads them-- revealing your drooling cunt. it’s both too much and not enough all at once and you wiggle once more, yelping from a smack to your left ass cheek. it’s not particularly painful, not even as katsuki rubs over it right after the hit, but it quells your wiggling nonetheless. you open your mouth to urge him on but he beats you to it.

“No one else, you got that ‘mega? No one gets to see you like this, no gets to touch you like this-- your mine,” he punctuates his declaration with two of his deliciously thick fingers in your cunt and you squeal, “ you got that? I’m your alpha, always have been always will be.” nodding despite yourself, you struggle for words with his fingers pumping in and out alongside the ghost of pressure on your clit “Yes! Yes, I’m yours Katsuki!” you babble your words already teetering on the precipice of your first orgasm. it takes a pickup in pace and a rough rub along your clit and your wailing, slick streaming down your thighs as your first orgasm crashes into you.

despite the pleasant haze in your head, you faintly hear zippers being undone and the shuffling of clothes. licking your lips, you perk your ass up as much as the heavy bookcase allows, purring in excitement like a spoiled cat. The rough grab of your hips leaves you gasping, feeling the length of katsukis dick along your thigh-- long and heavy. you're salivating as he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, ramming his entire length in you with little regard. stars shoot across your vision and your ears deafen, crying out at being so full. it feels wonderful being stuffed this full and you babble it to katsuki. if you could see him, you would see just how prideful and smug he looked-- only he can take care of you like this, none of the other shitty alphas can take care of you this well.

katsuki sets a rough pace, drawing himself out slowly like he’s aiming for you to feel every vein of his dick before slamming back into you. your poor cunt clenches sporadically, drawing groans and growls from your alpha and all you can do is choke on broken moans because the way he feels churning your insides is downright sinful. you felt a band begin to tighten in your belly, your broken moans evolving into babbling-- how good katsuki was making you feel and how he was the only one who made you feel this good. it spurred him onward, fucking into you with more vigor alongside groans of your names and his own praise for you. “Good fuckin ‘mega”, “Takin’ me so well”, and “My perfect little mate” were some of the praise you could catch and had you preening. All of it combined you felt the band tighten and you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing out. feeling the base of Katsuki’s length begin to swell, you could only salivate at the thought of being knotted.

“Want your knot Katsuki! Alpha I need it”

at your blubbering demand, katsuki faltered in pace for only a moment before a deep mix of a groan and growl ripped from his throat. grabbing and bending your leg upwards he fucked deeper and faster into your battered cunt, the new angle sending you hurtling into your orgasm. eyes rolled back and tongue, you felt utterly boneless-- momentarily brain dead before screaming out at Katsuki knotting you, his own groan of pleasure mixing with yours as he filled you impossibly full with his seed.

trembling underneath him, you were only a fraction aware of movement above you before the weight of the bookcase vanished from you. weakly you glance back up at your alpha. your surprised to see just how feral he looks, no doubt you’ve pushed him into his rut. whimpering as he moves down upon you, he nibbles and kisses along your jaw and neck before biting down on you scent gland. a flash a white hot pain curtailed by just as intense pleasure wracks your wrecked body but the dopy look of happiness pulls a low purr from katsuki.

you wanna say something, anything, but your too exhausted and as katsuki knot subsides you let another weak whimper as he removes himself-- feeling his seed spill from your battered cunt. he pulls a quiet moan from you as he gathers some of it a pushes back in-- and a glance at his smug face lets you know that he’s decidedly not done with you yet.

#miki mouse whorehouse collab #whorehouse compilation [rawdog 1080p] (try not to cum)#stuckage #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #abo #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse #alpha katsuki #omega reader #self indulgent in that I want more alpha katsuki #so #I'll do it myself #happy belated valentines whores <3

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donald4spiderman · 3 years

Note

ok i know this is vague but pls bless me with some angst asf lol i read the one you wrote abt spencer and cat and it slayed me to the grave

i’m glad u liked the cat one even though it’s my least favorite fic i’ve ever written rip.

you ask for angst, i’ll give you angst!

TW: Spoilers for 14x15, crying, shouting, breakup

You and Spencer completed your entire nightly routine in silence, refusing to address the obvious tension.

“Are you mad at me?” Spencer questioned, irritation and confusion laced in his tone.

“Do I have a reason to be?” You scoff rhetorically.

He turns on his side to face you, “This isn’t my fault. I can’t control what JJ says.”

“I’m not mad at JJ being in love with you.” You sigh. “She said what she had to say, I’m not mad at her.”

“Then why are you acting like this?” Spencer exclaims, running his palm over his face in exasperation.

“I got a phone call, from your mom.” You explain. “She told me about the little chat you had. The one where you admitted that you’ve been waiting to have a life with JJ.”

His face softens, “T-that’s-you know that’s not what—“

“Save it. How could you, Spencer? After everything I’ve given up just to be with you. You’re telling me you’ve been thinking about being with another woman— a married woman—the entire time you’ve been with me?” Tears threaten to fall down your face, but you blink them away.

“(Y/N), you know I love you. I swear I’ve been over JJ for years now.” He pleads, grabbing your hands to lace them with his.

“Don’t even try me, Spencer.” You yank yourself away from him. “How could you say something like that?”

“I-I don’t...” His voice is raspy, and his cheeks are wet with tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean it.”

“Hm, an IQ of 187 and you’re still dumber than shit. You’re horrible.”

“Baby, please.” He cried out. “I don’t wanna fight with you about this.”

You’re visibly fuming at his stupidity. “You. You. You. Is everything about you, Spencer Reid? I know you’ve had your fair share of ups and downs, but why can’t you understand that I need to say something?”

Spencer stews silently in his guilt and regret. “Is it true?” You ask. “Do you mean what you said to your mom?”

“I-I uh...”

“Be honest with me. If this entire relationship wasn’t just one big fucking lie you need to tell me the truth— right now.”

Spencer nods, “Y-yes.”

“Fucking hell.” You shout. “You’re the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met, Spencer. You’re such a liar.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I really do. That’s not a lie. Please believe me.” Spencer begs.

You shake your head, “You can’t be in love with two people. You can’t have it all. That’s not how things work.”

“I don’t want it all. I just want you, please.” His sobs shake his body violently. “Don’t leave me. Everybody always leaves me.”

You laugh. It’s evil and vengeful and completely appropriate for the moment. “You’re not the victim here. You don’t deserve any of my forgiveness.”

“Then go!” Spencer screams. “Go and run away! Run away like you always do!”

“I will!” You reply, standing up to shove a pair of clothes into a bag. “I should’ve left you a long time ago. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, and I hope all your friends know exactly what you’ve done.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m staying with Penelope.” You snap. “And I bet she’s gonna want to know exactly why I’ve shown up at her door a crying mess. And when word gets out that your a lying, good for nothing piece of shit, I hope all your little friends won’t look you in the eye anymore.”

“We have work on Monday!” He retorts. “What are you gonna do when you have to see me then?”

“What I always do- Run away.”

#spencer reid angst #spence #spencer x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #dr reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #angst #prison!spencer

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imaginepirates · 4 years

Text

Pirate

For the anon who wanted a James x reader where they meet on the Pearl, but James doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s falling for them. Later, (we’re pretending his death didn’t happen), they meet again at Shipwreck Cove, and James confesses his feelings during the battle on the Dutchman.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovyfluxie @wordsinwinters

