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collectivecloseness · 2 years

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Is Kurt a sub or a dom? Discuss

I absolutely believe Kurt is a sub. He’s probably a bit of a switch, he definitely can be dom, but he’s mostly sub

He definitely thought he was a complete top, imagined the scenario of him losing his virginity, as he’s totally cool and in control of everything, and pleasuring the person he’s with like a god. But then, about a year before he eventually does lose it, he starts to occasionally fantasise about someone taking his virginity, rather than him losing it per se, as he rubs one out. Someone wanting to fuck him, instead of just being fucked by him. Someone taking everything all under their wing as they guide Kurt into it all, so he doesn’t have to stress. Someone taking so much care into making sure he has the time of his life. All their attention focused on him, just falling apart under them as they pump and suck and hump and ride him, to get as many orgasms from him as they can.

And when it comes to his first time, he’s definitely too nervous to make most of the first moves. He’s only just started kissing you first, and you still see how shy he gets doing that, because he’s just one shade redder than he usually is after you guys finish making out. He falls into a puddle of watery puppy eyes and small breaths of whimpers with those parted lips, as you climb on top of him, on his frameless bed on the floor, just sitting on him as you guys get your bearings. His hands are constantly reaching out for you because he needs to touch you, and he’s so happy that you always hold him back, or you at least let him touch you. Moving his hand that’s clinging to the neckline of your shirt and dragging it down, by readjusting it over your chest, smoothing over the back of his hand and getting it to unclench, so his palm can rub and touch you there.

Being a soft dom with Kurt, and just lathering on the praise for him, makes him yours forever. You tell him what a “good boy” he’s being. You start riding your crotch against his while you show him how good he’s making you feel, letting him experiment in humping his hips up into yours, and rewarding him with a groan. Because he genuinely does make you feel good. Kissing him all over and covering him in hickies, especially on his very sensitive and flushed neck. Telling him how pretty he looks, and when you inform him you weren’t talking about the hickies, he starts whining for you. The fact you just put all your attention on him, you give him all this genuine praise that he can tell is real, just makes Kurt feel so actually happy in his heart. He’s not just experiencing the best moment of his entire life, because you’ve finally adjusted his dick to press it inside you, but because you guys are actually making love. He loves you.

Holy shit he’s such a mess though when you two are finally fucking. Where in foreplay, he barely said a word, just whimpered and whined, and watched with awing eyes as he saw everything you were doing (like stroking his dick, rubbing yourself, kissing his thighs), as soon as he’s inside you, Kurt gets so loud. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to! He literally can’t shut up, can’t stop speaking. A lot of it at the start are “Oh God!”s, and “Shit shit shit shitshi-!!!” But pretty soon he’s just babbling any words that can form in his slightly drooling mouth. “Fuck you’re so pretty. Oh my God, this is- so good! Please keep going, please please!.. Fuck, I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. Oh God... you promise I can cum in you? That’s cool? Wow I never... never thought it’d be like this! Holy shit your boobies are soft. Do you want me to move like tha- yeah I can do more of that! Fuuuuuckkkk....! I’m sorry ‘mItalkingtoomuch?” It’s just all this energy, that’s being taken up mostly by his mouth, even as his hands are travelling all over your body, and his hips are finally starting to move under yours (not in any feasible rhythm). There’s no blood in his brain, only his cock. Even when you’re kissing him, he’s still having a conversation with you.

He’s so caught up in wanting to become a pillow princess and be fucked stupid by you, versus needing to do everything all at once, to be constantly touching you and kissing you and fucking you. He normally goes for the latter. Kurt kisses all over your body, obsessed with being able to kiss you wherever he can, even if it’s only your wrist if he’s flat on his back, he’ll still want to kiss you. And Kurt nearly always cums first. He’s not very good at holding it, especially at the start. He doesn’t always want to, when it feels so good. He can once he gets better. But you two always go multiple rounds, so it’s just hot watching him come completely apart because of you, every single time.

Also, this is getting long, but sub Kurt gets absolutely pussy drunk, but very much so when he’s eating you out. He actually wants to live with his mouth secured around your cunt. It’s Kurt’s happy place. That man can and will stay down there for hours. Literal hours, if you let him. And that’s one thing Kurt does not give up on. You always have to pull him away, he never does so first. And he always pouts, and whines at you and pleads if he can just do a little more? If your first answer is no though, Kurt goes straight into aftercare. He’ll get up and go straight to getting you a damp towel, passing you his bedside bottle of water. Kurt is always very devoted to aftercare. Whether it’s him looking after you, and he loves doing that, making sure you’re okay, taking such good care of you by sorting everything - or, it’s you looking after him, wiping up drool from his lips as you feed him water, and giving great post-sex cuddles... it’s something Kurt prides himself on. He just loves being such a good boyfriend ❤️

#I need to come up with a tag for stuff like this #kurt kunkle #anon #ask #kurt kunkle drabble #Kurt Kunkle/reader #Kurt Kunkle x reader #spree 2020 #citrussy

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spenciegoob · 3 years

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A Special Kind of Man

this fic swap is for @safertokiss ... I really hope you like it, emma bc this was so fun to write lol

A/N: OMG! this is a part of my first fic swap and the first time I’ve done something like this with so many people, it’s been so cool.

Summary: Spencer Reid was a virgin, you knew that. What you didn’t expect however was how much he was really holding back.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: loss of virginity (spencer), mommy kink, penetrate sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

I always knew Spencer Reid was special, and sure, everyone he’s ever had a conversation with would look at this 24 year old kid spewing facts that no human would think to ever learn about, stockpiling knowledge about, well, everything. I’m sure he amazes people with his mind, I too am amazed when he opens his mouth and the exact number of a certain model Ford truck that is bought every year falls out.

But what else I knew about Spencer that made him more special, more worshipable was beyond anything anyone outside our closed doors would know, and my god would I ever be a fool if I didn’t do just that; worship him.

I would have continued to believe that somewhere down the line, someone would have been smart enough to give that man every piece of love and attention he deserves, because let me be perfectly candid, Spencer was beautiful. His jawline that never lacked the tension of holding back every nugget of knowledge he had stored in that beautiful brain of his, and the eyes like honey that stare up at me with an innocence and desperation alike every time I straddle his lap.

Spencer Reid was not only worth worshipping, but he believed that I deserve that kind of dedication and preach as well.

I never did quite ask if he was a virgin, but in the back of my mind I always knew he had been surrounded by blind fools his whole life in the way he grasped onto my body and whimpered in my mouth every time I perched myself onto him. He would never go further than heavy petting, which meant neither did I. Spencer may be worth worshipping, but I would never push him to receive such.

So, when we found ourselves entangled once again, my legs spread to wrap around his hips as he sat perched against the back of the couch, and I felt the coolness of his hesitant fingers snake their way under my shirt, I was surprised into pulling away from the heavy kiss we were sharing. Immediately his hands, that initially sent a chill hurtling up my spine only to fill me with warmth, returned back to my waist over the shirt, scared that he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, looking down and rushing through the words with so much embarrassment and fear of my reaction as if I could ever imagine tantalizing or walking away from him.

“Do you want to?” I asked, and personally thanked whoever was listening that Spencer Reid was a profiler, because even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hide the lust in my eyes, or the breathiness to my voice. He had, unbeknownst to my partner here, left me having to take deep breaths and positively buzzing. Like I said, I always knew he was special.

“Put my hands under your shirt?” Came his reply, and I may have never been a profiler, but I could hear, behind the confusion, fear of my rejection plaguing his mind.

“Yes,” I whispered, my lips grazing his cheek where I placed a soft kiss. Spencer’s grip on me tightened as I moved towards his ear, subconsciously pulling my hips down onto him. “Whatever you want, pretty boy.”

“You!” The exclamation was a shout mixed with a gasp once I sunk my teeth into his ear lobe. At first, I had not thought to take Spencer’s words so seriously. We were in the heat of the moment, hands grasping onto one another and lips finding skin, but then my sweet boy pushed me far back only so he could look in my eyes with the confidence of a man who just won the lottery to state. “I want you.”

There were multiple things I took note of when looking down at Spencer. The first being that he had only taken his eyes off of my own in favor of glancing down at my lips, then back at me before raising his eyebrows in silent question. The second was that he had not stopped squirming underneath me, the hard on trapped in his work slacks having to be uncomfortable by now, and the every few seconds he found friction against my own clothed center could not have been helping as much as he needed.

The third, and final thing I noticed buried deep into blown pupils and wide, boyish eyes was the lust, desperation, the need for me the same I held for him. Spencer Reid wanted nothing more in this moment than to show me he was a good boy, a special boy.

“Are you sure?” I barely got through the last word before Spencer started nodding. “I need words, pretty boy.”

“Yes,” his tone was already breathy, and we haven’t even started. “Yes, please. I’m ready.”

I didn’t wait, grabbing a hold of my sweet boy’s cheeks and bringing his face down to meet our lips. The kiss was slow, passionate of course, but I wanted to take my time with him. The way I see this going is spending carefully calculated time on every part of his body, worshipping him and giving him all of my love in the form of soft bites and deliberate touches. Spencer Reid was handing me all of him, and I would be foolish not to return the favor.

Spencer and I were not going into this blind, because no matter how embarrassed he got, we somehow ended up having a very enlightening conversation in the past, even if at first it had started as a joke.

“Not everything Freud has said in his life was completely untrue,” was what started the argument. Spencer, in his oh so need to discredit the behaviorists and psychoanalysts of the past, jumped at the opportunity to prove me wrong, but I wasn’t going to let him this time. “While he may have gone about it the… wrong way, Freud was onto something.”

I had unbeknownst to Spencer got up from my seat, and was quietly tiptoeing over to him. “You don’t agree that you wouldn enjoy calling me Mommy in bed, pretty boy?”

“I-I um…” Is what ended the argument.

I pulled back, admiring his swollen lips and eyes fluttering open before pulling my shirt over my head, giving Spencer a full view of my now bare chest. The only way I could describe his face was similar to what I would imagine someone’s expression would be if they had made a groundbreaking discovery. His eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack in surprise, plus he didn’t hesitate to shift his gaze to my breasts. I could feel his hands loosen their grip on my waist, fingertips itching to move up my body to feel more of me.

“Can- can I touch them?” He whispered, not taking his eyes off the body part in question. Spencer was still looking at my chest in awestruck, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel the same way I thought of him.; beautiful, worshipable, special.

I nodded my head, grabbing onto Spencer’s wrists where his hands still remained at my sides and slowly dragged them up to chest. There was no more hesitation, he pressed his palms onto my breasts and grabbed them, pushing them together before kneading them.

“Oh my god, they’re s-so soft” he gasped, eyes blowing wide.“I w-want you. Please, M-”

Spencer stopped himself, and I could feel the muscles in his body tensing at the accidental slip of the name I so desperately wanted to pull from him now that I knew he felt the same about it.

“What was that?” I hummed against him, starting to softly grind our aching centers against each other, eliciting the sweetest moans from the sweetest boy while he continued to palm my breasts.

“Please. Mommy, please.” And there it was, my title for the evening and the reason for the growing wetness at my core.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” The buttons on his shirt were harder to undo than I would like to admit, his fingers that have moved on to tweak my nipples pulling my concentration and causing me to moan quietly as I worked. Eventually I accomplished getting his shirt open, and he helped me to push it off his shoulders and off of him.

I ran my hand down his chest, relishing the whimpers falling from his lips and my featherlight touch traveling further to the waistband of his pants.

“Bedroom,” I whispered, attempting to remove myself from his lap in favor of moving this party to a more comfortable place than the couch. Spencer had other plans.

“Wait,” he shouted, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down on top of him. “I-I like it here.”

“On the couch, pretty boy?” It wasn’t that the position we were in wasn’t feasible, but this was Spencer’s first time. I wanted to make it as special as I could, starting with an actual bed.

“I want to be close to you.” If his words didn’t pull at my heartstrings, the way he looked down instead of in my eyes again did.

“Okay,” I agreed, and it was the truth, because the warmth spreading through me at the feeling of our bodies pressed so closely together was intoxicating. Spencer went to go unbutton my jeans, but I stopped him. Not because I didn’t want them off, but because he hadn’t realized that my plans for him included him sitting there and looking pretty like he always does. “Let me take care of you, sweet boy.”

I finished the job Spencer had started, getting up to unbutton my jeans and pull them down my legs. I heard him gasp at the sight of me now in only a pink thong before reaching out and making grabby hands at me. Instead of sitting back on his lap, I sunk to my knees on the floor, repeating the process on his work slacks and stripping him down to his boxers.

“Is this okay?” I asked, running my hands up and down his thighs in the most soothing manner. He responded with a hard nod and an ‘Yes, Mommy,’ shifting his hips closer to my hands in hopes that I would touch him where he craved the most. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t give him what he wanted. I didn’t use my hands, however, lowering my face to where there was an evident wet spot of precum on his boxers and placed a gentle kiss through the fabric on the tip of his dick.

Immediately his hands shot out to grab onto the sides of my face, forcing me away from his member to look up at him insead.

“I- I’m not going to last long like that,” he whispered. “Please, I need you, Mommy, please.”

I stood up, returning to my position perched onto his lap and smashing my lips to his. This kiss was much different than the ones we’ve shared previously, it was rushed, uncalculated and heavy. Tongues fought against each other and I caught his little whimpers in my mouth every time our cores rubbed against each other.

I grabbed onto the waistband of his boxers, asking one last time if he was sure. When I got his permission, I pulled them down to reveal himself to me, and my god was he beautiful. The tip was red and leaking precum, and I used my thumb to gather some and bring it to my mouth. Spencer’s jaw went slack again, watching me suck his cum off my digit and not taking my eyes off his own. I shifted once again to hover over him, pulling my panties to the side.

“Are you ready?” I asked, grabbing his hard cock and readying the tip to my entrance. He attempted to buck his hips up and enter me, but I continued to tease him by rubbing my wetness over him without entering just yet.

“Yes. Please, Mommy.” I sunk down, reveling in the way his eyes grew wide and his hands shot up to grab onto any part of me. Slowly, I inched down, feeling the stretch he provided and we both were moaning at the feeling.

“Is this okay?” I asked once more, getting a nod and a gasp at the feeling of me around him in return. His hips were trying to buck up into me, but I wouldn’t let him, lifting up slowly and slamming back down to the hilt.

“Oh my god,” he praised once again, screwing his eyes shut and panting. I picked up a rhythm bouncing on his cock with feaverish intent, neither of us were going to last long, both of us hypersensitive to each other.

Spencer opened his eyes, and couldn’t find where to look. He started with my breasts bouncing in his face with my increased speed, and moved on to where our bodies met, watching himself disappear into me. Lastly, he stopped at my face, finding me already staring down at him with my mouth agape and mewls escaping me.

From there we gazed into each other’s eyes, Spencer not holding back any of his sweet moans and gasps that sounded like garbled versions of my name. The knot in my stomach tightened further when I shifted slightly and felt his tip graze my sweet spot. He must have been close to, his hips thrusting up softly to meet my own in an attempt to chase his high. I reached down to rub my clit, wanting to fall off the edge together.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” he panted out, and I clenched around him at the sound of him whimpering. “Ah- ah ah, Mommy please!”

I increased the pressure on my clit, the coil in my stomach reaching its end when I shouted “Cum with me, pretty boy.”

Spencer’s hands gripped onto my waist with bruising pressure as we reached our highs together, crashing down with a shout of each other’s name as I felt his cum cover my pulsing walls. The feeling was indescribable, extending my orgasm and milking him for everything he has.

I slumped forward, resting my head against his sweaty shoulder as we attempted to catch our breaths. Spencer’s arms wrapped around me fully, pulling me closer to him and nuzzling his face into my neck, the sentiment making me smile.

“Are you okay?” I asked once our breathing returned to normal and the cloudiness of my post organsm brain melted. He just pulled me impossibly closer, laying kisses on the expanse of my neck he could reach.

“I’m more than okay. That was- that was-”

“Yeah, I know.” I giggled at his awestruck tone, mimicking his movements and nuzzling deep in his neck, breathing in his sweet scent.

Like I said, Spencer Reid was a special kind of man.

___

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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years

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Sleepless Night

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When Draco can do nothing but toss and turn, he finds himself thinking of you.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of the war, mentions of the dark mark, self doubt, fluff, kissing

(gif found on pinterest, credit to the maker!)

The night drew on slowly, the moonlight illuminating the room and bathing it in its soft glow before disappearing momentarily as it weaved through the clouds. It was quiet, save for the ticking of the clocks and the softness of your breathing. Despite all of the obvious comfort, Draco’s mind had been too active to fall asleep, yet he was too tired to get out of bed and make himself some tea. It was a common routine, one that he hadn’t particularly liked. Though the more he thinks about it, the more he comes to realize that he’s always been a bit of a night owl whether he wants to be or not.

