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confused-stars · 3 years

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Kurogiri’s Nanny Service - Part Three: Monoma

(part one) (part two)

It's a comfortable rainy afternoon, and three kids are huddled over a pile of wallets, watches and jewelry on the floorboards of Kurogiri's bar.

Keigo's small wings are puffed up in pride as Himiko admires a bracelet, rhinestones shining in the dim light when she turns it this way and that.

Tomura seems more invested in the wallets, going over the business cards and such with interest, and piling off the money and credit cards separately from the rest of the treasures.

He pauses to stuff a bill into his pocket, and Takami, who is sprawled out in a nearby booth, pries one eye open. "If you wanna have sticky fingers, you gotta be more subtle about it, brat."

How he noticed is beyond Kurogiri entirely. But it's been a point of contention how terrible Tomura really is at stealing. Or any kind of subtlety. He was never trained for that, with his sensei always telling him to just take what he wants by force, but he gets frustrated that Takami seems to catch him every time.

Keigo pouts, even as Tomura puts the money back. "C'mon, To, that's my hard earned haul! You don't even need money."

Tomura rolls his eyes. "Neither do you, beakface. Kurogiri would take care of your stuff, too, if you asked him."

Keigo's hand flies up to his nose and he makes an affronted noise.

"Not how that works, baby bunny," Takami interjects, "Villains don't wanna owe debts. Even to their friends." He gives Kurogiri a glance. " 'specially to their friends."

Kurogiri meets his gaze evenly. "Does that mean I can expect you to pay your tab today?"

Takami throws his head back and laughs as if that was the funniest joke he ever heard.

The children giggle, too.

Traitors, all of them. How is he ever going to make honest villains out of them like this?

Kurogiri decides not to complain about it, because he's the adult here and he'll act like one.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He knows better than to ignore it, so he glances at the text he's received. It's just coordinates. That's nothing unusual. In fact, it's more common than getting sent actual words as instructions.

"I have to go," he says, already creating a portal in the air.

The children don't even react beyond small noises of acknowledgement. They're already more than used to this, too.

It's only Takami's eyes that bore into the side of Kurogiri's head as he steps through the portal, sharp and predatory. He's been asking questions about the man in charge of Kurogiri and Tomura recently. He's suspicious.

Kurogiri is not allowed to tell him more than necessary, but he understands the concern. Takami is bringing his child here, after all.

And the concern might not be unfounded - Keigo is passionate and clever, already skilled at pickpocketing, and his quirk is incredibly useful and versatile. If he weren't considered a possible future asset, Kurogiri doubts that All for One would be allowing this to continue. He's always been strictly against Tomura socializing with other children his age, or anyone at all. And now he's allowing both Keigo and Himiko. Not to mention the fully grown, dangerous villain. Tomura has never been happier, never been more stable. There has to be some kind of plan at work here that Kurogiri can't see yet. Some kind of additional angle.

The portal vanishes behind Kurogiri; that strange tension of using his quirk, of stretching it out like a well-trained muscle, dissipating at once.

He's standing in a nondescript room that he's been to many times to pick up objects to transport, or have a meeting with All for One outside of his main base of operations. Sometimes they keep prisoners in here.

This time, though, it's empty save for All for One and a small child.

Kurogiri immediately feels part of him soften, even as his guard goes up.

The boy looks to be maybe Himiko's age, six or seven, with neatly combed, blond hair and startlingly grey eyes that look awfully familiar.

"Introduce yourself," All for One says in that gentle tone he usually reserves for Tomura alone.

The child bows politely. "Hello. I'm Monoma Neito, it's nice to meet you." His words and tone are carefully formal, but there's a slight clumsiness in the way he speaks. It's, frankly, adorable. And nothing Kurogiri is used to. None of his children have manners.

"I am called Kurogiri," he replies, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well."

"Are you made of that stuff?" Neito asks pretty much immediately once the very basic niceties are done with. He waves his arms at Kurogiri's form to indicate what he means.

It's a good thing Kurogiri is used to Himiko. And the other children's bluntness, too, to some degree.

"... for the most part," he replies, and then gives All for One a questioning look.

"Neito is my grandson," his master explains, and Kurogiri can't find it in him to be shocked. They do look similar enough. "His parents are out of town on most weekends," All for One continues, "So I offered your services."

Kurogiri wants to sigh. He's not actually a nanny. Is he? If even All for One is treating him like one, he might as well put up a sign. (Tomura hardly counts, Tomura is his boy.)

"Of course." He bows his head. Neito seems well-behaved anyway, it shouldn't be much trouble.

___

Fifteen minutes later, there's a small boy hanging off of Takami's wing by his teeth, and Kurogiri has very little recollection of how they got here.

"I hate your job," Takami laments, shaking his wing with very little gentleness in an attempt to make Neito let go.

Kurogiri reaches out to hold his wing in place, and Takami freezes.

"I... apologize. I was under the impression he was a little better behaved than this." He gently nudges Takami to sit down, his wing spread out, and Neito ends up finally letting go once his only other option is to end up sprawled on the floor.

"You can't just bite people!" Himiko chides, "Even if it'll feel nice, it won't be nice for them."

Neito breathes, then shakes himself. "Your quirk is weird!" he complains.

Kurogiri nods in sudden understanding. All for One told him about this, before he left them to their own devices.

"Neito, you should not copy someone's quirk without knowing what effects it will have on you. Or at the very least you should test it in a safe environment."

Neito crosses his arms. "This is safe."

Kurogiri sighs. "Yes, it is, but you still didn't give a warning. The adults that are taking care of you need to know when you're experimenting, so we can keep you from getting hurt," he explains.

"Or ourselves," Takami grumbles.

Neito huffs. "Fine." He doesn't apologize. Kurogiri doesn't make him. He somehow doubts All for One would approve of that - he never apologizes for anything, after all.

The wing Kurogiri is still holding onto pushes against his hand.

Kurogiri glances at Takami, curious, but the thief is very pointedly avoiding his gaze.

He always tells Keigo he's 'too trusting' when he lets the other kids touch his wings, and Kurogiri has never dared to. Much less touch Takami's. It just happened on instinct this time.

The wing pushes against Kurogiri's hand again. The upper edge of it feels strong and warmer than Kurogiri expected. The feathers here aren't particularly soft when Kurogiri runs his hand along them. Not as soft as he imagines the down feathers to be, anyway.

Not that he's going to try to find out. That would be wholly inappropriate.

"You're cold as fuck," Takami complains, but he's not at all pulling away, and Kurogiri continues, trailing his hand down lower to the longer secondaries that make up most of the actual wing.

"My apologies. It's my quirk." Must be. His quirk is highly complicated and has more layers to it than he can count. Sometimes he gets strangely upset that he's not able to give Tomura warm hugs. Not that Tomura enjoys physical contact much, anyway, but Kurogiri feels like he should be able to give him some warmth, and his body under the ever-wavering vapor is cold as a corpse's.

"Your quirk sounds like a pain in the ass," Takami murmurs, "But at least it looks cool."

Kurogiri chuckles. "I'm flattered you think so."

"You got a real face under there somewhere?" Takami cranes his head back to eye Kurogiri skeptically. "Your hands feel solid enough."

Kurogiri gives a half-shrug in answer. "There's... something underneath. But I don't know what it looks like. The mist never fades."

"Mysterious... hey, can you pull out that crooked feather over there? 's itchy as all hell."

The preening thing is another family activity that Kurogiri has avoided so much as commenting on in the past. Now, he carefully tugs at the feather that's standing out from the rest of them, until it comes loose and Takami sighs in relief.

"Yeah, fuck, that's better."

"You said fuck," says Neito, behind them, and Kurogiri nearly jumps. He hadn't thought the children were paying any attention to them right now.

"Twenty minutes to corrupt a child, you're beating your own records," he says dryly to Takami, who cackles and reaches out out ruffle Neito's hair, but the boy steps back and frowns at him.

Neito is very well-kept, and Takami is kind of... well, grimy. And scary-looking. Kurogiri doesn't blame him.

"Aye, and I'll say worse words, so you better get used to it, li'l chompers."

Neito's nose crinkles when his frown deepens.

"Don't tease the child," Kurogiri scolds, feeling not for the first time like he shouldn't have to take responsibility for Takami, the thirty year old adult.

Then again, he somehow doubts that anyone taught Takami manners during his own childhood.

"Hey, why can't I be chompers?" Himiko complains, tugging at Takami's other wing like there's nothing to it. Her hands are probably sticky with something, as usual, but Takami doesn't move away.

Maybe he's not that terrible with children.

"Ah, 'cause you wanna be. It's no fun when you like the nickname," Takami explains, picking her up and plopping her down into his lap.

"I actually really like mine!" Tomura says from atop the bar.

Takami snorts. "Once we teach you decent thievin', next point of order is makin' you not be a shit liar."

Tomura huffs, crossing his arms. "I don't need to know how to lie. Sensei never lies."

That gives Takami pause. His eyes meet Kurogiri's, and he pulls his wing away, folding both neatly against his back.

"Yeah, I'm sure he doesn't."

#nanny service au #j writes #hawks tag #progress is being made #this is so slice of life that i have plot points planned that will be exclusively happening off screen #the ss kurokami is such a small ship that it's basically a rowboat but that still technically makes me a captain

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tenthgrove · 3 years

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hi! could i request some platonic la squadra with a team member who's autistic and mainly stims by repeating short phrases (echolalia but idk how to phrase it) and has/had a hard time unmasking around them? feel free to take as many liberties as you need to, your writing is so fun to read! <33

La Squadra Says Autism Rights

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Platonic, SFW

(A/N: I just wanted to say a particular thank you to this requester because I've been itching to write autistic reader headcanons for months and this finally gave me the right prompt to do it. I definitely want to write more in the future.)

Formaggio- He might be neurotypical, but autism runs in his family (and his social circle as an adult) so he's learned a fair bit how best to interact with you people. He knows his loudness and teasing can be an issue for autistic people with sensory issues or trouble with sarcasm, so he'll drop it around you if that's the case. As far as he's concerned your vocal stim is a non-issue because 'some people just do that, it doesn't hurt anyone' and he doesn't comment on it unless you're using it to show happiness, in which case he always acts chuffed. He behaves sympathetically to your troubles with masking, and makes a point of acting laid-back so it's easy for you to turn down the pressure on yourself. To Formaggio, not being able to be yourself would be one of the worst fates imaginable, so he wants to do what he can to make it easier for you to let loose.

Illuso- You might expect Illuso's understanding to be low, but at this point with so much of the team being neurodivergent themselves Illuso doesn't bat an eyelid. Repeating short phrases is certainly a new one, but nothing he can't put up with. Sometimes, he might ask you what your murmurings mean, but he doesn't mean it in a judgy way. Now, as for your masking, you would be surprised how much he can relate. Illuso's self esteem is secretly down the gutter, and he often feels like the confident persona he puts on is secretly an act. When you tell him you feel like you're putting a show every day of your life, he feels you. The two of you have a lot of heartfelt conversations when you're alone, confessing how you really feel about yourselves away from the act you're performing. It's not something Illuso does often, be this honest even with a friend. But he can't help but find that it's... therapeutic.

Prosciutto- Like with anything a friend of his may be insecure about, Prosciutto very much looks at autism through the lens of identifying positives. This by no means says that he ignores your difficulties or tries to creative positives that aren't there, only that he takes note of your strengths no matter how much you try to deny them and makes sure you remember you have them. He doesn't try to 'fix' your echolalia because he knows it's better to work with an autistic person's traits than erase them, but he does teach you mental diversion techniques to help you tone the stim down when you need to (e.g. when you're trying to be stealthy). Regarding your masking, he can somewhat admire it as a useful skill to have- it's possible you could turn it into the skills of an excellent actor while under cover, but he also appreciates the impact this must be having on your self-esteem to have to hide yourself 24/7, so he wants to help you learn to cut it down. This, of course, is done through plenty of praise and reminding of your strengths. You are a wonderful addition to the team, even without your mask, and he won't let you think any less.

Pesci- When Pesci gets stressed it affects him a lot too. Sometimes he does things like fiddle with random items in his hands until they break or bounce his leg so hard the table shakes, which always get him strange looks. He appreciates the rationale of your stimming and would never judge you for it. If you're in a situation where you absolutely need to stop stimming, for instance if a team is visiting who isn't on good terms with La Squadra, he is a good bet for subtly and respectfully helping you be aware of when you're starting to do it so you can quickly stop. Just a gentle nudge to your arm when you start to whisper is all it takes. He also has a lot of empathy for the fact you has to mask, since he imagines it to be like a more extreme version of how he had to invent this whole 'tough guy' personality after he got involved in the gang. He found that really hard too, so he can imagine what it must be life to do that sort of thing your whole life. At least with him, you feel less of a pressure to put on an act.

Melone- There's a certain intellectual curiosity in Melone towards the various neurodivergent conditions, compounded by a strong personal empathy now he has so many friends who have them. He is saddened by the failure of the common consensus to understand such individuals, and wants to do what he can to help them appreciate their full, unique potentials. Melone is quick to recognise your behaviour as stimming, and hence understands that the stress of being called out on it would only make it worse. He is sympathetic to your plight with masking, and has a few ideas you could try if you want to start reducing it in safe circumstances. He has heard that one barrier to unmasking can be trouble identifying the 'true self' you have to go back to, so to remedy this he asks non-critical questions that help you explore your real, unmasked personality and be comfortable in it. Whenever you go off-script and talk to him as your true-self, he praises you for it and assures you that you are just as wonderful a person to him like this.

Ghiaccio- We arrive at the first member on the list who (in my headcanon) is autistic himself. Although the mangling of verbal speech is typically annoying to him, Ghiaccio would never become angry at someone who did it because of their neurodivergence. After all, if he didn't respect the effects of your autism, what reason do you have to return the favour? Ghiaccio makes a point of not hurrying you along when you start to repeat yourself as a stimming technique, and it goes a long way with helping you be calm around him. The masking however, is a different matter. He's not going to be angry at you per say, since he knows from experience the pressure you must be facing to put on an act this way, but he very much prefers it when people are their authentic selves around him. After all, he has enough issues knowing their true intentions as it is. He won't get angry, but he will gently encourage you to open up about him, even if it's something as little as stating what you really want point-blank when you're nervous too. He is very understanding about how hard this is, however.

Risotto- Another autistic individual himself, Risotto is also perfectly empathetic to your behaviour. As an adult, he doesn't really stim, rather just faze out entirely, but at the end of the day that still gets him a lot of strange looks so he can appreciate the range of feelings you may have about your own stim. What's really great about Risotto is that he learns pretty quickly how to differentiate between your happy-stims and your stress-stims, to an extent nobody else on the team is able to. He always seems very content to see you happy-stim, warmed by the knowledge that you are feeling good right now. As for your stress-stims, he is quick to help you escape from the situation if at all possible, and hold your hand comfortingly if not. And the whole masking thing? He understands painfully well. Risotto's masking game on-point, but it irks him greatly to keep it up, not to mention that he hates the paralysing anxiety that hits him whenever he tries to unmask. Even when he wants to, he can't always be himself in front of the team. He may not have a solution for you, but he at least has his full empathy.

Sorbet and Gelato- While Sorbet is, as far as he's aware, neurotypical, Gelato is very much autistic as well. He's also got ADHD to boot, so he's well versed in the neurodivergent experience. His stim is quite similar to yours, in that he makes quiet, high-pitched, almost chirp-like noises, so he sees your echolalia as something he has in common with you. Gelato doesn't really bother with masking any more, the only exception being people who could quite literally kill him if he offended them. Though he encourages you to let go and be yourself, consequences be damned, he of course completely understands the pressure to keep masking. Sorbet, despite being neurotypical, is at this point more surrounded by autistics than not. He's been married to Gelato for the best part of the decade, his closest friend is Risotto, and he's practically Ghiaccio's dad at this point. Adding one more neurodivergent to the mix is hardly a big step, and he is very well-versed in your behaviours and how to interact with them.

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #formaggio #formaggio x reader #illuso #illuso x reader #prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #pesci #pesci x reader #melone #melone x reader #ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #sorbet and gelato #sorbet and gelato x reader

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 5: Dana's Work Friend

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Friday, April 3rd, 1998. Scully comes into the office in a flurry of coat and red hair. She doesn’t greet him, just drops her briefcase on the desk and sinks into her seat across from him.

“Mulder, I have a favor to ask of you, and you’re probably going to hate it, so just bear in mind that I have exhausted all my other options,” she says, somewhat breathless.

“You’re really selling it,” he deadpans. “What is it?” he asks, settling into his chair and leaning his elbows on the desk.

“You remember Mark,” she prompts, and he nods. Ugh. If only he could forget.

“Well, it turns out that Mark is extremely - almost agonizingly - social, despite having a demanding job and a young child to raise.”

“Sounds awful,” Mulder comments.

“Hence my current predicament. He’s invited me and my friends out for drinks tonight, so his friends can meet me and I can meet his and he can meet mine… “ she rambles before refocusing herself. “He’s not aware that I’ve lost contact with most of my friends. You’re kind of the only one left.”

Mulder had suspected as much, but confirmation of her increasing social isolation is like a punch in the throat. “Are you sure there’s no one else?” he asks softly, not wanting to rub salt into any wounds.

She shakes her head, lips pressed together. “Unless the Lone Gunmen count as my friends,” she replies. “Which in this case is somehow worse than having none at all,” she muses, some humor in her voice.

“Good point,” he chuckles. “Sure, count me in.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, and he melts all over again. He’d do anything for her. Even if it means meeting Mark. Ugh.

“It’s worth mentioning,” Mulder says after a moment, “If you don’t want to go, you can always just not go.”

“Shockingly, I have thought of that,” she says dryly, opening her briefcase and pulling out a folder. “But I think it would be good for me to meet people and hold conversations that aren’t related to criminal or paranormal activity. Might be good for you, too,” she adds, glancing up at him.

He pulls a stack of files out of his inbox on the desk. “I’ll stick to ‘ghosties and ghoulies and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night’,” he says.