~3760 words. Long again.

~~~~~~~

His hair hung in wet strings around his face. Whether they were matted together with water, alcohol, or vomit, you weren’t sure you wanted to know, though you suspected it to be a mixture of all three. A guard rail was all that kept him upright. He was a disaster, even for a pirate. Not that he’s a pirate, either.

The former Commodore looked a wreck. You would be, too, you supposed, if you’d drunk yourself into complete oblivion. And someone needs to take away that damned wig. Currently, it sat on his head much like some bird’s nest, and you half-expected a gull to land in it at any moment. Pity mingled with your disgust. There had been a time when his name alone had struck fear into you. Now, he was a pathetic image, unable to do so much as hold himself up on two feet. He couldn’t strike fear into a fly.

You were a bit surprised that Elizabeth, of all people, showed him no sympathy. Even Jack looked a bit repulsed, which was saying something, given that Jack himself was never in a prime state. He staggered upright, puking over the side of a railing.

You sighed, walking brisky over, snatching the wig off the top of his head and tossing it overboard. He looked up at you through bleary eyes.

“What the bloody hell was that for?”

“You look awful.”

“Thank you for your astute assessment.” Even drunk, his tone dripped sarcasm, and you were a little surprised.

He’s still in his wits, then. You looked him over again. Somewhat. “You look marginally less awful without the wig.” He grunted. You grabbed the bottle he was holding, too, and threw it over the side.

“Now that’s just a waste.”

“You need to sober up.”

“And who exactly are you, that it’s your job to police me?”

“You’re embarrassing, is all, and it’s no good to be embarrassed by crewmates.”

He snorted. “You should write to the admiralty. That sort of thinking would have spared me many of my own crewmates throughout the years.” He stared down into the waves, where his water-clogged wig had begun to sink under the surface.

“Well, you don’t want to be that person, do you?”

“At this point, I don’t particularly care.” His wig finally lost the battle, disappearing into the murky depths.

“Have some pride.”

“Pride?” He pushed himself up, looking coldly into your eyes with his own. “I’ve lost my title, I’ve lost my station, I’ve lost my livelihood. I have no house, nor family, nor friends. I’ve lost everything I ever held dear, including the woman I love, because despite being with her,” here he gestured with his chin to where Elizabeth stood at the helm, “I’m further from her than ever before. Now please, tell me again why I should have pride.”

If you were being honest with yourself, it was hard to give him an answer. “You still have your life, and for however little that’s worth right now, things could be worse. You could be dead. Take pride in the fact that you didn’t let things get that far.” He scoffed, but you continued. “Go clean yourself up; splash some water on your face, and do something about the vomit in your hair. Things can get better. Clean up, and you’ll be one step closer.”

He looked at you then, a vulnerability in his eye that wasn’t there before. Hope. He stalked off then, stumbling a bit, but trying admirably to, supposedly, follow your advice.

Norrington carried out his tasks admirably and without complaint, no manner how demeaning for a man of his previous station. He was watched with suspicious eye; but why wouldn’t he be? He had been a ranking officer, after all, and an effective one at that. Too many pirates had been lost to his scouring of the Caribbean. Just how far can you trust a member of the navy, former or otherwise?

The way he looked at Jack’s compass didn’t escape your notice. He knows. “Not thinking of stealing it, are you?” His neck craned to look up at you from his position kneeling on the deck, a wet cloth in hand. He stopped his scrubbing to glare.

“I’m not a thief.” He looked back down, returning to his task.

“You are a pirate.”

His head whipped up at that, jaw working in annoyance. “I’m not a bloody pirate,” he hissed.

“Then what the hell are you doing here? Top secret mission? I’m surprised you were chosen; I wouldn’t believe your fall from grace if I weren’t here to see it myself.”

Norrington was showing clear restraint, obviously wanting to hit you with something. You watched him breifly consider using the wash-rag as a projectile before deciding against it.

“Commodore Norrington. That was a name to fear, once.”

The ferocity in his eyes vanished, replaced by sadness, his gaze dropping from yours. “I haven’t been that man in months. I never will be again.”

“Good.” He shot you a questioning look. “It’s no use to be afraid of you. And, if what I hear from Elizabeth is true, you might learn to have some fun and not be so stiff all the time.” Offence flashes across his face, but you only smiled. “I blame high society. Welcome to freedom, James Norrington. I hope you get a taste for it.”

He turned to look out over the steadily changing horizon, a soft pink beginning to dust the sky. “So do I.”

The days wore on, and the crew steadily adjusted to James’ presence. He no longer ate alone, though he ate in silence, and the crew was more willing to interact with him. Elizabeth, you noted, had barely paid him any mind since his arrival. How she could be so callous towards him you didn’t know; you had expected her to at least talk to him, but she barely even looked his way.

Not that he didn’t look hers. His gaze would fall upon her, sometimes, while he worked, and there was a sadness there that tugged at your heart. He was confused, too, as to her treatment of him. He wanted, more than anything, to be close to her. Even if she could treat him like a friend. But she refused to give him even that much.

You were tired of watching it. “Come on,” you walked up to him, “let’s do something about that hair.”

“You haven’t grown tired of telling me what to do, have you?” he drawled. He was propped against a railing, eyes following Elizabeth as she walked across the deck above them. With Jack, you noted. So, it seemed, did James.

You sighed. “It can only get in the way, hanging down by your face like that.” You turned away, heading down belowdecks. He needs to get away from watching her.

James followed, pushing off the railing and heading after you. Good. You found a spot with a few barrels—full of apples, you assumed; you never had gotten rid of all of Barbossa’s cargo—that would be suitable for sitting on. You motioned for James to do just that, moving behind him.

You found yourself at a loss for words. What was there to say? You had little in common, and less that wouldn’t bring back poor memories for him. You kept silent, instead running your fingers through James’ hair. It’s longer than I expected, for a naval man. I wonder if he always kept it like this, or if it was close-cropped, once.

“What exactly are you doing?” He turned his head a little to look back at you.

“Braiding.” You separated his hair into three parts, beginning to twine the strands together.

You expected him to ask you why, or to move away, but he stayed put. “I haven’t worn my hair in a braid since the navy.” It was almost a whisper. Somehow, in the low light of the hull, it seemed appropriate.

You almost pulled away and apologized, but he went on. “I used to braid it to fit it under that damned wig. It could get so insufferably hot in the sun, though I was always glad to have the hair off the back of my neck. I don’t know how Elizabeth ever managed, in those dresses.” A soft smile sat on his face. “How did any of us manage, back then?”

You knew he wasn’t speaking of the heat. You tied his hair off with a small strip of ribbon from around your wrist. It was interesting, to see something of yours on him, and you stared at it a moment before moving. “You’ve always kept your hair this long, then?” You moved to a barrel across from him.

“For years. My mother hated it.” He smiled. “She told me it would be easier if I just cut it off.”

“Good thing you didn’t.” He looked at you curiously, and you felt yourself beginning to flush. “It suits you.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. Even in the dim light of the lanterns, you could see his cheeks turn pink, the color extending down into his collar. You sat in awkward silence a moment, James fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves while you looked down at the black deck. “A name to fear, you said.”

James was still toying with the cuff on his left wrist when you looked back up. “I think I like you this way better.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

You got up, moving to a barrel next to his. “I’d rather not fear you.” You grabbed his hand, taking it gently away from its fiddling. He scanned your eyes. “Like most people, you aren’t as terrifying as the stories make you sound.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“That you struck fear, even into the best of us?”

“I…” he trailed off. “It seems so ridiculous, that anyone feared me. I know I was good at my job—it was all I was good for.” He scoffed. “But I was so out of place in society…I always felt horribly awkward at all those social events. I was much more afraid of those people than they were of me.”

“You were like…” you wracked your brain for a parallel. “You were told stories about Blackbeard when you were a child, right?”

“Yes, of course. Upon reflection, I’m sure they were too dramatic to be true.”

“That’s how you were to us. You were a reverse Blackbeard.” James laughed aloud at that. “I can’t even tell you how I pictured you. Larger, maybe. Older. And with a horrible, mean beard that took up half your face.”

James smiled, and you found you quite liked the expression on him. “Am I as scary as the stories?”

“Not even close. Though I’m sure I wouldn’t want to meet the business end of your sword,” you added.

“Is Blackbeard as frightening as the tales?” James questioned. Then, more seriously, “Is Davy Jones?”

You sobered. “Aye, he is.” You found that his hand was still in yours—he hadn’t pulled away. “But it’s mixed with disgust. He isn’t human, anymore. It can be revulting. And sad,” you said, upon reflection. “I can’t imagine; losing your humanity like that.”

James said nothing, his eyes on your entertwined fingers. He ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Why do you talk to me?”

You shrugged. “There’s no reason not to.”

“That doesn’t seem to be the common belief.” He continued to rub gentle circles in the top of your hand. His fingers were calloused from years of hard work, but so were yours. He traced over your knuckles and each finger in turn. His brows furrowed. “It’s pity, isn’t it?”

You could see how disgusted he was with himself. “Some, yes,” you admitted. “But you’re not half-bad to be around. This was…nice. I haven’t had a quiet moment with someone in ages.”

He looked at you thoughtfully, using his free hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not half-bad either, for a pirate.”

You smiled, and he looked like he might say something more, but he stayed quiet, a soft smile of his own gracing his features. When he left, you knew he was in a better mood than when he came. I wonder if I’ll occupy any of the space in his thoughts that Elizabeth does. It was a silly thought, and you didn’t quite know why it came to mind, but there was a ghostly touch where James had brushed your hair aside, and you realized that you liked the idea of his thinking about you. Wishing for the attention of a naval man. Who would’ve thought?

~~~~~~~

The news about Isla de Muerta came hard. You had been anxious the entire time, confined to the Pearl on the account that Davy Jones could make an appearance, and the ship would need to be crewed if he did.

You weren’t prepared for the eventuality that James wouldn’t come back. You had worried, of course, wringing your hands with it, but you hadn’t actually thought…

You kept your tears for him to yourself. Nobody else was bothered—not even Elizabeth. A man she’s known her entire life, dead, and she has no sorrow to show for it. How can she be so heartless? It was as if nothing had happened at all. The crew ignored it; they were used to that, you supposed. Half your number had been killed by cannibles, after all. But even Gibbs seemed unbothered by the prospect of James’ death.

Only later did you realize that James had taken the heart. You didn’t believe it, at first, but slowly came to reconcile yourself with the idea. Elizabeth thought him a traitor. But was he ever really on our side? You thought back to your conversations with him. I like you this way better. It had been true. I’m not sure I do. That was true, too, and now he’d shown it.

At first, none of it mattered to you. He was dead, anyway. Slowly, you began to realize that Jones didn’t have the heart. After all, he hadn’t quit pursuing the Pearl, even if you didn’t have the heart. When you learned that the heart was in possession of Cutler Beckett, damn his eyes, your heart leapt with joy. James is alive! No matter the mood of Jack, or Gibbs, or Elizabeth, or the crew, you could only think of James. He wasn’t killed, then. He used the heart as leverage to secure his old position.

You pondered the thought. If ever you met him again, would you be afraid? Or would you just be sad?

~~~~~~~

Shipwreck Cove was just as you’d remembered it. Dimly lit, ships stacked one on the other, whispered conspiracies in every corner. Every sailor’s legend had its place in these ships. There wasn’t a legend that hadn’t been speculated within the fortress, and not a pirate who hadn’t chased them without.

You had fond memories of the Cove, but less fond memories of the Court. The Brethren Court convened on only the deepest of issues, and you still remembered some of their gatherings from when you were a child. It was loud, and there was no order, and the Court couldn’t meet without at least one death per session.

It was that way now. Jack toyed with the swords stuck in the globe at the front of the room while the other pirate lords surrendered the miscellaneous junk they deemed their pieces of eight. The end result was a dish full of random trinkets. Not that you didn’t understand; the idea that pirates obtained mass amounts of wealth was a myth. Most of the time, you barely had a shilling to your name. Working with Jack was especially non-lucrative, but it was certainly more entertaining.

Jack’s hand strayed briefly to the piece of eight at his temple. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord and I’m as content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

“Sao Feng is dead.”

You recognized that voice. You whipped around to see Elizabeth, clad in full Chinese armor, sword in hand. You smiled to yourself; she was always full of surprises.

The best surprise, however, was the man standing at her side. You mouthed James’ name, and his eyes locked on yours. He stepped forward, as if to greet you, but you were interrupted by further discussion of the Court. He’s alive, and he’s here, and I never thought I would see him again. You glanced over your shoulder. And he’s in full uniform.

The Court was chaos. Barbossa’s plan to free Calypso was not taken well by the others, and you couldn’t blame them. Your mind was preoccupied, focussing on the man somewhere behind you. You wondered if he had seen the relief in your eyes. Had he felt the same?

A hand settled on your shoulder. You turned to see James, worried eyes staring into your own. He pulled you back, leading you out of the room.

“James?” You felt your eyes beginning to water. “For the longest time, I thought you had died.” Your voice cracked, and you were unable to stop it.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only reached out to you, pulling you into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry.” His breath tickled your ear. “I’ve done horrible things.”

You held tightly to the back of his coat. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

He stepped back, pain blossoming across his features. “I know you can never forgive me, for what I’ve done. I can only hope you-”

The doors behind you opened, and the Court flooded out. The consensus is war, then.

~~~~~~~

The rain made it hard for you to keep a good grip on your sword. The Dutchman pitched and rolled under your feet, waves crashing rougly into the sides of the hull. Its mast, tangled with the Pearl’s, loomed above you, a towering dark figure in the haze of the monsoon.

These damned fish people. The Dutchman’s crew fought more viscously than even Barbossa’s undead pirates. Who knew starfish could be so angry? You feared that their weapons, often tarnished and jagged, would catch on your own and leave you defenseless. I should’ve stayed on the Pearl. But there are fish people there now, too.

At least you weren’t alone. Elizabeth and Will were with you, as was Jack, though he seemed to be having difficulties of his own. If you hadn’t been fighting for your life, you might have been more amused. You had lost sight of most of your crew mates. You were too focused on the eel-headed freak in front of you to give your fellows much thought. With your swords locked, you had no other way to grapple with the beast. It hadn’t occurred to you that the eel could elongate its neck, which was exactly what it did, arching forward to bite at your face.

A moment later, the head lay at your feet, the slimy body collapsing beside it. James was there, sword in hand, looking at you with concern. That, or he’s squinting to keep the rain out of his eyes. You gave him a nod, stepping in closer.

“There are too many of them. We’ll never get to them all. Some of them are coming right out of the walls!” You both looked around yourselves at the endless numbers in the Dutchman’s crew.

“We only have to kill one.” James gestured towards the other end of the ship, where Davy Jones stood, lobster claw digging into the wood of the deck.

“We don’t have the heart.”

“But we both know who does.” James’ face was grim. “I should’ve stabbed it while I had the chance.”

You grabbed his arm. “No. You would be just like Jones, then, bound to this ship for eternity. You’d have no humanity left.”

“I’d be better than I am now.”

The comment broke your heart, but there were too many enemies around for you to focus on it. You slashed at a shark-headed monstrosity before James pulled you in close, stabbing something just behind you. Now isn’t the time for blushing. But James was holding you tightly to his chest, and you heard him shoot another member of Jones’ crew.