On such occasions, his mind is always quick to wander to you. Sometimes, he swears he’d be perfectly content to never sleep again if it meant he could think about you that much longer, but that simply wouldn’t be feasible. The job of a young healer demands he at least try and get some form of rest, for it’s far too taxing of a profession not to make an effort. So, he will settle for the time he’s got now.

You found yourself most comfortable as you lay on his chest, your legs tangled with his own as the warmth of his skin has long since lulled you to sleep. No matter how many countless nights you assume your rightful position atop his chest, his heart will race each and every time as if it’s the first time you’d ever done it. You notice, of course you do, and sometimes you tease him lightly and sometimes you don’t. Regardless, it will always bring a smile to your face and a burning blush to his cheeks.

He relishes in the feeling of you tucked safely in his arms, that’s all he’s ever wanted you to be with him; safe. Your hold on him has since loosened in your slumber but you somehow always reach for his hand no matter how deeply you’d been sleeping. The thought alone never failed to make him smile when he felt you blindly envelope your hand over his own. It baffled him, really, how someone could love him so deeply that they do so even in their sleep.

He never imagined you’d stay with him, not after the chaos that tarnished every bit of his life while attending Hogwarts and even now. For he has made a myriad of regrettable choices that still come to haunt him with each and every day that passes, choices that haunt him whenever they so please. Perhaps the most obvious sits on his arm, harsh against the paleness of his skin, just screaming to be looked at and noticed. It has since faded from disuse and the long awaited defeat of the Dark Lord just six years ago, but it’s painfully humiliating and swirling imprint still remains.

Loving Draco Malfoy had multitudinous repercussions at that point in your relationship, for you could not love him in the light of day. You could not do more than share a fond glance and even that alone was tempting fate should anyone be privy to your relationship at the time. The love you had was one that could only be shared in the darkness of the night, in the shadows of vacant corridors and the depths of his mothers grand garden behind old oak trees and stone statues.

It had gotten you in trouble once before, and out of everything he had to be fearful for in his life, he felt there was no scarier moment than that of the time his father had been made aware of your presence in his son’s life. His very suspicions were only further brought to light when you stared at him across the rubble in the courtyard. His only son’s hand had been grasped tightly in your own, unwavering as your testament to keep him where he truly belonged.

Draco does not hold a single ounce of regret for keeping his feet planted on the right side of that battlefield, with you. His parents may have been greatly displeased with him, but he felt as though he’d made the right decision for the first time in his life, and that is what mattered. He made a decision for the good. Though he will admit he finds he would have been far too weak to stand his ground had you not done so for him.

He shook his head to rid himself of the memories beginning to cloud his mind in favor of trying to keep himself in the current moment.

The very tips of his fingers trace up and down the column of your spine, ghosting over the shirt of his that you wore and he tried to stifle his sneeze as your hair tickles just under his nose. He wasn’t quite sure when you had claimed it as your own but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the technicalities; you looked far better in it than he had and you loved the tattered thing, that’s what mattered.

A breeze seeps into the room through the open window and he takes a deep breath of the fresh air in an effort to clear his mind. He was to be up for work in a matter of two or so hours and he has yet to have even a minute of a quality sleep. He loved his job at St. Mungo’s wholeheartedly, but the thought of leaving you paired with the exhaustion weighing heavily into his bones has him considering taking the day off altogether. Though he knew he couldn’t, there were far too many people relying on him.

You stretched a bit and squeezed his hand, breathing in a yawn before humming out a sigh as you relax against him once more. A soft smile pulls at his lips at the absentminded action, and he can’t bring himself to mind the fact that he so desperately needed to change positions otherwise he’d be stiff from laying on his back the whole night. Not to mention his nightly tea was finally beginning to catch up to him. But that could wait for now he supposes.

He was tempted to read for the remaining hours of the night, his half-read book just waiting to be finished as it sat atop the nightstand collecting dust. With more thought he readily decided that he’d save it for the following night so he could read it with you, the thought of your grumbling had he done the opposite making him chuckle softly to himself.

Instead, he thought of the plans he’d had with you on his next day off just three days ahead as the breeze continues to sweep over his skin in whispers of touches. You were eager to drag him to the bookshop on the far end of your little town. Even though you were just there barely a week ago, you still found yourself excited as if you hadn’t been there in ages. You would never grow tired of picking out books to read to the other before bed and he knew that fact very well. It had become customary to your nightly routine should your schedules allow, though Draco made a point to try and read to you every day, whether it’s a single page or half the book. The comfort and warmth that came from your tucking yourself against him as he read was something he looked forward to.

He’d thought about his plans of making you dinner that evening, something he’d been thinking about it with every extra hour of overtime he’d been persuaded into taking. You deserved to be spoiled, even if it was just a home cooked meal shared within the warmth of your home. Surely you’d be eating it sitting criss-cross at the coffee table in the comfort of your pajamas, there was no need for expensive restaurants and lavish attire. The simplest of things were good enough as long as he was with you, you were all he needed.

He’d thought of how you’d made him coffee before work just the day before, even though you’d put a tad too much sugar in while in your sleepy state. He drank it anyway even though it was obscenely sweet. Or the way you’d waited up for him to get home from that very shift, just barely awake on the small couch but he remembers the way your face lit up upon seeing him walk through the door. He hadn’t known what he’d done to deserve the affections of someone he deemed to be the most wonderful person he’d ever met, and that was no exaggeration. You radiate sunshine, you only knew love and kindness, and you chose to love him with all you’ve got. The thought crossed his mind each and every day of just how lucky he’d gotten, and he feels as though he will never understand it.

Your stirring had pulled him from his thoughts after a while, the time having gotten away from him in his lovestruck daze, and he nearly took an elbow to the face when you stretched once more.

“Easy, love,” he chuckles, grabbing your wrist and lowering your arm.

A shiver ran through you and you shuddered at the cool air washing over your skin, a soft whine of complaint leaving your lips. In an instant Draco finds himself raising his hand, and with a simple motion of his fingers the windows swiftly and quietly close. The curtains moved once more with the sudden final gust of air, fluttering back to the window before stilling completely.

You lift your head to look at him groggily, brows knit together as your eyes adjust to the dimly moonlit room.

“Go back to sleep, darling,” he hushes, a soft kindness in his tone. You sigh, moving to see him a bit better before settling back against his side as you woke up fully.

“What if I don’t want to?” You mumble softly, tracing your fingertips over his chest and giggling at the goosebumps that rose in their wake.

His nose brushes against your own as he looks down at you, tucking your hair behind your ear as his laugh puffs against your lips. “I’m afraid your constant yawning begs to differ, my love.”

You frown at the words spoken sweetly against your lips, and you were barely given the opportunity to counter his reasoning before his lips press to your own. A soft sigh of contentment is huffed through your nose at the feeling, your hand leaving his chest in favor of settling on his cheek. Strands of platinum brush against your forehead and tickle your skin, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to roll on his side for the first time that night.

“I believe you’re the one who should be getting some sleep, Healer Malfoy, you look dreadful,” you tease, and he quiets your completely logical statement as his lips find yours once more, his arms tightening their hold around you as he hums.

“That’s no fair,” he murmurs, his nose nudging yours lightly. You laugh softly and shake your head.

“How ever should I sleep now that you’ve kissed me?” You ask with the most playful of smiles, smoothing your hand down his cheek and pushing the hair out of his eyes.

He smiles adoringly at you, a soft crimson coating his cheeks that had fortunately gone unseen in the darkness of the room. You were quite possibly the only person in the world to make him blush like an absolute fool, the only person to make him feel a flutter in his heart each time you did so much as look at him. The effect you had on him was completely unable to be helped, for you had him utterly spellbound and that fact would always remain to be true.

“I suppose I should keep kissing you then.”

Your laughter rings out as his lips meet your skin in a flurry of chaste kisses, your joyful giggling filling the otherwise quiet room as his lips press warmly to the juncture of your neck. His own laughing soon mingles with yours as he props himself up on his elbow, dipping down to continue his peppering of kisses on your lips once more and effectively staving away the next bout of giggles that were ready to fall from them. He could kiss you all day if given the opportunity, could spend lifetimes in your arms because he would never tire of pressing his lips along your skin just to hear you laugh. Just to see you smile.

You fall onto your back with a bounce, still giddy at the butterflies left behind to flutter relentlessly in your stomach. He settles down to lay on your chest this time, tucking his face in the crook of your neck as his lips ghost over your skin ever so softly.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly, discontented upon seeing the navy sky beginning to brighten as dawn rolls around without pause. He wanted to stay with you in bed, enveloped in your arms for the rest of his life if he were to be dramatically honest.

His fingers intertwined with yours as your joined hands sat propped in the air momentarily before falling to the mattress, his smile fading as he grew more tired in your arms.

“I love you more.”

“Darling, you know that isn’t possible,” he whispers, a yawn leaving his lips.

You only laugh softly and kiss his forehead, the smallest of smiles returning to his kiss swollen lips if only for a moment. Your fingers run through his hair and you allow him to win that one, soft snores vibrating against your skin for the first time that night. He only had just over an hour to sleep, but he knew you’d be there when he woke up.

Every sleepless night was worth it when he’s got you.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @lunalovecroft @hahee154hq @awritingtree @dracosathenaeum @amourtentiaa

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fanfiction

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midnightsconspiracy · 3 years

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Office Romance?

Office Romance? - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: It's Mouse’s first day in the 21st district. Jay introduces him to the whole team, except you who seems to always be out until you finally meet at Molly’s and completely hit it off

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2193

Requested: Nope but my requests are currently open

A/N: This is my first time writing for Mouse and the longest fic I’ve written, so hopefully everyone likes it! :)

Masterlist

It was Mouse’s first day in Intelligence, it was finally the day that he was going to turn his life around. No longer living in sketchy areas and gaining felonies but instead becoming a legit member of society and working for a reputable institution, the Chicago police department. He had been recommended to the boss by his friend and former military buddy Jay Halstead, who unlike himself, had managed to get a proper holding in society after being discharged from the Rangers. This was finally his chance to show Jay and everyone else who cares about him that he could do something else good with his life and that he was more than just his time in the military.

Meeting Jay outside the district, the two men embrace in a warm hug, briefing saying their hellos and reminiscing on old times before they ascended the stairs. They pasted Sergeant Platt, Jay giving her a small hello in which she ignored and Mouse, despite having only met her once, gave her a polite smile. Punching in the passcode alongside his handprint, he unlocked the door climbing the second set of stairs up to the place he would call ‘home’ for hopefully years to come. Reaching the top Jay paused, Mouse quick to follow his actions.

“Guys this is Mouse, Mouse this is the Unit. That’s Dawson, Lindsay, Olinsky, Atwater, Nadia, and Sergeant Voight’s in his office.” The people in the room all averted their gaze from their own individual work, with Voight even exiting his office to greet him as well, to greet the newest member of the team, all presenting him with a momentary smile, short greeting, or handshake.

“Oh and Y/LN and Ruzek are currently out chasing up a lead right now but should be back soon,” Jay quickly followed up, trying to familiarise his buddy up with as much as possible to make him as comfortable as he could, knowing mouse struggled with rejoining society.

“Ok-k, well it's good meeting everyone, and I hope I can be of assistance to you all,” he mumbled out nervously, he admired Jay and Voight for giving him this opportunity but it still didn’t stop the feelings that they had a level of superiority over him due to their jobs. Taking him downstairs to his own tech room, he prompted Mouse to take a look around to get accustomed to his surroundings.

“What do you think buddy?

“I think it will do the job just fine,” he smiled back to jay reassuring him that he could do this.

“Ok, well if you’re all good I’ve got work to do myself,” Jay announced before turning and leaving Mouse to his own devices, finally leaving him to prove himself worthy.

—————

Mouse’s day was hectic, to say the least. Members of the team were constantly in and out of the tech room or calling him, getting him to give them vital information as quickly as he possibly could. But he thrived in the conditions present, what previously was extreme anxiety when he first entered turned into adrenaline. He hadn’t experienced such a high-intensity situation since his time at the Rangers, but he loved it. The Rangers was the place he felt most at home and alive, but the ‘accident’ had caused him to be honourably discharged. He wanted to be back in Afghanistan with Jay and his other military buddies desperately, feeling as though he had a place there, that he was actually contributing something good to the world, but this would do for the time, this was the best thing for him right now.

From what he could figure out, the unit was dealing with a human trafficking case in which multiple girls were found dead by the Docks, thrown into a container, and starved to death. Pulling up the names of multiple different men, he stared into their eyes as the pictures came up on his screen and felt no remorse for them as he heard each man be dragged into the cage one by one. The team managed to successfully find lead after lead, deciding to either all roll out together or keep sending Ruzek and Y/LN out. It was already about halfway through the day and Mouse still had not met the said people, only occasionally hearing their voices or being told to send them the information he was finding.

—————

As the day further progressed things started to flatline, leads found previously being a bust and nobody seeming to find anything worthwhile. The whole team worked tireless upstairs as Mouse found them the material they needed downstairs. Finally, after an hour of absolutely nothing, Dawson managed to get vital information from a CI and so a feasible lead was afoot. As the others were gearing up and getting ready to finally make some arrests, Jay popped his head into Mouse’s tech cave.

“Mouse I need you to send me the information on Spencer Phillips ASAP,” he was just about to walk out when he turned his head slightly to utter a few final words to his friend,

“And good job buddy, we really appreciate it.” Mouse smiled as he looked up the information for Jay, maybe he was going something good for the world, especially if his dearest friend thought so.

—————

The lead had been successful and two arrests of notable people in a human trafficking ring were arrested. The case was not fully closed, the organisation still up and running, but the perpetrators of the murders were put away to never see a day in the sun again. That was enough for Voight to warrant the members of his team a break to go home, rest and in the younger detective's case visit the local bar, Molly’s. Coming back up to the main room Jay greeted Mouse, patting him on the back for a job well done, he had underestimated his friend, thinking that he may struggle with his job just as he had coped with his anxiety and PTSD after coming back from the Middle East. Walking further into the room Mouse finally got to see the infamous man who had manage to evade his line of sight for the whole working day, Adam Ruzek. Approaching him he finally got to introduce himself.

“Hi, it's nice to finally meet you”

“Yeah, you too Mouse, I feel like I’ve been swept off my feet the whole day, you coming to Molly’s”

“I wasn’t planning to but sure why not?” Mouse had a vague idea of what Molly’s was, Jay sometimes talking about the bar run by first responders, but he was excited to finally see it for himself. Turning to Jay, who was packing his stuff up at his desk, he assumed he would want to go to the bar alongside the rest of the team,

“Molly’s then?” He smirked knowing Jay would never turn him or drinking down,

“Of course.” Leaving the district together, the two guys headed in the direction of the bar relieved to finally get away from work and have some downtime. Unbeknown to them you were in the changing room with Kim chatting away, excited to go for a drink and ready to go upstairs to meet the new tech guy. Little did you know you would be very disappointed when you did so.

—————

Arriving at the bar the men settled into the unit's usual booth at the back of the bar, flagging down Hermann to get two beers so that they could finally unwind from a long day of stressful events.

“The rest of the team should be here shortly, but how was your first day buddy, tell me all,” Jay asked hoping that his friend liked the position so that he could work towards becoming an outstanding member of the community and chuffed that he was working alongside his best friend once more.

“It was good man, I don’t really know what else to say about it. Um..I finally felt as if I was doing something with myself, I felt that adrenaline I missed from the Rangers, but I miss it, the thrill, the relationships, everything really Jay.” Jay sighed not knowing what to say, annoyed at his friend for missing it, he had spent so long trying to pull Mouse out of that bad place, a constant cycle of anxiety, depression, and PTSD, that it hurt him that he wanted to go back. The tense situation was interrupted by the rest of the team arriving, taking up the rest of the room in the booth with Erin snuggling up to Jay and Adam getting up to buy a round for the table. All the usual suspects were there enjoying themselves, except one, you.

You had gone home to shower and get out of your work clothes before making your way to meet the rest of the team for some rest and relaxation, maybe nestling a few beers throughout the night. Making your way into the bar, you passed members of firehouse 51, making small talk with them before moving towards Hermann to get yourself an alcoholic beverage. Thanking him you turned to walk over to your unit's table, spotting an unfamiliar figure in the corner of the booth next to jay, which you could assume was the new tech guy Mouse.

“Christ Y/LN where have you been?” Your partner Adam boomed, already a little tipsy from the two beers he had consumed.

“Sorry I had to go home first, wanted to freshen up,” you smiled amused at how much of a lightweight Adam really was, despite claiming otherwise.

“Y/N this is Mouse, I don’t think you’ve met yet,” Jay interrupted you, drawing your attention away to introduce you to the nervous man beside him. Looking him dead in the eyes, you noticed how attractive he was, you had just presumed that Mouse would be less than average looking considering his measly nickname, but no, the man in front of you was undeniably handsome with a charming smile and deep blue eyes.

“Hi, it's nice to meet you, sorry I didn’t meet you earlier, seems like we were both at the wrong place at the wrong time,” you gave a shy smile, sitting down next to Kevin trying to look confident despite the nervousness you felt inside.