“‘Good Lord, deliver us',” Scully replies, finishing the old prayer.

Mulder looks up at her and finds her smiling at him, and his whole body flushes with heat and adoration.

“Let’s elope,” he says, and she rolls her eyes fondly before burying her nose in her work.

I’m not kidding, he yells inside the prison of his own thick skull.

After work he and Scully drive straight to the bar together, a yuppie place in Foggy Bottom near George Washington University Hospital.

“Have you ever been through their ER?” Scully asks, scanning the street for parking. “I imagine you’ve been through enough hospitals to warrant a map on the wall with little pins stuck in it.”

“I can’t possibly remember them all at this point,” he says absently, tugging at his seatbelt uncomfortably. Why is he nervous? He’s just here to show Scully’s man friend that she’s not entirely a basement-dwelling hermit.

And Mulder’s the best she could do? God, maybe she really does need to get out more.

She parks, and he feeds the meter while she touches up her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She looks sweet and and rosy, flushed with nerves and traffic, and he could so easily scoop her up and kiss her-

“Alright,” she says, climbing out of the car and closing the driver’s side door a little harder than necessary. She smooths her hair down. “I’m ready for battle.”

“I’m prepared to fall on my sword,” he assures her, guiding her onto the sidewalk with a hand on her lower back before realizing he probably shouldn’t touch her so familiarly when her… friend might see.

“It’ll be fine,” she says over her shoulder as she grasps the bar door’s handle. “Just behave,” she hisses, and they enter.

The onslaught is immediate.

“Dana!” a voice calls out through the bustling bar, and Mulder sees a man waving them over. He’s got neatly styled dishwater blond hair, broad shoulders, and dimples at the corners of his mouth as he smiles at them. Not bad, Mulder thinks, unsure of how to feel about this new information.

He barely has time to process it before they’re enveloped in a tight swarm of strangers. The blond man, presumably Mark, loops an arm around Scully’s shoulders and gives her a side-hug.

“So glad you could make it, Dana,” he says, and proceeds to go around the circle of people and rattle off names Mulder has no reason to remember. Instead, he watches Scully, the way she greets each person as they’re introduced. She’s cool and calm, smiling politely, shaking hands and saying ‘nice to meet you’ to each of the five - no, six - people in the group.

“I’ll grab you two some drinks,” Mark says, glancing at Mulder. “What’s your poison?”

“Shiner,” Mulder says.

“Same for me,” Scully says. “I’m going to freshen up-”

“Sure,” Mark says, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Two Shiner Bocks coming up.”

That’s how Mulder and this exuberant, Golden Retriever of a man end up sitting at the bar together, nursing sweaty beers and waiting for Scully to return from the bathroom.

“So you’re a work friend of Dana’s?” Mark asks over the noise of the bar.

Mulder was about to set his drink down, but he reconsiders and takes another swig. “In a manner of speaking,” he replies.

Dr. Mark Whatever-the-fuck seems confused. “I don’t follow,” he says.

“I’m her partner,” Mulder says flatly. Since 1993. I’ve seen her naked, cradled her injured body my arms, saved her goddamn life. Have you?

“Oh!” Mark says, clearly making mental connections. “Oh. Sorry, I just- it’s nice to meet you… Fox?”

“Just Mulder’s fine,” he corrects him.

Mark laughs. “Sorry for the confusion on my end; I think Dana only said your name once and I went and assumed Fox Mulder was a woman. And you know what they say about assuming,” he adds with a nudge.

Once. Only once? Maybe that shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. Whenever he meets someone new in Scully’s life they always throw out the usual ‘I’ve heard a lot about you’ line, so he knows she talks about him to others. But not to this guy. Why not to this guy?

Mercifully, Scully returns from the restroom. Mark hands her her beer. “Thanks,” she says softly, giving him a small smile with her lips closed tightly, which strikes Mulder as odd. He knows she’s somewhat self-conscious about smiling with her teeth, but something he sees in her face doesn’t feel quite right.

Of course it doesn’t feel right to you, he thinks. She’s smiling at some other guy.

They’re swept along in a current of conversation, scrambled introductions, and drink orders. He’s introduced to a handful of people he’ll selectively erase from his eidetic memory, standing across from Scully in their little circle instead of by her side. He doesn’t like it. Another man has his hand on her back, although respectfully keeping it between her shoulder blades. Any lower and Mulder would have to excuse himself to have a panic attack in the alley behind the bar. Or throw up.

He’s glad Mark’s friends aren’t particularly interested in making conversation with him; he’s tired and ready to go home. Luckily, the Doctor himself calls the night early, at half-past eight.

“I promised the little one I’d be home to tuck her in,” he explains, and Mulder’s stomach turns from the purity and sweetness of it. “She gets to stay up a little later on Fridays.” He gives Scully another half of a hug and says his goodbyes.

The group disperses pretty quickly after Mark leaves, and Mulder and Scully are left alone outside the bar.

“So, you met Mark,” Scully says simply.

“I did, yeah.” He can sense that she wants him to say something more. “He seems... nice,” Mulder adds.

Scully nods. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

Mulder’s beginning to think ‘nice’ is the only word anyone’s capable of using to describe this guy.

“I’ll bet Bill’s gonna love him,” he comments, hoping he doesn’t sound as bitter as he feels.

Scully shakes her head, smiling. “I knew there had to be a flaw in him somewhere,” she jokes.

Mulder surprises himself with a huffed laugh. This moment with her is strangely precious, despite the circumstances. He doesn’t know how many moments like this he has left, if he’s being honest.

“I’m happy for you,” he says tenderly, and maybe if he says it enough it’ll be true. She deserves this, he reminds himself. It’s become almost a mantra, a lead weight that keeps him from drifting away.

“Are you?” she asks, catching him off guard. “I caught you staring holes into him more than once.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder says defensively. “This is just my face.”

She gives him a look that clearly says ‘I call bullshit’, and he folds. “He didn’t know who I was,” he says, and it sounds monumentally stupid out loud. “He though Fox Mulder was a woman.”

“I-I don’t know why he would have thought that,” Scully says, pensive. “I never implied-”

“Fox is an unusual name,” Mulder interrupts. “It’s an honest mistake if you just hear it without any context.”

Scully looks down at her feet. “I’m sorry about that,” she says softly. “About all of this. I owe you one.”

Mulder reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, and it seems to have a grounding effect on both of them. “I’ll put it on your tab,” he says.

“Do you want me to drive you back to work?” she asks. They’d left his car in the garage at the Hoover building.

Mulder shakes his head. “You’re almost home,” he says. “I’ll get a cab.”

He ends up walking instead.

The night air cleanses his senses as he makes the half-hour trek back to the Bureau. Their time in the bar had felt sluggish and hazy, despite the fact that he only had a beer and a half. He spend the entire evening focused on Scully, the only sharp image amidst the blur of patrons.

Mark hadn’t kissed Scully goodbye, and Mulder’s relief at not having to witness it was overshadowed by a morbid curiosity. She and Mark had been dating for three weeks; he’s not sure how often they’ve actually gone out, due to the doctor’s shift schedule, but he assumes they’ve seen each other a few times at mass in addition to whatever outings they’ve gone on in the evenings. That was ample time to get to know each other physically on some level, wasn’t it? A peck on the cheek at least.

Mulder’s biased; he’s touch-starved and in love with her. He spends most of his nights on his couch in the dark, touching himself and thinking about Scully. Kissing her, taking her clothes off, tasting her; his mental catalogue of scenarios is robust and well-used. If given half the chance to love her…

Maybe that’s it, he thinks somberly, stepping over sidewalk cracks. Maybe chances are taken, not given.

That’s not how he wants to love her. He wants her to choose him all on her own, and yet he never let her know he was a choice. And now there’s Mark.

But Mark doesn’t kiss her.

#my fic #msr #txf fic #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #FMCR #in which mark and Mulder meet #oof #the pain

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

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You know how we have pet costumes? Give Jacob one, make him a cute space cowboy😈😈😈

WE'RE BACK BABY

Please enjoy this little ficlet (that was actually my 3rd attempt to write a fluffy ficlet for this universe because all the other ones kept becoming future chapters lmao)

“This is humiliating. I look like sheriff Woody or something.”

“Aw, I was thinking more like John Wayne Gacy, you know?”

“The...the clown serial killer…?”

Angie pursed her lips. “Wait, who was the cowboy guy in all the old movies? Like, before Clint Eastwood and whatever.”

“That’s John Wayne. Not John Wayne Gacy,” Jacob tugged at the sleeves of his costume and readjusted his cowhide vest. “And I don’t feel anywhere near as cool as him right now.”

She rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose. “That’s because you’re not cool. You’re a grown man playing dress up with a kindergartener.”

“So are you.”

Angie straightened her Native American headpiece and threw one of her braided pigtails behind her. “Yeah, but I know it’s stupid, so therefore I’m doing it ironically which makes me cool.”

Jacob sighed heavily but didn’t argue further, instead tugging his cowboy hat down further to shield his face that burned with embarrassment. Being forced into having playdates with his captor’s coworker was nothing new. He had spent plenty of time being Mibao’s sole playmate aboard the ship, doing the best he could to keep the six year girl entertained and not too psychologically damaged. Being the youngest in a sibling group of only boys, he was a bit rusty when it came to knowing anything about kids. Thankfully, Mibao was more than happy to take him by the hand and show up all the “fun” things she used to either do back home or what she would now do with her “kitty”.

Today’s game of choice was dress up. Every day felt like dress up when it came to the girl’s ever expanding wardrobe; she was always dressed in an obnoxiously puffy and sparkling princess dress fashioned with ribbons and bows galore and always with a matching crown. Fine, no big deal, he could slap a tiara on his head and call it a day, he’d worn worse at the few fraternity parties he attended during college. Nope, not good enough. Mibao had a very specific game she wanted to play which involved him wearing a cowboy costume of all things. A very realistic and detailed cowboy costume, assless chaps and spurs and all. Again, he could...handle it for the most part. The only thing that really bothered him about it was all the coos and giggles he received from both his and Mibao’s captors when he finally came out in his new outfit.

And he knew for a fact they took many, many pictures of him.

It didn’t end there, Mibao still had more requests. Angie needed to join in as well and she was required to be an “indian princess” to partake. Naturally, she was more than happy to agree if it meant getting a break from the absolute nightmare of a captor she had been saddled with. So, now Jacob had to deal with the fact that she would have to watch him play pretend in this ridiculous getup. He could never catch a break with her, it seemed, she always had to catch him when he was in the middle of doing something cringe worthy. She didn’t even look half as uncomfortable as him and she was literally wearing half as much clothing.

Or maybe that was exactly why she was so comfortable as she sauntered up to him, making a finger pistol to tip his hat away from his face. “Cheer up, partner,” she teased. “I think it makes you look cute.”

“I think it makes me look like Owen Wilson from the museum movie,” Jacob replied, hoping the shadow of the brim hid his reddening cheeks.

“Oh my God, you are a tiny little twink cowboy, huh?”

“I’d rather be the gladiator guy.”

“You wish you could pull off being the gladiator guy.”

A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue when Mibao made her appearance from behind the monitor where she had been changing. This time instead of her usual princess attire, she was dressed...pretty much the same, only this time she had a tiny pair or iridescent fairy wings attached to the back. What a fairy had to do with cowboys and indians, he hadn’t the faintest idea. She stopped when she saw the two of them and stuck out her tongue in childish disgust.

“Eww, stop kissing!” She scolded. “You can kiss the princess later, Jake, it’s time to play!”

Jacob had never been more grateful in his life that the creatures idly watching them couldn’t understand English because he just might have died if they heard. He could feel the heat radiating from his nape to his cheeks, putting his hands up in defense like it could keep Angie away from him.

“Wh-no! We weren’t, we weren’t kissing, Reagan, w-we-!”

Angie only cackled, her amusement stemming more from Jacob’s panicked response than the actual accusation of giving him a kiss. “Yeah, cowboy, you can kiss me later.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow as she walked past to where Mibao was waiting.

He groaned, tugging the hat down as far as it would go even if that meant obscuring his vision somewhat. That was totally fine, he didn’t want to look at anyone right now and he did not want to be perceived either. The child was leading them back over to her designated play area scattered with art supplies and stuffed toys for where they’ll play their game of make believe. Angie was already sitting on her knees by the time he shuffled over and beckoned him with a sly smile to come take a seat on the ground next to her. Jacob obliged, but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his beet red face.

As soon as they were settled, Mibao immediately launched into the exposition of the scene they would be putting on, including their roles and superpowers (that only she had because she was a magical fairy queen). Jacob was only half listening; the kid usually forgot half of her own rules in the middle of playing anyways because she wanted to change the story and it wasn’t that hard to follow her game of make believe. Instead, he kept side-eying Angie, who was side-eying him back, and every time they made eye contact she would smile and bump his shoulder with hers.

This was going to be a long playdate.

The lab door slid open as Talan walked in, peeling off his bloodied gloves to dispose of them in Ylva’s waste bin. “I need my human back.”

“Aw, why? They’re all having a ball together!” Ylva frowned, gesturing to the miniature trio on her desk. Well, the smallest one and Talan’s pet seemed like they were having a good time, namely at the expense of the other human in a hat. They all seemed to stop at the interruption, his human fixing him with a sneer that he was tempted to match.

“What the fuck is it wearing?” He asked, ignoring all the little protests he got when he grabbed it and plucked the stupid looking feather thing of its head. “I thought you said it’s not nice to torment the humans.”

Edix scoffed at him, though his annoyance was more from Talan being in his general vicinity than anything. “It’s not torment. They were having fun.”

Talan did not look convinced in the slightest, his eyes sweeping over the pup who was pouting at him for taking away its playmate and the other who froze any time he breathed in its direction. Like owner, like pet, he assumed as it seemed to unconsciously inch closer to where Edix’s hand was resting for a better sense of security. Pathetic. At least his pet had a bit more self respect and wasn’t afraid to try and stab him in the hand with his own tools. Of course, it got a sharp flick to the stomach to knock it off, but he could appreciate the gumption.

Talan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, looks like a real party. So sad to have missed it.”

“Like you’ve ever been to a party to know what it looks like.”

“Says the one that only hangs out with plants.”

“Okay,” Ylva interjected, rising from her chair and scooping up her adorable little human. “You’re right, we should probably wrap this up, Mibao’s going to need a nap soon and she likes to fight her naps when she’s excited.”

That was all the excuse Talan needed to dip out without a formal goodbye, though it didn’t escape the corner of his eye how Edix’s human took a half step forward when he left, almost like it wanted to say something. Even if it did, he wouldn’t have cared. As quickly as he had intruded, Talan disappeared back down the main hall of the fauna department to return to his lab.

Edix stood up as well and tucked the data pad he had been keeping busy with under his arm to keep his hands free. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing how much closer his little pet was standing to him, even if it wasn’t by much, even though it was caused by Talan of all bastards. A win was a win in his book. The hand the human had been partly hiding behind curled easily around it to lift it up, immediately cradling it to his chest as usual. It squirmed for a moment but settled quick enough, a clear sign it was also ready to go back to the lab it was accustomed to. For a social species, the little one always seemed so drained after any playdate Ylva arranged for their pets. Fine by him, it usually meant his human was much more quiet and well behaved once it was back in the solitude of Edix’s company, making for an easier work day.

He used his finger to tilt back the wide brimmed hat it had been using to hide its sweet little face a majority of the playdate, earning him a surprised squeak. With the way its baby cheeks were turning an adorable shade of pink, Edix had a fairly good guess as to why it was trying to avoid everyone’s line of sight. Damn, he should have had Ylva take more pictures, this was way too cute for him. It reached up to quickly pull its shield back down and Edix let it with a laugh, cooing as he tugged at its little vest instead which only made it wriggle in distress. Overdramatic little thing.

“Can I keep this costume?” He asked as he followed behind Ylva who was preparing to put her own pup down for a nap. In reality, it meant she was going to have to play with it for at least another half an hour because, much like him, she was a sucker when it came to her human wanting to play. The difference being that Mibao wanted to do anything from coloring to singing to continuing its game of make believe while Edix’s pet always wanted to play chase.

Ylva smiled and shrugged. “Sure, I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fit the baby. It was printed for its measurements specifically, anyways.” Mibao was proving to be difficult in its refusal to relinquish the shiny wings Ylva had designed at its request, something that Ylva quickly made a game out of by setting her pup on the desk and letting it squeal and run while her hands chased after it. That would tire the kid out in no time. She looked back at his human and giggled. “I don’t think it likes it very much, though.”

Oh yeah, that was obvious from the get go, but it didn’t change the fact that it was way too precious for its own good in this type of outfit. Edix actually quite liked the contrast of the dark brown against its pale skin, even more given the fact that it matched the color of its doe eyes perfectly. It was much more appealing than that splotchy green jacket it was inexplicably attached to. He had a feeling it was going to try and strip out of this outfit as soon as it was back in Edix’s lab, provided he gave it its normal suit and jacket to change into. But...maybe he didn’t have to offer it its spare set of clothes right away. Maybe it would just have to hang around in its little boots and hat for a couple hours longer while he finished up his latest report that was just so important to get done. And maybe he would get constantly distracted by how cute it looked while it was definitely pouting at him for not taking off its costume that it took a little longer than usual to finish his work, which meant it spent even longer pouting under its hat.

Decisions, decisions.

Edix waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll learn to love it.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t be mean to it,” Ylva laughed, not that seemed bothered by the idea of his pet keeping the outfit on for an extended period of time beyond the playdate. “But send pictures if you do.”

#ask #anon #my writing #g/t writing #g/t fluff #g/t ocs #g/t #giant/tiny #gianttiny #macro/micro #gt #please enjoy ficlet mommy buy for u #ive missed them so much #now we just gotta finish chapter 3 and we're really rockin n rollin #also yes angie likes teasing jacob for obviously having a crush on her #and ALSO YES i forgot angie has short hair so we're gonna pretend its because shes been in captivity for so long that it just grew out #and thats how she could braid it #talan simps rejoice for he is here #unfortunately

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

It looked like it was waiting.