You hated to let go, but you had to duck under James’ arm to go after another, and another. Your back ended up pressed against James’, and you could feel each others’ heavy breathing.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this alive.” You had to shout to be heard over the thunderous racket. Between the rain, the gunfire, and the sharp clanging of swords, there was little room for words.

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

“You were trying to tell me something earlier.” Rain ran down your face in streams. “Now might be your only chance.”

James put a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “I wanted to apologize, for it all. I hope you’ll accept it.”

“Of course.” You grabbed the pistol from his side, leveling it at a creature behind his shoulder.

“You didn’t deserve what I did.”

You cupped his face with a hand. “I understand why you did it.”

“You were the only one who treated me like a person, then, on the Pearl.” He had grabbed your arm, keeping you close. It occurred to you that you were both going to die like this, paying too much attention to each other and not enough to your surroundings. “I can’t…” James took a steadying breath. “I can’t help but love you for it.”

You barely had time to process the words before his lips were on yours. Despite the storm, and the gunfire, and the clanging of swords—despite the knowledge that neither of you were going to make it out alive—the kiss was achingly tender, with so much softness and vulnerability that tears began to slip down your already soaked cheeks.

This won’t be such a bad way to go.

There was a sudden shuddering of the ship, and you and James had to cling to each other to keep upright. You looked up, only to find that the Pearl had broken away, her masts now untangled from the Dutchman’s.

You tugged at James’ arm. “We have to go. I think the ship’s going under.”

He nodded, and you found a loose line to swing over to the Pearl. The Dutchman sank not long after you hit the deck. The ship fell beneath the waves, sucked under by the storm.

“We still have to face Beckett.” James looked out over the water to where the British armada was advancing.

You could already feel some of the fight leaving you. How could you withstand an armada, when you’d barely defeated the Dutchman? “At least we have each other, now.”

James looked down at you. “Yes.” He cautiously wrapped an arm around your waist. “And after? If there is an after.”

You smiled teasingly. “I hope you don’t mind returning to piracy.”

James smiled back. “I don’t think I’ll mind at all.”

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #pirate #pirates #james norrington #norrington #James Norrington x reader #x reader #self insert #potc fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #potc imagine #writing #writings

675 notes · View notes

aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Get Sick? Break in!

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro

Genre: Just a sickfic, I guess. Chishiya's just taking care of a sick Niragi, who is a huge grumpy pants.

1.5k words

Nobody asked for this, I just got bored and decided to write Sick Niragi and Chishiya pretty much breaking into his house just to care for his sick butt then leave.

Of course he'd get sick on a rainy day. At least he didn't have plans, but it sucked that he was sick anyways. He rolls over in bed, pulling the blanket closer to him as he breathed through his mouth, his nose completely and utterly stuffed. He didn't even have the energy to grab any medication, and he didn't exactly live with anybody.

So, here he was, suffering by himself.

At least nobody would take pity on him.

Niragi sneezes, grabbing a slowly diminishing box of tissues and blowing his nose hard. He tosses the dirty tissue into the trash bin that thankfully sat within reach of the man, Niragi curling back under the covers. He might as well attempt to sleep off the sickness. Nothing else he could do.

----

Niragi wakes up to the feeling of a wet rag on his forehead, and his entire body burning. He whines under his breath, tiredly blinking as he kicks off the blanket in irritation. He tries to reach up for the towel, but something stops him, and it's then when Niragi spots the blotch of white kneeling near him, and Niragi squints, his eyes refocusing themselves to the smug looking bastard known as Chishiya. He growls a little, Chishiya calmly staring back.

" How did you get in.....?" Niragi's voice was raspy, but still usable. Chishiya just slowly blinks and pulls Niragi's hand away from his forehead.

" Your friend down the hall let me."

Damn it Last Boss. Damn it all.

" Fuck."

" Hey now, at least someone came to check up on you." Chishiya glances at the blanket, and pulls it back up around Niragi. " Stay under the covers, you'll make yourself worse."

Niragi sticks his tongue out. " You're not my mom."

" I sure hope not, because they raised a bitch."

" You take that back-" Niragi tries to yell, but that strains his throat too much and he starts to cough, Chishiya backing away so he didn't get coughed on. Niragi wished he would, make him suffer with him.

Chishiya just watches him suffer, Niragi groaning and tugging at the blanket, eyes shut. " Can you leave now?"

" See, I would, but now that you asked, now I don't feel like it." Chishiya says with an air of arrogance that Niragi wanted to shoot in the face, but he was a little incapacitated. So he opts to just bury himself in the blankets and attempt to sleep again.

Surprisingly, it works.

Unsurprisingly though, it doesn't last long. He wakes up again an hour later, and just starts coughing again, cringing at how heavy and thick they felt. Niragi grumbles and clings to the blanket, the wet rag at least helping a little bit. Not much, though, but it was better than nothing. He feels a finger poke his cheek, and he cracks an eye open as he looks up at a white blob, immediately scowling.

" Here, take some medicine." Chishiya says, and Niragi can make out a glass of water and what might be a napkin, Niragi grunting as he sits up a little and squints. Sitting on the napkin was two pills, Niragi glancing up at Chishiya for a second. Chishiya doesn't move, Niragi looking at the pills again.

" What do you want."

" Hm?"

" Why are you doing this to me? What motive do you have?" Niragi squints at Chishiya, who kept that same smug look he always had.

" I have no motive. Just felt obligated to make you look less like a drenched sewer rat."

Niragi grumbles, but he swipes up the pills, taking them into his mouth. Chishiya wordlessly hands him the glass of water, Niragi taking a few sips of the chilled drink to wash it down, then a few more to feel the cold wash through his hot body. Chishiya watches him without a word, even when Niragi sets the now empty glass down and curls up under the blanket again. Just barely, Niragi could see Chishiya just standing there, and he glares at the male.

" Leave."

" I'll be on your couch then." Chishiya walks away, Niragi calling after him as best as he could.

" I meant out of my house, you underdeveloped mozzarella!"

Chishiya just waves, and he disappears out of sight, Niragi just grumbling some more. He's not sure of how much time passes, just the slow silence and occasional sniffles coming from himself. He grumbles, and attempts sleep for the third time. However, it escaped him this time, so he had suffer for as long as he had to. He groans under the blanket, the headache getting worse and worse and foggier and foggier.

Chishiya comes back a little later, or at least a white blob did, and Niragi could've sworn the illness got worse somehow, despite taking medication. He just remains curled up under the covers and attempting sleep, breathing through his mouth.

Through the haze, Niragi could barely make out the sound of ceramic hitting wood, and the blanket as tugged away a little, letting in fresh cold air. Niragi involuntarily shivers, muttering and attempting to tug it back up. It fails though, and Niragi squint-glares at the white blob.

" Hi. I made soup." Chishiya says, and clinks a spoon against the bowl. " Now, are you gonna help yourself, or do you want to be fed like a little kid?"

" Fuck off, Chishiya."

Chishiya lowly chuckles, that damn laugh that made Niragi mad and his head hurt even more, Niragi squeezing his eyes shut. Still, when he opens his eyes again, Chishiya is still standing there, just staring down at him with nothing behind those eyes.

" Didn't you hear me? I said-"

" Oh, I heard you. But my name isn't an answer, so......"

Niragi just glares at him, his head just pounding. Like hell was he about to be fed by this box dye bitch. He determinedly attempts to sit up, and Chishiya offers him zero help as bit by bit he manages to get into a sitting position. Niragi huffs, and Chishiya at least carefully hands him the bowl, making sure to balance it well enough on top of the blanket that remained on Niragi's lap so it didn't burn his core. The spoon was already sitting there, innocently. Niragi couldn't smell it at all, but he could feel it. It looked like chicken noodle, some standard soup for the sick. He didn't remember having any chicken noodle though, Niragi taking the spoon and swirling the bits around the broth a few times.

Chishiya doesn't say a word, just standing there and watching, waiting. After way too long, Niragi finally takes a spoonful and sips at it. It tasted exactly as he expected, but somehow under this sick spell it felt like the best damn thing he has ever tasted. So he took another spoonful, this one with a piece of shredded chicken and a carrot peacefully sitting within the broth, and he takes that too. It was soft, yet not mushy at all. A satisfying soup. He lets out a hum of satisfaction. He looks up at Chishiya again, and he almost didn't want to even praise him, but he end up swallowing his overflowing pride, even for a mere second.

" Thanks. It doesn't taste like ass."

Chishiya just hums, hands tucked in his pockets as he continues to stand there. Niragi blinks, then scowls. He looks away and back at the warm and comforting meal, eating as much as he could take in.

Niragi doesn't remember when he ended up eating it all, and he yawns. The soup warmed his core in a good, heavenly way, and he sets the bowl on the bedside table. He barely realizes that Chishiya left at some point, but Niragi didn't care at that point either, crawling back under the covers as his tiredness overtook him, Niragi snoring away 'til morning.

When he wakes up again to a clearer nose and less of a migraine, enough that Niragi felt comfortable enough to leave the comfort of his bed, he shuffled around his house, checking to see whether Chishiya had touched anything he wasn't supposed to. However, as far as Niragi could see, nothing was out of place at all, except for a single note on the benchtop of his kitchen and a lack of dishes. Niragi picks it up, squinting at the tiny handwriting.

' Feel better. It gets boring when you're not being annoying and on the move. And make sure to retake the medication. I put it back in the cabinet, third bottle on the left.- 🐈'

Niragi blinks, then huffs a little, the paper crinkling under his fingertips. " You little......" He throws the paper back down, even though he fills a new cup up with water and the bottle of medication that Chishiya probably used. " How dare you come in, do all this 'care' shit, then just disappear. Absolutely rude and pathetic. Didn't even stay to make sure I didn't die in my sleep-" He mutters to himself, taking the appropriate amount.

Still, somewhere buried in him, he was a little thankful he even showed up in the first place.

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #chishiya shuntaro #niragi suguru #niragi x chishiya #chishiya x niragi #niragi pretends he hates the attention but he probably enjoys it #why did chishiya break into the house in the first place?#who knows #this doesn't exactly take place at the Beach at all #chishiya's a med student #he probably at least attempts to be a good one #niragi is an angry noodle #chishiya don't break into people's houses to play doctor you goof-

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cursestothemoon · 4 years

Text

His Bunny

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, degrading, also praising, slapping, spanking, spitting, strong language, use of nicknames like bunny and puppy, subspace, daddy kink

Post Azkaban! Sirius with a younger reader

SHE IS OVER 18, IN HER MID TWENTIES AND EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL.

17+ only

if i have tagged you and you are UNDER 17 please let me know for future reference

Sirius Black is a complicated man. You knew this well from the three months you two had been dating.

Tonk’s is like a sister to you and her boyfriend Remus is a good friend, so when they said they had someone for you to meet, an old, school friend of Remus’ you were expecting someone just like him. Someone timid, quiet, and unbelievably sweet was what you expected. Instead Sirius Black swaggered into your life with his stormy eyes and deliciously wavy hair. He oozed sex appeal and confidence with his each and every step.

Upon first meeting you, Sirius was sure he didn’t have the will power to stop himself from bending you over the arm of the couch then and there. With your doe eyes and girlish giggle he couldn’t help but picture your in less than appropriate scenarios. And when you had started dating he was sure it was too good to be true, Azkaban escapee with a young little minx like yourself? It was almost too good to be true, and Sirius tended to dwell on it.