“I-its good to meet you to Y/N, seems like the universe is not in our favour huh?” He stuttered equally as nervous, for what you assumed was first-time jitters, but little did you know it was because he found you equally as attractive.

——————

Throughout the night you continued talking with all members of your unit but especially Mouse. You felt naturally drawn to him, not just because of your attraction but also the stories he told that fascinated you, some from his days in the rangers and other ones from his childhood. By the end of the night, you too had managed to move to sit next to each other, with the members of your unit seeing you hit it off immediately and so pushed you together hoping for another office romance. Completely enamoured by him, you didn’t even notice that the other people in the bar were starting to trickle out slowly and Hermann’s last order was thirty minutes ago. Finally noticing your surroundings after the bartender had called your name and told you it was closing time, you checked your watch noticing the late time. Turning to Mouse you smiled and softly spoke about the revelation,

“I didn’t even realise how late it was, maybe we should get out of here, wait wait! Not like that, well unless you want you.” Noticing what you had said, you shyly smiled hoping he wouldn’t think you were too weird.

“That sounds good,” he cheekily smirked moving out of the booth, allowing you to get out too and heading towards the doors of the bar, saying a brief goodnight to Hermann on your way out. You walked down the street together to where your cars were parked, going at a slow pace, trying to extend your time together for as long as possible. Locating your car you stood next to it as you went to say your goodbyes to the handsome man in front of you.

“Thank you for keeping me company tonight, I really enjoyed it”

“Yeah me too, but I was hoping we could do it again sometime, just you and me?” Completely taken aback you stuttered to think of your response, you weren’t not thrilled about it at all, just completely surprised that he liked you as you did him.

“I’d love to Mouse, give me your phone,” handing you his phone you put your number in, silently hoping he would be one of those guys that actually use your number instead of ignoring it completely. Proceeding to hand it back, you both stood in silence not knowing what to say. But in this situation, no words were needed, only actions. So when he leaned in to place his lips, you gladly reciprocated the affection, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. Little did you know this would lead to a lifetime of desire and devotion.

#chicago pd #chicago pd imagines #chicago pd x reader #one chicago #greg gerwitz #greg gerwitz x reader #greg gerwitz imagines #greg mouse gerwitz

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luxekook · 5 years

Text

chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey? We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

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@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa

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thebadgerclan · 4 years

Text

Captivity

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: His worst nightmare was coming true...

A/N: Set during the Deathly Hallows

I really enjoyed working on this, it might be one of my favorite things I’ve written

His worst nightmare was playing out before his eyes. In Severus’ hands was a photograph of you, his beloved wife, arms bound behind you, clothes dirty and torn, and eyes petrified. The photo came in a letter that was on his nightstand this morning. Severus, I may be old, but I am not stupid. I know that you have been giving information to Dumbledore’s Order, I know that you have been acting as a double agent, and I know that you plan to continue to do so. This cannot continue. But rather than kill you, as I would so love to do, I have done something that I believe will be far more effective.

Your darling Y/N, the filthy mudblood that she is, is now under the careful watch of Bellatrix. She has tried to escape only twice, the first time I took her wand, and the second I gave her that lovely bruise you’ll see in the photograph I’ve enclosed. Now, Severus, I give you a simple choice: You swear your allegiance to me, and your wife will be spared. Refuse, and I kill her. I expect you at the Manor at 8 o’clock exactly this coming Wednesday. If you do not appear before me, Y/N’s head will be the next parcel you receive from me.

He gave himself only 10 minutes to break down, screaming and sobbing at the top of his lungs. You were with Voldemort, you were essentially a prisoner. He would kill you if Severus stepped out if line again, this was certain. When the 10 minutes was up, Severus got to his feet, washed his face, and stood up straight. Tomorrow, he would appear before Voldemort tomorrow, and he would do what he had to do. He would renounce Dumbledore and swear his allegiance to the Dark Lord.

***

Severus had done this hundreds of times, but tonight, his heart was in his throat. As he always did, he bowed deeply before Voldemort, kissing the hem of his robes. “Rise, my friend,” the Dark Lord hissed, and Severus obeyed. “I must confess, I was fearful I would not see you here tonight.” “No, My Lord,” he said, preparing to grovel. “I have made a grievous error, My Lord, and I cannot express my sorrow enough. I swear to you tonight that I renounce Dumbledore, his Order, and everything they stand for. I am your loyal servant, My Lord, until I die.”

Voldemort stood, and Severus fought the urge to shy away. “There is something else you wish to add. Say it.” He breathed deeply. “My Lord, if I may, I have a few conditions pertaining to my wife.” Voldemort barked with laughter, and Severus braced for the Cruciatus. “Ahh, Severus, Ever the romantic. Fine, tell me what it is you wish.” “I ask that Y/N is not harmed. She has done nothing and does not deserve to be treated with cruelty. And, if it is at all possible, may I see her?”

Silence met him, and he once more braced for pain. But Voldemort touched Severus’ shoulder, surprisingly tender. “Severus, my friend, I have always held you in such high regard. If it were anyone else, they would be dead for simply asking. But, I truly believe that you are loyal. Wormtail, fetch her.” The mouse of a man scampered out of the room, and Severus sighed in relief. “Thank you, My Lord, you are most generous and kind.”

Moments later, Wormtail returned with you stumbling behind him. You were thinner than Severus had last seen, though it had only been days, there were bags under your eyes and your hair was tangled. You looked around the room fearfully, and Severus’ heart shattered. “S-Severus?” You made to run to him, but you cried out and fell to the floor. “We have discussed this, Y/N,” Voldemort chided, his wand still pointed at you. “I apologize, My Lord.” “Very well. Now, Severus, you see your wife is unharmed and well. However, she will not be released back to you.”

“My Lord?” “Oh honestly, Severus. You couldn’t have thought I would cave so easily. No, she will remain here until the war is over or your loyalties have been truly proven.” He wanted to scream, to fight for you, but he knew that Voldemort could kill him with a mere thought, so he bowed. “Of course, My Lord.” Voldemort snapped his fingers at Wormtail. “Take her.” Wormtail grabbed your arms and began dragging you from the room. “Severus!” you screamed, fighting with every ounce of your strength. “Severus, please! Severus!” His heart shattered more than it already was. He wanted to run after you, to hold you close and tell you it would be alright. But he couldn’t.

***

Weeks passed. Every day was the same. Severus would terrorize the students and worship the Dark Lord by day, and cry himself to sleep, clutching a picture of you by night. His life was hell, and the worst part was there was no way out of it. If Seveus tried to help you escape, Voldemort would kill you. If he asked the Order for help, Voldemort would kill you. There was no feasible option that didn’t result in yours or Severus’ death. So he went through the motions, numb to any emotion except pain.

The best days, oddly enough, were those when he was Called. On those days, Severus was gifted a glimpse of you. A few moments to look at you, to reassure himself that you were alive. Not quite healthy, but alive. Severus was forbidden to speak to you, but seeing you was enough; barely enough to satiate his starvation for you, but it was something. It seemed Voldemort was treating you well enough: there were no visible bruises or wounds, and you seemed well fed. Severus could only hope that was true.

Then, a month after you’d been taken, the world flipped upside down. Potter was at Hogwarts, and Voldemort arrived soon after. The castle was in ruins, flames licking at the tallest towers. When Severus saw Voldemort’s body, his first thought was of you. You were alive, he was certain, Voldemort would have taunted him if he’d have killed you. The composure that Severus had held for the past month snapped, and he took off running.

“Y/N!” he screamed as he ran over the grounds. “Y/N! Y/N, where are you? Y/N, please! I’m here! Y/N!” He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, in and out of the crumbling castle, around the lake, and finally, he reached the boat house. “Y/N,” he breathed. There you were, curled in on yourself, rocking back and forth. You startled upon hearing his voice, looking at Severus with wide, fearful eyes.

“You’re not real,” was the first thing you said, the first words he’d heard you say in a month. “This isn’t real. No, no, no…” Severus moved slowly, keeping his hands in your view. Though Voldemort said he was treating you well, Severus wasn’t entirely convinced that was true. He crouched before you, inches from you. “Y/N, my love, look at me.” You did, eyes wide. “This is real, Voldemort is dead, the war is over, and I am here. Can you repeat that back to me.”

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut. “Can you give me your hand, love?” To his surprise, you did. Perhaps you were so desperate to believe he was really there. Severus gently took your hand and pressed it to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat, your expression softened into one of realization and slight shock. “Severus?” “Yes, my darling, I’m here. Now, can you repeat after me: This is real, Voldemort is dead, the war is over, and I am here?”

“This is real,” you began, speaking slowly. “V-Voldemort is dead, the war is over, and you are here.” “Good,” Severus praised, kissing your hand. “Good, Y/N.” Tears were forming, or rather, the tears that were there when he found you began to spill. Severus wanted so badly to reach out and hold you, but he was unsure if you wanted or were ready for that. “Can I touch you, Y/N?” You didn’t answer, you flung yourself into his lap, burying your face in his chest and sobbing.

Severus wrapped his arms tightly around you, rocking you back and forth gently. “Shhh, I’ve got you, I’m right here, Y/N. You’re safe now, love, I’m here.” You cried for a long time, tears soaking his shirt, before lifting your face. “I was so afraid,” you began. “That I’d never see you again. That they’d kill me, or kill you, or both. That they’d torture me. B-Bellatrix, she-” You broke off, swallowing more tears. “She never left me alone. She was always with me, taunting me.”

Severus smoothed your hair, kissing your forehead. “She’s dead too,” he said, needing to reassure you. “Molly killed her. She’s dead and she’ll never hurt you again.” Severus held you for another few moments before he spoke. “We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey, Y/N.” He got to his feet, and you held onto his even tighter. “It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to see Madam Pomfrey, that’s it.”

The sun was peeking over the horizon, a new dawn rising in more ways than one. The matron was set up in the Great Hall, and on your way there, you caught a glimpse of Voldemort’s corpse, a few crows already hanging around. “Yes,” Severus said before you could ask. “He is dead. This is real, Y/N. No one can hurt you any more.” When Severus laid you down on a cot, you gripped his hand so tightly it hurt. “Please don’t go,” you said. Severus sat on the floor next to your cot, kissing your forehead. “I’m right here, love.”

Madam Pomfrey examined you, deeming that you physically well enough, but that the month spent in Voldemort’s captivity had done damage to your mental health. She gave Severus some tips on how to help a loved one with trauma and recommended a mind-healer before moving on to other patients. Severus moved onto the cot and pulled you back into his lap, gently turning your face to his.

“Can I kiss you?” You nodded, and when you spoke, your words were shaky. “Please.” Severus leaned forward, lips soft and gentle against yours. His hand came to rest on your neck, his arm wound around your middle. “I love you,” he said against your lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so much, Y/N. I’m so sorry that this happened, and I promise I will never let anything happen to you ever again. I will protect you, my love.” “I love you too, Sev. I love you more than anything.” As the sun rose, you stayed in Severus’ arms, never wanting to leave them again. And you knew, deep in your heart, that you never had to, that you were safe now, that Severus would keep you safe. Forever.

#severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #snape x reader #snape x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter reader insert

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Teenage Dream - All I want for Christmas is You. (Part 1)

Summary: Gang-tae gives Mun-yeong the Christmas she deserves.

Author Note: Wow. Writing IOTNBO again feels surreal honestly. This is for anyone who was waiting for me to write them again, hi I hope you like part 1 but this is my Christmas gift to @truccieeboo who regularly tells me that I am awesome and that I can write whenever I want to and I owe no one anything. I already know that of course but it’s so nice to hear that thought echoed by someone else. I’m happy to be back, hi guys!! It has been a busy week but I tried my best to get something out for you to read, there is so much more that I have planned and so I will be breaking it up into parts.

He hadn't realized it but every moment of their miraculous relationship- he'd been holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Mun Yeong to realize that she was dating a complete and utter nerd. But instead he's consistently greeted by a warm smile and her slight body being flung into his arms.

She doesn't get tired of him and months fly by, the happiest months of his life and suddenly it's Christmas week and he's smiling down at her beautiful face as she hangs off him like a limpet, convinced she's his ultimate gift. They should both be in class but he'd went to the bathroom only to run into her in the hallway, she'd walked over immediately her strut filled with confidence and purpose before redirecting him.

He'd almost tripped over his own feet as she bodily shoved him into a closet he'd never noticed in the hall before.

"Woah where are we going?" He asked over his shoulder as she rolled her eyes and shushed him, pinching his butt and then smirking at his affronted squeal.

"I've been walking around forever trying to accidentally run into you. I'm going to take advantage of this." Her eyes twinkle as he stares with a gaped mouth, it has been a while since their last makeout session and he's just as frustrated as Mun Yeong is. Christmas is always busy for his family with his mother decorating every inch of their humble home, not taking no for an answer.

Sang-tae always swindled his way out of working by complaining about fatigue from work while poking out a tongue when their mom wasn't looking. Leaving most of the heavy lifting to Gang-tae himself, literally their box of ornaments and lights made his arms strain.

He reaches out to gently palm Mun Yeong's face, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I missed you." He breathes out, heart growing three times larger as she smiles until her eyes disappear into perfect crescents. He's only ever seen that particular smile directed at him.

"You're such a sap." She snuggles in closer to him, actions contradicting her words. He holds her tighter, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her shampoo.

She gently sways in his arms, fingers swirling aimlessly on his broadening back. She's told him many times how he makes her feel small, contrarily she makes him feel huge. Like he's important and worth her time.

Again those words are on the tip of his tongue. He can feel them right there, bursting to come out. But fear cripples him and he pushes them back down into an abyss, locking them away with a key.

Next time.

"Okay. We've been nice, can we be naughty now?"

"Wha--"

His reply is interrupted by her tongue in his mouth, latching on to his shoulder she tugs him down slanting her head to delve deeper into his mouth. Fire sears through his skin as she twists her fingers into his thick hair, scratching achingly at his scalp. Driven solely by primal desire he snatches her up, his hands cupping the meat under her ass dragging her up the length of his body.

Without preamble she wraps her legs around his waist, her heat sweltering through the thin material of their uniform. When he slides his hands under her skirt he almost drops her when he meets nothing but bare skin. Bare smooth skin.

Ripping their lips apart he stares at her with blown out pupils.

"Where is....what- I. Mun Yeong."

She only smiles at his whine. Dragging his hand back under her skirt.

"I've been a naughty girl huh? What are you going to do about it?" Heat washes over him at her purposeful words, he'd come unexpectedly at her calling herself a bad girl once and that had been it, she was relentless finding every possible way to milk his kink -her words- and torture him.

He surges at her, sliding his tongue into her simultaneously as his fingers sink into her velvety wet heat. He's forced to swallow her loud gasps as she seductively squirms in his arms.

"Gang-tae, more." She demands.

She's already so wet it's obscenely easy to sink another finger alongside the first, stretching her tight walls.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that she's trying to speak to him, twisting away from his lips. Finally he lets her go, panting into her neck as he thrusts into her over and over and over again. Wet noises ringing in his ears and tightening his pants until his cock is painfully pressing into his zipper.

"Gang-tae, I want you to fuck me."

Those inflammatory words engulf him in an inferno of arousal and hormones, his dick hardening so fast that all the remaining blood in his brain rushes to his groin and he sways unsteadily on his feet. He has to tighten his grip as to not drop her and the feline grin she shoots his way coyly informs him that she knows exactly the reaction those words had on him.

“Do you want to, hmm? Right here in the closet? You’ll probably have to cover my mouth I’ll probably scream because it’ll feel so go--”

His hand slams into her mouth cutting off her ability to render him anymore useless. He glares weakly at her, blaming himself for letting himself be caught off guard this way.

“I’m not going to....do that with you in a closet.” He blushes at her raised eyebrow at his hesitance to use the same vulgar words that she did. She giggles at him, rubbing his cheeks like he’s a much younger child. He balks at the treatment, his penis thoroughly confused.

“You can curse Gang-tae, I won’t tell anyone. You won’t fuck me in a closet? What if I want it though? What if I beg you to turn me around and fuck me so hard that my teeth rattle?”

His dick jumps painfully onboard with every word of filth dripping from her mouth and she snatches his hand bringing it back under her skirt pressing his index finger against her sopping wet core and he tenses as his finger slides in and then he hears the worst thing possible, a voice right outside and a familiar one to boot.

“Where the hell did he go now and why did I have to look for him? I’m not his keeper.” Jae-su grumbles sounding far too close to them for his liking and he whips his head to tell Mun-yeong they need to be extremely quiet, to not be caught. Before he can get a word out she lifts herself up and grinds back onto his finger, a loud whimper falling from her bitten lips and echoing in the small room. He holds his breath hoping his meddlesome friend missed that but he hears the grumbling stop and the footsteps lurk back to their hidden location and he waits with bated breath.