It looked like it wanted him to follow.

Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

“Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

His child.

The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

Had he really said-?

A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

“Dad.”

The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

“Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

“I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

But that didn’t matter right now.

He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

“I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Team Gremlin verse #the song oscar sung in the circus this time #was Home by Jeff Williams #in case ya'll wanna break your feels

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

Text

Something Wicked

part 7

masterlist

Warnings: abuse, yandere behavior

alright my darlings, not my best work, but here’s part 7! I might edit it later! Love you all! and a reminder that if you or a loved one is in an abusive relationship. Please call the emergency hotlines!

Y/N had never been more terrified in her life. Jin kept her safely tucked away in the penthouse, and much to her horror, he never left. When she’d asked about it, as casually as she could as she found her defiance towards the situation only angered him, he’d smiled and told her that he had taken a leave of absence to spend with her before kissing her forehead and asking what she wanted for lunch.

In the several days she had been trapped there, he hadn’t left her side once. Any time she tried to refuse his attention, he got upset. Every hour spent with him showed her just how far gone her boss truly was. Every morning he would set out her clothes for her. He cooked for her. He didn’t leave her side for even a moment. It was as though he thought smothering her would affect her perception of him and of the situation he had placed them both in.

“Darling,” He cooed coming up behind her where she had been sitting stiffly in one of the chairs in the living room reading and trying desperately to ignore his gaze on her. “You’ve been so quiet today. Are you feeling alright?” He asked resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She murmured trying to suppress her shudder. He didn’t like it when she flinched. The bruise situated on her temple was evidence enough of that.

He hummed noncommittally before moving around her chair and lifting her up before settling her back down in his lap nuzzling into her neck enjoying her warmth and the feel of her in his arms. “I don’t like it when you’re this quiet.” He murmured against her neck. “I’d hate to think you were ignoring me, darling.”

She couldn’t help how she stiffened at those words. Jin had a temper, worse than she had ever realized. She had never thought that Jin was a violent man, but she hadn’t thought a lot of things about Jin until just a few days ago.

“Of course not.” She whispered forcing herself to relax into his hold despite the fact she wanted nothing more than to rip herself out of his hold and run to the farthest reaches of the earth to be away from him.

“Of course not.” He repeated smiling into her neck placing a kiss there. “My sweet darling.” His arms tightened around her possessively. “What are you reading, my love?”

“The Yellow Wallpaper.” She informed him eyes fixed on the cover of the book ignoring the frown that marred his features.

“That’s not a pleasant book, my darling. I don’t want you reading things like this.” He plucked the book from her grasp flinging it over on to the couch.

Of course he wouldn’t want her reading it. It was depicted a woman locked away by her husband to slowly go mad with only the peeling yellow wallpaper to keep her company. Granted her prison was much nicer than the room the poor lady in the book was locked away in, but it was a prison none the less. She had to wonder though why Jin had the book at all when he was so against her reading it. He was meticulous enough to make sure everything in his home was “appropriate” for her. It was hard to think that this book had escaped his notice.

“There are far more pleasant books to read. Wouldn’t you rather read something more pleasant?” He coaxed nuzzling into her again. “I have such a wonderful selection of books in the solar.”

“Of course.” She agreed keeping herself calm despite how her heart was pounding against her chest. “I’ll run up and grab something different.” She offered with a strained smile as she began to extricate herself from Jin’s lap only to be pulled back.

“Leaving so soon, darling?” He purred into her ear grip tightening around her as he trailed his nose up her neck to place a kiss just below her ear.

“I was going to get a different book.” She murmured her voice trembling slightly as she forced the panic down.

Jin had slowly been becoming more and more touchy as the days went by. He always wanted to be in contact with her. He was always looking for an opportunity to brush his hand against the small of her back or the curve of her hip. He’d been placing kisses against her neck, her cheeks, her forehead. He had tried for her lips as well, but so far she had always been quick enough to turn her head before he could. She knew very well what he was leading up to. She wasn’t naïve despite how Jin treated her. She was trying her best to keep him at bay, but there was only so much she could do against him, and she was running out of time. Jin would only put up with her evasions for so long. He was not a patient man.

He hummed noncommittally his thumb rubbing circles into her hip as he kept her anchored against him. “I think I prefer you staying here with me.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself as she prepared to coddle him. She found that coddling him as she did at the office was the best way to deal with him, and she was nothing if not a master at coddling Kim Seokjin. She did her best to keep him at a distance, but just as she was a master of coddling Jin, Jin was a master of derailing her plans. He was excellent at getting under her skin, of finding new ways to force her just where he wanted her. It was always a gamble on whether or not she would be successful in redirecting him. At the office, Jin had to behave. Here, there were no such restrictions on his behavior.

“Jin,” She began making her tone as sweet and syrupy as she could. He preferred it when she was sweet. “I’m sure the office is missing you. Maybe you should check in, and I’ll grab a new book, something more pleasant. We can have tea afterwards.” She offered as sweetly as she could. He didn’t need to know that she would slip poison in his tea if given the chance.

He frowned at her tightening his hold on her hip. “Darling,” He purred his tone sweet, seductive, but his eyes were dark and cold. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

She froze, her hands beginning to shake. “Of course not, Jin.”

His grip tightened further becoming painful. She was sure he was going to leave a bruise, just one more to add to the growing collection littering her body.

His sigh was filled with disappointment as he began to tutt at her. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Why do you insist on lying to me, darling?”

She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her. “Jin.” She pleaded trying to wiggle her way out of his grasp, but he held her still.

“Haven’t I been good to you, darling?” He turned her chin to look at him enjoying the way she trembled under his gaze. “Why must you continue to be difficult?”

“Jin,” She whimpered again trying very hard to remain calm.

“I’ve been patient, darling. I thought a little time would help you adjust, but you continue to defy me. I didn’t want to do this.” He sighed again. “I really didn’t.”

“Jin, please.” She pleaded trying to push his hand away from her face. “Please.”

He nudged her up keeping a firm hand on her so she couldn’t escape. “You just don’t learn, darling.”

“Jin.”

“No, darling.” He purred standing and pulling her up with him. “You had your chance.”

She choked back a sob as Jin dragged her upstairs to their bedroom. She struggled against him the whole way trying to pull herself free, to fun. She couldn’t get out. She knew that, but maybe she could hide. It was a foolish plan really. Hiding would only serve to anger Jin more, but she wasn’t thinking logically. She was thinking of self-preservation.

It wasn’t hard for Jin to man handle her. He was stronger than her, and he had the stubborn belief that he was doing this for her own good on his side. Everything he did, he did for her, for them. He wanted a life with her, but she seemed determined to be a brat, to ruin all of his carefully laid plans. But if she was going to act like a brat, Jin was going to treat her like one.

“Now, darling.” He growled pinning her down to the bed as he began to strip her. “Don’t fight me. You’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

He soon had her down to only her panties as he sat on top of her stomach. He grinned in triumph as he pinned her hands above her head. Now that he had her where he wanted her, Jin wasted no time in tying her up. He wanted her still and vulnerable before him, and Jin always got what he wanted. He had hoped to use the silk ties under more pleasurable circumstances, but she needed a lesson.

“Now, be a good girl for me, darling.” He cooed placing a kiss to the valley between her breasts before he left her on the bed.

When he returned it was with a wicked looking whip in his hands. Jin was nothing if not extravagant in anything that he did. This was no exception. The crop itself was made out of a sleek dark wood ending in a polished silver handle. But the other end held a short but thick braided leather rope that looked as though it was made to inflict pain. The entire thing had an antique feel to it, elegant, refined, and decidedly wicked looking.

He sighed looking down at her in disappointment as he rolled his shoulders. “This all could have been so much more pleasurable if you��d only listened to me, darling. Ah well. Another time.”

“Jin,” She called out her voice warbling as she pleaded with him not to do this.

“Shhhhh, darling. Take your punishment like the good girl I know you are.”

“Jin, please. I’m sorry!” She shrieked as he brought the crop down against her breasts with cruel force.

“I know you are, darling, but things that are hard to bear are sweet to remember.” He brought the crop down again leaving a red welt against the soft skin of her belly. “I’m doing this for you own, good darling.” Another hit, this time to the flesh of her upper thigh leaving behind another angry red welt in its wake.

Each hit fell swift and harsh against her skin littering her with a constellation of red marks. Some were even beginning to turn sickly shades of purple. When he had deemed her front covered enough, he flipped her over to continue this treatment on her other side. By this time she was sobbing from the pain. Any pleas she attempted to make were lost in tears and shrieks of pain.

To her, it seemed to go on for hours. The hits were endless, and they never seemed to lessen in strength. Each blow was almost worse than the last. Some blows were decidedly worse than others. She always knew when the wip had hit a spot it had marked before.

By the time it was over, she was nothing but a shivering, sniveling mess, but to Jin, she looked beautiful. Some of the hits had broken skin leaving her bloody and bruised before him. He liked seeing her like this, sniveling and submissive before him, but Jin was not stupid. He knew her wounds had to be tended.

He left her tied there as she went to the en suite to collect some ointment and a wet rag to clean her up with. She whined at the contact, but there wasn’t much she could do to escape it. Even though her bonds were soft and silky, they were strong. She had pulled against them during the entirety of her beating, but they had never budged once.

“Hush, darling.” He purred dragging the rag against her skin cleaning up the blood that leaked from some of the welts. “It’s over now. You did so well. Such a good girl for me.”

She hated it. She hated him, but even though she hated him, she found comfort in the soft touches he used to clean up her battered body. After all, he was the only comfort she was going to get. There was no one else there to help her. No one else knew where she was. It was just the two of them in this hell.

Once he was finished cleaning her up and placing a soothing ointment on her injuries, Jin untied her and turned her over slipping her into an oversized hoodie of his. The piece of clothing nearly swallowed her whole, but it was soft and warm. More importantly, it was his. He found he enjoyed her in his clothing. He’d have to dress her in his shirts more often.

He settled on the bed next to her pulling her into his side so she was leaned against his chest. “Be a good girl for me, darling, and we’ll never have to do this again. I promise.” He stroked her hair smiling down at her blissfully. “I love you, my darling.”

If this was love, she didn’t want it.

part 8

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts seokjin #bts jin #yandere #yandere seokjin #yandere jin #ceo seokjin #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #jin x reader #ceo jin #ceo au #ceo #dark romance #something wicked

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sunnydaisy1 · 4 years

Text

Just a Cold

MARK SLOAN X READER

REQUEST: Could you do one for when Mark is the reader is sick, but is doing everything to not have him notice. Then ends up getting worse. Sorry hope this makes sense lol :)- Anonymous

A/N: I loved this request sooo much! I wasn’t sure whether you wanted Mark and the reader to be in a relationship or not so I kinda did it like they might be but it could also be just flirting idk? I hope I wrote it okay and that you enjoy it :)

*WHY ISNT THERE A CONCERNED MARK GIF WHERE HE ISNT CRYING URGH*

I blinked my eyes open as sun shot through the blinds into my room, glaring across the white and grey walls. I groaned and rolled over, covering my face with a pillow as i slammed the alarm clock off. A vicious cough ripped through me and I winced, my chest contracting and sharp pains running through my head. It was my own fault really, i had gotten off work a little earlier than usual and decided to go for a walk while it was still light out. My downfall really was when I had decided against bringing a coat, instead trusting the stupid jumper I was wearing to keep me warm. The weather had looked nice enough to begin with but after 20 minutes the sky had decided to chuck buckets of water down on me and I was drenched, resulting in the now painful cold I had given myself. I opened my eyes again and looked at the clock, trying to turn the minutes back to give me more sleep. When this failed, I rolled out of my fluffy, lucious cloud of a bed and walked to the bathroom, hoping a warm shower would wake me up and heal my blocked sinuses. I rubbed my eyes as I stepped into the tiled room, looking at the mirror. My reflection wasn't too bad although I could see my eyes were a little puffy and my nose was sporting a tinge of flaring red. Sighing, I turned the shower on and undressed, pulling my hair up into a bun and stepping into the relaxing steamy fumes. When I had finished getting ready and had grabbed a breakfast bar that would end up ignored in my locker, I trudged out the door, locking it behind me and starting the 10 minute walk to the hospital. I really hoped I would have time to grab some medicine before rounds but I doubted it, seeing as I had spent way too long dying in the shower. A strong breeze ripped past me and I shuddered, pulling my coat closer to me and trying to hold down the scratching cough at the back of my throat. I soon arrived at the hospital doors and gladly went inside, thankful for the shelter against the weather. I walked slowly to the residents' locker room, smiling at a few nurses as they walked past. The room was bustling with noise as I entered and a few people called out my name but I just smiled, making my way over to my locker next to Alex. He turned to face me once he saw me coming over and chuckled at my pained expression. "You look like crap." He said as I stripped off my jacket and jumper, pulling my scrubs over the long sleeved shirt I thankfully wore. "Thanks so much Karev." I hissed, now pulling off my trousers and yanking on the rougher blue scrub ones. "No worries Y/N." He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes, sitting down next to him. The locker room seemed to be getting louder by the second and I shut my eyes, trying to block out the dull pain in my head. I stayed like that for a few minutes until I felt Alex nudge me, "Come on don't want the interns slacking off." I nodded and groaned, standing up. We walked side by side until we reached the nurse's station and he went off to torment his group of suck ups. I gathered the folders with patient info and dragged myself over to my 4 interns who stared at me. "What are you waiting for?" I said harshly and they scampered, heading off to the first patient's room as I followed behind. I wasn't usually that harsh with the interns but I was strict and they behaved well, eager to learn. I tried my best to educate them but sometimes they really got on my nerves. Once we made our way into the first patient's room, the interns lined up by the door while I walked to the bed. "Goodmorning Mr Davis, how are you doing today?" I asked softly, trying to hide my running nose. "Alright, hurts a little but it's getting better." I nodded and looked over to one of my interns, "Johnson?" At once the intern started pratlling on about Mr Davis' case and I nodded along, half listening to him, half trying not to close my eyes. He stopped talking fairly quickly and I nodded, "well done, we need hourly checkups on Mr Davis' vitals for the next few days but you should be ready to go home in a few days." I directed the last part at the patient who nodded and smiled. I walked out the room and passed the interns out the patient folders. The next patient was Mrs Walker who had recently had a rhinoplasty to fix her incredibly wonky broken nose from falling off a ladder while painting her house. It had been a simple case but there were complications in the OR and she was now under careful watch. I noticed Mark standing in the corner of the room and I winced, hoping he would ignore me. I walked to the corner of the room by the door and stood a little away from the patient, listening drowsily to the interns. "Morning Y/N." A voice behind me whispered and my heart picked up pace when I recognised Mark's flirty tone. "Sloan." I said curtly, trying to disguise my illness because I know he would make a big deal out of it and really it was nothing. "Ouch, what's got your panties in a twist today?" Mark teased, easily letting the dirty words roll off his tongue. "Nothing." I retorted, not daring to look Mark in the eye. I could feel the warmth of his body behind me and I wanted so desperately to reach out and let his comforting hold engulf me but I couldn't, not wanting him to make a big deal. "If you say so missy." He replied, whispering close to my ear. Despite my cold, I could feel heat rush through my body at Mark's seductive words. Normally I could retort with a witty remark but today the only thing my brain could focus on was the increasing ache in my bones. "Mark if you have finished flirting with Dr L/N, we have other patients to attend to." Derek called out, and I blushed, not even realising he had come into the room. "See you later L/N." Mark said as he left the room, leaving me wanting his heat back. The rest of rounds passed by incredibly slow and I now sat in the locker room again, trying to catch up on forms and paperwork that needed filling out. I had turned most of the lights off so the room was darker and was nursing a warm coffee in my hands. The soothing silence was helping to ease the growing ache in my head but the incessant coughing wasn't letting up. Suddenly, my pager started beeping and I groaned, putting my hot drink down and speed walking to Bailey. I was almost in the patient's room when I spotted Mark coming out of another room a few doors down and I quickly leaped into a supply closet before he could see me. I really loved Mark but he didn't need to see me when I was all runny nosed and coughing like a diseased hag. I waited 20 seconds, counting in my head before opening the door again and checking the coast was clear. It was so I walked out and over to Bailey's patient's room where she stood, talking to him about his upcoming surgery. She shot me daggers when I entered the room and I mouthed a sorry before explaining to Mr Morrison the risks. At lunchtime, I had just finished with a code blue, hoping to head to a dark, quiet space away from distractions. I was just stepping around a corner when I bumped into a solid chest, immediately apologising before looking up to see who it was. "Oh, Mark." I said, scanning the area to look for a way out and avoiding his gorgeous eyes. "Sorry about that Y/N, seems I have a knack for bumping into pretty women going for their lunch." I nodded absent-mindedly, trying to get away. "Right yeah urm I need to go." I said, going to walk past Mark but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "Woah woah woah what's the matter?" He asked, instantly concerned at my dismissal of his flirting. "Nothing." I said and he shook his head, bending his head down to meet my averting gaze. "You said that earlier." Mark continued, both hands now on my arms as he kept me still. "mm." I hummed, staring at the wall behind Mark. "You sure you're okay, you look a bit like your going to throw up." He said, concern lacing his voice. "No Im fine." I said, smiling weakly before scooting off down the halls leaving a worried plastic surgeon behind. For the rest of the afternoon, I sat on the bottom floor filling out charts. My headache and coughs had been getting progressively worse to the point where I could barely move due to my body aching so much. Luckily I wasn't in any surgeries today and Bailey hadn't been so much on my heels today although Mark had paged me a few times to the Attending room which I ignored. He had spotted me earlier after Mer had wanted me in the research room but I had run down the halls back here before he could catch me. I knew it was only a matter of time before he sought me out. I was almost done filling out the last chart when the door swung open and a familiar head of peppered hair came through the doors. I cringed inwardly and tried to make myslef as small as possible in the gap between the two hospital beds. I waited, trying to control my laboured breathing as he walked nearer, calling out my name. I closed my eyes shut as he closed in on my position. "Y/N?" Mark asked as he spotted my feet poking out from between the two beds. I winced at his voice and he ducked down, crouching in front of me and placing a hand on each of my bent knees. "Y/N?" He asked again and I opened my eyes. He sucked in a breath and immediately tried to bring me closer to him but I groaned. "No please Mark it hurts." I whispered, my voice just a croak. "Jesus Y/N you look like a ghost." Mark said, his face serious and eyes kind. I tried to smile but I couldn't manage, my head flaring up with every movement. Mark gathered the charts I had lying around me and placed them on the nearby bed before squatting back down. "Hey let's get you out of here." He softly said, but I shook my head, sniffling and wincing at the ache. "Come on, I'll help you." He continued, placing a hand on my warm cheek. I looked into his eyes and gave in, nodding slightly. Mark wrapped an arm around my waist and put another on my hip as he helped lift me up, careful to not be to rough. "That's it." He softly spoke, my hands resting on his upper arms for support. As soon as I was standing he brought me into his chest, resting his head on top of mine and stroking my back softly. I closed my eyes and breathed in his comforting scent, relaxing into the warmth. I felt Mark's hand smooth my hair and kiss the top of my head before he whispered, "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" He stepped back slightly but still held me close, looking into my eyes. "I didn't want to bother you, it's not that bad." I replied, slightly shaky. "Y/N..." Mark said, brushing my hair behind my ear and cupping my face. "What bother's me is not knowing your ill and not being able to help." He said, bringing me back into his arms. "Im sorry." I said, nuzzling into his neck. "It's okay, let's get you into bed." Mark replied, kissing my forehead. Mark had ended up persuading me to go to his house, and I was currently stood in his bathroom, a towel wrapped around me. The steam from the hot shower had freed up my nose a little but the throbbing in my head hadn't let up yet. I walked into Mark's bedroom, rubbing my eyes. "Hey." Mark smirked, making me open my eyes to see his stupid self standing there with a cheeky grin as his eyes ran up and down my body. "My eyes are up here." I said quietly, making him chuckle and a small smile come across my face. "You know I think my towel on you is my new favourite look of yours." Mark said as he watched me walk across the carpeted floor to him. I narrowed my eyes at him and sniffled, holding onto the white fluffy towel that just surpassed my bum tightly. "If I wasn't so ill right now Sloan, I'd punch that pretty little grin off of your face." I hissed, taking the sweatpants and tshirt out of his hands. "Oh so you think I'm pretty then?" Mark teased, eyes still wandering. "Piss off." I said, watching Mark as he smirked wider and I headed into the bathroom again, closing the door. When I had managed to pull the black tshirt on, I looked at the sweatpants and groaned, resenting having to struggle into another item of huge clothing. It was worse than putting leggings on after swimming. I had panties on and Mark's tshirt came down to my mid thigh so I unlocked the door, hoping Mark had a pair of shorts I could wear. As soon as I stepped out, Mark sat up on the bed, eyes raking my body yet again. "Jeez Y/N you think you were trying to kill a man." He said as I walked towards him, cradeling the sweatpants. I was exhausted and couldn't think of any remark so just stuck my hands out, extending the sweatpants to Mark. "I'm too tired to put them on." I said quietly before a violent cough coursed through my body. "Okay come here." Mark said and sat me down on the bed, taking the sweatpants. I expected him to walk off to get some shorts but he crouched down in front of me and lifted my ankle into the cuff of the sweatpants. I blushed and muttered, "thanks." Mark just grinned and winked cheekily, making my face flush even more. He brought the sweatpants to my knees before asking me to stand up which I did. He went to take them up further and started lifting the tshirt before I grabbed his hands. "I think I can do the rest." I said softly, rolling my eyes at Mark's constant dirty flirting. "Worth a try." He remarked, brushing the hair out my face. Once I had gotten the sweatpants on and had gulped down 2 glasses of water and some medicine, I walked back from the hallway to Mark's room, seeing him lying in the bed with his pyjamas on. I yawned and smiled sleepily. "Gonna come join me missy?" He asked, flicking the duvet off to reveal his tartan clad legs and comfy bed. I nodded, dragging myself to the other side of the bed and climbing in before resting next to Mark. He chuckled and lifted me slightly, laying my head down on his chest and wrapping my arm around his waist while he hugged mine. I sighed contently and snuggled into his warming body, letting waves of sleepiness wash over me, lulling me to sleep. Mark turned the bedside light off and kissed the top of my head, whispering, "Night love." I smiled and closed my eyes, drifting off.