“Sirius? What’re you doing sitting by yourself?” You asked walking into the sitting room.

He was sitting in a large velour chair positioned diagonally in front of the large fireplace which had a small fire crackling. Sirius waved you over with a single lift of his finger without looking in your direction just yet.

You tiptoed your way over to him, his crisp black dress shirt hanging off your right shoulder and brushing against the soft skin of your thighs.

“Siri...” You cooed climbing into his lap, his hands gripping your waist to help steady you.

You gripped his face in your hands forcing him to look into your eyes, “Want tell me what’s bothering you?”

Sirius smiled, grabbing your wrist, “Nothing, love.”

You knew him well enough to know that he was lying, and you knew him well enough to know what was bothering him. The best way to get him out of his head was to show him just how much you wanted him.

You placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, moving to his cheek, then trailing down his jaw and the side of his neck. Your hips started to slowly grind on his, the rigidness of his trousers against your barely covered cunt made your breath quicken.

Sirius felt your soft puffs of air against his skin as you dropped your head into the crook of his neck. He smirked at the feeling of you dry humping him like a horny teenager.

“Keep going and you’re going to get yourself in trouble, bunny.” He warned.

A breathy sigh left your lips as you raised your head from his neck to meet his gaze with a mischievous smirk, “What if I wanna get in trouble?”

That had done it.

Sirius pulled you down to meet his lips in a harsh kiss before shoving you off his lap and onto the floor with a thud.

“Strip. Now.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for questioning.

Your fingers came up to unbutton the shirt you were wearing. An annoyed huff left your lips as your fingers kept slipping off the ridiculously small plastic circles. Sirius let out a laugh at how you were struggling, it was a teasing, degrading chuckle that made the walls of your pussy clench.

“Dumb bunny, you need daddy to do it for you, don’t you?”

The quick nod you gave him was pathetic, and part of your mind was screaming for you to get a grip and not slip into such a fuzzy, submissive state so soon.

You hurried over to him, knowing if you took too long a spanking would be in order.

Sirius wasted no time in tearing the shirt open, buttons scattering to the floor making you let out a whimper. Your thin underwear was disposed of in the same fashion, the material pulling apart like tissue paper.

“Sirius...” You whined against your better judgement.

Before you realized you had done something bad, Sirius gave you smack on your cheek.

“S’not my name, and you know better than to whine. Over my lap.” He moved to sit down in the chair again, waiting for you.

Meekly you walked over to him and draped your body across his lap, suddenly very aware that he was still fully clothed. His large palm fell onto the skin of your ass, rubbing the supple flesh gently before his fingers dipped down to your cunt. The feeling of his fingers gathering your wetness made you whimper and push yourself closer to his hand.

He pulled his hand away completely making you shudder before his palm rested on the globe of your ass, “I want to hear you counting, nothing else.”

“Yes, daddy.”

With that you felt Sirius’ hand give a harsh smack onto your backside.

“One.”

He landed one after the other, making the skin sting and tears well in your eyes. Sirius gave one last spank, the hardest of them all, before smoothing over the red, stinging skin.

“What’dya say, bunny?” Sirius quipped.

“Thank you, daddy.”

You were moved off his lap again, this time gentler than the first, and set onto your knees in front of him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb running across your jaw as he looked into your eyes, his stare almost too intense.

“You need your daddy, don’t you? Just a dumb little bunny, need me, need your daddy to take care of you.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding enthusiastically, “Just a dumb little bunny, I need daddy.”

Sirius smiled at the honesty dripping from each and every word, you were his good little bunny.

An idea popped into your mind, your hands moving quick to carry it out. You unbuckled his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, reveling in the presence of his hard cock. Sirius rarely wore underwear.

Your hand grasped his shaft, jerking him off slowly, letting your thumb swipe over his sensitive head and smearing the glistening droplets of precum all along his impressive length. Having waited long enough to taste him, you leaned down to place a kiss onto his glistening head making him shudder.

“Don’t tease.” He warned from above you, his hand pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail before giving it a hard tug forcing your head back.

Having been in the position before you knew what he wanted and your jaw went slack and fell open instantly letting him spit into your awaiting mouth.

“Thank you, daddy.”

Sirius smirked, “Such a good girl.”

Wanting to further prove you were a good girl, you quickly put your mouth on his painfully hard length. Hollowing your cheeks, you took as much of him as you could, spit dribbling out from the corners of your mouth acting as lubrication for the hand you had wrapped around what couldn’t fit. You bobbed your head up and down, ignoring the aching that blossomed in your jaw.

Sirius, who was wanting more, pulled you off of him so he could stand in front of your kneeling form before gripping your hair again and thrusting his cock deep into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your gags and whimpers only spurred him on, making him speed up his thrusts.

Tears fell down your cheeks as he fucked your face and you felt yourself get impossibly wet with how vocal was being.

“Fuck, bunny, your mouth feels so good ‘round my cock. Y’like when daddy fucks into your mouth?” He asked, voice shaky with the nearing of his orgasm.

You hummed in response to his question, eyes watching as the vibrations from the sound made his eyes flutter closed and head fall back. His hand gave a few harsh smacks to your cheek before pulling out of your mouth completely.

“My good girl,” He cooed, “Get to the counter.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, it was rare that you and Sirius would find an area of Grimmauld Place that he hadn't made you cum on, but this was new.

Practically bouncing over to the counter you bent over it, or at least you tried to. Being short, your hips were too low meaning it would be quite difficult trying to enter you from behind like Sirius was planning.

“Look at you. Pathetic little girl, you cant even get yourself up on the counter.” He laughed, slowly walking over to where you were with no hurry at all.

Sirius gripped your hips and lifted you on to the counter, leaving your feet to hang just far enough from the floor to make him chuckle again.

His knee nudged your legs apart opening up your dripping core to him, making an almost animalistic growl emit from his lips. You felt his palm rest on your lower back whilst the other travelled between your legs and swiped through your slick folds.

He ran his fingers up and down your spine, “A dripping mess just from making daddy feel good.”

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence as his middle finger seemed to find your clit and started to circle it slowly at first but gaining speed quickly.

“What was that bunny?” He asked, tone snarky.

Again, all you could do was moan as his pace quickened vigorously.

Sirius hummed, “Thought my dumb little girl said something like that.’

His fingers left your clit, only to slowly enter your sopping cunt. The action made a vulgar squelching noise from how turned on you were from hearing Sirius’ moans and grunts just minutes before.

He added a second finger, thrusting them in and out of you with long, deep strokes pulling each and every whimper and moan out of your mouth. His thumb went to your clit and the palm on your lower back held down your hips that kept trying to move against your own accord. Within seconds he found the spongey spot in your aching pussy and used his two fingers to massage the sensitive area with no respite.

Your sounds were loud now, physically unable to hold them back, you mewled and cried as your orgasm approached.

“C-cum, daddy wanna cum-” You tried your best to string together enough words to make sense, your forehead falling to rest on the cool counter.

Sirius tutted, hand swatting at your already sore backside, “Ask properly, don’t be a little brat.”

“Can I cum, daddy, p-please?”

You felt him place a kiss in-between your shoulder blades before responding, “Go on then, cum for daddy.”

His hand carded through your hair, starting from the base of your neck, and pulled making your back arch. That was all it took for your orgasm to rip through you, a pornographic moan leaving your lips as Sirius pumped his fingers slowly, letting you ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.

You shuddered as his fingers gave your swollen clit a pinch before pulling his hand away from your core.

“Wanna taste bunny, or y’want daddy to clean it up?” He asked bringing his glistening fingers near your mouth.

You sniffled, “Wanna share with daddy.”

Sirius crouched down so his face was level with yours. You moved to grab his hand, pulling his index finger to your mouth and sucking off your juices while you kept your eyes locked with his. When you were done you let his finger go with a pop and Sirius brought his hand to his mouth, taking in both his index and ring finger.

He groaned at the taste of you, sweet on his tongue now mingling with your spit from the digit you were so happily sucking on. The sight made your pussy clench involuntarily, already wet and ready for Sirius again.

“Beg for it.” Sirius said lowly, knowing what you wanted just by your blown out pupils and grabby hands.

Your breath hitched at his demand, but you were too far gone to care about the desperation in your voice.

“Fuck me daddy, want your cock so bad. Please fuck your dumb little bunny, I need it. Wanna feel your cum inside me, please.” You cried desperately, tears staining your cheeks as you wriggled around on the counter.

He brought his hand to your mouth again, “Get ‘em nice and wet for me.”

You did as you were told, sucking and drooling over his thick digits until he pulled them out and wrapped his hand around his girth moving up and down to lubricate his length with your spit. He moved to stand behind you, moving his head between your folds to collect your juices before thrusting into you harshly, giving you no time to adjust.

His hand went back to your hair and pulled again so your back was arching, his thrusts had pushed your body forward and the counter and the way he had you arched made your clit grind against the edge of the counter. The feeling of how deep Sirius was inside of you and the mix of pain and pleasure on your clit had you nearly screaming as your vision started to go blurry.

“Can feel your little cunt milking my prick. Who’s tight little cunt is this?”

You sputtered as the tip of his dick seemed to be hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars, “Yours daddy! No one’s but yours!”

“And who makes puppy feel this good?”

You let out a choked sob, “Daddy does!”

“Daddy’s little girl doesn’t even reach the floor. Y’like it when daddy ruins his pussy, make it all achy and swollen?”

You nodded, the only word able to come out of your mouth being daddy followed by whimpers, moans, and choked cries.

Sirius’ hand on your hip moves to grab your breast harshly before delivering a harsh slap making you yelp and sending burning feeling straight to your core making your walls tighten.

“Poor thing, gonna cum again? Cum on daddy’s cock, let me feel you.”

With that you felt your second orgasm crash onto you, thighs shaking next to Sirius’ own legs. Soon after you felt yourself come undone Sirius spilled into you, his warm load coating your pulsing walls.

Sirius let himself slouch over your trembling body, his warm chest coming into contact with your balmy back. He pressed kisses onto your shoulder blades and around your neck as you came down from your high. His cock, slowly softening, was still buried deep in your cunt keeping you stretched around him.

You let out a sound of annoyance as you felt Sirius move to slide out of you making him let out a soft chuckle.

“Come on, love, gotta get you cleaned up.” He tried to coax you.

You whined again, “No, want daddy to stay.”

“S’not daddy anymore, pretty girl. It’s Siri.” He said slowly pulling out of your pussy.

The emptiness made tears gather in your eyes, the fuzzy mind space Sirius had fucked you into making you impossibly clingy and eager to please. He set you down from the counter, catching you as your legs trembled under your weight. Taking you up to your shared bedroom and bathroom, and cleaned you up as best he could without getting you in the shower- it was evident that in your sleepy, hazy state it would be difficult to keep you upright. You were slowly coming back, calling him ‘Siri’ instead of daddy and helping him by lifting up your hips as he slid on your underwear.

“Y’wanna wear my shirt or one of yours?” He asked turning to look at yo from the dresser.

“Yours.” You answered immediately, lifting your arms as he came back to the bed you were sitting on to pull the shirt over your head.

After making sure you were tucked into bed and comfortable, Sirius went to his wardrobe to grab a pair of black boxers and slide them on. He walked over to the bed and climbed in next to you, his arms coming out to pull you into his side. You rested your head on his chest as you got comfortable in the new position.