A second passes by, Mun-yeong tries the move again but he is holding her hip with an ironclad grip placing her back on her feet much to her disappointment.

He almost releases a sigh of relief.

But then Jae-su calls out, “Moon Gang-tae? Are you in there, what are you doing?”

He has no planning of answering, has no feasible way of explaining his circumstance to his best friend right now. He’d been seduced completely, losing his wit and control, if Jae-su had not appeared there’s no telling what he would be doing.

Fucking Mun-yeong until her teeth rattle, his brain supplies.

He silences the voice.

Despite their lack of response Jae-su does not leave, instead the doorknob begins to rattle and then twist and too little too late he tries to stop the metal from being turned.

Suddenly he’s face to face with his friend of ten years, Jae-su’s eye bulging as he takes in the scene, a glance over to the temptress reveals that she is as calm and cool as a cucumber smiling serenely at being caught red-handed per se.

Jae-su speaks first, “What are.....why are you two in here?”

“I was trying to get Gang-tae to fuc--”

“Mun-yeong!”

He shouts her name looking at her in disbelief, her forwardness is one of the things he lo-likes about her but this level of honesty is not necessary right now. But when he looks over at his best friend the fiery rouge on his cheeks reveals this interruption did very little to conceal what they were doing in the closet. He shrinks in embarrassment his own cheeks pinking in commiseration.

“I don’t wanna know! I’m leaving don’t say anything more, you’re both such perverts!” Jae-su runs away from them looking comically horrified, stopping once down the hallway to glare at them before disappearing completely.

“Well...want to continue where we left off?” Mun-yeong drawls easily, rubbing circles into his arms.

He stares credulously at her, only for her to shrug and reply, “What? I’m horny and we were just getting to the good part.”

He shakes his head in decline, staring at her deep in her eyes.

“I already told you, I’m not doing that with you here. You deserve way more than a quick....fuck in a closet. When we have sex I want to remember everything, I want to take my time and enjoy every second.”

This time she is the only whose eyes glaze over, breath hitching as color explodes across her gorgeous face. He almost ravishes her right then and there, her palpable arousal calling to him like a siren’s call.

“You promise?”

She sticks her little pinky out, wiggling it at him and he wraps his larger pinky around her own weaving their promise.

“Now let’s seal it.” She commands, already tugging him into a kiss. Their lips slap together, the sound of their mooch ringing in his ears.

As she draws away, he halts her with a hand on her hip.

“You only seal promises like that with me right?”

She tilts her head in question first before comprehension washes over her features and a devilish glint flashes in her eyes.

Winking at him and twisting out of his hold, she dances away.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She teases. He hopes she’s teasing. Jealousy sears in his body and it must show on his face because she practically cackles at him and runs away now, laughing all the way.

“See you later Gang-tae, think about me.” She demands, waving at him with her fingers as she disappears around the corner.

As if he has a choice, he stares down at his erection sending a mental apology to it as he actually goes to the bathroom. Today is turning out to be an exhausting day.

There are more heated makeout sessions in various parts of the school, he can no longer look much of the student body in the eyes but when he has Mun-yeong squirming and panting in his arms. all rationale goes out the window. His mother demands that he leave his bedroom door ajar after the last time she caught them “studying”, in his defense he did invite Mun-yeong over to study. Who knows how they ended up lip tangled on the bed with hands in provocative places, claiming possession didn’t seem to win his any favors with his seething mother. Now whenever his girlfriend is over, his mother finds any reason to check on them, even going as far as to send Sang-tae in to supervise them, it is beyond infantilizing.

Sang-tae commonly barges in, exclaiming, “Hey! I’m here to make sure you babies don’t make any new babies.” With a shit-eating grin on his lips as he obnoxiously sits in between them, beaming smile splattered on his face.

So it goes without saying that he too is horny beyond belief.

Which is how he finds himself searching for Mun-yeong in the halls, but to no avail and no replies to his messages.

He hasn’t heard from her all day, he realizes and worry overrides his desire as he pulls out his phone sending her another message.

Are you in school?

He looks at the screen awaiting her response but nothing comes, the message is marked delivered but not yet read.

He sends another message, Are you okay? Just like the first message, his second is felt unread and unanswered and he walks the all too familiar route to her locker, not sure what he is hoping to find.

Unfortunately his missing girlfriend does not magically appear however he finds the next best thing, her closest friend.

Seung-Jae is leaning against the locker in question, concern etched across her expressive face that is mostly eyes. She has her phone pressed to her ears and he can hear the tiny ringing through the phone as the operator recites that the person she is dialing is unable to get to the phone.

She sighs, head falling towards the ground. He clears his throat finally garnering her attention. Her head snaps up and instantly a smile breaks across her face.

“You!” She all but screams and he steps back taken off guard by her intensity.

He blinks owlishly, “Me?”

“Mun-yeong is absent today. She will be absent tomorrow too if we don’t stop her.”

This grabs his attention, he has no intention of not seeing his girlfriend for that long, his heart can’t take it.

“Why? Is she sick, is something wrong with her?” He replies, checking his phone once more and grunting when there is still no reply.

“She’s not going to reply. You have to go see her. Today. She’s going to try to lock you out but you need to be persistent okay? Don’t be your usual nice polite self unless you’ll never get in.”

His head is swimming from the information and her words do nothing to untangle the web of confusion but before he can prod her for more answers she is already ambling off, with a wave over her shoulder.

“I’m counting on you Moon. Don’t mess this up.”

He stands in shock, rubbing the back of his neck. He can’t walk home with Jae-su today.

Getting up to Mun-yeong’s lavish apartment is simple enough with security seeing him enough to register that he is with her. He still has to sign in but the whole ordeal is far less intimidating than it was all those months ago. He almost feels like he belongs. The marble walls of the elevator do a pretty decent job of swatting that feeling down.

The ease of his entrance is squandered by Mun-yeong’s refusal to let him in her apartment.

“Mun-yeong? It’s me Gang-tae”

No response.

“Mun-yeong I know you’re there. I can see the lights, please let me in.” At his evidence of her presence the lights are suddenly shut off.

“Well now I know for a fact that you’re home. Open the door. Mun-yeong, open the door.”

“”It’s that time of the year. It’s impossible to get to her, just leave her alone and she will come out when she wants to. She always like this around Christmas.” He jumps at the sudden voice behind him, whipping around to the sunken face of Mun-yeong’s driver and adoptive father, Sang-in.

“Why? Why does she hate Christmas?”

“Why do you like it?”

Immediately he thinks of his mother and his brother and freshly baked cookies and decorations and then it clicks for him.

Mun-yeong doesn’t have any of that, she’s all alone in her beautiful prison.

“Exactly. Her parents never come, they hire people to decorate and Mun-yeong hides away for a few days until she’s ready to face the world again.”

It shatters his heart that this is her normal. So much so that everyone seems to know about this occurrence, Sang-in explaining it to him as if he’s reading the weather report.

“I can drive you to your house. Don’t worry, I will keep her company. I know how to handle her.”

Gang-tae feels his skin bristle at those words, no one can handle his Mun-yeong. He stands taller, making his decision.

“Call my phone.”

Sang-in looks puzzled at his sudden request looking at him, as if he’s lost his mind and hell, maybe he has but there’s no way he’s leaving Mun-yeong to wallow in her sadness, not alone. She has him now, she never has to be alone ever again.

“Call my phone.” He repeats harder, and finally the man sighs pulling out his phone and following directions.

The all too familiar jingle of his phone rings out loudly and Gang-tae answers it just as loudly, “Oh Ju-ri? You want me to meet you where? What time?

He has to jump back to avoid being hit by the door that bursts open, a seething Mun-yeong on the other side. She snatches the phone from his hand finger set to hang up before she sees the name on the screen, Mun-yeong and a little symbol of a car.

He smiles innocently at the sharp glare she sends first his way and then to her driver who sputters out some nonsense about parking illegally and needing to move his car. Neither one of them acknowledge his departure.

“Go away. I don’t want company right now.”

“That’s too bad. I miss you.” He answers as he pushes his way past her, she attempts to stop him but it is futile and he closes the door behind him.

It takes a second for his sight to adjust to the darkness of her apartment but when it does he sees the destruction that lays around them, broken glasses and tinsel and Christmas decorations littering the floor. It looks like Christmas threw up on the floor.

He ignores that all and takes her hand. She doesn’t fight him, just stares back blankly at him. Looking as small and lost as she did on her birthday, the first time he saw her like this.

“Mun-yeong. Let’s go.”

Then she reacts, “No. I don’t want to go with you. Just leave. This is what I deserve.”

He squeezes her hand tighter, refusing to let those words settle in the air. “No you don’t , you deserve to be loved. You deserve everything Mun-yeong. Don’t shut me out, please.”

She rips her hand viciously from his grip, hissing like a viper.

“No! I let you confuse you, this is what I deserve. I don’t get to be happy, I should be alone. I don’t need anyone. I’ve been alone my whole life. I was an idiot to think that this would work. You’ll never understand me with your perfect family, why would you want to be with someone as broken as me?

Tears pool in his eyes as he listens to her berate herself, the pain is transparent on her face. The wound from her parent’s abandonment raw and throbbing.

“I hate them! I hate them! Why do they hire decorators? Why remind me that it’s Christmas when I’ll spend it alone,? Why give birth to me if they knew that I would be a burden?!” She is a tempest now, rushing to the perfectly decorated tree in the corner by large gleaming glass windows and he watches with tears streaming down his face as she shoves the tree to the ground, the delicate glass bulbs shattering with the impact.

Then she sinks to the ground as well, shoulders shaking up and down rapidly.

It’s not how he planned it but as he watches her fall apart, all his fears and hesitations fall out the window, there are more important things right now.

“I love you.”

She turns to look at him like he has two heads, her eyes large and wet. Tears aching to fall.

“What?”

“I love you Mun-yeong.”

“....And you realized that right now?” She eyes all disaster all around her.

Now she is crying and he can’t decipher her feelings at all. She is glaring at him as she hiccups on the ground.

“I don’t like you. Why can’t you ever do as you’re told?”

He moves closer to her, bending at the knee until they’re eye level.

“Spend Christmas with me?” He pleads and she simply looks at him before collapsing into his chest. She sniffles into his collar, gripping at the lapels of his uniform before whispering her reply, “I’m scared. Gang-tae I’m scared.”

He has never cared for Christmas, it’s a chance to spend time with his family but nothing too serious, nothing he has ever made plans for. He has always been happy to follow his mother’s lead on everything, but as he stares down at Mun-yeong shaking in his arms, the most precious thing that he has ever had. He makes a silent promise that he will make this year different, this will be a Christmas that she never forgets.

I want to make her happy.

#It's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #they're back with the angst and the smut #tried to just write smut but feelings got in the way #cue family christmas montage #I really should have given MY better parents in this #I'm the worst #It's fine they can share GTs family #and make their own family

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chicgeekgirl89 · 4 years

Text

Not About the Damn Dog

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand

A/N: Have I mentioned how much I love these boys? It's...a lot lol. This one takes place during 1x08 "Monster Inside." The show seems to play a little fast and loose with the timeline of shifts, so for the purposes of this fic we're assuming the episode takes place over a few days and a few shifts. So feasibly T.K. could have made a little visit to his not-boyfriend's house. Enjoy!

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Carlos had never met anyone quite like T.K. Strand. Someone who so completely understood his life as a first responder. Someone so equally sexy and cute and funny and damn good in bed…or on the couch…or the floor..or wherever they ended up. So it wasn’t a surprise that the knock on Carlos’ door sent a thrill of nerves up and down his spine.

“Hey,” he said, trying to play it cool as he opened the door. He gently grabbed the front of T.K.’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. A kiss that was…surprisingly tense and unromantic.

Carlos almost frowned as they moved across the living room, hands cupping T.K.’s face as he deepened the kiss. It was like kissing a rock. Something was off. He pulled back, looking questioningly at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” T.K. said shortly.

Carlos made another attempt, hands reaching for T.K.’s belt as he guided him to the couch by feel and memory rather than sight, lips once again finding his as they sank down together. It took only a few more seconds for Carlos to realize he was the only one who seemed interested in participating.

He sat up, putting space between them. “Listen, T.K., I know we haven’t been doing this for that long, but usually when you come over there’s a little more…enthusiasm.”

“Well, maybe I’m just not in the mood tonight,” T.K. said grouchily, sitting up and straightening his t-shirt.

A spark of fear lit inside Carlos, so hot and bright that he put a hand to his chest as if he could somehow extinguish it. “Do you want to talk about it?” Please don’t say there’s someone else. Please don’t say you’re not into this anymore.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s got you all twisted up?”

“No.”

Carlos sighed. “Okay then do you want to leave? Because there’s no point in you being here if you’re just going to sit around angry.”

T.K. let his head drop onto his shoulder, sending Carlos a sideways glare to show his annoyance. “I don’t want to leave.”

Well that seemed like good news. Carlos tentatively put a hand on his knee. Their relationship was still so new, he wasn’t quite sure yet what all their boundaries and rules were. But T.K. was clearly upset about something and Carlos couldn’t help wanting to fix it. “Then talk. You’ll feel better.”

T.K. rolled his eyes and heaved out sigh. “My dad got a dog.”

Carlos let that sink in. “And…you don’t like dogs?”

“No, dogs are fine.”

Carlos waited for more but apparently T.K. was going to make him pry it out. “You wanted to help choose the dog?” he guessed.

“No! I don’t care what kind of dog it is.”

“Okay, T.K. you’re going to have to help me out here because I honestly don’t know what the problem is and I’ve already interrogated enough people today.”

“It’s a fucking cancer dog!” T.K. said, throwing up his hands in annoyance. “My whole life, my whole life I’ve wanted a dog and the answer was always no. And now he finally caves and gets one and it’s a walking tombstone. God! What the hell was he thinking?”

Carlos was still confused but he tried to piece it all together. “Why would your dad pick a dying dog?”

“It’s some kind of…program thing.” T.K. waved his hand aimlessly in the air as he tried to explain. “They’ve got the same type of cancer and take the same drugs and I guess somehow that makes him feel better. I don’t know why he couldn’t have gotten himself a motorcycle or a hot tub if he was going to have a mid-life cancer crisis. At least they wouldn’t take a crap on the floor or need to be walked three times a day.”

“I didn’t know your dad had cancer,” Carlos said quietly.

TK ran his fingers through his hair, a sign of his agitation. “It’s fine. It’s lung cancer, he was in the Towers on 9/11. He’s getting treatment, the prognosis is good.”

Carlos moved his thumb back and forth over T.K.’s knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Still, must be tough. You and your dad are close right?”

“Yeah well, the chemo and all that isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Carlos chose his next words carefully. This was the first time T.K. had opened up to him since the night of the bar fight and he was afraid if he overstepped he might not be able to walk it back. “Listen, I’m not an expert on this kind of thing but…do you think maybe this isn’t really about the dog?”

“I know it’s not about the dog!” T.K. said in exasperation. “I’ve been to enough therapy to know this is about my dad, not the giant fur ball he dragged into our firehouse without asking. But just…let me pretend it is, okay? I don’t feel like dealing with everything else right now.”

Carlos nodded sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” T.K. sighed, eyes looking dejectedly down at the hand on his knee. “No I’ll get over it. Or figure it out or whatever. Thanks for letting me bitch about it.”

“Of course,” Carlos said. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about it.”

T.K. snorted. “I ruined perfectly good sex with my feelings, you should not be thanking me.”

“This might sound crazy, but I actually believe feelings and sex can go hand in hand,” Carlos said with a chuckle. “But if you’re not feeling it today we could just hang out. If you want. Watch TV or something.”

“What like old people?”

Carlos laughed. “Or just people. Friends. Something like that.”

“Carlos we’ve talked about how I’m just not really—“

“Into the dating thing. I know,” Carlos said. “Think of it more as a hangout between bros.” He tried not to wince as he said it because god, he did not want T.K. to be ‘just his bro.’

“I don’t think bros like to cuddle as much as you do,” T.K. teased as Carlos reached for the remote.

Carlos grinned at him. “Well then they don’t know what they’re missing.”

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A/N: So I figure at this point, they still haven't put a label on it right? They're kind of dating and T.K. is kind of into it but also not because he's scared...I love how complex the beginning of their relationship is. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this!

#911 Lone Star #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Tarlos #Fanfic #Fluff #Romance #Slightly close to smexy times #Monster Inside

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beccascribbles · 4 years

Text

when oikawa reveals that he is going to become naturalised, you just cannot picture how much longer your relationship could last.

warnings - some swearing, angst

word count - 2.8k

If you were honest with yourself, you were expecting it. You were expecting the phone call that day and you knew before he even spoke a word that it would be bad news, for you at least. The pause he took before speaking, the quick breath of air he sucked in to steel himself. You picked up on it all.

“y/n, I’m not coming back to Japan.”