#mark sloan x reader #mark #mark sloan #greys anatomy imagine #greys #greys anatomy #grays anatomy #derek shepherd #cold #sloan #imagine #x reader #oneshot #mark sloan imagine

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

Shutterbug and the Cuddlebug (Alyssa Naeher x Reader)

Request 1: soft and shy Alyssa and protective girlfriend

Request 2: Alyssa with photographer reader? Where reader always manages to get Alyssa to smile and be goofy.

Authors Note: So this was super fun to write, and it just felt more natural to combine these requests. Special thanks to my fave writing buddy @literaryhedgehog! I hope you enjoy this short little tidbit. Hit me up with comments or questions or if you just wanna say Hi!

You stared through the lens, your tongue trapped between your teeth as you waited for the perfect shot. For the brief moment in time when your girlfriend cracked a smile as her team scored.

It was just a practice, but those were the best moments to photograph Alyssa. In front of crowds, she behaved more formally, her face stiffer as she pretended not to notice the other people. Here, when she didn’t feel watched when Kelley and Sonnett could crack jokes and Alex’s snark was on full display, she glowed. Or at least, from the right angle she did. You might have enjoyed taking a few photos of her haloed by the sun.

“Get any good ones?” Alyssa asked, throwing her arm over your shoulder, scaring you out of your daze.

“They’re all good ones,” you said, grinning. “I’m an amazing photographer, you know. Like, almost a professional even.” You leaned further into her embrace. She didn’t like physical contact, so you would soak up whatever she gave you.

“Or maybe you just have amazing people to photograph,” The woman snarked back, kissing the side of your face and leaning over to get a better view of the screen on your camera.

“Well one of them was being super difficult today, I had to wait till the end to finally catch her smiling” You teased, half-heartedly elbowing her in the side.

“Wow, sounds like a real pain,” Alyssa hummed, leaning her head on top of yours, “why on earth did you put up with her?”

“Because every so often I get a shot like this.” You tabbed a few photos over and held out the camera to her, letting her see the prize-winning shot of the day.

It was a simple picture of her standing. Her hair, wispy from practice, caught pieces of light and glittered from where it surrounded her head. Her hand was raised up in celebration and was glowing in the setting sun. But what really made the shot was the blinding smile etched across her features, crinkling her eyes and lighting up her whole face.

“Whoa, that’s incredible,” She breathed, unendingly impressed by how talented you were. You felt heat rush across your face at the compliment. You started to turn away, but then she pulled you into a one-armed hug, camera held aloft awkwardly in the other arm to protect it. You hid your grin in her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing you tightly.

“Y/n got a hug and a smile out of Uncle,” Emily shouted far too loudly as she approached. How she had so much energy after practice you would never understand. Also how Lindsey managed to corral her, was also an incredible mystery. At least Alyssa was never that hyper.

“Of course she gets a hug, she’s my girlfriend,” Alyssa didn’t break out of the hug, but you felt her hand lift from your back for a second, as though to make a rude gesture.

“Looks like the head of the department of defense is getting a little defensive,” Emily snorted, high-fiving Kelley as she passed.

“That’s a terrible line Emily, like worse than a dad joke,” Lindsey chimes in, swatting her girlfriend in the back of the head.

“Emily, you leave my girlfriend alone or I won’t send you the picture I caught of you tackling Alex,” you said, pulling out of the hug. You pecked Alyssa on the cheek, then turned, one arm still around her, to grin at Sonnet.

“You got one of me taking down baby horse?” She asked her eyes widening. Alex was amazing and Ashlyn would never believe her if she didn’t have proof.

“And one of Lindsey doing a bicycle kick- you can see her abs and everything,” you said enticingly.

“You don’t play fair,” She pouted at you.

“Take it or leave it.” You bargained, raising your eyebrows at her. You were banking on how infatuated Emily was with her girlfriend.

“You said you can see her abs,” She asked biting her lip in contemplation. The only thing she liked better than making jokes was making out with her girl.

“Yep, leave my girlfriend alone and you can have it,” You nodded, smirking. You had her hook line and sinker.

“Fine.” She grumbled, slightly put out that her second favorite activity had been squashed and she would have to wait till later for her first favorite. “For the record, I wouldn’t mess with her if she didn’t become the biggest softie on the team around you,”

“You sure about that?” Kelley said, coming up from behind her. “I mean you just got threatened into behaving with the promise of getting a picture of your girlfriend, son. A picture that is probably going to be on the team website in a month or two. Seems to me Junior here has no right to call anyone a softie.”

“I’m just saying,” Emily said dragging out the last word.

“It’s hilarious that you let y/n threaten you, she’s literally the biggest cinnamon roll out here,” Alyssa laughed, prodding your shoulder.

“Hey, I can be convincing,” you grumbled, waving your hand exasperatedly.

“It’s ok babe, I love you for the happy snapper you are,” you girlfriend mollified, nudging the side of your face lovingly with her nose.

“You better. Now let me enjoy my cuddly girlfriend in peace,” you called jokingly to Emily, “I don’t get to spend a lot of time with her on this side of the camera.” You finished quieter.

“For the record, I’ll be your cuddle bug any day as long as you’ll be my shutterbug,”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #alyssa naeher x reader #alyssa naeher imagine #literalhedgehog

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years

Text

Senkuu x Reader 18+

Title: Make It Hurt

Rating: Explicit/R-18

Words: 5946

Warnings: Nipple Play, Nipple Clamps, Sadism, Masochism, Begging, Rutting, Vaginal Fingering, Established Relationship, Power Dynamics, Modern Era

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847819

♥♥♥♥

Bathed in the fading light coming in from the window, you sat naked and vulnerable. The familiar bed, in which you usually found nothing but peace and comfort, suddenly felt like an execution slab as you watched Senkuu finish prepping for the scene with his usual brand of methodical care.

Calling it a sadistic experiment would probably be more accurate, the knowledge of what he was about to do to you making you rub your thighs together restlessly. You’d both agreed to a list of set parameters regarding tonight’s activities after a lengthy discussion concerning limits and safewords wherein the ever particular genius had explained in excruciating detail exactly what he wanted to do with you. Although he occasionally gave them a nudge, Senkuu was always careful about not overstepping your boundaries which meant he was as exceptionally thorough with these negotiations as with everything else. Being with him was, in many ways, like having a fantasy come to life and you’d grown unbearably wet just from listening to him talk.

But now that the countdown to showtime had reached its final moments, you couldn’t quite tell if you were horny or scared anymore. It seemed some heady mixture of the two as you watched him roll white sleeves up to the elbows before glancing over the tools he’d neatly arranged on his bedside table. Your skin, already damp with anxious sweat, crawled with nerves when you followed his line of sight.

You issued a quiet whimper and squeezed your legs as tight as you possibly could, fitfully squirming on top of the comforter. Senkuu immediately caught what you were doing and he sent you a knowing little smirk as he climbed up to join you with his back facing the headboard.

“Are you nervous or excited?”

“Excited.” You automatically answered.

Humming doubtfully, Senkuu settled in across from you with his legs folded over one another. He looked comfortable. Right at home in this power exchange. “What’s your color?”

You blinked. It was a bit surprising to hear him ask that before he’d even gotten started. “Green.”

Senkuu’s leering smile only grew wider. “Good. Don’t hesitate to call yellow if you need to. I’d rather take a short break than stop altogether.”

“I won’t.” You assured him with a warbling smile of your own.

Drawing a slow breath that made his shoulders rise and fall, Senkuu tentatively reached for your bare chest. You sat up a little straighter, arching your back in open invitation, and a shudder rippled through you when the rough pad of his thumb brushed your nipple. A quiet, faltering sigh slipped out of you. Unbidden but sincere.

The sensitive bundle of nerve endings had gradually softened over the last few minutes as you’d adjusted to the temperature of his room but now it seemed to spring back to life with an eager quickness that left you feeling lightheaded. Curling, pebbling tight and then finally peaking into a stiff pucker. Your mouth parted as if to moan but nothing came out. Senkuu’s ministrations were persistent and steady, and he continued to toy with the meaty nub long after it had stirred to full attention. He took his time simply alternating between gentle swipes of his thumb back and forth over the tip and dragging the pad of his finger across it to evoke sharp bursts of friction that made you shudder. His attention was all on your face though; ruby red eyes taking in every minute emotion that flitted across your pinched expression and carefully filing it away for later use.

That was what he found appealing about this arrangement. Not the sex itself, though you were certain you would have heard about it by now if he’d had any complaints. Rather it was the sense of discovery and triumph he felt every time he found a new way to turn your body against you, each new reaction just further stoking that adventurous spirit burning within him. Senkuu wanted to know exactly what made you tick and how. At what speed. What pressure. Where your physical limits truly were. Which of them could be tested and which ones were set in stone. It seemed there was no discernable ceiling on his curiosity, particularly not when there were still so many avenues of inquiry on the matter of human sexulity left to explore, and you groaned as the insistent tweaking started to make your nipple ache .

“You like that?” He crooned, quiet and sly.

Swallowing hard, you gave your head a jerky nod. “It feels good. You should do the other one too.”

Senkuu closed his thumb and forefinger around the stiff tip of your breast and chidingly tugged on it. “That’s not how you ask for something, is it?”

“Please …”

He made a thoughtful noise of consideration at that and you weren’t particularly surprised to find him callously grinning at you when you lifted your attention from his hand. Senkuu promptly cocked his head to one side, looking every bit the sadistic demon lord your peers so often jokingly accused him of being. “I think you do that on purpose just so I have to punish you for being disobedient.” He murmured, pulling on your nipple until you seethed at the pain.

“But you like it.” You croaked.

“You’re right. I do.” Lifting his other hand, Senkuu reached for your neglected tit and your breath hitched in trembling anticipation. “Ten billion points to my bratty, hard headed girlfriend.”

You watched him pinch his fingers around the pliably soft flesh with wide, blown out eyes only to go ramrod stiff when he immediately tugged on it hard enough to pull a surprised grunt from your throat. No preamble or buildup. Just a sharp, unforgiving jerk that left you reeling and swaying forward unsteadily in a futile attempt to lessen the sting by some margin.

Senkuu merely noised a low sound of pleasure and twisted his wrist, tweaking your nipple at such a relentless degree that it actually brought you up onto your knees as if compelled by invisible puppet strings. Your hands scrabbled at his forearms, nails sinking into firm skin, but he was altogether implacable. Dauntless in his pursuit of blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

The sheer intensity of the sensation had you writhing, torn between arching into the exquisite torture he was inflicting and grinding down on the sheets in a blithe attempt at relieving the thrumming ache in your cunt. Your once jumbled thoughts were nothing more than a mess of static white noise now and you couldn’t think straight. Only feel.

You were already toeing the line of your threshold when he abruptly squeezed your nipples so tightly that it made tears spring up in your eyes, and you jolted. “O - ooooh …!”

“Do you want to try asking again?”

“Pluh - please!” You squawked, answering him on autopilot. “Please, sir! Please play with my tits! Please, please, plea -”

He only increased the pressure. “Color?”

“Yellow!”

His fingers instantly loosened their hold and your back bowed as blinding bursts of throbbing hurt splintered throughout your chest. You wheezed, mouth hanging open on a stricken groan that seemed to stick in your throat. The pain didn’t put a damper on your arousal half as much as it probably should have and you trembled when your pussy spasmed around nothing, gushing yet more sticky slick to coat your inner thighs.

Senkuu issued a consolingly hushed whisper as he brushed the pads of his thumbs over the sore peeks of your breasts as if in apology. “Shhh. Is that better?”

You sucked in a ragged gulp of air and nodded.

Sighing a quiet noise of approval, he resumed his earlier gentle ministrations which, much to your frazzled surprise, had your nipples rapidly puckering all over again. “You sure you want to try this today? I think the clothespins are going to hurt worse than my fingers …”

You had to force yourself to look away from the infinitely patient expression on his face and steal a furtive glance at the contents of the bedside table. A tinge of undeniable excitement pulsed within you and raced straight to your cunt, but you knew your own body well enough to recognize what you could or couldn’t handle yet. “I’d like to give it a shot …” You said slowly. “But maybe we should hold off on the plastic ones.”

“Deal.”

Swinging your attention around, you were greeted by a wide, boyish smile that quickly had you grinning right back at him. Senkuu adjusted his hands so they were cradling the globular weight of your breasts in his palms before leaning forward and you mirrored the action to meet him halfway. His mouth was firm against yours, warm and just plushy enough to make you melt into him. The sort of kiss that reminded you exactly how soft he was capable of being with you even when he was in the process of acting on his sadistic tendencies.

You happily let him take the lead and guide your lips with the coaxing push and pull of his own, basking in the taste of him when Senkuu’s tongue tantalizingly brushed against yours. He pulled away a brief moment later and you sat back on your haunches to watch him grab up the pair of wooden clothespins you could only assume he’d snagged from the laundry room. Setting one on his bent knee, he lifted the other between the two of you and pinched it open.

“Hand.”

You instinctively reached out, covering his outstretched palm with yours. The fact you were behaving like a well trained dog hit you only seconds later and, flushing, you tried to retract your arm. Senkuu closed long digits around your knuckles and held you in place though, laughing as he brought the gaping maw of the clothespin closer.

“You can be a good girl when you want to be.” He said, teasingly light. “Tell me if this seems too painful.”

Whatever you might have thought about that ‘good girl’ comment died in your throat when he unceremoniously clamped the pin into place over the meaty tip of your pointer finger. You twitched at the sensation and let it ruminate for a prolonged beat before making your decision.

“It’s a little uncomfortable,” You told him honestly. “But not terrible.”