Sirius felt goosebumps blossom on his skin as your fingers traced over the dark tattoos on his chest. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“I love you, Sirius.” You mumbled, sleepiness present in your tone.

He gave a fake laugh, “You won’t leave me for some young guy right?”

You could tell his laugh was masking his insecurities.

You shuffled around so you were looking at him, hand cupping his cheek.

“Sirius, I love you. You are the only one I want, the only one I need. You Sirius Black, are the love of my life.”

He smiled, the faintest blush coming across his cheeks as you snuggled back into his side.

“I am in love with you too, my good little bunny.”

Sirius kissed your nose before resting his head on his pillow, eyes focusing on the ceiling as he fell into thought. He thought about you, and he thought about his younger self and how desperately eighteen year old Sirius needed someone like you to keep his head above water.

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

#Sirius Black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black blurb #post azkaban! sirius black

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

paralyzed;

full masterlist

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers x female!reader

Word count: 2,032

Warning: SMUT!!!! non-con, degradation, humilation, oral sex (male & female receiving), murder, mention of blood, kidnapping. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: Steve Rogers broke into your house but not for your money.

a/n: i’m back on my dark!steve rogers bullshit.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"You should be grateful." He stared down at your writhing form, with a knife in his hands that he had just wiped clean from the blood of her wimpy boyfriend. "I could've killed you too if I wanted to."

The tears of terror flowed from your eyes as you miserably attempted to free yourself out of the robes that were bounding you but to no avail. You wanted to scream for help as loud as you possibly could but all that could come out of your tapped lips were pathetic whimpers.

You wanted to run on your wobbly legs as fast as you could even if you knew you were going to stumble to the ground and scrape your knees and it would only make it so easy for him to catch you but at least you had that fleeting sense of freedom, an ephemeral glint of hope that you could actually save yourself from this psycho.

But it was hopeless. He was too strong. You stood no chance trying to outrun him, all it would lead you to was only in a worse scenario.

But hey, at least you are not dead yet.

Steve Rogers had been watching her and her pantywaist of a boyfriend for months now. Every day, he would sit in his RV for hours and he would park it across their house. He watched him leave to work every morning and she would peck him a kiss on the lips before he entered his car and drove away. He never understood what a girl as hot as her was doing with an average, tedious guy like him. She could do so much more. She should be with a man like him that could satisfy her in bed.

It started when she called for a plumber and the first time he saw her, he was instantly captivated by her beauty. "Fucking hell, she was gorgeous," he thought. She was only wearing a white tank top and booty shorts with a cardigan over her shoulders when he arrived. Her cleavage that was peeking through her shirt and her creamy thighs got him and jerking off at the thought of fucking her into the mattress that night. but he remembered the silver ring around her finger and the pictures of her wedding day in the living room, and he didn't like it. There was nothing that he hated more than what he couldn't have.

And so, a nefarious plan was forming in his head. he waited patiently for weeks, camouflaged himself in a baseball hat and hid in his RV. He observed her from afar, he learned her routines and broke into her house once when she left to the grocery store to memorize every corner and every room. He did it so neatly. He was ready, at another Friday night when it was nearing 12 am, after her husband came home and slumbering next to her, he snuck in through the back door with a dark mask covering his face and he tiptoed into the master bedroom.

He was as silent as a ninja that it was way too swift and a way to easy. He stood over the edge of their bed, he watched their peaceful states and he admired how divine she still looked even when she was deep asleep and the lights were out.

He walked to her husband's side of the bed and put his glove covered hand over his mouth and slit his throat. his eyes bulged as soon as he realized what was happening but he couldn't speak or scream, he could only thrash around until steve cut off his windpipe.

And in a matter of seconds, the schmuck was laying lifeless with his eyes wide open, the splash of his blood tainted his white sheets. He dragged the body off the bed to the floor and the thud woke her up.

It took her a few seconds to realize the gory calamity that was happening before her and before she could scream and run, he held her down on the bed and covered her nose with chloroform dipped handkerchief until she went unconscious.

That's how she woke up an hour later, bound and bare. her head was dizzy from what felt like hours of staying still in the same position now and the fear just kept rising and rising with every movement and noise he made. at least she was sure that he wasn't going to murder her just yet.

You had so many questions swirling in your brain, you began searching for the people you might have had done wrong or any suspicious behaviour that you might've had neglected... Not a single one had given you a valid answer.

"You must be wondering who am I and what do I want, huh?" he scoffed. "Don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you or for your money, I'm here for you."

You could feel the bed dipped with the weight of his arms behind you. He loved the view of your ass up in the air, face pressed to the blood tainted sheet and your limbs knotted with ropes. the things he was going to do to you...

"Remember when you called me to fix your sink a few months ago? Boy, you looked miserable as hell. knew it since the first moment I saw you that this guy doesn't have the guts to fuck your brains out. well... Didn't would be more appropriate." he smirked. "I met a lot of housewives and most of them practically begged for me to make them cum but, none of them was as sexy as you."

Gou could hear the clanking sounds of his belt being unfastened and him pulling down his pants and underwear just enough to spring his cock free. He pulled you down harshly to the edge of the bed, your skin burned against the friction.

You tried to push him away with your feet but he overpowered you by keeping you in place. "Don't fucking move, bitch. Or we are gonna do this the hard way, you want that?" You didn't fight back or resist by keeping quiet... not that you could do much anyway. "good."

He bent down his knees and dipped his head into your core, he licked a stripe over your entrance to your clit and lapped on your juices. He devoured you like a famished man and the squelching noises were deeply humiliating.

His beard unpleasantly tickled you and you knew he was gonna leave some beard burn later but that was your least concern right now. "Mmm, so fucking sweet, just like I imagined." He groaned at your taste, sending vibration to your core.

You moaned when two of his fingers intruded you and his thumb was circling your clit. Your body betrayed you by producing the wetness that you resisted. He curled his digits and brushed the spot that made you lose your mind. You sighed when he pumped in and out of you, scissoring your walls. “Look at you dripping all over my fingers. Can’t help it, can you? You need to be fucked hard by a real man so bad.”

The tears in your eyes had blurred your vision. His filthy words made you squirm. “Don’t worry, little slut. I’ll give you what your wimpy husband couldn’t.” He was amused by your reaction as he kept rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves. You mewled through your muffled mouth.

You felt your orgasm approaching, an unwanted eruption. But you were so close to the edge and when he moved in and out of your walls faster, you were pushed over the edge, making a mess all over your captor’s fingers. “That’s it. Go ahead, bitch. Show me what a dirty little slut you are.”

Your legs trembled and you were coming down from your high when Steve turned you around and now you were face to face with your captor. You wanted to curse this debauched man for ruining your life but all you could do was plead with your eyes to stop and let you go.

He stroked his cock and grazed it along your slit and milked it with your wetness before violating your body by pushing it to your entrance. “So fucking tight.” Steve began moving in and out of you, stretching you wide open with his cock. He began by pulling out until only the tip was in and impaled you deeply, jolting your entire body.

He repeated this motion and accelerated his pace. He kept his eyes on the way your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He untied the robe around your ankles and lifted them up onto his shoulders. You could feel him deeper than before and it hurt. “Take it bitch, take my cock like the fucking whore you are.”

Your visions were getting hazy by second. You were locked in your own body. All you could do was lay there and take it until he was done. He sped up, trying to chase his own release and the coil in your abdomen tightened. No, please no, not a second one. You spasmed and you exploded, this one was bigger than the last. Steve only chuckled at the sight while still ramming in and out of you vigorously.

“Fucking whore. Acting like you don’t like it but you’re so desperate to cum, huh? I’m gonna fucking wreck you.” Your walls clenched around him and Steve’s cock throbbed. He threw his head back and groaned and pulled out of you to dump his load all over your body, your breasts and your belly were covered in his thick, white cum.

You felt numb, you could only lay in an uncomfortable position with the robes digging into your skin with tears flowing from your eyes. You didn’t know if you could ever recover from this molestation if you were lucky enough for Steve to let you live… You’d be left with the pieces. At this point, you didn’t know if him ending your life would be a better or worse option. At least, you wouldn’t have to bury your husband or tell the police, your friends and family about what happened.

Just when you thought he was done, he turned you around so your head was hanging on the edge of your bed. “You didn’t think I’m done with you, yet, did you?” He stood tall above you, his face was like a demon creeping up in the dark, ready to pounce on you. “Please, just stop, please. I can’t- I can’t take it anymore.” You stammered through your ragged breaths. “Open your mouth.”

“Please, I’ll give you whatever you want, just, please, let me go.”

“Open your fucking mouth, bitch. Or I’ll do it for you.” He threatened.

You cried as you parted your lips slowly, but Steve was impatient. He propelled the tip into your mouth and he hit the back of your throat. You whined at the pain but the reverberation only aroused him even more. He gripped your breasts and used them as handles and fucked your face. “Gonna use you like the cockslut you are.”

He shut his eyes and grunted, profanities falling from his mouth. Tears were falling from the corner of your eyes and your gag reflexed. You could taste yourself around him. He pinched your nipples and you shrieked. “Suck my cock, slut.” He taunted. You swallowed around his shaft. It didn’t take long for him to drive his hips faster and he was ready to burst at any second.

He convulsed and drained his fluids down your throat. He stayed there for a few more seconds until he had no more drop to give and withdrew. You felt void, used and paralyzed. Your body wasn’t yours anymore and no matter how many showers you were going to take, there was no ridding his traces all over your skin.

“Let’s not waste any more time, yeah? We’re going to your new house. I’m gonna keep you as my personal sex slave. You’re gonna have a new life as my fucktoy and you’re gonna learn how to serve me. Get on your feet.”

#steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dark!steve rogers au #dark!steve rogers smut #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfic #dub con #non con

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ohnopoe · 4 years

Text

Ulyc | Din Djarin

Ship: Din Djarin x Reader Word Count: 5.6k+ hahaha oops Tagging: @23orso & @hawkerz12 Author’s Note: This is for the Mando’a Mandalorian Writing Challenge! My prompt was ‘Ulyc’ meaning careful or carefully. I’m so glad I finally got a fic finished for this fandom because damn do I have a lot that are sitting in my drafts unfinished, wow. Anyway, enjoy a slice of awkward fluff!

It wasn’t just hot, no, it had surpassed hot hours ago. The metal of the cargo hold practically sizzled whenever you accidentally brushed up against it, and you half expected to see steam wafting off the thin fabric you were using as a barrier against the heated steel. No, this was not hot as you had known it, this was sweltering.

Your usual flight wear had long since been abandoned, replaced by old threadbare shorts and a tee that was far from appropriate for anyone’s gaze. Hair stuck to you, that constant layer of sweat refusing to budge no matter how much water you consumed, nor how much you splashed desperately over yourself from the ‘fresher.

It was beginning to affect your mood too, making your responses short and concise, sharper than they might have been otherwise. There was no room left for your usual warmth and patience, it had been burnt away from you as time passed, searing the very nature of your being from you.

Of course you empathised when the child would coo unhappily at you, arms reaching up to you as if a hug would help his discomfort. It must be so much harder when you didn’t understand why the Razor Crest was suddenly akin to Hell’s Inferno.

You had tried to keep him cool, dousing him in water, a constant myriad of cooling focused on him as you suffered silently. But as the hours drew on each call of discomfort only played on your already frayed temper.