Those words that Oikawa uttered should have shocked you. The sad truth was that they did not. You had seen the truth before he had worked up the courage to tell you. It was clear from the smile on his face whenever you visited him in Argentina, the carefree attitude, the way he would almost drag you to all his favourite spots. He was so much lighter, less weighed down by pressure over there. In Japan, he was different. Whenever he came to visit you, it always seemed like something was weighing on him, no matter how happy he acted. You had shared these fears with Iwaizumi, the one other person you were sure would understand. He had simply told you to let things take their natural course.

This was their natural course.

“I’m going to try and become an Argentine citizen,” he continued. “Some of my teammates said they’d help me with all the paperwork.”

Three years. He had only been living there for three years and he had already decided that was the place he wanted to live for the rest of his life. You felt your fingers clench on the phone. If Oikawa would be living out there permanently, would never be coming back to Japan, you just could not see how this relationship would be feasible. It was hard enough already trying to match your schedules around each other, booking flights when you were struggling to pay for university.

With only a year left until you completed your studies, you had already received a job offer from a top newspaper company in Tokyo. After years of working hard to achieve the job you wanted, you could not throw it all away for a boy, not even if you were in love with him. You opened your mouth, about to express these feelings to Oikawa, but he stopped you, his words coming out in a rush. “Don’t say anything. You’re visiting in a week, right? Tell me then.”

It went against your better judgement, but you agreed, allowing him to have this, allowing you to have a week to sort through your feelings on the subject. Because of how much you loved him, you wanted to use the right words, tell him in a way that would create the least pain. Unfortunately, it was inevitable that pain would be felt in some way, no matter how the conversation went.

A week later, upon your arrival in Argentina, he had commanded that you do not talk about it until the end of your visit. Not wanting to tarnish the rest of your visit with hurt and pain, you had agreed. On Oikawa’s part, it was clear by the spark in his eyes that his request was directly linked to something he had planned. The secretive phone calls you walked in on were a clear sign that he was planning something. It was something you were uncertain of, something you were unsure that you wanted to take place in the first place.

It was with a nervous grin that, on your last day, he handed you a garment bag and asked for you to wear it, using the excuse that you had not packed any outfits befitting a fancy dinner. Though you had quirked an eyebrow at him, you had put it on without complaint. Oikawa truly knew you too well. He had picked out an outfit that perfectly accentuated all your assets while drawing focus away from the areas he knew you were insecure about. When you walked out of the room and gave him a little twirl, he had simply grinned at you, the pure joy in his gaze conveying the love he felt for you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, brushing a kiss against your lips. “You look beautiful. I think it’s time I go and change.”

“Don’t take too long,” you teased, poking his cheek lightly. He chuckled in response, squeezing you around the waist in a brief hug. He loved these domestic moments with you, although he had to admit you in evening wear and him in joggers and a t-shirt was quite a dichotomy, one he intended on correcting.

“Anything’s quick compared to you,” he grinned, pulling away from you to disappear into his bedroom, where a suit that perfectly complemented your outfit was waiting for him.

Despite the fancy outfits, he was not planning on taking you to a fancy restaurant. Instead, he had already arranged for a takeout, the first meal you had shared in Argentina, to be waiting on the beach for you, at the spot you had declared had the best view of the ocean. He could not argue with you on that fact, and often found himself gravitating towards it when he found himself missing you too strongly.

With a dramatic flair, he threw the door open and strutted towards you, twirling once he reached you so you could admire him from all angles. Oikawa in a suit always made your thoughts drift. This time was no different. You approached him, reaching up to adjust his tie, smoothing your hands over his chest before speaking, “You look amazing, Tooru.”

“As per usual,” he smirked, pretending to flick his hair over one shoulder. Lightly, you smacked his chest, a wide grin overtaking your features.

“You are so full of yourself,” you giggled, leaning up to press your lips against his. You supposed you could indulge him for the night before you had a serious talk in the morning. Besides, he always made you feel so happy, so giddy, that focusing on negative emotions and thoughts was almost impossible.

With a wide grin on your face, you walked with him along the streets of Argentina, barely aware that you had passed the area where most of the fancy restaurants waited for rich patrons to grace their doorstep. Before you knew it, you were sliding off your shoes to dig your bare feet into the soft sand. Oikawa’s hand was warm in your own, a comforting presence as you walked along the beach together. You were wrapped up in the moment, gazing out at the sea as it lapped against the shore, occasionally looking over at Oikawa with a wide grin. It was clear that he was preoccupied, his free hand slipping into his pocket on occasion to thumb at whatever was inside, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was reciting a speech in his head. The furrow only disappeared when you would catch his gaze, his face morphing into a joyous expression to match your own.

“Tooru, where are we…” You trailed off as your gazed settled on something in the distance. A picnic blanket was spread over the sand, lanterns weighing it down on each corner, takeout spread out tastefully in the middle. As you approached slowly, hand falling out of Oikawa’s, Oikawa made eye contact with a teammate who had prepared the area for you. He shot him a quick thumbs up, his friend nodding in response and wishing Oikawa ‘good luck’ in a voice just low enough to escape detection. You turned to face Oikawa, mouth agape. “How? When? Why?”

He took you by both hands, leaning down to press his forehead against your own. A small smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “I wanted to do something special for you, y/n. I wanted to do something to show you how much you mean to me, how thankful I am to have you in my life. I don’t want our journey together to end, not when I’m preparing to start a new life… a new life I want you to be included in. I want us to live together here. I want to be able to wake up with you beside me, to call you my wife. I just… I love you so much.”

He began to sink to the ground, fumbling in his pocket for what had previously been hidden there. It was a box. A small, black velvet box. You reached out to grab him, to stop him from getting down on one knee. Your hands clasped weakly at his shoulders. Your voice came out as a rasp. “Tooru…”

Now that he was finally down on one knee, he opened the box with a flourish, displaying a beautiful engagement ring nestled on the cushion. The hands that had clasped his shoulders flew to your mouth as you let out a gasp. Unwillingly, you could feel the tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. Oikawa gazed up at you, the love he held for you clear in his eyes. “y/n, will you marry me?”

Though you tried to blink them back, the tears came in an unforgiving flood as the dam to your feelings finally shattered. A sob escaped your lips as you watched the smile on his face slowly slip away. The hope in his eyes still remained as he wearily stated, “I hope those are tears of happiness.”

Unable to reply, you allowed your knees to give way beneath you, sinking to the sand also. His face was level with your own as he reached out with his free hand to brush the tears away. That hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before reaching down to tangle your fingers with his own. He was unaware of the true reason for your tears, choosing to believe you were simply overcome with emotions. Truthfully, he had not even considered the possibility of you saying no. After speaking to your parents and getting their blessing, talking to your joint group of friends, he had figured this was something you had both wanted. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. His voice was soft as he spoke to you. “Hey… you don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it. Let’s enjoy the meal and talk about this later.”

But you could not bring yourself to talk about this later. With a physical display of your emotion, you were finding it harder to not speak the words aloud to him, the ones you had been planning on saying since you arrived in Argentina. You had decided to go with the straightforward and blunt approach, deciding to sugar-coat your words would be to undermine the relationship you had had for a good four years.

“Tooru. I think we should break up.”

He blinked at you. Numb. He was numb. He doubted whether he had heard you right. He was almost certain his ears were playing tricks on him. Quietly, voice in danger of cracking, he asked, “Could you repeat that please?”

“Tooru,” you said, his name a plea. Your voice broke; the emotional strain was clear. Your fingers tightened around his own. “Please. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You want to break up?”

He felt hollow. He felt like the wind, as light as it was, would be able to pick him up and send him someone far away from this. It was a moment he had never anticipated, had never thought to prepare for. When you were in love with someone, you could never picture it ending. His brain seemed to replay the moments of your relationship in his mind. Never had you seemed unhappy. There had never been an inkling that you wanted to break up. If there had been, he would have been sure to notice, would likely have called you up on it and attempted to fix it. As he stared at you, a lost look on his face, you nodded in response.

“Why?” His voice was pain and anguish. It was disbelief. It was searching for the answer to a question he never thought he would need to ask. Not with you. Never with you. The velvet box in his other hand snapped shut. He placed it back in his pocket. It was worthless now. He had brought it for you, to signify the start of a new relationship, a new life together. All of that was pointless after what you had just confessed. You drew in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on his. He deserved the truth, as painful as it was to give and to receive.

“If you’re really going to become a citizen, to never move back to Japan permanently, our relationship just isn’t feasible anymore,” you explained, letting your other hand come up to brush a stray tear that had escaped from those pooling at his eyes. “I can’t live here, Tooru. After I finish university, I’ve got a job waiting for me at a top newspaper in Japan. You know its been my dream to work there, just like it was your dream to become a pro-volleyball player. And here you are, living your dream. I want to live mine too.”

He knew it was selfish, but he said the words anyway. He said the words knowing that they would have little effect on you. You were strong-willed, a characteristic that he greatly admired. Therefore, he knew the selfish words would have little impact, though they may annoy you slightly. At this point, it was him begging you, trying to give you an alternative he knew you would not accept. “You can live your dream here. There are so many newspapers here that you could work at. You know the language. They’d take you. But if they don’t, I’ll help you until they do.”

You let out a sigh. “That’s not fair, Tooru. I didn’t try to stop you from moving here after high school. I did everything I could to encourage you, promised you a long-distance relationship would work. I guess neither of us looked far enough into the future to foresee this. Maybe it would have been better to end this earlier…”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped. The thought that you would have wanted to end your relationship did not sit right with him, not when he knew how happy you made each other. There was only ever love between you. He had to admit there had been an emotional strain on your relationship when he had first moved away, but that was to be expected. No long-distance relationship was easy to start with. Truth be told, it had never been simple, but the distance became easier to bare. “You know you don’t mean it. If you love me, you know you wouldn’t have wanted this to end earlier.”

Oikawa had always been able to see right through you. “I know I don’t mean it. Shit, Tooru. I love you. I love you so much and that’s why this hurts so much.”

“Then don’t leave me,” he begged, grasping your hands, pulling you closer to him. His eyes conveyed his sadness so clearly, the tears rolling down his cheeks emphasising that fact. “You know we can work through this. We always do.”

“No, I don’t think we can work through this,” you said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. Tears rolled down your cheeks as well. Both of your tears mingled on your clasped hands. “I feel like if we stay together, we’ll be holding each other back. We won’t be able to come to a compromise on this, not on where we live. We just have different dreams in life. It might be selfish of me, but I can’t put you before my dream. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not selfish,” he soothed, even as he felt himself breaking at your words. Putting your dreams first would never be seen as selfish behaviour by him, not when he had done the same in deciding to move to Argentina and then later permanently relocate there without consulting with you. He could see the selfishness in his own actions so he could not blame you for your own. “Following your dream is not selfish, y/n.”

You slumped against his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you let out an anguished sob. His arms wrapped around you, his cheek resting against your hair as he let himself fall apart completely.

Anyone who walked along the beach that night would find their eyes drawn to a heartbroken couple clinging to each other as they whispered their final goodbyes. Their final kiss was shared beneath the stars, the salty teardrops on their lips a reminder of what they had just lost.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #oikawa angst #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x y/n #hq oikawa #oikawa toru x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 4 years

Text

To My Grave

Geraskier Rated T to be safe. Cross posted to Ao3

Prompt: I told you I love you, I thought I was dying, but I lived and now I have to deal.

Summer was of course Jaskiers favorite time of year. Not to say that he did not miss the opulence of the city, or the balls, or even the conversation and study of the arts while he was away. To say he did not miss the shade of the trees in the courtyards of Oxenfurt, or the breeze that often blew off the river would be a lie. And yet, summer brought with its adventure, travel, inspiration, and of course, his friend Geralt of Rivia.

Despite the excitement that summer brings him, today Jaskier is quite miserable as dust rises into the air with every hoof fall of Roach and Pegasus against the dried, cracked soil of the road. The sun hanging high in the sky drowns them in wave after wave of stifling heat as he follows behind the Witcher heading towards Vizima. They’ve easily another day beyond tonight before they reach their destination, but word of a winged beast has reached Geralt and he is insistent on finding out what it is. Jaskier for his part can’t bring himself to mind. There are plenty of winged beasts that wreak havoc, and he can’t wait to find out what it is. He’s certain it will make for another great tale. Beyond that, there is rumored to be a bardic competition beginning in the next few days, and Jaskier desperately wants to compete.

“Geralt?”

The barest shift in his friend’s demeanor encourages him to continue. Where it was once hard to read the Witcher it is now a language in which he is more fluent than he believed he would be. Shifting in the saddle to ease the discomfort in his lower back, a side effect of aging, he continues his speech.

“How long do you think we may be in Vizima? You see there’s this competition and I was hoping to, well, compete while we’re in town. I know, of course, that it will depend on what kind of “winged beast” it is that we find upon our arrival, but have you perchance any ideas on our time frame?”

“I could leave you there.”

“Come now Witcher, I’m being serious.” He laughs out. Geralt hasn’t threatened to leave him behind, seriously, in almost a decade.

“So was I, bard.” Geralt tells him with a slump in his shoulders that indicates he isn’t serious at all.

“Hmm, I don’t think I believe you.” Snarks Jaskier like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. And for him, it might as well be. Perhaps he is too comfortable with his companion. Still, he wouldn’t change this for the world.

“I won’t stop you from competing with Jaskier. In fact, maybe you’ll be too busy to get in my way.” Geralt grins over his shoulder and any retort Jaskier had dies in his throat. He rarely sees those smiles, so he focuses, captures the moment to memory and smiles in return. The lapse in conversation is hardly a new commonality for them. Instead of being uncomfortable it has become a token of their friendship, and Jaskier has learned how to put the silence to use for him at some point in the last fifteen years.

As the sun continues to glare down at them, Jaskier drinks water skin and then pulls out one of his many notebooks and a broken piece of charcoal. He has yet to master playing the lute and riding a horse at the same time, but he can take down notes, even if they are a bit of a mess. Messy notes are much better than no notes at all. Absently he wipes sweat from his brow, unintentionally leaving a streak of charcoal dust across his forehead. With the same movement, he unbuttons the top of his doublet. It is unusually hot for this early in the summer he thinks as charcoal meets parchment again.

The rhythmic clip clop of the horse’s hooves is melodic in his ears as he continues brainstorming. Certainly, he could start another conversation with Geralt, but sometimes it was best to save that for around the campfire. Instead, he watches Geralts back, jots down some ideas and notes, and then watches his surroundings. A slight rustling in the bushes to the left catches his attention. Geralt is saying something but he can’t make out what it is over the cacophony of shouting surrounding him, or the burning in his stomach.

Gasping he falls from Pegasus. The trees look lovely from the side, canopying the road like they may actually cast it in shadow from time to time. With a thud his shoulder comes into contact with solid earth and he groans. Unconsciously he curls into the fetal position on his uninjured side and grits his teeth against the sharp pain below his ribs. Squeezing his eye shut against the ringing of steel in the air and the sun above him he tenderly seeks out the wound with tips of his right-hand fingers. There is an arrow lodged below his ribcage, just below his left lung. Well, that’s lucky isn’t it. He thinks to himself as he assesses the damage as much as possible without the use of his eyes. Slowly he forces them open, blinks against the white in his vision and tries to observe his surroundings.

He watches despondently as Geralt disappears into the woods chasing something, bandits, his brain supplies as he forces himself to roll onto his back and breath as deep as he can. It hurts. It hurts worse than anything he has felt before. Whimpering he considers what he needs to do and blinks back tears trying to keep them from sliding through the dust on his face and turning to mud. Shaking he manages to get to a sitting position, his head spins wildly and he presses his eyes closed so hard he can hear the fluttering of his eyelids. It doesn’t take long for nausea to set in and he vomits to the side.

When he has caught his breath, he looks down and tries to ascertain the extent of the injury. Due to its location he can’t tell exactly how bad it is, between his doublet getting in the way and the poor angle. Exhaling a long, low whistle of air he looks around and notes Pegasus nearby and Roach grazing peacefully to the side, waiting for Geralts inevitable return. Which, Jaskier admits to himself, could be a while if he’s found reason to kill them all. Unlikely, but a good beating, certainly. Hesitantly he tries to stand and fails. Pain like fire rips through his side and the wound begins to bleed worse. Instead he uncrosses his legs and scoots, and starts and stops to the side of the road.

When he finally makes it to the grass he moans. He aches all over and he is shivering cold, despite the heat of the sun against his skin. Sweat beads across his brow, down the nape of his neck and across his back. The station of the sun tells him some time has passed and the only feasible explanation is that he passed out. It doesn’t surprise him. He can’t remember much beyond falling to the ground and Geralt giving chase. Trying to relax his body he lays back feels at the wound, the arrow has been jostled in his movement and it comes loose without much prodding. He inhales too sharply and grimaces, clenching his teeth as air tickles his insides. With a groan he rolls onto his good side and curls up. There is little he can do on his own. He knows he should try and stop the bleeding but he can’t as black shapes swirl in his vision.