Senkuu’s eyes lit up with the excitement of a new discovery and he eagerly grinned from ear to ear. “How long do you think you’ll be able to handle it on your nipples?”

You thought about that. “Mm. Five minutes? Maybe more?”

Snickering, he plucked the clothespin from your finger, making you start at the sudden rush of feeling to the nerves. It was almost like the aching aftermath hurt worse than the initial sharp squeeze, or perhaps it was that you merely noticed it more when the constant pressure of the pinchers retreated, but either way you had to reconsider your estimation a bit.

Far from being intimidated though, you squirmed in eager excitement as Senkuu released your hand in favor of reaching for your nipple again. He took his time teasing the nub back to straining attention, your breath coming a little quicker at the resulting jolts of friction that had you practically vibrating on the bed. Once he was satisfied with the puckered state of your teat, he pinched around the areola so that he’d have a clear shot and lifted the clothespin. You held your breath, unable to look away even if you’d wanted to.

“I’m going to do it quick.” He warned.

You barely had enough time to register what he’d said before the unforgiving pegs closed around your nipple and you choked on a hurt grunt. Senkuu studied your expression carefully as you rocked forward on your knees, long spindly digits hovering over the item in question in case you suddenly blurted out ‘red’.

It was undeniably more painful than it had been on your finger but, you were surprised to find, breathing through it helped lessen the severity somewhat. The red hot burn quickly faded to a dull, throbbing ache and your toes curled when a fresh rush of endorphins surged through your system. Feeling unbearably flushed and borderline delirious, you shook even as you forced yourself to relax and settle on top of the comforter once again. Recognizing the obvious acceptance in your body language, Senkuu moved his hand to the other breast.

“You have no idea how incredibly attractive you look right now.” He breathed, sounding like this was finally having an affect on him.

You smiled, or tried to at any rate. Your bottom lip was quivering against your will and you bit down on it to stifle the stricken sound that tried to claw its way up your throat when Senkuu started plucking at your nipple with quick, borderline impatient strokes. Each burst of pleasure seemed to reflect in the opposite tit as pain and you were pitifully whimpering by the time he finally squeezed the areola between his fingers a short moment later.

Expecting another abrupt, squeezing pinch, you screwed your eyes shut and braced for the inevitable. Senkuu managed to catch you off guard when he closed the second clothespin around your nipple in taunting slow motion, forcing you to feel every little bit of force behind the simple contraption as it bore down on sensitive skin. A faltering groan erupted from your mouth before you could stop it and you arched into the air, balling your hands in the sheets.

“A - aaahh … Senkuu!”

He let go of the pin and withdrew his fingers, letting you feel the full brunt of its punishing squeeze. You moaned, breathless and strained, allowing your gaze to dart down and admire his handiwork. The sight of the clothespins sticking straight out from your breasts, the sore flesh of your nipples spilling out through the sides where they were pinched so tight that they had nowhere else to go, made you shudder so hard that you felt momentarily faint. Something about the way those benign implements of torture shook right along with you and emphasized the hurt you were feeling only seemed to turn you on all the more, and you enthusiastically jutted your tits up into the air for more. The space between your thighs was obscenely slick now and, hardly even realizing you were doing it, you finally gave into the urge to grind your pussy on the sheet with an accompanying wanton moan.

“Holy shit …” Senkuu hissed.

Mouth hanging open on one ragged, gasping pant after another, you peered up at him through the fall of your lashes. He was watching over your shameless display with nothing short of awe, creeping heat marching across his cheeks. Dropping your attention lower, you shuddered when you saw the tent pressing tight against the front of his slacks and instinctively circled your hips again. The amount of friction you derived from rubbing your sticky cunt on the bedspread wasn’t exactly satisfying, not nearly enough to get you off, but it felt good so you kept doing it much to Senkuu’s groaning approval.

“That’s it. Just like that.” He said on a heavy exhale. “You can cum as many times as you want but you’re not allowed to use your hands.”

You huffed and dropped your arm back to the bed where you’d already been reaching for your throbbing clit. Gently laughing at your predicament, Senkuu reclined back against the headboard and laced his fingers over his stomach. The way he shifted to ease the pressure in his pants drew your gaze to the very clear outline of his cock again and you let out a sobbing moan that seemed to echo off the walls.

“You really like it that much?”

You sniffled and jerked your head in a quick nod.

“Do you still think you can last five minutes?”

Mewling softly, you tucked your chin down to regard your chest again. “I don’t know … it’s intense. Every time I think I’m getting used to it, the pain kind of flares back up. Especially when the clothespins move.”

“I figured as much.” He said thoughtfully, the exhilarated note coloring his voice not going unnoticed. “And am I right to assume that’s the reason why you keep jostling them like that? Do you enjoy the way it hurts?”

“Senkuu …”

Closing your eyes, you pressed your cheek into your shoulder and drug your pelvis across the comforter with more fervor. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. It only made you want release all the more, and you whined in frustration.

“I’ll have to throw that blanket in the washing machine by the time you’re finished with it.” He teased.

“You’re so mean.”

“But you like it.”

Your face warmed, embarrassed to have him throwing your own words back at you. It was particularly bothersome in this situation when relief seemed like such a far off, unattainable goal and you lifted your head to fix him with an imploring pout that you already knew wouldn’t work on him. He’d proven himself immune to such tricks on multiple occasions in the past and you didn’t expect this instance to be any different, but that wasn’t going to stop you from trying.

“Ooh. That’s a cute face.” Lifting a mischievous brow, Senkuu pinned you with a deliberately sharp smirk. “I hope you manage to make yourself cum. I’d like to see how you and those clothespins look when you’re shaking through an orgasm.”

You let loose a high strung, undulating groan. “I caaan’t … it hurts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt. You’ve only gone about two and a half minutes though so I can’t take them off just yet.” He paused, watching you lean forward to grind your pussy against the bed from a different angle. A moment of quiet passed between the two of you, interspersed only by the sound of your labored breathing while you desperately tried to find orgasm on the sheets before he finally deigned to speak again. “Now what’s your color?”

It took you a prolonged beat to fully comprehend the question and another to find your answer. “I’m getting close to yellow.”

Noising his acknowledgement, Senkuu shifted against the headboard and spread his legs enough to be comfortable. He reached down and palmed his erection through the front of his pants with a tight squeeze and the sight alone made your pussy flutter. Mouth watering with the overwhelming desire to swallow his cock down your throat, you dazedly leaned forward until your pulsating cunt came up off the bed. Your hips twitched at the loss of friction and you hesitated, torn between two equally strong urges. Would you have rather eked out a shuddering, desperate orgasm for yourself or did you want to choke on him until your face was wet with reflexive tears? You honestly weren’t sure anymore, and Senkuu chuckled when he saw the war waging in your eyes.

“Don’t worry about me right now. I want you to keep rubbing yourself on my bed.” He told you in a low, devious tone. “I’d like to see you cum, but it’s okay if you really can’t. As long as it feels good that’s all that matters. Have you heard of Pavolov before?”

You closed your eyes and valiantly tried to process that, to no avail. “What?”

“It’s not important right now. I’ll explain later. I just think you’ll be able to last longer than you thought you could if you focus on the pleasure instead of the pain. It’s been almost four minutes now so you’re getting close. You can take the clothespins off if you need to.”

The eager, lilting note in his voice did not escape your notice and it seemed to warm you from the inside out. It made your loins curl to the point of true suffering and you moaned as you plopped your ass back down on the bed. Spreading your thighs as wide as you could, you braced your hands in front of you and ground your pelvis into the sheets with a stuttering exhale. Faint, tingling bursts of friction consumed your clit on each downward stroke but the stimulation wasn’t direct enough to accomplish much of anything. It only made you feel even more needy and feverish, your pussy pounding in time with your heartbeat as you numbly stared at Senkuu through a foggy, lust tinted lense. The pins bobbed on your screaming tits with every roiling heave of your body, delicate flesh burning raw, and you were ashamed to realize just how much you truly loved the hurt. It was intoxicating.

Licking his lips, Senkuu’s fingers dipped lower to caress the weight of his balls through cotton slacks and you groaned at the sight. “Four minutes and thirty seconds. You’re doing so good, baby …”

You swallowed the hysterical sound that tried to force its way up your throat as you slowed your desperate humping to a stilted halt. All that bouncing friction seemed to have made the unforgiving pinchers dig into your teats to the point of real discomfort and it suddenly felt like they were being assaulted by pins and needles. The undeniable pain made you wince and, seething, you gradually sat upright so you could peer down at your breasts. A frazzled, bleating groan instantly rolled off your tongue when you saw how the nipples had darkened over the last few minutes, the bulging skin looking bruised and unbearably tender.

Your hands flew up to remove them on instinctive autopilot, something not far off from genuine panic sparking in the back of your mind. The notion that your nipples would be permanently damaged after this was a scary thought but you stopped yourself from grabbing the clothespins when you realized how unlikely that was. There were much worse tortures that could have been inflicted on them and you knew Senkuu would never do anything to truly hurt you. If there was even a slim possibility of genuinely negative consequences with this sort of play then he would have approached it much differently.

That knowledge didn’t make it feel any better though and you gagged around a distressed whimper, swaying unsteadily on your knees.

“You can take them off if you need to. Don’t force yourself.”

You shook your head. “How much longer?”

Senkuu didn’t need to clarify what you were asking and, without missing a beat, he said “Fifteen seconds.”

You gulped down a frazzled gasp of air to steady yourself, keeping your hands poised just above the wooden pegs. They were digging into your nipples so excruciatingly hard that you could have wailed but you were close enough to the finish line that you couldn’t justify giving up. You’d said you could handle it for five minutes and, even though you recognized how greatly you’d overestimated your pain tolerance, you wanted to see it through to the end. The fact that Senkuu was watching you with an expression that was as impressed as it was turned on certainly helped bolster your determination and you emphatically shook when he opened his mouth to speak.

“Five seconds.”

Heaving, you hunched forward and braced yourself.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

A haggard moan of relief burst out of you as you closed your fingers around the clothespins. Senkuu leaned forward, most likely with the intent of helping, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You pinched them open only to choke on a half stifled scream when the brutal pins seemed to cling to sensitive skin and pull. You instantly shook from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, letting loose a drawn out, keening wail as you gingerly removed them from your stinging tits. The pain was suddenly even worse, each sharp, throbbing burst felt throughout your entire body but especially in your pussy. You reeled when contracting walls clamped down on nothing except your own slick with enough force to make it ache and your clit pulsed impotently at the sensation.

It was a little embarrassing to find that this, too, was arousing in its own way and when Senkuu reached out to cup your breasts, you let him.

“Look at you.” He murmured, sounding just short of awe. “Such a good girl.You did a great job, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

Swallowing a blubbering, overwrought animal noise, you leaned into the comforting warmth of Senkuu’s body and allowed yourself to bask in the quiet praise he was showering you with. It made you feel beyond happy even while your withering nipples screamed in protest at the abuse they’d endured, your breath catching when he soothingly smoothed his palms over the raw tips. You had to turn your head and look at the far wall, bringing a hand to your mouth to stop the mewling whimpers that were building on your tongue from materializing. He was nothing but gentle with you though and the raw ache gradually faded to a dull burn under his steady ministrations over the next few moments. You felt like you were floating somewhere in purgatory, the space between heaven and hell some heady amalgamation of the two. It was perfect.

“Color?”

You struggled to find the answer to that when you were still lurching from the onslaught of stimuli. “Yellow-green.”

Senkuu snorted a brief laugh. “That’s not how the color system works, baby. I need a real answer or we’ll have to stop.”

Huffing, you slowly brought your attention around to look at him. “It was a hard yellow but now it's bordering on green. I liked it but then I hated it, and now I like it again.”

Warm smile curling his mouth, Senkuu shifted closer and carefully laid you down on your back. He was practically oozing approval as he slotted in beside you, mindful of not brushing his shirt against your breasts. You issued a stuttering sigh into the still air, curling your body towards him as he splayed long fingers across your stomach and comfortingly rubbed circles into the skin. The clean, soapy smell of him swarmed your senses, making you feel at peace when it settled over you like a familiar blanket.

Tilting your head, you followed his line of sight and glanced at your chest only to gasp when you saw how mangled your nipples looked. The indent from the unforgiving clothespins was stark and mildly alarming, the delicate flesh still pinched even without the pegs clamped around them. You mewled and squirmed, prompting Senkuu to crane his attention around to peer into your face again.

“Do you still like it?”

You squeezed your thighs together when that question made your pussy thrum with a resounding tremor so powerful you couldn’t have concealed it even if you’d tried. “Yes …”

Groaning in hushed encouragement, Senkuu slipped the hand on your belly further down to dip between your thighs. You shuddered when he curled bony fingers into the doughy soft flesh of your upper leg and hiked it over his hip, effectively baring your drenched cunt to the room. Feeling indescribably sensitive to even the smallest sensory input, you balled your fist into his white button up and twisted against him with a needy, wanton moan.

“Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.” He rasped, all sly confidence as he roughly drug the flat of his palm across your inner thigh.

You struggled to lift your head so you could watch what he was doing, sobbing quietly when Senkuu reached for your pussy. Every moment felt like an eternity, like he was moving in agonizing slow motion, and the first contact of his fingers on your labia made you jolt. He breathed out a somewhat surprised noise as he traced the length of your slit with halting, gliding passes that left you trembling uncontrollably next to him.

“You’re so wet …”

“Senkuuuu!”

Shushing you, he pressed a lingering peck to the swell of your breast. His focus was entirely on the spot between your legs though and the two of you choked at the same time when he pushed one of those sinfully long digits into your waiting body. No resistance, no pushback. You were so thoroughly soaked that he merely slid right into you straight down to the knuckle with an accompanying sticky click that seemed to reverberate off the walls. You arched your back and wheezed, toes curling uselessly in the air and against the sheets. It felt so indescribably good to finally have something, anything , inside your pounding cunt that you could have screamed.

“Damn.” He hissed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you already came at least twice. Did you really get this excited just from having your nipples clamped?”

You couldn’t take it any longer and you tossed your head back against the sheets, screwing your eyes shut. “I did! I did, sir, please! I want to cum so bad! Please make me cum and play with my tits some more! I’ll do anything, sir, I swear it! I -”

“What’s your color now?” He asked, cutting across your desperate babbling with ease.

“Guh - green!”

The faltering puff of air he let out tickled your chest, causing eager goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You seethed at the sensation and tilted your pelvis towards his hand, pathetically grinding on the finger that was lodged inside you. It wasn’t enough to get you off but it was still somehow gratifying and you keened.

Senkuu responded with a low, anticipatory grunt of his own, turning his head and closing his mouth around your abused nipple. A second digit slipped into your cunt at the same time, just as easily as the first had, and you went ramrod stiff against him. Your lips parted as if to scream but nothing came out. All you could do was shake as a tidal wave of sensation consumed you within the span of a single heartbeat, the dull throb from your teat when he gently laved it with his tongue bleeding seamlessly into the dizzying bursts of pleasure that were emanating from your contracting pussy. You couldn’t figure out which feeling to focus on, they were both too powerful to ignore. Too intense to differentiate one from the other. It was like drowning in the most wonderfully horrible carnal waters known to man and you couldn’t have been any happier about that.

“S - Senkuu! Oooh! Shit!”

Moaning around your nipple, he twisted his hand and pushed yet another finger into you. The stretch was finally too much for even your gushing arousal and you shook so hard that it seemed to rattle your teeth. Your heaving body resisted, contracting around the intrusion in a misguided attempt at denying him access, but Senkuu was able to worm it in right alongside the others with an enthusiastic wiggle. The pressure on your gummy upper wall doubled, blinding you with the sheer force of it, and your ass came up off the bed as you dug your feet into the mattress with a delighted shriek.

He easily followed you, keeping his digits buried inside your squeezing passage as he lapped at your teat more insistently than before. You could feel every little brush of his tongue in startling high definition, the meaty nub responding to the teasingly light friction as if it hadn’t been mercilessly mashed by a clothespin only moments ago. The powerful tinges of pleasure laced pain threatened to bowl you over on the spot and you writhed, growing more wild when Senkuu ground the heel of his palm against your neglected clit. You were tipping dangerously fast, fighting just to breathe through it while increasingly violent tremors wracked your body one right after another. He knew exactly how to play with your pussy to have you shattering around him in a matter of moments when that was his goal rather than denial and there was nothing you could do to stop it even if you’d wanted to.

“Please!” You cried out in urgency. “Right there! I’m gonna’ cum, Senkuu! Right theeere!”

Increasing the pressure he was exerting on your g-spot with his fingers, he dug his palm against your clit forcefully enough to make you lurch. You pulsating walls promptly clamped down on him, locked in dizzying tension for a small eternity while he rolled his hand into your flooding cunt. You sucked in a haggard gasp and the coil abruptly snapped, catching you off guard and making you scream as orgasm finally washed over you with all the destructive power of a crashing tsunami wave. It had you shaking so fitfully that it made the bed rattle, tears instantly springing up in your eyes while your mouth hung open in doped out bliss.

Allowing you to ride out the wild tremors on his soaked digits, Senkuu lifted his head to watch your face contort in mind numbing pleasure. You were only vaguely aware that he was staring at you from just a scant few inches away, much too caught up in your trembling ecstasy to give it more than a passing thought while your pussy was still noisily sucking on his fingers. The moment seemed to drag on forever but, just when you thought for sure you couldn’t handle much more, the contractions started to subside and you went limp on top of the bedspread with a deeply ruffled groan. You were totally spent. Achingly satisfied and comfortably floating somewhere on cloud nine, but ultimately spent.

“Hmm. You look like you enjoyed that.” Senkuu murmured, that sly edge creeping into his tone once again as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your body. “Final verdict?”

Wincing slightly at the sticky wet squelch that rose up between your legs, you groggily shifted to peer over at him. “It was good. Really intense at times, but I liked it.”

“So you’d be up to doing it again?” He said with a mischievous wiggle of his brows.

“Yes.” Laughing softly, you reached out to tuck one of the loose hanging, silver-white strands behind his ear. “But not today. My nipples hurt .”