You could only hope, pray, beg the maker that this ceaseless torture would somehow end soon, that you would find somewhere safe to make repairs, that the damn hyperspace engine would come back from overheating when the temperature control had claimed it, and would allow you to travel once more at a normal pace.

Logically, you knew you could call up the ladder, could ask if you were nearing your destination, if it looked like this hell would end any time soon, but you thought better of it.

Din had been in just as much hell as you when he had trudged up the ladder, accepting your suggestion that you stay separate throughout the trip so he could remove not just the beskar that weighed him down, but the helmet that clung to his face too. You couldn’t disturb him now.

He had been so wary, so anxious to leave you alone in your suffering. His worry had shown in the small movements you had come to look for, had come to learn in a desperate attempt to understand your companion where usual tactics were lost. It showed in the way he dithered in his movements, shuffling on his feet, reaching out for you just like the child did, barely coming to his senses as his hand was nearing your cheek, ready to wipe away a bead of sweat that had made itself known. It was only when you pushed the canteen filled of cold water into his hand, only when you turned and began to rid yourself of any unnecessary clothing that he finally felt compelled to leave you.

If you sought him out now, if you called up into the cockpit you knew all his anxieties would come back, he would worry for you when he had to focus, and you were determined not to be a distraction. But that didn’t mean you weren’t worried. It had been hours now, hours since the temperature rapidly rocketed up, hours since he had taken that single canteen of water into the solitude of the cockpit. Surely he needed something else to drink, surely he needed a break.

Your thoughts were interrupted, however, when yet another sad coo echoed through the cabin. The child was desperate, wanting attention and comfort even though the touch he craved would only make the suffering all the worse. You had tried to explain it to him, tried to speak in soft words as you showed him slowly that the hugs he sought out would only increase both of your temperatures, would only make the horrid stickiness of sweat glean fruitfully. But he would hear nothing of it as his little arms reached out for you.

A sad smile, sympathetic, perhaps a touch irritated, played on your lips as you gave into his pathetic whimpering. It wouldn’t help in the long run, but you couldn’t let him suffer alone.

The child clung to you gratefully, a small heat-pack you did not need adding to your raised temperature. But he was calming down now, even though you knew damn well that he couldn’t be any more comfortable than you.

You had resorted to soaking fabrics in water from the ‘fresher, using them as cooling packs against the back of your neck, and wrapped around the child’s head, a desperate attempt to keep from overheating too much. But now, with the child tucking in against your chest, seeking out the comfort he knew so well, the cold liquid of his temporary bandana pressed tight against you too, adding the slightest relief against the hot blooded little being.

Perhaps this wasn’t too bad. And at least now he was beginning to settle, those large eyes faltering in an attempt to stay open, exhaustion finally starting to plague him. It had already been a long day, a bounty having caused more trouble than expected on a practically inhospitable planet, the seemingly easy task having stretched out for days, days of no sleep, of high emotions and tension. The last thing any of you had needed was the ship overheating on the way back to Nevarro, in fact it was quite the opposite of the peaceful evening flight you had hoped for.

You almost wished you could find that same peace, that same place of exhaustion the child was reaching quickly in your arms. Wouldn’t it be nice to simply sleep through the heat? To wake up safe and sound and cool? Even Nevarro, with its chaotic weather, lava spilling freely, would be more acceptable than this hellscape.

But the cooling effect of the wet fabric against his head was losing its power, and with the evening out of his breath, you simply knew you had to put him down to sleep. He’d be more comfortable in the long run, curled up in a thin blanket instead of seeping in the heat that radiated off of you.

The little hovering [pram] was completely out of the question, too small and condensed, with the blankets only helping cocoon the heat in. But then, the little hammock he knew so well was hardly any better. It was better aired, yes, but in order to keep him comfortable, and to keep him from potentially falling out, it too was layered in blankets.

When the hell did the Razor Crest get so many damn blankets everywhere?

You weren’t entirely certain what prompted you to do it, it wasn’t that you thought he’d be mad if he found out, if anything he’d be more logical about it than you were currently capable of being, but you still hesitated as you looked at the cot Din used for sleeping. It was harsh and coarse, but it had some give to it, allowing for enough comfort for the little one to remain asleep and able to spread out.

But even as you put the sleeping child down, your brow furrowed in discontent. It wasn’t that the fabric was itchy per se, but it certainly had grown old, any comfort it once held long washed out of it. The slightest give of the canvas below didn’t help either, it held no real support or care, and you were starting to understand how it was Din could sleep so easily in the pilot’s chair, or sitting upright on the ground… or just about anywhere really. Had he ever slept comfortably?

To be fair, your own sleeping arrangements were no better. Having refused to take the small solitude of his sleeping quarters, if you could even call them that, when he had offered, you had bunkered down on the floor, a nest of blankets and clothing that worked somehow as a bed whenever you got the chance to rest. It was easy to pick up, easy to push back into a bag and ignore during the day, and you weren’t even certain whether or not Din actually knew, or for that matter cared, where it was you lay your head at night.

You kept the shutter open, even the thought of how much worse it would have been with it shut in the small enclosed space making you cringe uncomfortably. This way he’d at least have some air, and you’d be able to keep an eye on his little sleeping figure as his entire being shifted with each easy breath he took, falling further into his dreamland.

For something so difficult, he was incredibly cute, especially when his little beady eyes were closed, his mouth pouted open with little snores escaping him. He looked content, almost happy in his sleep, and you could feel the irritation from earlier beginning to ebb away at the peaceful sight.

The sound of static shook you from your revery, causing you to turn suddenly in alarm. Only when the sound of a voice, not quite as distorted as usual, but still grating through your communicator, followed, did you begin to relax.

“I’m coming down,” the words were simple and straight to the point, and if his tone held a touch of nerves, you wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.

You nodded in answer, your mind slow from the heated haze, before you cleared your throat in realisation that he obviously couldn’t see you. A few steps and a rush of material later, and you found the communicator you only used when he was away hunting a bounty under your discarded flight-wear.

“Ok,” you spoke into the small device, moving further into the cargo bay, nearing the ramp to give him as much space as possible. Only when you were on the other side of the hull did you bring it up to your lips once more, realising he would need more than that, and attempting to reassure the both of you as you added, “my eyes are shut, and covered.”

You dropped the communicator onto a nearby crate as soon as the words were out of your mouth. With your back facing the ladder, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly it was almost painful, and your palms covering them dramatically, to make sure he was aware they were covered, you waited.

Time passed slowly, and logically you knew it was most likely just your thoughts that made it feel that way. You had never been in the same room as the Mandalorian without his helmet, had never even considered it a possibility. Hell, had you assumed too much? What if he was only giving you the warning so that you would be decent? What if he had every intention of putting his helmet back on before coming down to face you, despite the discomfort it would bring.

There was no reason to think he would be comfortable enough around you that he would risk something so important, or trust your words. Sure, you had been travelling with him for some time now, had even fought by his side, if somewhat chaotically as you didn’t really know what you were doing. You trusted him with your life, and you liked to think he trusted you with his, but that didn’t mean he had to trust you with this.

A life is a life, it’s something sacred and precious and unlike anything else. You would protect him and the child, just as he would do the same for you. But at the end of the day, it was the same for any innocent soul, wasn’t it?

His beliefs, however, they were something different. Special and ingrained in his very being. They shone clear for the world to see, secret in their depths, but loud in their importance. Every sight of that helmet was a reminder, every time he would hold back or care for his weapons with more reverence than you had ever seen before, it only reconfirmed just how true that was.

This is the way.

It was repeated often enough that you had no problem accepting it. For him, it was simply a fact. And that included having his helmet on, being sheltered from the world, even the child he called his foundling.

No, expecting him to remove his helmet, even when you assured him you were doing what you could to help protect his creed, was impetuous at best.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground shook you from your fears, loud and distinct, intentional even. He wanted you to hear, wanted you to know he was down now, and the lack of an explanation only further proved your thoughts right. He had to be without the helmet.

You tried to shake the thought from your mind. It might have been overly presumptuous, but it was done now, and you’d just have to deal with any ramifications later, when you were together and no longer practically melting into the metal slates below.

Silence drew on.

Your eyes were closed tightly, and you could feel sweat running down your forehead, threatening to follow your creased up features and sting them through gaps you could not fathom. But you refused to relax, refused to smooth your stressed forehead, to calm the crunched up lines that were practically creating caverns for your sweat to run down. It didn’t matter if the salty wetness stung your eyes, didn’t matter if you were only causing more sweat to form, your eyes were going to remain dramatically closed, even behind your raised palms, even as you had your back turned to him.

He’d be done soon, you reckoned with yourself, mentally following a droplet of sweat as it desperately attempted to cool your sweltering forehead. There was no way he’d stay down here longer than necessary, no way he’d risk further exposure.

But then, why didn’t you hear any movement?

There was no rush of water to drench his cowl, no metallic clinking of the ‘fresher door that refused to move silently no matter how much oil you gave it. There was no sound at all.

Since the moment his boots had met the metal floor, all had been silent.

“Mando?” you called out into the darkness, worry playing on your tone. He had to still be there, you would have heard him leave, would have heard him move. Even in his quietest moments, when he would move so swiftly, so deftly, you had learnt to attune yourself to him. You might not hear his steps, but his cloak would sway and ruffle against itself, his armour would scratch against its straps… Even now, without the armour you were so used to, you were sure you’d hear something.

But the silence reigned on behind you, the Mandalorian stock still, barely hearing the way you turned the nickname into a question of its own.

He was transfixed. Without the interference of his visor he could see you, really see you, and that alone would have been enough to capture his attention. There were no displays of temperature, no shifting images or dulled colours, you were there before him, natural and pure. It would have stolen his breath at any moment, a sight he longed to keep in his mind forever.

But this wasn’t any other moment. Your baggy flight-wear was long gone, the layers you usually kept yourself covered in, protected by, had been discarded the moment he had moved up the ladder. Now he was faced with something new, something he could never have imagined, and something that was making a permanent home in his mind.

Your back was to him, but he could still see so much. Your legs peeking out of those old shorts seemed so much longer, so much more enticing away from their usual confines. Your t-shirt was stuck to your back, showing every dip and curve, giving a view of your body he had never come close to before. Sweat made your skin glean in the low lights of the cabin, enticing and captivating, and his mind was filled with images of your skin just as slick from sweat, but under such different circumstances; under him.

“Din?” his name came out soft, quiet, unsure. It was rare that you used the name aloud, only in moments of true fear or worry, moments you knew only he could hear you, or moments you worried even that weren’t possible.

The sound of his name, so worried, practically pleading, jolted him from his thoughts, and behind you a rush of fabric sounded, the stoic Mandalorian moving this way and that, turning from you as if he was desperately trying to remember why he had come down in the first place.

“I-” his voice was rough and restrained, the single syllable forced out of his dry throat as he looked down to the empty canteen in his hand. He cleared his throat, the sound reverberating through the silence without the filter of his modulator, deep and gravelly. If you hadn’t had your eyes closed before you knew they would have closed of their own volition at the raw sound. “I won’t be long.”

Was he reassuring you, or himself? He didn’t rightly know. But somehow he needed to say it, needed to confirm he would be back in the safety of the cockpit soon, away from the tantalising sight that had stolen his attention, away from the danger of you potentially turning around, of breaking his creed.