+++++

When he comes to the throbbing in his head and side are enough to make him grunt in pain. He can’t seem to formulate words, and despite the darkness that surrounds him when he tries to open his eyes, he is burning up. He lets his weight shift to the right and feel his forehead come into contact with something hard and cool. He moans, pleased and leans further into the item. Leather? His tired mind supplies and he sighs.

“Hold on Jaskier. Just, hold on.” Geralt says nearby, voice rough like gravel, and all he can do is form a strangled sound in response.

++++++

When he wakes a second time, there are two voices whispering urgently somewhere nearby. The first is melodic, clipped and paced. Designed to be listened to, informative. He wonders if the face that belongs to it is soft? If the lips that form words are plump? Are her eyes gentle? The second voice is familiar, like gravel beneath boots. It puts him at ease. He’s to tired to try and open his eyes, though he wants to. Everything burns and aches. Fire courses through his veins, and his side is the source of its fuel.

He tries to speak, but his tongue is heavy in the pit of his mouth. It feels as though someone has poured sand into it while he has slept. His lungs, too, feel as though they are dry as the deserts to the east. He tries to move, to make any sign of life and it is impossible given how barren every part of himself is. If the fire continues to rage, he knows he will not wake up. The thought terrifies him, puts him on edge. Something is placed on his forehead and it feels like boiling water, the cloth like horsehair against his skin. It makes him want to squirm, to lift his hand and throw the blasted item off.

“Jaskier, rest.” The voice like gravel says and so he tries. No. You cannot rest now, Julian. There is something you must tell him before you go. A voice inside his head tells him, and he’s tired enough to listen to it. Aching to fall into oblivion and never return. He is in agony.

“Ge- Grlt.” He manages through parched lips. He tastes blood on his tongue, and in some sick way it is soothing, his mouth finally feels wet, like it should.

“Jask. Sleep.” Geralt says, and he can’t. How could he possibly sleep when he has something this important to say? He tries to swallow, fails, coughs weakly and chokes.

“I.” He wheezes. These words are mummified deep within the caverns of his body. They are dust in his lungs; never meant to be pushed up the dried canal of his throat, never meant to pass through the forbidden gate of his vocal cords, over the desert plateau of his tongue, and carried by hot air through the cracked dunes of his lips.

“Love you.” He finishes voice rough as a sandstorm, before the call of darkness’ cool embrace drags him into the depths of her inky waters.

+++++

He wakes to cool air against his skin, darkness surrounding him when he manages to pry his dried eyes open, and the smell of rosewater and ivy encompassing him. Altogether it is a pleasant change from the last two times he woke up. Of this he is certain. There is very little pain in his movements as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

The bed beneath him is soft, comfortable, expensive. The pillow he shifts behind him is down, and he almost grins, then remembers he has no idea where he is, and in the darkness, he cannot see anything. There are no candles, or fires in the room, and the faint starlight shimmering at the edges of what appear to be heavy curtains does nothing to illuminate the shadows dancing around him. He opens his mouth to call out and whimpers when his lips crack. Tentatively he licks them and finds them bloodied. After a moment he swallows and tries again.

“Hello.” It’s hoarse, and coarse, and too quiet to have been heard, and yet the air to the left of the bed stirs. He shifts to listen more attentively and is surprised when he receives an answer.

“You’re awake!” Its melodic voice and he can’t help but smile at the joy he hears in it.

“I. Yes.” He manages.

“You must be thirsty, let me get you something.” The disembodied voice says and he smiles.

“Thank you.” He blinks away the tears that form when there is a sudden burst of light in the room. Several candles lit themselves across the expanse of the chamber. He watches as the woman moves to the table and pours water from a pitcher, likely there for that very reason. She is lovely, brown hair in ringlets and dark skin shining in the flickering light. When she brings him the water he accepts it gratefully and sips at it.

“Geralt?” He asks after the silence has stretched too long.

“He went out after your reveal. He hasn’t been back yet, but he left Roach so I’m sure he will be back at some point.” She grins, eyes revealing nothing but amusement and understanding.

“I’m sorry, but my wh— oh.” The word comes out of him like he’s been punched in the gut by a witcher. “Please, tell me, it was more than three words?” He begs, voice very quiet, eyes turned towards the cup in his hand as he tries not to spill it. He focuses on keeping his hand from shaking as the woman giggles and then speaks.

“Well, four if you count his name.”

“Lovely. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” He mumbles and then smiles up at her.

“Triss, Triss Marigold.” She says with a smile and refills his water.

“Thank you for staying with me while I recovered. And for the water, I feel as though I could drink a lake dry.”

‘After the fever you had, I’m certain it feels that way. Are you feeling hungry at all?”

It takes him a moment to process the question, and when he does he simply shakes his head no. He doesn’t have much in the way of an appetite, but he is exhausted. Tentatively he brings the glass cup to his lips and drinks the rest of the water. Triss smiles encouragingly at him and he can’t help but return it.

“Miss Marigold, perhaps this is tactless of me, but did you use magic on me? I seem to notice a lack of hole in my gut.

She laughs and her eyes crinkle with glee, “Yes, some. Though I specialize in plants, which is what cured your fever. My magic and Geralts potions did the rest.”

“Witcher potions. He used, a potion on me?”

“Before you got here. He was… concerned you would not make it. You’ve been out for a while, but you haven’t been resting. Try to go back to sleep and we can speak more in the morning.” Triss stands, takes the cup from him and returns it to the table. When she reaches the door she turns to look at him one final time.

“If you need anything, I’m down the hall on the right. Good night Jaskier.” With a wave of her hand she plunges the room back into darkness and the door closes behind her with a soft clunk.

Sighing to himself, Jaskier snuggles down into the thick duvet and curls onto his side. He’s alone with his thoughts and the knowledge that his best kept secret is in the air. He would scream if it didn’t feel like it would drain him of every drop of energy he has. Instead he growls into the pillow with frustration and lets out a long winded sigh. Well Julian, He thinks, this is great. Look what you’ve gone and done now. Ha! You weren’t even awake to see his face. Cowardly now aren’t we. Of course, when haven’t we been? Then again, this wasn’t something we counted on right? No. No it wasn’t. This is fine. This is completely fine. I was dying, right? Yes. I was dying, and feverish. Geralt can’t blame me. We’ll…. We’ll just pretend it was never said and that will be that. Yes, that’s all there is to it. I’ll just pretend not to remember. Geralt probably won’t bring it up and that will be the end of it. Or so he tells himself as he drifts off to sleep in an oversized, overstuffed bed.

Bright light filters through his eyelids and wakes him the following morning. With an unamused groan he rolls over in bed and pulls the duvet over his head. Whose idea was it to open the blinds without warning him. Did they want him to go blind? The smell of food draws him from the cave of warmth he’s created. Sitting up he looks towards the table where Triss is sitting amusedly waiting for him.

“You’re in good spirits this morning.” He grumbles, the effect somewhat ruined by a yawn.

“Of course, I am. You're alive. Geralt is back. The king listened to me for once. It doesn’t get much better than that around here. Now, eat your bread and broth. Nothing heavier for a few days. You’re still recovering.”

Languidly he stretches before slipping from the bed and joining her at the table. In the light of day he can see that the room is smaller than it appeared in the dark. The table is situated a short distance from the hearth, there is a finely woven rug between the table and the bed, a chest and wardrobe against the far wall, and an end table beside the bed and the chair which yet remains beside it.

“Well then, it seems as though everything is going to plan for you today.” He smiles and sips at the steaming beverage in front of him. It soothes his throat on the way down and tastes sweet.

“For now.” She agrees. They eat in companionable silence until heavy footfalls pull them both from their thoughts. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Geralt has entered the room. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck. Triss smiles at him, then looks passed him.

“Well I have some tasks to attend to. I’ll check in on you later, Jaskier.” She says politely and makes her way out of the room.

Jaskier chews his bread slowly, waiting. He will let Geralt speak first, let him decide where this conversation is going to go. Straightening his back, he takes another gulp of his drink and finally Geralt comes into his line of sight. With obvious discomfort the witcher sits across from him.

“You’re awake then.”

“Obviously, Geralt. I am sitting up and eating, or is this a dream?” His lips pull up in a half-hearted smile. He’s too tired to pretend but he will do what he needs to to put Geralt at ease.

“Right. Yes.” Geralt coughs and oh gods, he can’t do this.

“You seem…. Unnerved, my friend.” He winces internally as Geralt makes eye contact with him and just as fast breaks it. Well Jaskier, way to act normal. He closes his eyes and scrubs at his face.

“You almost died.”

“I remember and its far from the first time.” Geralt stares at him and the words catch up with him. He comprehends them and wants to go hide in the folds of the blankets. The silence stretches long and tense between them. It’s uncomfortable in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. Jaskier catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror and notes the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the way his hair is gathering grey at the temples. He shifts, winces at the slight pain, and thinks, better to have said something now than live to regret it, I suppose. He watches Geralt watch him from time to time, face impassive and unreadable, and finally he drops his gaze from golden irises. Geralt will speak when he is ready, and in this Jaskier will not push him for an answer, only… he can’t quite keep his mouth shut.

“Like you said, I was dying, and I know I was feverish. We can pretend nothing was said if you like. We're good at that. At pretending. So why don’t we just move on? It’s not like we haven’t pretended in the past.” He manages, and his voice sounds weak, disappointed, even to him.

“It did happen.”

“Yes, but I’m saying if you want to pretend it didn’t then say so. Look, I was dying, I didn’t really think I’d be alive to deal with the repercussions of my words.” He flicks his eyes up to Geralts and freezes. Geralt looks vulnerable, like he’s battling something inside himself and he thinks he should look away but he can’t make his eyes obey.

“Did you mean it?” Jaskier almost misses the question, caught completely off guard by the earnestness in Geralts tone.

It takes him a long time to answer. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he is trying to choose his words wisely. He opens his mouth and closes it more times than he likes to admit and holds up his hand to stop Geralt interrupting him when the witcher tries to speak. Finally he does speak, slowly, as though he doesn’t really know the words he wants to say and hopes that they will instead flow from his mouth.

“I did. I do.” He takes a breath and perseveres, “But I think, what you mean is: How do I love you? What makes you different from any of my dalliances?” Geralt simply nods noncommittally.

“You are who I think of when I think of home. If you ask me where I want to be at any given time, the answer is always; with you. When we began traveling together, I counted the days to when I would go back to Oxenfurt for the winter to work on finishing the manuscripts I start in the summer. Now, at some point along the way, that shifted. It came full circle and all I can think about when I’m supposed to be teaching is where we’ll be going next. It’s consuming, and it’s not fair. It’s an ache and a longing, and a hope. I don’t know how to best answer you, for that much I am sorry.”

Geralt nods slowly at him, hums in understanding and they lapse back into quiet. It’s not as tense or uncomfortable as before, but it stretches nearly as long.

“And if that feeling were returned?” Geralt asks, looking right past him.

“I would have died happy.” It’s the best he can offer. To say more risks never traveling with the Witcher again. As it is, it wouldn’t completely surprise him if Geralt packed up Roach and took off. Told him to go back to Oxenfurt and never come back. He hopes that won’t be the case, that at worst Geralt goes along with pretending. At best, he hopes that the feeling is returned, that the question isn’t just cryptic, and curiosity fueled. Geralt sits straighter and rolls his shoulders.

“Triss says you need a few more days to recover and I still need to deal with the gryphon. You missed your competition.” Geralt says briskly as he stands.

“I imagined as much.” He responds dutifully, tries to keep the bitterness from his voice as Geralt leaves the room. He lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling. It could have been worse, he tells himself, he could have sent you back to the university. For now we pretend, and that has to be enough. With a mournful sigh he gets to his feet and makes his way to the window, his food forgotten. Leaning against the wall he watches as Geralt prepares to go on his hunt. Idly, he wonders how long it will be until this all crumbles around him, tries to console himself to contentment as he soaks in the morning light. Summer is his favorite, but he worries this will be the last one that fits into the category as he watches Geralt ride out.

Happy (ISH) Epilogue:

The summer had continued in a kind of stale peace. They’re actions, hesitant and second guessed at every turn. Neither comfortable around the other. Awkward in each other's presence in a way they hadn’t been in years. Every dance and rhythm they had gone, replaced with missteps and uncertainty. More than once, Jaskier wonders if he should return to Oxenfurt, but he is greedy and if Geralt isn’t actively asking him to leave then he will stay. June fades into July, and July bleeds into August before they know it, and still they’ve only just begun to return to the familiarity of longstanding friendship.

The sun is setting, and the smell of their supper has settled heavy over their campsite when Geralt speaks softly across the fire. The Witchers voice is soft enough that Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to right away, over the sound of his lute. He fumbles the strings at the oddity of it and blinks rapidly at Geralt. It was unusual for him to start the conversations, they had reverted back to Jaskier being the chattery one and Geralt being the monosyllabic one since their conversation.

“I’m sorry, what?” Geralt stares at him and shakes his head in what appears to be amusement. Jaskiers heart somersaults in his chest and he can’t help but be happy about it. Maybe normalcy is returning to their relationship.

“I said, there is a competition in Redania. Do you want to go?”

“Yes. Yes! Of course I want to go, Geralt!” He grins and strums a bold chord. Geralt shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the boisterousness of it all.

“Good. I thought… it would be nice. Since you missed the last big event.” Geralt mutters to him, as he stokes up the fire, carefully avoiding Jaskiers eyes.

“Wait,” He begins slowly, uncertainly, “You don’t have a contract that’s taking us to Redania? You’re offering to go simply for the competition? You’re not a doppler are you?” a laugh bubbles out of him by the end. Geralt glares, unfortunately, Jaskier grew an immunity to them almost immediately.

“I am not a doppler. Not that you would know one if it bit you on the ass, Bard. I’m certain I’ll find contracts as we travel.” The Witcher sighs and lies back on his bed roll.

“Why?” Jaskier asks, voice quiet. He knows Geralt has heard him, but he also knows maybe it’s pushing the boundaries a little. When no immediate answer comes, Jaskier lies down for the night too, watches as the stars come out and light the night sky. His eyes have grown heavy and he lets out a small yawn. When he’s settled and nearly asleep, Geralt finally answers, voice steady in the dark of night.

“So, you can die happy.”

He grins into his bag, Geralt was never one for words, but Jaskier has always been good at understanding what he means. It’s no secret to either of them, that Jaskiers days will end before Geralts unless some freak accident happens. And maybe, mentioning death isn’t the best way to say “I love you”, but nothing about them has ever made sense to anyone else.

#The Witcher #Geraskier #Prompt fill #Writing'#Fanfiction #Jaskier #Geralt #Triss'#I confessed my love for you because I thought I was dying but then I lived and now I need to deal.

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Hypnagogic | Luther Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Luther Hargreeves x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.1k

✦ soulmate AU

✦ summary — you always assumed you weren’t meant to have a soulmate.

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of alcohol, fluff

✦ a/n — I love Luther!!! I hope I did him justice.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Anybody at that bar could’ve been your soulmate and none of them at the same time.

You traced your forearm where a soulmate mark was supposed to be. The lack of mark had never intrigued you, but you often wondered what it would say if you had one.

Everyone was meant to find someone. That was how human beings were conditioned to live, that was how humans had lived since the beginning.

Soulmate marks were dreaded by some, and others saw them as the only thing helping them cling to life. You were torn.

You still remembered the day your mark was supposed to appear on your skin, the first thing your soulmate would say to you when you met them.

You had expected something sweet — in your defense, you were fifteen — but you found nothing more than a scorching sensation and a blank arm. Your mom cried a lot that day, looking for the mark all over your body.

You had been confused, scared. Were you meant to be alone for the rest of your life? How could someone you weren’t meant to be with ever look your way? Would you ever meet more people without marks?

You had tried to rehearse reactions to finding out you weren’t the only one without a mark, but soon you grew out of that habit. Everybody you had ever met had a mark.

You weren’t meant to find anyone. It was useless to cling to hope that anybody out there was in the same situation.

The red-haired woman in the corner didn’t look like someone who wouldn’t have a mark. None of her friends did either. They were having fun, though, laughing and drinking while she told them a story.

You knew the bartender wasn’t your soulmate because he invited you to her wedding with her soulmate. Neither was the man at the end of the bar — you had shared a couple of shots together a few times, he was nice and very respectful, his soulmate had died years ago and he would often talk about them.

Forgetting about it was the only thing you could do. But not with alcohol, that would be stupid. And it wouldn’t work.

You paid your tab and wished the bartender a good night, zippering up your jacket.

Your apartment wasn’t far away. That was the main reason why you frequented that place. You felt safe around those three blocks.

Crossing the street, you could hear the lady down the street yelling for her kids to get in already. She always did that, and they never listened — you liked that she never seemed to mind, it was as though she enjoyed it.

She probably did. People were supposed to enjoy seeing their children happy after all.

Reaching your building, you bumped into a scarily tall and muscular man. Lowly apologizing, you walked past him and continued your path toward the stairs.

“Excuse me, ma’am...” he trailed off, walking behind you.