“I bet.”

Dipping his face down, Senkuu brushed an apologetic kiss to the sore tip of your breast. You shuddered and let him do the same to the opposite teat before bringing your hands up to push at his narrow shoulders. He acquiesced without a fuss, letting you guide him back onto the bed as you sat up to hover over him. You licked your lips and reached for the buttons on his shirt, deftly undoing them one after another until the skin underneath was laid bare to you.

He deviously smirked when you leaned forward and kissed his collarbone before making your way down the lean expanse of his chest. Senkuu’s breath was slow and shallow under your mouth, a testament to the fact that he was still very much aroused, and you wasted no time busying your hands with his slacks. The click of the belt seemed loud in your ears, the following zrrrrt of the zipper just as deafening. You shifted over top of him and tugged his pants down long legs, throwing them over the side of the bed once they were free of his feet.

Sitting up on your knees, you gave him an appreciative once over. Senkuu looked like a luxuriating king sprawled out on the comforter in nothing but an open shirt and black boxer briefs, your sticky cunt stirring at the sight of him. The realization that maybe you weren’t entirely spent after all made you feel giddy as you trailed your nail down the center of his flat stomach tauntingly slow.

“Now it’s your turn ...”

#dr stone #senkuu ishigami #senkuu x reader #senku x reader #senku ishigami #self insert bullshit #My writing

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male shadow/room monster (Lamorak) x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

The first-prize winner of my giveaway from a little while back, @honeysugacube, requested a tentacled shadow/room monster for the 3k story, so here it is!

Content: Reader is both touch- and affection-starved, feeling distant and detached from her family who provide her with things and objects instead of the warmth of affection, equating them with love... In a version of her own fairytale, the reader gets the friend and affection she longs for. Wordcount: 3825

___

Leaving the campus and the stresses of your course behind you, you stepped onto the bus and drew out your phone to text your mother. ‘Just leaving - I’ll be home in half an hour or so.’ With that done, you slipped your earphones into your ears and turned up your music. Moments of your day replayed in a random shuffle through your mind, but always you felt always on the outside of things.

Your classmates had arrived at the lecture that morning and immediately hugged their friends, slapped each other on the back, and blurted questions and anecdotes from their weekends, while you doodled quietly on the edge of your notebook, waiting for the professor to show up. It wasn’t that you had no one, but they had different classes, and when you did share lunch together, there was nothing between you like the depth of friendship you saw with that group in particular. You didn’t really see them outside of a university context, and you’d never been all that good at making friends.

The bus jolted and you blinked, realising that you’d drifted off into your reverie, and now the bus was pulling away from your stop. It wasn’t that far to the next one, so you pushed the stop button and slouched to the front of the bus, bag slung over one shoulder.

Closing the front door behind you twenty minutes later than you’d intended, with sore shoulders from lugging your book bag all that extra way, you sighed. The hall light was off, casting odd shadows across the walls and floor, and as you kicked your shoes off and one bounced off the skirting board, you thought the shadows shifted just a little bit, drawing back, almost as if they’d tried to shrink away from the blow of your shoe.

You frowned, but paid it no more attention than that, and headed for the kitchen. Your father stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables while your older brother lounged nearby, nose buried in his phone. It had been a little quieter around here since your older sister had got a job about three hours’ drive from the city, and you were still getting used to that absence, like an instrument missing in a group while the others play on regardless. You were the only one who really seemed to notice the difference.

“How was class today?” your father asked without looking up.

“It was fine,” you said as you poured yourself a drink. He didn't comment that you were later than usual, and perhaps he hadn’t noticed. You’d learned not to bother trying to elaborate on the intricate details of your day to your family. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about you, so much as they just… didn’t engage. You’d spent a good five minutes with your mother telling her about the first day’s lectures last year, and once you’d finished, she’d said, “I’m glad it went ok. Would you like rice or pasta with supper?” That pretty much summed up your relationship with your family; they were good providers, but there was no warmth.

As your father finished with the vegetables, he asked, “Are you planning on going out with any friends for your birthday next week?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.” If you’d been honest, you’d half forgotten that it was your birthday anyway. You hadn’t made any plans, worried that anyone you asked would either accept only to be polite or would find somewhere better to be and leave you feeling worse than before about not doing anything.

“You’re still up for going to that Italian place round the corner though, right?” your brother butted in from the other side of the room.

“Sure?” you shrugged. He and your parents loved Italian, so that would probably make for an easy evening all around.

“Great,” he grinned and turned back to his phone.

A week later, you woke in the pre-dawn of your birthday and felt absolutely certain that there was someone in the room with you. With a gasp, you sat bolt upright and stared at the door, but nothing was out of place, and there was clearly no one else there. With your heart pounding, you sighed, feeling the ghost of a touch on your face from some lingering dream that you only half remembered. Fingers had been stroking gently down your cheek, and combing through your hair, a soft voice whispering that they were proud of you.

Sighing deeply, you flopped back into the pillows with a groan. The more you thought about it though, the sharper the details became. The fingers had not been fingers, but soft, smooth tentacles of dark grey smoke, and there had been milk-white eyes blinking in the darkness; four of them.

“What a way to start my birthday, huh?” you mused aloud. With another sigh, you rolled over and pulled the covers up around your ears.

Hours later at breakfast, your parents gave you your presents - a modest list of things that would have been useful to almost anyone your age at college, and, with a small degree of fanfare, they offered you the latest iPhone, telling you how much you deserved it for working so hard and making them proud. No one gave you a hug though. It was hard not to feel ungrateful as you cradled your new phone in your hands, and the guilt that accompanied the sentiment troubled you. They loved you, of course they did, and they showed it by providing you with everything you could want. Except what you actually needed in the truest sense of the word…

Conversation at dinner that night was mostly centred on your father’s work, but there was a bit of discussion about the progress that your brother’s favourite team had made through the league tables, and your mother even asked you about the assignment you’d been struggling with a little bit the last week. “I got an A,” you smiled and her face lightened instantly.

“Well done. I knew you’d do us proud.”

Your hand twitched on the fork, as if you’d been expecting her to reach over and squeeze it, but she didn’t. She topped up your glass and chinked hers jauntily against the rim instead, the cold glass chiming oddly in the busy restaurant.

Back at home your brother nudged you in the ribs and tilted his head curiously. “You ok? You were kind of quiet tonight…”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just a bit tired.”

“Ok, look, I was going to give this to you earlier, but I thought I’d wait til tonight. I know you used to read all those creepy fairytales under the covers as a kid and play with all the dolls mum and dad gave you…” and with that, he handed you a badly-wrapped parcel, the selotape lifting off at one end where it had refused to stick to the brown paper. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m kind of shitty at wrapping.”

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Awkwardly, he flashed a smile at you and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with the present he’d pulled out of his jacket pocket where it'd been hanging on a peg on the wall. From the weight of it and the shape of the package, you were certain it was a hardback book. As you swept your fingers over the cover, the light above you flickered off suddenly and you glared up at it. In the absence of light, the shadows seemed denser somehow, and you shivered, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling slightly. A heartbeat later, and it came back on. With another shiver, you left the hall and headed upstairs.

Alone in your room, you unwrapped your brother’s present.

Old, slightly cracked leather bound the book, and it had metallic corner pieces to protect the edges. It was only about as long as your hand from palm to fingertip, and there was nothing on the cover at all. Opening it carefully, your nose picked up hints of a scent like distant woodsmoke, herbs, and something akin to petrichor. Inside was written a phrase in Latin and, with the help of your new phone, you discovered that it meant, ‘In the heart there lives a shadow’. “Odd title,” you murmured aloud.

The story itself, thank goodness, was written in English, in an archaic typeface that might have looked at home with a first edition of Dickens or something.

‘In a house on the hill above town lived a young girl,’ it began in typical fairytale style, and despite the cliche, you found yourself falling further and further into the story. It spoke of the daughter of a witch who had grown up feeling isolated, her mother always working. The parallel hit you hard almost immediately and you wondered if your brother had finally noticed how your family behaved towards each other. Dismissing it as a fluke, you turned your attention back to the book.

To make up for the lack of time the spent together, the witch bought her daughter gifts, and among one of those gifts was a small chest, meant for jewellery or trinkets. When the girl opened the chest, however, she found a pool of inky liquid that stirred and rippled when she dipped her finger into it, the fluid never leaving any trace on her skin. She left the jewellery case open on a table in her bedroom, and that night when the sun went down, when there was only candlelight in her room, a small black cat crept up to her.

You smiled as you read the next bit, having spent the whole of your childhood longing for a pet that you could share some kind of connection with; a cat to curl up in the creases of your duvet, a dog to play with… frankly anything would have done, even a goldfish to swim around in circles in a tank, but your parents had said no. The dream of one just appearing one day had been a near-constant one for you. The little girl in the story discovered that her cat was not a normal cat and was in fact a creature formed from the strange darkness in the chest.

As she grew, the creature changed shape, eventually taking on the form of a young man. “You’re happy tonight,” he said as the two of them lay on a grassy hillside, gazing up at the stars.

She reached her hand across and touched his strange, smoky skin. Beneath the twisting mist that surrounded him like an aura, his body was smooth and hard, cool like leather, and as he linked his fingers with hers, she said, “I have you - I have a friend. I’m no longer alone.”

Tears rolled down your face as you finished the story, leaving the little book open in your lap. Never had you felt more alone than in the wake of finishing that strange fairytale. “I wish…” you sniffed, smearing the back of your wrist under your nose. “I wish I wasn’t so alone all the time…” you hissed bitterly, before you began to laugh softly to yourself. Your whole body ached, right down to your bones, and your chest twisted, leaving you feeling wrung-out and empty.

Heck, you’d probably even have taken a shadow monster yourself for a friend in that moment, and no sooner had you thought it than something moved across the room, startling you out of your tears. Blinking to clear your vision, you watched a shadow growing slowly in the middle of the empty floor, like a spreading puddle. A moment later, you thought your ears must be deceiving you as you heard a soft, rasping voice whisper, “Please don’t cry… I can’t bear to hear you cry.”

“What?” you breathed, sitting up and staring wide-eyed at the rippling darkness in the centre of the room. Fear clenched your heart so tightly you wanted to scream, but you weren’t sure you had enough voice.

“Please… don’t be afraid… I swear I will never hurt you,” the entity murmured, and the surface of the small pool surged and rippled before quietening down.

“What are you?” you hissed, heart thudding. “How is this happening?”

“Don’t you remember me?” came the response.

You stared blankly at the shadow. “Remember you?”

A gentle smile crept into the voice of the creature you couldn’t quite see, and you heard the voice say, “When we were both very small, we used to play together. I’ve grown up here alongside you.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered as a flood of memories you didn’t know you still had rushed across your mind. “My imaginary friend… I… called you Lamorak…”

“Indeed you did. After one of the knights of Arthur, I believe,” he said, sounding amused at that.

You paused and then swallowed nervously. “So… if you’re real, then what are you?”

“I… I’m honestly not sure. I believe that I am formed of the shadows in this place, and that I was partly conjured by you when you were young to fulfil the needs of a young child who was often overlooked.”

“But… how is that possible?”

The darkness rippled again and the voice answered, “Magic, most likely. The force of a wish can be pretty powerful, especially in someone very young.”

“Tell me you’re the only one like you that lives here,” you demanded, a twang of anxiety shooting through you at the thought of innumerable shadow beings hiding in every crevice of the house.

“To my knowledge, yes,” he replied.

“I… I think I remember you in a different shape…” you said after staring for another few seconds at the mass of ebbing shadows on the floor, breathing like an ocean on a sandy shore. It was true, though you hadn’t thought about Lamorak for years. Your mother had dismissed your talk of the shadow boy for childish fantasy, and you’d started to see and think of him less and less after that. Forgotten, he had apparently banished himself back to the shadows of the house but had never left. Something about that made your heart hurt all over again.

He chuckled and said, “I take many shapes now.”

“Do you have a favourite?” you asked shyly, realising that you were no longer afraid.

After a little pause, he asked, “Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless with excitement for the first time in a long time.

The shape began to shift and move, rising up and filling the space in the centre of the room to a height of six and half feet or so; it was difficult to be sure because the shadows that surrounded him like an aura were constantly moving. There was a part of his ill-defined silhouette that was clearly his head, and from it, four milky, silvery eyes blinked at you, all slightly out of sync. From his broad shoulders down, he got stranger and even less humanoid; his arms looked more like tentacles, writhing slightly, and as you continued to stare at him from your bed, you realised that there were more of them behind him, and the two which were most prominent were just the largest of them. His legs too were not humanoid, but were a seething mass of tentacles, some thick, others almost wispy, ending in tiny coils of mist like candle smoke.

“Wow…”

“You’re not the only one who’s changed a bit,” he chuckled and you warmed to his dry sense of humour instantly.

“Yeah, but you were supposed to be my imaginary friend… Emphasis on ‘imaginary’…! Come here,” you smiled and he obliged, if somewhat tentatively.

“Not so imaginary after all,” Lamorak breathed as he neared you, shadows frothing and roiling around his lower tentacles like waves around sea-kelp. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted as he drew to a halt in front of you.

You got slowly to your feet and stood beside your bed, dwarfed by his presence, but instead of being intimidated by him, your stomach twisted and you began to cry again.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning down and bringing a soft-looking tentacle to your face. He drew the very tip of it across your cheek, and you watched the shape of his eyes change from almost completely round, like giant pearls, to pinched tight at the outer corners, as if worried. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I… I feel awful that I forgot you… I… I didn’t know how much I missed you too…” you sobbed, and in a heartbeat you felt his arms wrap around your body. Darkness enveloped you and you let it consume you utterly.

The peaceful thum-thum of his heartbeat was all you could hear for a moment, before a different noise rose around you. Gentle whispers, like spring leaves tickled by a soft breeze, filled your ears and mind, and when you lurched back, suddenly recalling having heard them before in moments alone in your room, he cocked his head to one side and shrank back. “Did I hug you too tightly?” he asked, half joking, half worried.

You shook your head. “You’ve always been here, haven’t you?”

He shrugged slightly, all the tentacles on his right side heaving and shifting. “I’ve mostly been dormant in the basement,” he admitted. “But I have come to see you sometimes. When you’re lonely, you call to me. I don’t think you know you’re doing it though.”

“The whispers…?” you asked.

“I think it’s these,” he said, first looking at one tentacle and then bringing more up to touch your cheek again, and you shuddered violently as sparks of inexpressible joy flashed across your whole body. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you said, another tear escaping your eye. “I… I don’t understand…”

“Understand what?”

“Why that feels so good…?” you admitted. “It’s… I… Is there something wrong with me?”

In an instant, he had picked you up in his arms and sat you down on your bed. “No,” he reassured you, even as he drew back slightly to give you a little room to breathe. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just… alone.”

“Why did you show yourself to me tonight?” you asked, hoping to distract yourself from the way your hands were trembling and your skin felt suddenly too tight all over.

Lamorak gestured at the bed beside you and said, “May I sit?”

“Sure.”

He leaned in close and nudged his side against your shoulder; it was the gesture a familiar friend might make and it brought a lightness to your chest. He was still tall and you also liked the way you had to look up at him. “You’re hurting but you’ve stopped noticing. You felt it all over again tonight when you read that story, and… well… I felt it too.”

The aching in your chest redoubled and you leaned into his welcoming darkness. “It’s like my wish came true,” you breathed.

“May I hold you?” he asked in a voice as gentle as velvet.

When you nodded and whimpered, “Please,” he drew you easily into his lap, as if you were still a child, and allowed his dark tentacles to hold you while you curled up against him.

“Lamorak,” you smiled as exhaustion washed over you and you let him stroke your cheek and your hair until you drifted off to sleep.

He came to you night after night following that first reunion on your birthday. Six months later and your grades had gone up, you’d become marginally more confident and sociable at university, and you’d been invited to three people’s birthday events.

Returning after the latest one, you shot down the corridor and into your bedroom. Going still as you reached the middle of the room, you looked around. “Lamorak?” you whispered and the darkness beside the wardrobe coalesced into his familiar, tentacled form as he stepped out to greet you. “I had so much fun tonight!” you grinned, elated and buzzing. “Thank you for encouraging me to go!”

“I can feel it,” he chuckled, approaching and lifting your chin. “You look happy.”

Easily you stepped into his arms, but something felt different that night. The bond between you and this shadow creature suddenly drew taut as a bowstring and your heart began to pound as you sensed the slight change. “Lamorak,” you gasped as his tentacles touched your neck and throat with searing affection, yet more winding around your waist and thighs. “Oh my god… that’s… that…”

“You want me to stop?” he purred in your ear.

“No!” you gasped, and a tentacle slithered up your spine, beneath your clothes.

Shaking, you tipped back into his hold and let him carry you to the bed. “I want you,” he said. “I want to show you how much I love you…”

“Please…” you hissed, throwing your head back as his shadows skimmed under your bra and brushed over your nipple. “Please…!”

Slowly, with the reverence of a pilgrim at a shrine, he undressed you, taking care to keep caressing you all the while with his many other tentacles. His four, pearlescent eyes blinked rapidly, though none of them at the same time, and as he worked you closer and closer, delving inside you and circling your clit enough to make you gasp and moan and cry out against his dark body, you caught a glimpse of his mouth for the very first time. A long, horizontal slit in the blackness of his face opened up, revealing a maw of pointed teeth, and a black tongue, long and languid.

He dragged it over your thighs and stomach, over your hips, and finally down to enjoy the taste of you. Again and again his tongue savoured you and sent waves of pleasure throughout your whole body until you almost forgot how to breathe and your skin felt aflame.

“Perfect,” he moaned against your body and you felt the echo of it in your mind. The constant whispering of the shadows around his tentacles rose to a cacophony as you bucked and heaved, heat coiling inside you.

“I’m…” you cried out just before you came.

Lamorak held you while you clenched and heaved, stroking you tenderly all the while, caressing you and kissing you until you finally fell back into the sheets beneath you. Your body was wrung out and tingling all over, and every time he moved even a little bit, you twitched again. He gave you kisses and told you in hoarse whispers how beautiful you were.