Your nod was almost robotic, reluctant in its jolted movement, and you could only hope he saw it because words were failing to form in your mind. So that’s what he sounded like without the modulator playing with his tone. It was oddly warm and comforting, softer than you might have expected; but then that was a reoccurring theme, contradicting with the tough Mandalorian you had expected when you had first boarded the ship.

You were right, you could hear his movements, even when they were softer than you had come to expect. His boots where mandatory, it was just downright dangerous to be on the ship without them, as you well knew, but aside from them, the sounds he made were different. There was no shifting of his cape, no grinding of beskar against itself, no fabric rustling as it gathered against his many layers. Everything seemed muted.

The focus you had put on his helmet, or lack there of, suddenly seemed so much smaller as you came to the startling realisation. He was probably no more dressed than you were, attempting to alleviate the heat and rid himself of his usual attire that would have had him sweltering.

With the sound of his canteen filling, water sloshing against the sides, your own throat felt suddenly dry. What did he look like? What was he wearing? He was always so covered, so protected, but now, in the sweltering heat, he was more bare than you had ever witnessed, and in a way, you still were no witness to it.

Would his skin be on display? Would his fingers be freed of the gloves he usually wore, the smallest, most tantalising and distracting display of skin free for the world to see if only they should look?

It was such a small area to focus on, especially when you knew his face, of all things, was uncovered too, but somehow there was a mystery there, brought to life over months of curiosity. You had seen the way the arm of his shirt would shift against his gloves, never quite showing any skin no matter what he did, and it was hypnotising. Somehow it had grown to something more than curiosity.

You could wonder all day over what his face might look like, what colour his hair might be, or the depth of his gaze. But his wrists held possibility. You knew you would never know the beauty of his face, never hold the image of him in your gaze, but the same was not necessarily true of other parts of him.

Perhaps one day you would know the tone of his skin, whether his fingers were soft from the protection of gloves, or calloused from the never ending work he pursued. Perhaps you would feel his hand against your own.

It was a small dream, but one you could not seem to shake as time went past, and the curiosity of the man hidden by beskar only grew.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, wondering over what he might look like, over what he might feel like to touch now that he had removed so many layers of cloth, but the thoughts distracted you from his movements and the sounds he made. They distracted you from how quiet the hull had become as he once more lost himself to the silence.

The touch was feather light, dancing against your bared shoulder so carefully that you weren’t entirely convinced it was real. But still, it jolted you from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality with a sudden jump. He was still there, those relaxing sounds of him teetering about the hull gone, replaced by that same silence that had dawned when he first descended.

It had been light, gentle, eerily careful, and you couldn’t quite place what had happened. It felt too soft, too giving to be his hand or glove, almost plush against your skin. So quick to touch you, and so quick to leave, but it had your head spinning. It almost felt like a-

“I’m sorry,” the words danced against your skin, warm breath caressing where he had touched. You could feel the movement of his lips with the gentle statement, only confirming your hopes.

He was there, his lips had met your shoulder ever so lightly in the gentlest of kisses, and he was apologising?

Your silence hung heavy in the air, only making the heat all the more unbearable as tension steeped into it, but your mind was foggy and words were hard to grasp. How could he be sorry? It wasn’t his fault the cooling fans had ceased to work when you reentered space, no more was it his fault when the hyperdrive followed its path to destruction. He couldn’t have expected it any more than you could, and, in all honesty, if it lead you to this moment, to hear his voice unfiltered, to feel his lips caress your skin, it was more than worth it.

But that intoxicating warmth from his body behind yours, the heat that should have been uncomfortable was dissipating and suddenly a barrage of thoughts came crashing down in your mind. What if he wasn’t apologising about the heat, what if he wasn’t apologising for the torturously slow manner you were creeping towards Nevarro. What if he was apologising for ever so much as thinking of pressing his lips against your heated skin.

Your mouth hung open awkwardly, not able to grasp just what he was apologising for, and leaving too much silence as a lack of response. You could hear him now, gathering the now full canteen, readying to depart once more up the ladder and back to the solitary confinement and safety of the cockpit.

“Wait!” the word escaped you, sharp and far louder than you intended, startling the Mandalorian who was lost in his own thoughts.

The decision was made without conscious thought, in fact, you were as surprised as he to find yourself moving carefully towards him. Your eyes were still closed so tightly it was almost painful, and you could only hope you were going in the right direction as you gingerly took a step forwards.

His movements had stopped, and you took that as a sign that it was alright to continue as you quickly stepped forwards once, twice- your knee hit the corner of a crate. The pain was sharp, aggressive, and every instinct in you wanted to open your eyes, if only to glare at the offending item that had hindered your movement.

But a gentle hand was on your wrist, almost timid in the way he held you now, a silent reminder that he was there. It was enough to pull you from your thoughts, to keep your eyes closed tightly, despite the jeopardy it put you in around the sharp edged crates.

“Ulyc,” the word shouldn’t have sounded as beautiful as it did. It was ugly, coarse and harsh, but his tone was so warm and gentle, as if it had slipped out from him without a seconds thought as he began guiding you around the crate. “Careful,” this time the word was clear, for you, not him. It was subtle and soft, and somehow it matched that odd word perfectly, with just as much care and intent.

But you couldn’t put too much focus on what he had said, not when your senses were currently feeling so very overwhelmed. The heat had already done a number on you hours ago, but now there was so much more to distract you.

The sound of his voice, closer and clearer than it had ever been before almost brought a smile to your lips, and you desperately tried to etch the sound into your memory, to never let the softness of his tone leave you. But it wasn’t the sound of his voice that captured your attention this time, no, it was touch.

His touch.

His hand was still grasped around your wrist, allowing you to hold his wrist in return as he lead you around the sharp corner of the box, and you could feel him. Skin against skin, no gloves holding him back. You could feel the light callouses of his fingertips as they held you, sure but gentle, a guide without force. Warmth, subtler than that of the ship itself, radiating from his touch.

You almost stumbled again as his movements came to a stop before your own, and was that a laugh?

At any other time you might have pouted, crossing your arms before you in mock offence at his finding your stumbling so damned amusing. But his laughter was so rare a treat as it was, and now, without the shield of his helmet between you, without the raspy modulator shifting the tone, you could hear it, soft and sweet, akin to a hum, and you were smiling shyly before him.

“Are you alright?” the question was barely above a whisper, carefully controlled, but still lingering in the air with unwavering care. Oh, how that damned helmet stripped him of such emotion in his voice, how dare it deprive the world of such a gentle tone?

You nodded in reply, suddenly glad for the fact your cheeks were already heated from the overall temperature, and therefore could not give away the additional emotions you felt as his honeyed voice dripped over you.

With one hand still in his, and the other draped over your face in an attempt to cover both your eyes at once, you found yourself at something of a loss. Something would have to give, and while you desperately didn’t want to loss the feeling of his hand against yours, you knew that your other hand’s position was simply too important to adjust.

A slight frown on your features had his heart racing in fear, worried you were now coming to your senses, ready to give him the berating he deserved. His own lips mimicked yours unintentionally, slipping into a frown as his fears began to grow. But he refused to take his eyes off you, refused to lose the sight of you there before him, pure and free.

Your hand began to move against his wrist, and he was ready to drop it, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment already dwelling within him at the slight shift. But your hand did not fall from his, did not even leave his skin. Instead, it traced lightly against his arm, feather light, as light as his own touch had been, as you found your way to his shoulder.

The frown was lifting from both your features, a small smile playing on your lips, curiosity playing on his own as he watched in wonderment, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing. Broad shoulders, strong and stiff under your touch, the feel of his t-shirt gathering and falling under your touch, and then skin once more as you reached his neck.

You could feel his gulp against your hand, the same nerves that had his shoulders so tense now clenching his jaw as you took your time simply feeling him. If you had continued upwards, you might have felt the way his brow had furrowed in confusion and anticipation, might have felt the way his lips had opened in silent question.

But as your hand found his jaw, he found himself nestling into the touch without thought or intent. It felt natural, calming, and suddenly he could understand why it was the child was always craving your touch. If he had craved the feeling of your hand against his beforehand, it was nothing to how he felt now that he had experienced it. It was intoxicating, even in the stifling heat. Addictive and condemning all at once, and he couldn’t seem to control the way his cheek pressed into your hand, especially when he watched the smile on your lips only grow at the action.

You were leaning forwards, following the guidance of your hand, finding him in your temporary blindness through blissful touch, and it was magnificent.

Fears that he would push you away, that he would regret his actions too deeply for you to ever reassure him slowly crept away as he leant into your palm, as his hand that had held yours began to trace its way along your forearm, only to stop uncertainly at your shoulder. He didn’t push you away, didn’t pull you towards him either, he merely held on; letting you control whatever was happening here, and embracing it.

His breath was against your skin, warm and lilting, and before you knew it, it stopped altogether.

Closer than you had ever been before, you paused, careful not to knock into him with your arm still pulled over your eyes, giving him every chance to pull away.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” your words were rushed, but determined, leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order, a clear statement that you simply were not accepting such a thing from the man you had come to care so deeply for.

But even with the determination of your words, you still hesitated to move, worried that it was you who were overstepping now.

What if it had simply been an action of no thought? What if he hadn’t apologised for the thought of upsetting you, but rather for ever kissing your bared shoulder in the first place? It was so damn hot, it was hard for you to think straight, what if the same was so for him, and his actions were born not of desire, but a simple lack of thought?

His hand shifted from your shoulder, thumb running over it once in an almost soothing manner, light and careful as were each of his movements in the odd sweltering abyss you found yourselves in. He lifted his touch from you, and you couldn’t help but gulp back the fears the shift brought. But before you could begin to overanalyse, to fear you had overstepped, his hand was back, finding a spot against your waist that felt too perfect. It was warm, his hand only further adding to how your top stuck to the curve of your waist, but you never wanted it to leave. It felt natural there, comforting, reassuring, and simply right.

His thumb moved uncertainly against you, an attempt at reassurance from a man who simply didn’t know how to be reassuring. It was awkward and jilted, but it was genuine, and the attempt had you smiling shyly.

The arm that covered your eyes shifted, your hand moving to cover them instead, to allow more space, and before you had even finished the movement, he was there, taking up the space with those lightning fast reflexes you had come to adore.

His lips found yours fast, so fast that it pulled the breath from you in a rush. It wasn’t sweet and chaste, nor lusty and skilled. There was nothing perfect or refined about it at all, in fact. But his lips were on yours, pulling a searing and fervent kiss from you, eager and awkward, unpracticed and desperate.

You couldn’t help but smile against his lips as you shifted slightly, allowing yourself to find a more comfortable position against him all while kissing back just as eagerly.

It was nothing like you had dreamed, neither romantic nor suave, but it was flooded with raw emotion, with relief and care and an absolute thrill of excitement, and you found yourself losing yourself to the sensation as he relaxed against you.

It wasn’t until you were truly desperate for air that you pulled apart, a goofy grin on your lips that was reflected on his own, unbeknownst to you.

“No apologies,” he agreed with a soft grin of his own as he took in your features leisurely. His forehead came down to press against yours tenderly, his eyes refusing to leave your features for even a second as he seared the blissfully happy sight of you into his memory.

And somehow, even with the heat of his body against yours, with his forehead drenched in sweat that had trapped your hand between you, the heat simply wasn’t as unbearable as it had once seemed, in fact, it barely registered at all.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #My fic #mandoachallenge

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johnsamericano · 4 years

Text

“Corruption pt. 5” w.y.h

Pairing: college teacher!Lucas x student!reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, smut.