You found yourself glued to your spot the moment he spoke. You craned your neck to look at him, making sure he was talking to you.

“May I help you?”

The words sounded familiar to him. It felt like he could taste them, they sounded sweet, caring, with a hint of fear.

Although taken aback by your tone, he nodded frantically. “Do you know where I could find someone able to wrap a gift?”

Turning around, you stared up at him. He looked familiar, you felt as though you had known him your entire life. “In the middle of the night?”

“My niece’s birthday is tomorrow, technically today, and I wanted to surprise her in the morning.” Explaining himself further on, he fiddled with his hands, “I would do it myself, but...”

You shook your head. It was a really sweet gesture, but he should’ve thought about that way earlier. He looked like a lost puppy, staring down at his hands.

“I’m (Full Name).” You offered your hand.

He shook it delicately, giving you goosebumps. He enjoyed the difference in size, how warm your palm was, the fact that you hadn’t complained because his weren’t soft like yours. “Luther Hargreeves.”

You gaped. You used to have the biggest crush on him back when you were obsessed with the fact that superheroes were real.

“Well, Luther,” you tested his name on your tongue. “I believe I could help you as long as you bring the wrapping paper.”

He stood there for a moment, only staring at you, relishing on the way you had said his name. No one, not even Grace, had ever uttered his name with so much emotion.

Convinced that it was his loneliness getting the best of him, he made a gesture with his hand for you to wait for him.

You did so, trusting him. If you were to be killed that night, which you doubted because superheroes didn’t tend to be serial killers, at least it would’ve been by someone who used sweet excuses to prey on people.

God, you needed to learn how to trust people without putting yourself in danger.

He came back with a doll, balancing the toy on his open palm in his attempts to not crush it, and a roll of wrapping paper curled on his fingers. The doll was cute, you would have liked to receive it as a gift when you were a kid.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs, rummaging through your purse in search of your keys.

Your apartment was cozy — warm, like he imagined home was supposed to make someone feel. He sat down on the couch at your cue, smiling to himself when a photo of you and your parents caught his eye.

You disappeared for a moment, not before offering him something to drink. He liked how nice you were.

Scissors and tape in hand, you came back. Placing them next to the doll on the center table, you sat down.

Unrolling the paper, using the tape dispatcher to hold it open, you observed he kept his coat on no matter what.

Yes, the city wasn’t warm at night, you understood that, but your apartment was not cold at all. You would’ve broken into a sweat already if you hadn’t shed your jacket.

“You live alone?” He asked, dragging his eyes away from the photos of your graduation to your face.

“Yeah. I used to live with a friend,“ you started saying as you measured the box before cutting the paper, “but they found their soulmate and moved out.”

“You haven’t met yours?”

You lifted the scissors, sighing. You weren’t looking forward to the pity in his reaction, but you told him anyway, “I don’t have one.”

“Everybody has one.”

“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you assured him, tugging on the tape to cut a piece, “but I don’t have a mark.”

“Oh.” His voice lowered. There wasn’t pity there, only sadness. “I don’t have one either.” Something inside him told him he could trust you, that you wouldn’t judge him or laugh. “I used to, but I had an accident once — my mission was to stop a biochemical threat.”

You gave him your full attention, holding the edge of the paper with a piece of tape so you could let go of it.

His voice got sadder, “It didn’t end pretty. Dad saved my life with a serum, but my body changed so much that the mark disappeared. Now I’m part ape.” He tilted his head to the side for emphasis. “Kind of.”

Luther often found himself staring at his forearm. He would never be able to read the words etched on his skin again. Every hope he once had of finding his soulmate, the person he was destined to love and protect forever, had died the day his life was saved.

He knew his place, understood he had responsibilities. He didn’t mind paying a high price for doing what was right. It simply stung.

He should’ve written down the words his soulmate would tell him. But what for? How could he have known he would never be able to look at his them ever again?

With his siblings gone and his hopes to one day build a proper family decimated, he had accepted the mission his father gave him with no complaints.

The moon sounded like a nice place, and he would be able to indirectly protect his soulmate from there.

It had been enough for years. He found comfort in the fact that he was doing an amazing job, following orders, sending reports frequently.

That comfort was crushed when he found out his reports had never been read. His siblings pitied him, he could tell — or maybe he hoped they would.

What was his soulmate doing? Were they having a better life than he was? Had they temporarily found someone?

He longed to find them. There had to be a way. But who could he ask? Pogo didn’t know about those things, and mom... mom was malfunctioning.

Was he meant to lose everyone he loved and everyone that could ever love him back?

“I remember,” he said, extending his arm, “that it was right here.” He pointed at his forearm, making an up and down motion. “But I can’t remember the words. I just know they were nice.”

“You’ll find them one day,” you told him, incapable of hiding how sad your voice had turned. “Soulmates are meant to be, and you know yours exists.”

You finished wrapping the doll in silence, wishing you hadn’t offered to help him. You were entertaining the most absurd things now, things that only a child would find feasible.

He didn’t mention anything about jumping to the same conclusions. It had sounded like he cared, but perhaps he cared so much that he expected something else. You were scared to ask.

You didn’t want him to leave, his company was soothing even through the silence.

Why was it that when you had decided to stop caring you were stuck in such a situation?

Surely you were getting ahead of yourself because there were too many coincidences. Nothing else, nothing more.

Standing up, you showed him the final product. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he tried, extending his hand so you would place the gift on his palm.

“I think it’s admirable, by the way,” you told him honestly, placing your hand on his forearm, “that you still—“

His eyes widened, searching for yours. Confused, you felt him press his free hand on your forearm.

A gasp slid past your lips.

You had heard multiple stories about how it felt to meet a soulmate for the first time, and you had always assumed you would never experience anything like that.

Yet there you were, whole body tingling as you felt that familiar scorching sensation that doomed you when your mark was supposed to appear.

“D–did you feel that?”

Luther rasped, “I felt something right where your hand is.” Clearing his throat, he continued explaining, “I don’t feel most things so it’s a big deal.”

Of course it was. You looked down at your forearm, where his hand still rested. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, the scorching had simmered down to mere tickles.

“Does this mean we...?” he trailed off, unsure as though how to approach the subject.

You nodded, unable to hide your smile. He looked so handsome, lively blue eyes slightly damp as a smile of his own broke through the now long gone frown.

Luther put the wrapped gift down in order to crush you into a hug. Hugging back, as tightly as you could, you prayed even though you hadn’t done it for years that this wasn’t a dream.

So many years you had thought you were meant to be lonely, believed to be an anomaly. Being in the arms of your potential soulmate was hypnagogic. It felt too real to be a dream, and too good to be true at once.

“I thought I would never find you,” he confessed, resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

Shifting so your cheek would rest on his chest, you told him, “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t look for you more adamantly.”

“We’re here now. We’ll make up for the lost time.”

The relief in his voice was everything you needed to dissipate every ounce of doubt you had left. You felt at peace upon hearing the changes in his tone, feeling his hard body slumping as he got comfortable.

Luther confirmed what he had only imagined earlier. This was what home was supposed to feel like.

#luther hargreeves x reader #luther hargreeves x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #luther hargreeves #soulmate au #the umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy x plus size reader #tua x reader #tua x plus size reader

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muse-oleum · 4 years

Text

Not that kind of ride

Kingsman - Harry Hart x fem!reader

Based on this ask: Hello! Can you write one with the Fem!Reader “innocently” teasing Harry and him being so sexually frustrated and he lets that frustration out ;)

Y’all are thirsty my my. It’s a classic prompt, and I took inspiration from this piece by @ardentmuse because it’s the first one I ever read from her and I loved it. Go check it out.

Summary: The major downside of being a female Kingsman? Honeypots. The biggest upside? Honeypots with Harry Hart.

Word count: 2k (oops)

Warnings: *sing song voice* smut smut smut; swearing; fighting; unwanted advances; definite sex-in-the-car kink ur welcome

(gif credits to original owner)

Honeypot missions were, as a rule, not your favorite.

But honeypot missions with Harry Hart, on whom your not-so secret crush had been steadily developing for some months, were even worse.

For a reason you simply could not fathom, Merlin kept putting the two of you together, as if twice as much handsome would somehow enhance chances of success.

Usually all it did was enhance chances of fuck ups.

Your target, another one of these big shots, was a known womanizer. Your part of the job was basically done the moment you waltzed into that ballroom, your cleavage on display and about three quarters of your leg exposed through a high-thigh slit.

In a normal situation you’d have gone for one or the other but this was not a normal situation.

So, you accepted your fate through gritted teeth, wondering why exactly your talent as an agent was always equated to your sex appeal.

Eggsy found it fucking hilarious. Especially the constipated look on Harry’s face each time a hand flew up your leg, or an arm wound itself around your waist.

So, Harry was condemned to watch from the sidelines as the jilted ex/date/boyfriend/husband or whatever else you happened to be going undercover as. And he hated it.

He watched your position at the bar, your back to him. He wasn’t quite sure how that dress was supposed to stay on if both front and back were equally as exposed, but then he didn’t claim to be an expert. All it did right now was distract him from his task, which was to keep an eye on you and an ear on his mic.

Your target had spotted you immediately.

He joined you by the bar, hand already in motion, settling on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. You were supposed to play the part of the bored girlfriend, and it was a game you knew well.

Harry could hear you talk through his earpiece. He knew your entire strategy: feign indifference, let them talk themselves up a bit (usually involving money, cars, and the likes), then proceed.

The man pulled you in, so close to him as to effectively stall any chances of your getting the room key before getting into said room. His hands then went to grab your behind, feeling you up and down shamelessly and all you could do was feign interest.

What you truly felt was complete disgust. If there was a pair of hands you wanted on you - had ever wanted on you - those were certainly not his. The aforementioned pair of hands, last you checked, were closed around a martini.

Merlin and Eggsy had a bet for which one of you was going to blow first; Eggsy had bet on you, assuming Harry “didn’t ‘ave the game, luv, sorry” but Merlin, with a knowing and mildly pained smile, said “oi, you didn’t know him when he was young.”

They left it at that, leaving you more confused, and more… curious, than ever before.

You were pretty sure Merlin was going to lose his bet because Harry didn’t look like he was about to get his “game” on any time soon.

And it was driving you positively crazy.

Cut to the fancy hotel room you were now being led to, you analyzed every possible outcome.

One: you pretended to enter the room, thus avoiding any cameras, and knocked that pathetic excuse of a human being clean out once inside. Two: you managed to sneak the key out by sliding a hand under his suit jacket. Didn't look feasible given the timeframe. And three: you pushed things along until Harry got there as backup in case things got out of hand.

You chose option one. It seemed the safest, and the most entertaining one. Leave Harry to figure out where exactly you were.

There was obvious flirtation between the two of you, after all, and you knew you weren’t just dreaming it. Out of all the other female agents, whether in field or tech, Harry never called them “darling” or “love.” He never brought them coffee, or asked them if they were alright when they looked tired.

So what was his deal? You’d made your interest clear enough - at least in your opinion - and all the hints you dropped made approximately the same sound as the few neurons racing each other inside that tycoon’s skull: silence.

“After you, sugar.”

His drooping American accent, together with the disagreeable feeling of having to turn your back on him, had your senses on hyper alert.

A fact you were incredibly thankful for since no sooner had you stepped into the loft than a tall, Hulk-like individual descended upon you, grabbing at every part of your person he could reach. His knife nipped you right above your breasts, missing the strap of your dress by a hair.

Thankfully for you, your dress, and your dignity, you dodged, gun already in hand as you quickly neutralized him, eyes darting around the room watching for others.

“Just as I thought. You and your handsome fella just looked too good to be true.”

“Why, thank you,” came a wry voice from the doorway, just as you heard the distinct sound of a taser going.

With a very undignified gurgling sound, your target went down, properly knocked out.

“Files are in the cabinet. That’s where he looked first thing when I got his guy.”

Without a word, Harry secured the files, taking pictures through his glasses. You kept your eye on the two buffoons, your ear trained on the hallway.

“We’ll get into the car, and I’ll look over that.”

Without thinking, Harry let his thumb run right above the wound. your skin tingled at the contact, involuntarily leaning into his touch.

His eyes met yours, and even in the dimly lit room, you could see how dark they were.

Before you could open your mouth, he’d already drawn you to him, his hand on the small of your back. His nose touched yours; chest to chest, and hearts beating, you could feel his breath on your cheeks. This embrace was the one you’d been wanting all night, and he was giving it to you now?

You didn’t have time to do much thinking, because then Harry finally kissed you. His hands encircled your waist, gripping your hips fiercely. You abandoned yourself to his kiss, returning the favor as your hands tugged on his hair, massaging his neck.

“I’ve been waiting all bloody night to do that.”

You hummed, brushing your nose to his. You liked the way your breaths mingled and how your hearts seemed to beat at the same accelerated pace.

“Shit, Merlin, you win.”

You heard Harry chuckle. Eggsy sounded incredibly pissed. You could see Merlin disgusted face from here.

“Get your asses out of here. Car’s waiting for you two idiots by the back entrance.”

A few minutes later found you and Harry sitting in a very non subtle limousine. You could only assume that if anyone was looking for you, they probably wouldn’t think to look for a big, classy, black Mercedes. Hence the limousine.

Harry whistled.

“Well I never got that kind of ride before, that’s for sure.”

Funny how such an innocent sentence could invoke all sorts of salacious thoughts in your mind. Those salacious thoughts turned devious as you noticed the incredibly opaque screen separating you from the driver’s seat.

Oh, Harry wasn’t getting out of that ride before you’d… settled the air between you.

The driver’s voice, muffled, warned you of the traffic, and that it could take longer to arrive at destination.

You could feel your grin turn into a full wolf smile.

Harry settled down by your side, and you didn’t leave him much choice. As soon as he was seated, you removed your glasses, tucking them neatly in your handbag. Before he could speak, you removed his, placing them in your handbag as well, before resuming the kiss.

(fun under the cut)

Harry was stunned. He already knew that things could get out of hands, based off the simple fact that he was so fucking desperate for you. That, and you were in a car.

Apparently, you’d thought that fact through and decided you didn’t care, because next thing he knew, you were sitting on his lap, a mischievous smile on those godforsaken lips.

Harry was sure you knew what ample view of your cleavage he had from that vantage point. His eyes fixed on the small wound atop your right breast. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and was just there, daring him to do what he so desperately wanted.

Your skin was burning where his eyes were fixed.

Deciding Harry needed some more persuasion, you perched yourself astride him, staring back down at him as you undid your updo, letting your locks fall to your waist, grazing Harry’s fingers.

Casually reaching for your handkerchief, you slowly removed your lipstick, dragging the cloth over your lips in an agonizingly slow motion.

“We don’t want any red lipstick on that collar, now, do we?”

Not only was Harry stunned by this point, he was incredibly aroused.

He knew the happy-go-lucky, goofy, charming, sexy, side of you. But you’d never been more desirable as you were right now, stating your wants so blatantly. That made him want you even more.

Your hands fell on either side of his head, bearing your weight down on him, hips onto hips. The very audible groan that earned you made your skin flush with pleasure.

Harry’s hands grabbed your thighs, holding you down on him. Your lips, now lipstick free, found his ear. You traced a path down to his throat with heavy kisses, breathing in his minty scent.

“Darling, we’re in a car,” was all he could muster, the feel of you simply too much for him.

“He said there’s traffic.”

The decisive argument came when Harry found the zipper to your dress.

His hands roamed your back, feeling the soft skin beneath. You enjoyed the rough feel of his calloused hands, especially when they found the very sensitive skin right below your breasts, teasing you there.

You arched yourself against him, rolling your hips on his, feeling the evidence of his desire. His mouth latched onto your neck, beginning a slow descent downwards towards your breasts. Hips rolling and bucking, you let your head go, biting your lips as to muffle any moans as his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath the hem of your dress.

You felt his hands rake across your back, pressing you to him frantically as his mouth tortured your breast. In retaliation, your hands flew to his belt, undoing it in one swift motion and reaching inside his pants. His response was immediate, muffled against your skin, as he panted out a breathy moan.

His breath became more frantic as your ministrations accelerated, your name rolling off his lips a few times as he pushed into your hand. Just before his release, you pulled your hand away, the sharp contact with the air making him hiss.

Mouths came colliding as he entered you. You were enthralled by the look on his face: eyes shut, teeth ground into his lips to keep silent, cheeks flushed.

“Y/N… Sweetheart, I… I won’t hold out…” you cut him off, finger on his lips as he thrust into you with greater force.

Your hips ground into his, desperate for that friction you desperately needed. As if on cue, Harry’s hand reached underneath your dress, pressing against your bud. You couldn’t contain a gasp as you rocked into his hand, feeling your release fast approaching.

Harry held out just in time for you to come with him, mouths against skin; his biting down on your breast as you felt him thrust inside you one last time; yours against his ear, your moan making him tremble, exhausted in his pleasure.

That was definitely not the kind of ride he was used to.