“Don’t leave me,” you whimpered as he adjusted his tentacled embrace around you, and he washed slowly back over your body in a tide of darkness.

“Shh,” he crooned. “I’m here. I’m always here for you. As long as you need me, I’m here. And I’m always yours.”

With those words echoing in your mind, you drifted quietly to sleep, naked in the safety of his arms.

—

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

So idk if you'd be interested but I had the idea of like the witchers when they were still lil maybe before the mutations or maybe right after and lil lambert having a nightmare and lil geralt and lil eskel giving him a cuddle and making him feel better

I’ve not been able to get the idea of little witchers out of my head since you sent this in, Nonnie! And finally, I have an idea that I feel is good enough for this prompt - might lack a little on a literal nightmare but...hopefully the rest of it makes up for it. :D

The winter at Kaer Morhen was more lively than it had been in decades. It wasn’t just the usual four witchers there, this time Jaskier was there and Yennefer too. It was noisy, for want of a better word. With Jaskier around, there was always laughter and music. Even if he wasn’t the one making racket, he had a wonderful knack for inspiring the others to revert to something more lighthearted.

Truthfully, it was a little tiring. Lambert, Eskel and even Geralt had a habit of becoming so much more animated. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means but Vesemir did miss the quiet of the keep, the warm nights where they were all settled by a fire and reading or playing gwent in relative silence. Now, there was an almost constant jesting, scuffling and running around that was worse than when they were children. So, really, Vesemir couldn’t be blamed when he announced he was going to go hunting for a few days. He wasn’t running away. Simply, he was taking a breather and enjoying the silent solitude of the mountain. It wasn’t like he was leaving behind literal children, they could keep everything ticking over while he was gone. As planned, he left.

Breakfast without Vesemir was unusual. Lambert sat opposite Geralt and Yennefer who was trying her best to ignore the bickering and the fact that Jaskier’s swinging legs were kicking her ankle every few seconds. They were noisy, ribbing each other, Lambert was trying to cram a whole egg in his mouth while Jaskier was trying to make him laugh so he couldn’t do it.

“You’d look more graceful gargling a ballsack,” Eskel barked on a laugh and nudged Yennefer who was next to him. “Trust me on this one, I know.”

Obviously his comment hit its mark because Lambert threw a half eaten slice of toast coated in jam at him. Only a quick aard stopped it from splattering on Eskel. However, it instead ended up, jam side down, on Yennefer’s shoulder and hair. Silence engulfed the room as everyone watched her reaction. Without a word, she stood up and stalked out.

“Yennefer! Wait!” Jaskier was up and after her, knowing that of the lot, he would have the greatest chance of appeasing her (and probably most capable of getting jam out of hair with minimal pain).

Just outside the hall, Yennefer spun on her heel and glared at him. Not that it made much of a difference, Jaskier had grown immune to most glares and threats over the years.

“They were just having fun,” Jaskier tried to appease. “They’re home, relaxed and without the pressing worries of the Path. Childhood home and all that.”

There was a glint in Yennefer’s eyes and her smile held nothing nice. “Exactly like children,” she nodded. “They can be as they behave.”

Stepping around Jaskier, she carelessly flung a bright purple spell into the hall and turned to Jaskier. “Have fun with the kids.” Before he had a chance to ask, she opened up at portal and walked away without a backward glance.

“Shit.” Jaskier tried to listen through the door before he returned, wondering whether he’ll find three witchers knocked out or turned into goats. In the end, it was so much worse than that. Because when Jaskier returned to the hall, he wasn’t greeted by goats. Not even three idiots asleep, face first in their food. Instead, three sets of large, terrified eyes peered up at him from shirts that were too large.

Eskel and Geralt couldn’t have been more than five while Lambert was probably about three. They watched Jaskier walk in and backed away, distrust and fear clear in their little faces. It broke Jaskier’s heart.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier dropped his voice to something soft and gentle and he crouched down. “I’m a friend.”

They were obviously children but some of their memories must have remained because Geralt suddenly made a run for him, arms out stretched and a cry of “Jaskier!” as he barrelled into the bard. It was only because he was so small and light that they didn’t go toppling over.

“You’re alright, Geralt,” Jaskier soothed as he wrapped arms around the tiny witcher who was utterly swamped in his old shirt. “You two okay?” he asked Lambert and Eskel, standing up. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was for Lambert’s lips to wobble precariously as he backed away, tripping on his own shirt. The wail of distress was only made worse when Eskel pulled himself up to his full height and bravely stood between Jaskier and Lambert without a word. He was quivering and shaking, turning a little from Jaskier but standing his ground all the same.

“Oh sweethearts,” Jaskier breathed. He crouched down and extended an arm for Eskel too. “I’ll look after you all.”

Turning away, Eskel reached a hand for Lambert and pushed him up. While keeping a tight grip on him, he edged closer to Jaskier. Close enough, Eskel made a quick dash and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s neck while Lambert tentatively took hold of the outstretched hand.

Three baby witchers wrapped around him, Jaskier looked around and sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy and he silently cursed Yennefer’s vindictive ways. There was no telling how long the spell would last or when she or Vesemir would be back. For a change, Jaskier had to be the adult and the one to look after everyone else. The first challenge was standing up with three child witchers in his arms. With a groan and a heave, he managed and staggered over to the table.

“Right, we need to make sure you’re all fed.” He knew next to nothing about children and diets but he suspected that the mead on the table was a no go. Adult witchers might be idiots to drink at breakfast but Jaskier wasn’t. He pushed that out of reach and looked at the rest of the table. “Jam toast, who’d like some?”

Three small hands shot up immediately. Which was a good sign, surely. Pulling the bread close, Jaskier cut three slices and made sure the witchers stayed in their seats while he toasted the bread. Once it was lightly brown and crispy, Jaskier returned and was surprised to find Eskel had already managed to grab the jam jar and was wielding a knife.

As alarming as it was to see a small child with a knife, Jaskier let him put jam on his own toast while he sorted the ones for Lambert and Geralt. Only, Eskel seemed to have beaten him to it, the toast now sticky with lumps of jam was pushed towards Lambert who picked it up, uncaring of getting his hands messy.

“That was very kind, Eskel,” Jaskier said and passed him another slice of toast while giving Geralt one too. He watched them eat, smiled at Geralt’s polite “thank you”. So far, he’d heard Lambert cry and Geralt speak yet Eskel remained oddly silent.

Washing three sticky and squirming witchers was a task and a half. Jaskier was reluctant to let them out of his sight, not trusting them around the crumbling old keep. But they seemed determined to run around like children were wont to do. Tidying away the breakfast table, Jaskier watched them and realised something that made him sit down for a moment. For all their play, there wasn’t a single bit of laughter. There was a wariness to all three, they were protective of each other. While they remembered Jaskier to a certain extent, they seemed stuck in a limbo between being true children and people who have experienced a century of horror. It didn’t bear thinking about, what they could remember and how their current state allowed for the processing of it.

Not that Jaskier had to wonder for long. All too soon the three little terrors had quieted down, looking sleepy. Which meant it was probably time for a nap.

“Come on, you lot,” Jaskier herded them towards their bedrooms. “Afternoon nap.”

It would mean he got to at least prepare dinner without having to worry. Geralt’s bedroom was the first and Jaskier tucked him in, unable to miss out on a kiss to his forehead. Next was Lambert who kicked up at little fuss but Jaskier twisted the corner of a throw into a makeshift cuddly toy and he watched as Lambert shoved the tip in his mouth, eyes drooping. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Lambert sucking his thumb when he fell asleep. Last was Eskel who was still as silent as before. He clutched at Jaskier’s hand, obviously reluctant to be left alone to sleep but it had to happen. Jaskier had other things to do.

First things first, Jaskier returned to his room. He cast his lute a longing glance but knew it wasn’t right. Looking after three child witchers was exhausting, he sat down on his bed heavily and tried to figure out what to do next. Dinner preparations. Maybe find a storybook in the library. It was easier to think with his eyes closed. And if he lay down for just a minute, to rest while he plotted out a course of action. The bed was soft and warm, he could safely think there.

Jaskier jolted awake to the sound of wailing. It was an utterly terrified child crying tears of distress. Stumbling out, Jaskier rushed towards the noise coming from Lambert’s room. The door was already open and he blinked to see Lambert, tear streaked face red and mouth curved down into the unhappiest of frowns. However, Eskel was hugging him from one side while Geralt was clambering up onto the bed too.

“Bad dream?” Jaskier asked and he perched on the edge of the bed. He didn’t expect Lambert to nod.

“Big monster.” His voice wobbled and fresh tears sprung up. “It bit me. Wanted to eat me.”

It was all too easy to reach for the bundle of witchers and pull them in for a cuddle. Lambert sniffled and described the monster while Geralt looked at him and nodded along.

“Kikimora.” Geralt suddenly said. “That’s what tried to eat you. It bit me once too.”

Jaskier could see the confusion on Geralt as he said it, the war of memory versus his current state made him frown. Especially when he peered at his shoulder where Jaskier knew he had a scar which wasn’t there in his current form.

“You’re very brave for not letting it eat you,” Jaskier added, stroking through Lambert’s hair. “How about we go down to the hall again? I could tell you a story.”

Keeping Lambert in his arm, Jaskier led the way, one hand holding Eskel’s while Geralt kept his fisted in his breeches. The fire had died down and the room was cooling. Jaskier would need to rekindle it but before he had a chance, Eskel raised a hand in a familiar sign and a powerful burst of flames shot out. It was a little too much, flames raced up the walls for a moment before dying down.

“Good job!” Jaskier said all the same. He knew witchers could cast signs but he’d never seen one so powerful.

They settled on the throws and Jaskier tried to think of old tales that would be suitable for children. Preferably none with monsters or anything that could upset them. His pickings were slim but he finally found one, a noble night and his horse on a quest to retrieve the crown for the king. It was easy enough to change a few details, come up with pit filled with spikes to swing over using vines rather than hyrda’s thousand heads hissing in a pit. All three witchers listened raptly, eyes large, gasping at all the tense bits and Lambert let out a little cheer when the knight got to the crown.

Dinner was a simple affair. Jaskier found some cured meats and fruits. While the three ate, he went to get his lute. They could have a quiet evening together. Really, the witchers were already drooping into their plates. It was kind of adorable.

Settling them on the rugs, Jaskier piled blankets and pillows around them, fussing to get them comfortable. Once they were settled into a cuddle pile, he picked up his lute and began to play. Slowly, the songs morphed from nursery rhymes to lullabies and the witchers fell asleep one by one. Placing his lute to the side, Jaskier tucked them in securely and smiled. They looked so peaceful and cute when asleep. Plus, he had been right, Lambert did suck his thumb. Grabbing a fur, Jaskier settled down and fell asleep, knowing that he would wake if anything happened over night.

Nothing did happen and Jaskier woke to the sound of the door slamming shut in the morning.

“What the hell?” Vesemir’s voice was full of disbelief, a deer slung over his shoulders and a handful of quails and rabbits hanging from his hands.

“I can explain!” Jaskier mumbled as he sat up. The witchers were quicker though and they were all backing away from Vesemir as he approached. Geralt pulled Lambert behind Jaskier while Eskel charged. With all the determination and bravery of a child, he stomped up to Vesemir and kicked him in the ankle before turning and running to hide behind Jaskier, clutching at Lambert.

Obviously, on some level they remembered the Vesemir had trained them. Jaskier didn’t know the full level of his involvement in creating witchers but the three cowering behind him told him enough.

“Yennefer got pissed off yesterday morning,” Jaskier offered with a hopeful look. “Maybe the spell will wear off.”

“I’ll get the potion to break the spell ready. You get them each a mug of warm milk.” With that, Vesemir walked to the pantry, dumped his collection on the ground and left.

Orders given, Jaskier set about getting things ready. He settled the three witchers at the table, put some fruits in front of them to snack on so he could warm up milk and pour it into mugs. By the time he was tipping the saucepan over the mugs, Vesemir had reappeared with a vial in hand.

“How have they been?”

“Fine. Minus the nightmares. Eskel hasn’t said anything though. But he has one hell of an igni.”

A world weary sigh left Vesemir. “That’s them for you. Geralt was always polite and well behaved. Eskel was all but mute until long after the trials. We knew he could speak but he only did that with Geralt, Lambert and a few others. Being more magically inclined, he had a knack for all the signs. Meanwhile, Lambert was, well, nobody expected him to survive the trials.”

“I hope you never told him that.” The look Vesemir gave Jaskier told him everything. “Well then, let’s get them back to how they should be, right?”

Three mugs, each with two drops of the potion. It turned the milk a vibrant yellow. Vesemir’s “at least it will taste sweet” was only mildly reassuring. None of the witchers let Vesemir approach so Jaskier set down two mugs then turned to take the third from him.

“You need to drink it to be big, strong witchers,” he said. There was a reluctance from the three until Geralt piped up.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” Vesemir was cast suspicious looks and nobody touched their mugs.

“It shouldn’t,” Jaskier said and that seemed to ease things a little. “If it does, I’ll be here to help.”

Hesitantly, Geralt reached for his mug, too trusting. He took a sip and his eyes widened in delight before starting to chug it with childish delight. Taking his lead the other two picked up their mugs and drank too.

At first nothing happened and Jaskier looked nervously to Vesemir. Then he saw Geralt’s face fall into a frown, a hand going to his stomach. There was a soft poof of smoke and the next moment Geralt was sat there in his scarred, adult form. Two more puffs and Lambert and Eskel were back. They all blinked owlishly, looked at each other then at Jaskier and Vesemir.

“Oh fuck,” Eskel gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. “I kicked Vesemir in the ankle.”

“Just don’t do it now and I’ll forgive you,” Vesemir smiled. “Everyone alright?”

Three mute nods were his reply and everyone tried to make sense of what had happened over the course of the last day. While there was a silent agreement that they would never mention it again, Vesemir wasn’t surprised to find the four of them in a pile in front of the fire come evening. He didn’t even roll his eye when he saw Lambert hadn’t yet managed to shake his old habit of sucking his thumb.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #yennefer of vengerberg #child witchers #age regression #i really hope the cut works on this #i promise i put it in but if tumblr messes up then i am very sorry #tldr: the witchers are turned back into children

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-7)

Word count: 5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: fluff, feels... like a lot of them ;)

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23 You da best <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

14th August 2008

It was the third time you were looking into the mirror, straightening the pleats of your dress and smoothening your hair. It absolutely refused to behave today.

“Y/N!” Jo yelled from downstairs. “Sam’s here!”

Your heart beat reacted to the news before the rest of your body. You stared numbly at the reflection in the mirror and it stared back at you stupidly.

Sighing, you picked up the coat which you had washed and pressed, and folded it on your arm.

Sam met you at the base of the staircase just like the last time.

“You-” he started to say; in your nervousness you cut him off. “I’m just gonna tell aunt El and Jo that we’re heading out.”

Your aunt was at the table chopping onions and Jo was grinning at you widely over the top of her book.

Ellen smiled, “Have a great time,” she said, then a little louder. “You have her home by ten, Samuel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam made a big deal out of bowing.

Jo winked at him and mouthed ‘hot stuff,’ which you weren’t supposed to see but did anyway and blushed.

“Where are we going?” You questioned, as Sam opened the door to his brother’s car for you.

“There’s really only one good place in the town,” he said apologetically. “Dean felt so bad about it that he even lent me the Impala. That way I can at least notch up some impression.”

You laughed and he gave you a winning look. The sort of look one would have on their face if they came across a twenty dollar bill out of the blue.

“How’re you holding up?” He asked, averting his eyes from the road just for a bit to look at you.

“I’m okay,” you answered, honestly. “I miss her awfully, and I feel lost sometimes, though the more I think about it, the more I feel relieved that she passed away peacefully and painlessly.”

She had been happy till the last day of her life, and you were trying to draw some peace out of that. Gran would have wanted you to.

“Here,” You handed him his coat, as you stepped out of the car in front of the restaurant. It was the same one that he had offered you on the day of the average birthday. You had never gotten around to return it.

Sam didn’t take it. “You hold on to it a little longer for me,” he said with a cryptic smile.

The restaurant was crowded, as was expected out of a Saturday night. The hostess met you at the door and when Sam gave her his name, she led you to a corner table. Sam pulled your chair for you like a true gentleman and then nudged the menu towards you.

You took a look at it, ordering the first thing that appeared familiar; some type of red sauce pasta. The table had lovely roses in a vase, with water sprinkled on them like dews. Underneath the vase and over the table was an expensive looking lace tablecloth.

“You’re very quiet,” Sam said after a while. “What’re you thinking?”

“This,” you gestured towards the table in front of you and the restaurant in general. “I’ve never done this before.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

He really didn’t know. “I come from a small town, Sam. We didn’t have fancy restaurants there. Just one crappy diner and few take outs, and I’ve lived there all my life. In fact, the only few times I went to a city was to Topeka; once with Aunt El when I was thirteen and then a couple of times with a neighbour, to help my Gran with some bakery stuff. I’ve just never been to a fancy restaurant before.”

It baffled you that Sam even wanted to date someone like you who knew so little about the world, when he had been to Stanford and then to Yale and New York. What could he possibly hope to find in common with you?

You were expecting him to look at you funnily. Instead, you found wonder in his eyes.

“Yet, you wanted to apply to universities so far away?”

You looked down at where his hands lay on the table, and nervously placed yours over his. At first his hand jerked, as if he hadn’t expected it, but then flattened against the table top, allowing you to cover it with yours.

“My dad was a lawyer,” you said. “First person from that town to ever actually get out and get a degree, and Gran was so proud of him. I don’t remember much, but I remember him getting smartly dressed in the morning and mom picking a tie for him and tying it around his neck. Every morning she would do that, and every morning he would swoop her in his arms and kiss her.”

The waiter arrived with your food, and you quickly jerked your hand back. Sam looked bereft at the loss of contact. He didn’t press you for conversation though.