Summary: Lucas never thought of falling for a student, but from the first day you walked into de classroom you had him wrapped around your finger.

Warnings: none

a/n: This is the last chapter BUT I’m gonna write an epilogue. Hope you like it.

Taglist: @ncteaxhoe @junglewoos

corruption m.list.

“Dude, you need to get out of bed.” Chenle slightly pushed your body. “You’re starting to smell.”

“What’s the point, Chenle?” You whined against your pillow, still a little wet from your mental breakdown an hour ago.

“You still need to go to classes.” He tried pulling your arm, but you didn’t budge.

“I don’t want to see him.”

“You don’t even have classes with him, for god’s sake.” He sighed, desperate to get you out of bed.

“Just leave me alone.” Your phone started buzzing, announcing Lucas’ fifth call of the day. It was barely 9:00 a.m.

“Okay, I’m done with this little attitude of yours.” He grabbed the device and handed it to you. “You’re gonna answer the phone and solve your problems like the goddamn adult you are, or else I might call your parents and tell them you’ve been sleeping with our professor.” You sat straight, eyes wide open.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You groaned and snatched the phone from his hands, pressing the green button with shaky hands.

“Hello?” Your voice came out weaker than expected.

“Y/n? Thank god. Are you alright? You haven’t been answering any of my calls or messages so I was worried something might have happened.” You hummed. “Can we meet?”

“Okay.”

“I can pick you up and then we can go to my apartment-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask Chenle to drive me.”

“Alright. See you then.” A soft murmur stopped you from hanging up. “I love you.” You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, instead ending the call.

“You were such a brave girl.” Your friend cooed while wrapping his arms around you.

“Shut up.”

Chenle helped you pick an outfit to ‘show him what he lost’ and drove you all the way to his apartment complex.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” You released your body from the seatbelt.

“It’s okay, lele. Thank you for driving me.” He nodded before you went out.

You took a deep breath, rehearsing the things you wanted to say to Lucas. But as soon as you saw him, your mind went blank. He looked bad, maybe even worse than you.

“Y/n.” He wanted so bad to hug you, to beg you not to leave him. But that would be selfish.

“Lucas.” He let you in, there were two cups of tea right above the coffee table in his living room.

You sat at a safe distance from him.

“I am deeply sorry, y/n. I should’ve told you earlier what was going on, but I was a coward. I knew this would be over the moment you found out.”

“So what is going on Lucas?” Your voice was calm as you picked up the teacup and brought it to your lips. Those soft, sweet lips.

“There are some things you don’t know about me.” He licked his lips nervously. “For instance, my parents come from wealthy families, and I’m their only child, therefore I’m...”

“The heir.” You completed, feeling a knot forming in your stomach.

“Yes.” He feared so much that you’d see him with different eyes. “My parents wanted me to have someone to guide me and support me for when I take over the family company. The woman you saw last Friday was one of their friends’ daughter.”

He waited for a reply that never came. How could you even answer to that?

“Say something, please.” He finally scooted closer to you, taking your hand between his. His heart broke at the sight of your teary eyes. “Anything, I’m begging you.”

“I understand your decision.” He expected anything but that. “They’re your parents after all, you want to make them proud. I just wish you’d told me earlier, it would’ve been easier to end things between us.”

“I’ll leave them.”

“What?”

“Just ask me to stay with you and I’ll abandon everything.” By the look in his eyes, you knew he meant it. “Ask me to stay with you.” It sounded more like a plead.

“No.” It took all of your inner strength to get that single word out.

“Y/n, I-”

“Lucas, don’t ask me to decide on your life when I barely know what to do with my own.” Yes, your words were hurtful, but you weren’t wrong. “I don’t want to be the girl who made you drift away from your family.”

At some point, you both had started crying, knowing that there was no way you could fix your relationship.

“I’m so sorry, y/n.” He apologized for the millionth time. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t.” You held no grudge against him, after all, you would’ve probably done the same if you were in his situation. “Just promise me one thing. You’ll do what’s best for yourself, not for me or for your parents.” He nodded, eyes watering. “I should probably leave now.”

“Wait.” He held onto your wrist, his lost puppy eyes looking directly into your own. “If it isn’t too much to ask, can I have one last kiss?”

It was indeed to much to ask, but you didn’t care. You wanted to feel the warmth of his lips against yours one last time, so you went for it.

Straddling his lap, you grabbed the back of his head to pull him even closer. It was a kiss filled with passion and love, it was your own way of saying goodbye. It took a while for you to pull away.

“Thank you.” He murmured, hands caressing your hips. “I love you so much, y/n. I promise I’ll be back, okay?”

“I love you too, Lucas.” With that being said, you stood up. Avoiding to look back, you made your way out.

Chenle was still outside when you came down, leaning against his car with his arms wide open for you.

You didn’t hesitate to crash your body against his, crying your eyes out as he combed your hair with his fingers.

“I’m here for you. Always.”

(...)

3 years later...

“Where are you?”

“I’m picking up my luggage, see you at the parking lot?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, the tall, dark haired man walked out of the airport. A sports bag hanging from his left shoulder while the opposite hand dragged the suitcase.

“Kun!”

“Hey, man.” They greeted each other with a big hug. “I missed you.”

“Sorry, I wanted to visit earlier but work has been a bitch.” Specially when he didn’t even like what he was doing.

“Same here, it seems like the students get more unbearable with every semester.” He helped Lucas load his belongings into the truck. “So how’s Mrs. Wong been? Are you getting along well?”

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes while getting inside the car. “Last week, my mom asked us about our sex life. She was like ‘I expect to have grandkids by the end of next year’, the last time we kissed was in our wedding.”

“So you’re gonna be a dad?” He mocked, starting the engine.

“Not from her kids at least.” Kun knew exactly what that meant.

“Lucas, you should really get over her. You’re a married man.”

“Not for much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been seeing a lawyer, none of us is happy with our relationship and we’ve already wasted three years of our life in it. It’s time to end it.”

“And what do your parents think about this?”

“They don’t have a say in this matter. I’m and adult and it’s my future we’re talking about.”

“And why couldn’t you come to this conclusion three years ago? You would’ve saved me all the suffering from listening to you ranting about how much you missed y/n.” Lucas hit his arm playfully, a big smile on his face as the thought of you crossed his mind.

He unlocked his phone, your picture was still his wallpaper.

“Has she graduated yet?”

“She’s actually doing her master’s degree. She’s an exceptional student, a lot of important labs already have their eyes on her.”

“Of course they do, they’d be stupid if they didn’t.” His finger traced your figure, smiling proudly at the image.

“Oh look at you, you haven’t stopped loving her one bit.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, by the way, we need to stop by the campus. I have to pick up exams to check them at home.” Lucas’ eyes lit up at the possibility of meeting you.

“Do you think she’ll be there?”

“Probably, she’s usually devouring a book at the library or at the lab. Sometimes she stops by at my office for tutoring or my opinion on something.”

“You better not have tried something with her.”

“Actually...”

“What?”

“Just kidding, she’s my student, nothing more.”

“She better be.”

The campus was thankfully near the airport. Lucas almost fell as he exited the vehicle, eager to see you once again after all those years.

“Careful, give me a call when you’re done looking for her.”

“Sure.” He replied, already running away from the car towards the library.

He met a lot of his old students on the way, briefly greeting them before resuming his search. You weren’t there, so he decided to try at the labs.

You weren’t there either, but your ID and belongings were. You looked different in your picture, you looked so mature now, but your innocent aura was still intact.

“Are you looking for y/n?” One of the students asked as soon as he saw Lucas eyeing her ID. “She just left.”

“Oh, thank you.” He replied, still not taking his eyes off your mesmerizing face.

His phone vibrated.

‘She’s in my office.’ His heart sped up and his legs automatically started moving.

On his way to Kun’s office he tried to think of ways to greet you. Would a simple ‘hello’ be okay? Or would it be appropriate to tell you how much he missed you?

His mind was so busy he didn’t realized he was already in front of the office. He took a deep breath before opening the door. Your back was facing him while you passionately explained Kun the results of your experiment, not even realizing who just made an appearance.

“Y/n.” Lucas called from the door frame, causing you to interrupt your explanation.

“Yes?” You finally turned around. “Lucas?”

Your hair was tied up in a messy hair bun, a pair of safety glasses covering your eyes and a stained lab coat around your body. You looked like a mad scientist, a cute mad scientist.

“Hi.” Was the only thing he could pronounce. ‘How pathetic’ he thought.

“Long time no see.” You smiled so warmly, as if he hadn’t abandoned you to marry another woman. “Have you been well?”

“Y-yes, I mean, as well as I can be.” Your eyes wandered to his hand, taking notice of the golden ring around his finger.

“I’m glad.” You dedicated him another smile before turning back to face your professor. “I’ll send you the draft of my report as soon as I finish it. Excuse me.” You grabbed your laptop from the desk and went out, murmuring a small ‘bye’ to Lucas on your way out. The scent of your perfume striking him with a wave of nostalgia.

“Well, I don’t know what I was expecting but this was definitely not it.”

“I don’t know why I thought we would both burst into tears and say how much we missed each other.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

“She’s probably going back to the lab, in case you want to talk to her again.” He nodded. “I’ll wait for you so we can head to my house.”

“Alright, I’ll try to be quick.” He went out again, this time at a slower pace.

He went back to the labs, your voice receiving him as soon as he crossed the entrance. Most of the students had already left, it was already getting dark.

“Zhong Chenle, get out of here, you’re distracting me.”

“But, y/n, I’m hungry and I don’t want to go alone to the cafeteria.”

“Not my problem.” You were focused on writing your report, the safety glasses still on your face.

“Uhm, are you busy?” Lucas knocked on the door, catching yours and Chenle’s attention.

“You’re back.” His eyes were wide open. “You know what? I’ll go get our food, see you.”

“Coward.” You muttered. “Come in, Lucas.” Even though there was no hint of anger in your voice, the fact that you were calling him Lucas and not Xuxi meant something bad.

“What are you working on, huh?” He says on the stool beside yours, taking a look at your screen.

“Just trying to find a cure for AIDS, nothing special.” You typed a few more words before saving the file. “What did you want to talk about Mr. Wong?”

“I think you know what.”

“I think so.” You removed the glasses, red marks over the area where they used to be.

“Cute.” He though out loud, causing you to touch your face, the color of your cheeks becoming pinker with every second. It was amazing how much of an effect his words still had on you.

“S-sorry, I wore these for more than five hours.”

“Don’t worry, I know what it’s like.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “Three years huh?”

“Yeah, seems like it was yesterday when we...” You chose not to finish the sentence, knowing that it would probably make you cry.

“I missed you.” His hand reached out for yours, the golden band around his finger burning your skin. “There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t thought about you. You managed to take over my mind in a way that no one else could ever do.”

“We can’t do this.” With your free hand, you gently removed his hand from yours. “You’re married.”

“I’m getting divorced soon.” Your heart thumped so loudly against your chest that you were afraid he’d hear it. “We just need to fix some things and this whole thing will be over.”

You pulled out your notebook from your bag, tearing a piece of paper to write in it. You handed it to him with a genuine smile.

“Here’s my new number. Give me a call when you finish fixing those things, I’ve already waited for three years, so what’s a few more months?”

#nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv smut

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