The spaghetti was good; mouthwateringly so and you worried about how much it cost. You wanted to split for the dinner, and there was just so much money you had. You were hoping that the food wasn’t so expensive that you wouldn’t be able to pay. Sam had ordered what looked like a somewhat unappealing salad. You wanted to offer him your spaghetti but weren’t sure if that was against the etiquette.

Uhhggg curses to the small town upbringing. You knew nothing about this sort of thing, or even how to talk to boys. Maybe telling them on the first date about how woefully limited your knowledge was of the world was actually a bad idea.

You were hell-bent on making it worse.

“When I said I’ve never done this before,” you said slowly, rolling the fork in your spaghetti. “I also meant that I’ve never been on a date before.”

“What?” His fork clattered into the bowl, the shock clear on his face.

Maybe now you had done it. You still wanted to clear it up. “I just- I don’t want you to think I’m super cool or something, when I’m not,” you stressed. “I don’t want you to have any expectations from me that I won’t be able to live up to.”

“Y/N,” he said. “It’s not like that. I’m just surprised that I’m lucky enough to be the first person who had actually managed to convince you into going out with him. Can’t say I’m feeling too sorry about all the poor souls who didn’t get the chance.” He grinned.

He was just so good with words. It did relieve you of some of your worry.

“Seriously,” he insisted. “Please don’t think that. All week I was worrying if you had changed your mind.”

How could you not think like that? He was the male model adonis type, from the big city and you were just so inexperienced. Sure a couple of guys in high school had asked you out, but no one had ever appealed to you the way Sam had. There was just something about him that was reassuring, like he would never break your heart. Like nothing could ever go wrong when he was around. When he was gone, however, the worry that he didn’t feel the same way about you started to seep in.

You ate the rest of your dinner quietly, feeling a bit stupid. Way to ruin your first date.

Afterwards, Sam absolutely denied splitting the bill even when you insisted. You noticed that he also tipped the waiter well.

You were upset with yourself as you walked out of the restaurant. After dreaming for days about how amazing it would be to finally go out with Sam, you had gone ahead and made a mess of it. Worrying about what must be going on in his mind, you turned towards the parking lot.

“Hey, you mind if we walk back?” Sam asked in an unsure voice. “Dean’s close-by and he always keeps a set of keys, he’ll drive the car back home.”

“Sure.”

It was cold outside, and the thin-strapped dress you were wearing was not helping with the wind at all. So you unrolled Sam’s coat and pulled it over, regretting that unlike the last time, it wasn’t smelling like him. He saw you rolling the sleeves up and smirked.

As you stepped onto the pavement, Sam offered you his hand and you took it gladly. Maybe the whole evening wasn’t ruined.

“Sorry I’m making you walk,” Sam confessed. “I didn’t want the night to end just yet. I feel like I’ve been a terrible date tonight.”

What?

“I had a great time!” You protested.

“Did you? Really?” He looked chagrined. “I am still being terrible. I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked the moment I saw you on the stairs; I didn’t. In fact you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I didn’t tell you that, either.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. This felt unreal… not just because of his words, but because of how dazed he sounded.

“That’s not the only reason why I like you though,” Sam said hurriedly, as if he was scared of offending you. “It’s because you are one of the bravest people I know. Seeing you hold yourself at your Grandmother’s funeral, after losing everything… It was the hardest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

You had stopped walking. The two of you were simply standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hands interlocked.

“And you’re so bright, so ambitious. Despite every shit hand that you’ve been dealt, you want to make something of your life. You have goals and a desire to prove yourself. How could I not want to be with you?” His eyes were melting, and so were you inside.

“Beyond that, you are kind and patient,” he said. “And I never told you any of it. I thought of it, over and over and yet I never said a word. So of course I’m a bad date.”

He was standing so close now, close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your face. You moved closer still and closed your eyes.

“What is it?” He asked softly. “Is it something I did? What aren’t you telling me?”

You placed your hands on his arms, more to steady yourself than anything. “I’ve never felt this way before, Sam,” you admitted. “I think of you all the time when I’m not with you, and when I’m with you, I feel giddy with happiness. I guess, I’m just scared that one day you’ll wake up and not find me interesting anymore.”

“Have you considered for a second that maybe I’m scared, too?” He asked. You opened your eyes and looked directly into his unearthly ones. They were reflecting the same need you felt, a strange and unknown hunger to touch, lean in just a bit closer and…

You gave in to that instinct just as he did, your lips colliding with each other’s. Sam was gentle at first, hesitant as he pressed his full lips against your bottom lip, drawing out the moment, but there was something desperate within you. You raised your hands and snaked your fingers through Sam’s hair- they were just as soft as you had imagined them to be- and dragged your teeth along his lower lip. Sam moaned into your mouth and his whole body shuddered. His muscled arms wrapped around your waist hoisting you up and he gave up on all attempts to be gentle, following your lead.

This was happening, you were actually kissing Sam. A giggled escaped you, and Sam pulled back, reluctance clear on his face.

“What?” He asked, face flushed, lips parted. You didn’t answer him, diving right into another kiss.

“One other thing,” Sam mumbled against your lips. “Of all the things that I should have said already, and I didn’t, I’m not going to hold back this one. It could be years and years from now, but I would never not find you interesting. I’ll never not want to just keep looking at you.”

*****************************************

Sam’s POV:

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Jody asked, coming to stop over him.

“I ask myself that question everyday,” Sam said, without looking up from his laptop.

He could feel Jody roll her eyes. “Stop being a smartass. I meant aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Sam read through the last line and closed the file. In fact, he took his time to push away the laptop, then remove his glasses, clean them with the tip of his tie, before looking at his now colleague. Jody had been a new addition to the faculty when Sam had been a student here. She had been one of his favourite professors then. Now, she was staring down at him with amusement in her eyes.

“I don’t have to go in today,” Sam said. “Chase said he’ll fill in at the hearing. I can just look over the papers from here.”

“If I didn’t know better,” she said sitting down next to him. “I’d think you were finding reasons for sticking around.”

Sam did a double take, “What? What makes you say that?” Surely she didn’t mean it.

Jody laughed. “I’m kidding. What’s got your panties in a twist? Loosen up.”

“It’s just that I’m not used to being alone. And I worry about him all the time,” he sighed.

“You know what you need?” She said, “You need alcohol in your life! Make the most of the alone time. He’s a good kid, you know that. He can take care of himself.”

“I know,” Sam said, feeling lame.

“Seriously, what’re you doing Friday evening?”

Sam didn’t even pretend to consider. He didn’t have a social life. “Nothing much.”

“We’re getting you that alcohol.”

“Sure.”

“If you’re sticking around,” she said too nicely, “Why don’t you help me grade the assignments?”

“Yeah, no thank you,” Sam said firmly. “I got enough of my own and you’re not dragging me into your bundle.”

Jody tried to smack him, but Sam ducked to the side, grinning.

“Eh, it’s not that bad,” she waved her hand. “The fresh batch is actually pretty impressive. I heard you let them off easy with just a case brief for an assignment.”

“I figured with you guys setting up the heavy essays, I’d let it slide this time.” He stood up to gather his files.

“It’s not the only thing I heard,” Jody said, eyes on the papers in her hand. “Your TA, Paul, said you were particularly happy about one girl’s brief. What was her name again?”

Sam swore internally. “Y/N. Her name’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

She turned around to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “You remember the names already.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t press. “I actually checked through my stack for her essay, and what do you know! She’s actually gifted.”

Sam already knew that. He tried his best to not show it by attempting to look busy with his bag.

“It’s really funny,” Jody continued, looking at him curiously. “You know who her writing reminded me of?

“Who?” He asked, already dreading the answer.

“You.”

“Really?” Sam said hurriedly packing his things.

“It’s actually quite weird,” Jody mused. “The same style of paraphrasing. And I’d know. You were one of my first students, and good, too.”

All packed, Sam turned and smiled tightly at her. “I’m still your favourite, though.”

“That you are, Winchester,” she winked. “Heading to the library again?”

“Yeah, I gotta return a book,” he said grimly.

Thankfully, it was only 4:30 and Molly was at the desk. It would be another hour and a half before her shift ended. She gave him a bright smile as he placed the book on the desk. “I need a huge favour,” he said urgently. “Can you quickly pull out the Development Control and Promotion regulations for San Jose? I need a specific hard copy. There are yellow tags on the pages.”

“Right up.”

Molly disappeared into the shelves and Sam congratulated himself on finding a quiet place to go through the references for the case he was working on, where no would quiz him about his past life. The solution for the case was in semantics, he knew that. It was still a lot of research and he needed to verify what his junior had sent him.

“Here you go,” Molly handed him the exact copy he had been working out of on Friday. “I don’t know why the hell you’re still living in the 90’s with paper tags, but to each his own.”

“Molly, you’re a lifesaver!”

She blew him a kiss and he went off to the farthest corner of the library. Sam had discovered this spot when he was a student here. No one ventured this far back, and it was well hidden from view.

He set up his laptop and got to work. It was all there. In bits and parts he put together a pretty good defense for his client. It did help that the client was wrongly accused of property damage to begin with, and the timeline of how things had gone down worked in his favour. Before he knew it, he had a rejoinder of his own ready to go for the next hearing.

Sam stretched his arms, and looked up to see that it was dark outside. Already?

He flicked his wrist to look at the watch. It was quarter past 7. Where had the time flown?

Sam craned his neck sideways to look at the librarians desk and there she was in front of the computer, looking intently into the screen. From here, Sam couldn’t see Y/N’s face. Just her profile. She wore a pale grey t-shirt and jeans underneath, not what she had worn to class today morning. Sam hated the fact that he noticed as well as remembered what she was wearing each day. He forced himself to look down and concentrate on the work at hand. He just had to phrase the concluding statements and it would be done. However, all the force that had been driving him for the past few hours seemed to disappear just like that. Try as he may, he got stuck on simple words. Soon he had read the same line five times. It didn’t help that he kept stealing glances at her.

This wasn’t like class, where he had so many eyes trained on him, where he was obligated to deliver a perfect lecture. No one was watching him now, which made it thousand times harder to keep his eyes off her.

She was busy working, completely unaware of his presence. Hadn’t she spent the past years like that? Completely unaware of what was happening with him. Anger burned bright and new within him. When he had read the brief about the Weather man case, he was already impressed before seeing who had written it. It had to be her! Sam had fought with himself over announcing her name in front of the whole class. But if it had been any other student, he’d have praised them, right? So he had to be fair and praise her, too. Never-mind that the words would burn on their way out. He had swallowed his feelings and done what was right.

Every little thing about her, may it be those cookies, or running into her in the corridors affected him to the point where it was all he could think about for the rest of the day. So had he been under the wrong impression all this time? Had he not moved on at all?

Y/N was still engrossed in her work, but as Sam looked closely, he soon realised that she was rubbing the nails of her hands against each other. Her feet were drawn up on the chair, under her legs and her shoulders were hunched. He squinted and could make out the slight shivering of her frame. She was cold.

He looked away. It wasn’t his problem. Y/N was hypersensitive to cold. She knew that very well, and made it a point to carry sweaters. If she was indeed that cold, she could just pull on one.

Sam went back to his rejoinder, typing out two more sentences of the conclusion. However, his eyes kept flitting towards her, as she rubbed her hands. Y/N smiled at the people who came by, asking for books. By this point it wasn’t hard to see that her lips were quivering, maybe her teeth were chattering, too. There was no sweater nearby.

There were so many reasons that stopped him from helping her. So many. And for all his anger and seething, all Sam wanted to do was go over and hug her so tight that she would stop shaking. He couldn’t. It wasn’t his place to do that anymore.

Sam’s fingers balled into fists in frustration and helplessness, nails digging into the flesh of his palms painfully.

Just then a girl came wandering over. She looked in her teens and Sam wondered what she was doing here.

“Are you from the college?” Sam asked her, certain that he had never seen her before.

The girl gawked at him. “I’m seventeen, dude!”

Sam didn’t care what she was doing here, but the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. “Hey, if it’s not too much to ask, please could you help me with something?”

Reader’s POV:

It had been a slow morning and an even slower afternoon. After Professor Mcleod’s class, the last one for the day ended, you decided to duck back to the apartment for a while. Madison asked you to hang out with her afterwards, but the thought of hanging out with Brad and the rest of that girl gang, didn’t appeal to you much. You had thought that you’d get over their raving about Sam, but the more you listened the harder it got. Neither could you say anything. You didn’t own Sam. So it was better to avoid them as much as you could for the sake of your own mental peace.

Since it was only two, you could actually catch some sleep before heading for the night shift which started at 6 pm and ended at 2 am. Usually everyone emptied out the library by then. You could clock in an extra hour if someone wanted to stay back. There was a Librarian’s room which you could use to catch your sleep, but from having worked two nights, you figured it was better to walk back home and grab a few hours in your own bed before classes. What was the point of living so close if you weren’t going to make the most of it?

The apartment building was too quiet and empty at this hour on a Tuesday. The only other people were Pam and Cas, both knocked out after the night shift. Even Kevin had to show up at work today. You contemplated whether to start reading for college but decided against it and headed to bed instead.

It turned out to be a bad idea, because given your track record of not waking up to the alarm lately, you slept on till the front door banged open. You sat up straight, disoriented.

“Y/N?” Meg called, uncertainly. “You’re home?”

“Sure am,” you answered through a thick throat. Like an idiot you had fallen asleep in your morning clothes and were sweaty and icky now.

Meg appeared at the door of your room. “Whoa, you’re sleeping! I thought you’d be at work.”

“Why would I be at work,” you said, sleepily, turning to the clock. “It’s only- 5:45! Shit!”

You jumped out of the bed and ran straight for the shower.

“Doesn’t your shift start at 6?” Meg shouted from outside. She sounded amused and it only worked you up as you stripped at a super speed and got into the shower. The water was cold and it was all you could do to not yelp at the sting of it on your skin. Thankfully, Meg hadn’t stuck around in the living room, when five minutes later you made a beeline for your room wrapped in just one towel. At least you didn’t have to worry about what to wear this time. A pair of jeans and any top would do. On your way out, you grabbed your bag, laptop and keys.

“Meg, I’m so sorry I didn’t cook. I was just so tired, I fell asleep.”

Meg, who was filling her nails with what looked like a pen knife, gave you an incredulous look.

“Y/N, fuck dinner! I might just go out anyway,” she said, shaking her head. “You go go go!”

You muttered a thanks and then sprinted at full speed, coming to stop seven minutes later in front of the library.

Molly was fixing the slips for the day.

“Molly, I’m so sorry- “

“Save it,” Molly waved her hand. “It’s just 6 o five.”

“Yeah okay,” you sat down, catching your breath.

“Hey listen,” Molly said, “There’s a few kinds from Palo Alto high school. They’re visiting with their teacher. That woman you see-” she pointed towards a middle aged woman who was breathing down a teenage boy's neck- “that’s her. The kids are well behaved, but they’ll stick around till dinner. You think you can manage?”

“Sure, I can do that!”

“Good luck,” she gave you a thumbs up before leaving.

As had become your unwitting habit lately, the moment you were free of a conscious thought, your mind went to Sam. He had been so frequent to the library before- Molly had been clear about that- but since your joining, he had not shown up once. Maybe your face was still that repulsive to him.

Feeling dejected, you slid your bag under the table, plugged your laptop on charging and settled into the seat, ready to go through the night’s tasks. It didn’t take you longer than five minutes to figure out that you had left your sweater at home in all the hurry to get here. Suddenly, the conditioned air in the room felt ten times colder and you grabbed your arms, hugging yourself. Oh, this was going to be a terrible evening. You briefly contemplated calling Meg, then remembered that she might have gone out for dinner, and both Kevin and Jack were out. Even Pam and Cas would have returned to their night shifts by now.

You would have to sit through this.

The high school teacher came over and introduced herself, then pointed at the seven kids she had brought with her. You barely managed to listen to what she was saying though, trying your best to warm yourself by chaffing your hands against your arms.

“Hey, you think you can grab a copy of Lord of the rings for me?” One of the kids asked, coming up to you.

You forced a smile. “I’ll have to check if we have that one. We d-don’t stock too much fiction here. You would find multiple editions of it in the Central Librar-ry th-though.”

You typed in Tolkien in the catalogue. Somehow one copy was still there.

Shivering, you turned back to look at the boy. “We have t-two towers. If you’ll give me a minute, I can get it for you.”

Breathing in and out of your mouth, you walked to the shelf and retrieved the book for him.

“Here you go,” you said. “Be sure you h-hand it in b-before you go.”

Maybe you should call Meg anyway, you thought. There was no way you could get through the night like this with nails turning blue and your teeth chattering.

“Hey!”

One of the school girls was standing before you with a blank expression on her face. “Here.” She put down bunched up fabric in front of you.

Thoughtlessly you took it, unfolding it to realise that it was, in fact, a grey coat. The sort that was part of a three piece suit. You ran your fingers over the fabric. It was soft and expensive, but felt so warm.

“Put it on!” The girl said. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

You held up the coat. “W-Who gave this to you?”

“That dude sitting at the back,” she said. “He asked me to give this to you. That’s all I know.”

You twisted your torso to glance at the table the girl had pointed to. It was empty.

Strange.

You put on the coat nevertheless, shivering violently as the fabric began to contain the body heat. Soon enough you stopped shaking completely, the warmth reminding you of happier, easier times. You walked around the corner to see who it was, but there was no one there. Shrugging you pulled the coat closer around, inhaling deeply. The scent of his cologne hit you like a ton of bricks.

It couldn’t be.

You took a look at the coat again, remembering what Sam had been wearing in the morning. It was a grey suit- in fact, this very grey. Without thinking, you rushed back to the very end, looking for him, but he was most definitely gone, leaving you with his borrowed warmth. You sank in your chairs, tears blurring your vision.

Sam was here… and he still cared.

*******************************

A/N 2: Aaaaahhhh so what do y’all think??? I mean the reader will have to do something with the coat, right? Do you think it will finally make them talk? ;)

I’m beyond grateful for all the feedback. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!

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