He fervently hoped that car would never reach its destination.

lol sorry i can’t do short pieces your girl needs 2000 years to set the scene. Also modified the prompt a tiny bit, hope that’s alright.

Taglist: @justawriterinprogress; @tonystrksslut; @emilyyblackkk

#request #writing #harry hart #harry hart x reader #fem!reader #harry hart x fem!reader #kingsman #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: the golden circle #agent galahad #agent galahad x reader #original work #one shot #// smut

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bluescluelessly · 4 years

Note

Anidala cuddles🥺🥺maybe some luke and leia thrown in too bc anidala makes me big sad❤️

[Rating: G] || fluff, happy family au

°|●*.•

"Finally," Padmé sighs, dropping herself onto their living room couch. "Everything is clean."

Their home on Naboo is modest but still rather spacious-- they chose it with the future of their twins in mind. It's a lot for two relatively new parents to be dealing with on their own, but Anakin refuses to use housekeepers, so they manage.

He's working on making some cleaning droids, but it's been a slow process when you have a couple of demanding toddlers always underfoot.

"And kid-proofed," Anakin adds, clipping on the last cabinet lock. "We can take a break, finally."

Padmé smiles up at him as her husband heads over to join her on the couch, then squeals as he lets himself fall on top of her.

"Ani--" she pushes at him, laughing as he just wraps his arms around her. "You're crushing me!"

He's not, he knows he's being careful, so he knows she's just joking. He plays along, pulling back. "Well, if you don't want me..." his eyes slide over to the direction of their bedroom. "There's a much more comfy place I can lay."

She huffs, grabbing his shirt and dragging him back down. "Nope, I’m the comfiest place you’ll ever have."

That puts a grin back on his face, and he gladly snuggles up to her, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Hard to argue with that, Angel.”

Both of them are fairly tired from cleaning and baby-proofing the house all day, so he doesn’t try to escalate it any further. They’re content to just be, together and comfortable in one another’s arms.

Padme’s hand finds Anakin’s hair, absently undoing his ponytail so she can run her fingers through his dark blond curls. Her manicured nails feel nice against his scalp, and he quickly starts to feel drowsy, perfectly content as she plays with his long hair. He’s grown it out quite a bit since the end of the war, letting it reach past his shoulders.

He tried to grow a goatee too, but Padme and Obi-Wan quickly shut that attempt down. It was probably for the best.

He dozes lightly there, eventually shifting so that Padme isn’t under him anymore and he can really relax, without the concern of smothering his beautiful wife.

It’s nice.

He’s glad his life led him to this point; he’s been very lucky. He has not only a beautiful wife, but a reliable best friend to count on, and two beautiful children to care for. Things couldn’t be better for Anakin Skywalker, as far as he’s concerned.

°|●*.•

Obi-Wan can’t remember the last time he was so happy. It’s nearing sunset on Naboo, so he’ll have to send them back home soon, but he’s had a rather lovely day babysitting the Skywalker twins for Anakin and Padme. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Meditative retreat than here on Naboo, with his former student and best friend, Former Senator, vision of beauty, and good friend Padme Amidala, and their pair of delightful toddlers.

Of course, Anakin insists that they’re all trouble, but Obi-Wan never sees it. They enjoy his visits, which he makes as frequently as possible. He brings them stories of his missions and travels across the universe, holos from distant planets, and the twins listen in rapt awe at everything he has to tell them.

Leia loves to hear about the missions themselves, always demanding more as he tells them about the different customs and treaties he’s had to negotiate.

Luke is more invested in seeing the planets, always taking his commlink to look through the photos with wide, starry eyes.

He thinks both of them would make terrific Jedi, but he respects Anakin and Padme’s decision to wait until they’re old enough to talk and decide for themselves what they want.

Regardless of what they decide, Anakin has already agreed to let Obi-Wan start teaching them the basics, helping them learn to control the force as they learn to walk and speak. Leia tends to pick up on the skills a bit easier, but Luke seems more focused on learning them, apparently even practicing when Obi-Wan isn’t there to guide his training.

He loves them both dearly, and catches himself longing for the day when (hopefully) one or both of them join him at the Temple. He would train them both as his padawans if it were feasible to do so-- but then, he still has Ahsoka’s training to finish, so he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He’s sure she’ll want to train one of the twins as well, after all.

For now, he’s content to visit the little Skywalker-Amidala family whenever he can.

The Twins have just begun to speak-- not quite sentences, but in short demands and questioning words. He’s sorry he missed their first ones, but it can’t be helped. Even now, two years after the end of the Clone Wars, the Galaxy needs the Jedi. And, the Jedi need to repair the Galaxy’s view of them.

As one of the best known Jedi, and the Order’s forefront negotiator, he’s been kept very busy. He may have lost his leg in the final fight against Lord Sidious, but that only slowed him down for a few months, didn’t stop him.

A leg is a small price to pay to save the Republic and his friend. It’s a good thing Ahsoka called him and Anakin back to Mandalore when she did-- talking to Maul cleared up a lot of the fog Palpatine had pulled over his and Anakin’s eyes.

He had to give his mission to take on Grievous to Mace, but it was worth the detour in the end.

Anakin was so shaken by the revelation... it’s no surprise that he left the Order directly after Sidious’ defeat, even after he was offered the title of Master for his part in taking Palpatine down.

He’s happier now, happier than he ever would be as a Jedi, and that’s all that really matters, in Obi-Wan’s opinion.

“Up?” Luke’s voice breaks him of his thoughts, the two-year-old’s arms outstretched towards him. Leia is busy hovering her stuffed animals in the air, making the winged ones fly. She’s quite bright for a two-year-old, already knowing the difference between winged creatures and non-flying ones.

Obi-Wan smiles at Luke, acquiescing and picking him up so the boy can settle on his lap. “What is it, little one?”

The toddler grins, tugging on his beard. “Obibi, Obibi.”

His heart melts at the attempt to say his name, and he smiles softly down at the child. “Close, Luke. Can you try again? It’s O-bi-wan-ke-no-bi.”

The toddler concentrates, obediently trying again. “Obi... wa-obi. Obiwobi!”

The Jedi chuckles to himself, giving Luke a patient smile. “Close enough, Luke. Very good.”

The boy grins, clapping his hands together and then pointing downwards. “Obiwobi leg.”

“My leg?” he asks, playing dumb though he already knows what Luke wants. Leia looks up with interest as her brother speaks.

Luke pouts a little, trying again. “Want leg, obiwobi please!”

Leia stands, her toys dropping as she toddles over to join. “Unky Obi please!” she demands, tugging on his leg.

And really, how can he say no with the two of them fixing him with double puppy-dog eyes? “Oh, alright. Silly imps.”

Luke squeals, shifting out of the way so Obi-Wan can reach down and disconnect his prosthetic leg, pulling it off while they watch, fascinated. He’s not sure why they enjoy it so much, but he’s sure it has something to do with their father’s own prosthetic arm. Perhaps he should ask Anakin about it.

He puts his leg back on when they’ve had their fill of poking at his stump, shaking his head a little.

Leia is yawning, so he scoops up Luke, and uses the force to lift Leia up onto his other hip. “Alright, you two. Time to go back home. You parents must miss you terribly.”

“Ter-ribly,” Leia repeats, mimicking his accent with a very serious expression.

“Yes, terribly,” Obi-Wan nods, smiling at her. She seems to glow at his approval.

Not to be left out, Luke pipes up as well. “yes, ter-ri-ly.” He nods, so serious that Obi-Wan has to struggle not to laugh.

“Almost, Luke.” He smiles, carrying them both to his borrowed speeder and putting them in their seats. The toddler grins, then yawns widely as he’s buckled in.

The drive back to the Skywalker-Amidala household from the park is short. The twins are still awake, and all but run into the house when he gets them out of their seats and opens the front door.

“Daddy!” Luke shouts, and Obi-Wan hears a loud ‘oof’ from the next room as the toddler presumably launches himself onto his father.

There’s a second oof, and a feminine giggle as Leia does the same. Obi-Wan hangs his cloak up, following the twins into the living room as he has a look around. Anakin and Padme appear to have done quite a bit of cleaning up and baby-proofing while he kept the twins busy in Theed all day.

“We’re back,” he announces, earning a mock-glare from Anakin.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.” the former Jedi gripes, but doesn’t get up. He tugs Luke and Leia into his arms, settling the two sleepy kids in between himself and his wife.

Obi-Wan smiles at the scene, leaning against the doorway. “You are remarkably unobservant,” he teases.

Padme rolls her eyes at the two of them, hugging Leia close to herself and kissing the toddler on the top of her head. “Thank you for watching the twins, Obi.” She elbows her husband.

“Yeah, thanks,” Anakin says, reluctant but genuine. “We got everything done, thank gods.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Obi-Wan responds easily. “Your children are very well behaved.”

Padme gives him a mildly incredulous look. “You always say that, but I struggle to believe you.”

Obi-Wan shrugs, staying at the doorway as he watches the family of four. “Perhaps my standards are simply lower. I did train Anakin, after all.”

“Hey-” the Skywalker in question protests, as his wife hides laughter behind her hand.

“Maybe,” Padme agrees, looking amused. “It’s not too late yet, stay and watch a holofilm with us?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be back on Coruscant until tomorrow, and he doesn’t mind sleeping on the flight there, but he still needs to leave in the next few hours, so he hesitates.

That is, until Luke pokes his head up and stares at him with big eyes. “Please? Obiwobi stay!”

And just like that, any reluctance leaves him, and he nods. “Oh, alright.”

As he heads over to sit on the couch next to the cuddling family, Luke scrambles up and over to sit with him, and Anakin tosses him an amused look.

“Obiwobi, huh?”

“He’s doing his best,” Obi-Wan responds, adjusting himself so that Luke is comfortable leaning on him.

“It’s cute,” Padme agrees, turning on their holoprojector to start a movie. “Quiet down, boys.”

“Quiet dow’, boys.” Leia repeats, her voice stern as she snuggles in between her parents. It earns a little bit of surprised laughter from the adults, but then they obey, going silent as the movie starts.

All five of them, happy as can be right here, settled together for something as domestic as a holofilm. Everything, right as it should be.

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aliciameade · 4 years

Text

Desperate Measures - Ch. 3/4

Title: Desperate Measures Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Everyone in the building now hates Apartment 3N Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Mid-PP3. They are quarantined. Chloe and Beca have everything they need to weather the mandated period of social distancing and staying home: food, water, shelter, games, entertainment, and each other’s company.

The one thing they don’t have?

Much-needed privacy.

Also on AO3

p.s. Shout-out to @becabottommitchell for this one. ;)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca doesn’t know what day it is anymore.

And she really, really doesn’t care.

“Oh, my God,” she chokes out as her fingers curl over the side of the table she and Chloe (and Amy in the before-times) regularly dine at. It’s been shoved against the cabinetry to stop it from sliding forward every time Chloe thrusts into her. Her other hand is hooked onto the edge of the sink; one hand to stop her from being pulled back and the other to brace herself, all to maximize Chloe’s actions.

Chloe’s blunt fingernails dig into her hips while she drives the strap-on into Beca’s body with skill that Beca can’t help but think is a supernatural gift. Not that she is capable of much thought. “Do you like it?” Chloe asks, voice unfairly steady for how hard Beca knows she’s working.

She answers with a groan. Even if she could string together a coherent sentence, there are no words that can describe what she’s feeling as Chloe fucks her bent over the kitchen table.

When Chloe walked in from the daily mail check carrying a box and wearing a smile, Beca hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d watched with mild interest as Chloe opened it, singing to herself while doing so until she’d turned to face Beca holding up a small pair of black briefs with a ring positioned low on the front of them to ask Beca, “What do you think?”

“Dude, what is that?” she’d asked with a laugh, knowing full-well what it was.

“You said your favorite position was getting it from behind,” Chloe shrugged like she was reminding Beca she’d said strawberry was her favorite ice cream.

“So you bought a strap-on?” She didn’t know why she was being argumentative. She was already saving her work so she could turn off her laptop. She was already getting wet.

Chloe nodded with a smile and turned back to finish unpacking the box and Beca didn’t have to see to know it was the other important piece to Chloe’s intentions. She watched her open and unwrap things and throw away the packaging and toss the box by the door to be taken out for recycling.

When Chloe had turned around from washing the new dildo, Beca was already nude and standing in the middle of the room waiting for whatever it was Chloe wanted to do. She’d actually gasped in surprise, then grabbed Beca’s hand to pull her in and kiss her hard before pushing her toward the table and telling her to bend over.

“Don’t stop,” Beca manages to say between moans that are probably going to earn them yet another note taped to their front door about being mindful of their neighbors when everyone else has to be home all the time, too.

“I’m not,” Chloe says as her hips speed up to prove her point.

It makes Beca’s voice give out for a few seconds, nothing but silence escaping her as Chloe pounds into her. A hand runs up her back and she feels it tangle in long, loose ends of her hair, to pull.

To date, she hasn’t considered hair-pulling to be one of her things. She knows it’s Chloe’s thing; Chloe loves when Beca pulls her hair. Beca’s never found much enjoyment in her own being pulled though. Not until today when Chloe’s grip is just firm enough to make her have to lift her head. It’s just enough to make Beca feel like she’s completely at Chloe’s mercy (not that she wasn’t already). It’s just enough to make Beca find her voice and moan her appreciation.

She wants to ask Chloe to rub her clit; it’s aching with need and she doesn’t know if she’ll even be able to come if it goes ignored.

She doesn’t totally care, though; if she never comes, that means Chloe will never stop fucking her this way and Beca can’t think of a better way to pass the time.

And they’ve passed a lot of time since they gave in and stopped using each other to get off and instead started getting each other off. She’s not sure she’s had as much sex with all her past partners combined as she and Chloe have had in the last three weeks. They’ve both been unapologetically insatiable, even joking that it shouldn’t be biologically possible to be having multiple orgasms every single day. They don’t even ask anymore; sometimes Beca is sitting in on the couch looking at her phone and Chloe will slip her hand down Beca’s pants, or shorts, or underwear, or just between her legs if she hadn’t bothered to put clothes on, and make her come in a quick few minutes. Sometimes Beca doesn’t even put her phone down; she knows Chloe gets off on trying to earn Beca’s attention. And Beca always returns the favor.

Beca wonders if, feasibly, they could do this forever. She’d be content to skip dinner, and breakfast, and fall asleep to slow, languid thrusts and be woken by Chloe picking up the pace again, to repeat it day after day.

It’s never felt like this before, not with anyone, and while she’d like to think it’s simply because Chloe is an amazing lover, she knows it’s more than that. It’s been more than that, at least for Beca, for a long time.

A pathetic, needy-sounding sob escapes her and she hears Chloe moan in response.

“Are you close?”

She’s so close it hurts, yet it feels impossibly out of reach. Chloe driving into her, again and again, is loud and wet. She shakes her head and feels how her hair pulls where it’s still in Chloe’s hand until that tension releases. Nails drag down her back to hold tightly to her hips again and, somehow, Chloe moves impossibly faster.

It makes her hands slip and flail to try to brace herself again and she has the distinct mental image of being helpless.

“Is it not good?” Chloe asks, concern in her voice that’s finally starting to show signs of physical exertion.

The absurdity of the question makes Beca want to cry. She shakes her head again and has to shove both her hands hard against the counter, channeling what little strength she has left to form words. “If I come, you’ll stop.” As if betraying her, she feels her climax bearing down her despite the way her clit is being neglected and she knows the moan that follows her words makes it more than obvious that she’s close.

“When has that ever stopped me?” Chloe replies; it sounds a bit like she’s trying not to laugh.

Beca doesn’t blame her; she’s dumb to have thought Chloe would ever stop unless Beca asked her to.

“Then don’t stop,” Beca moans. “God, please don’t stop.”

“Never.”

Harder. Somehow, Chloe fucks her even harder and Beca has an unmistakable realization that she’s being ravaged. It builds and builds and there are no more words. Nothing but moans and wet sounds and the fast rhythmic thunking of the table against the cabinet and Chloe’s heavy breathing until it overcomes Beca.

It’s a tremor, just a quiver of pleasure in her belly that disappears as soon as she braces herself for it. She’s wrong to let down her guard in disappointment; she’s about to swear in desperate madness because, after all of this, her orgasm was over in little more than a blink of an eye.

What she didn’t expect was that that quiver was the earthquake before the tidal wave.

She comes so hard she’s not sure she won’t just crack in two. She can’t breathe. Or see. Or hear anything but her own voice and whatever sounds it’s making and Chloe’s unintelligible words of encouragement distorted in her ears. She comes so hard she can feel the way Chloe tries to pull back but can’t because Beca’s tensed so hard around the toy inside her. She comes so hard that it almost hurts, and that thought distracts her body long enough that it allows Chloe to move.

Beca thinks maybe she says something. Maybe a word. Maybe a “Fuck” or a “Shit” or an “Oh, God,” but she can’t be sure. She’s stopped trying to think or speak or consciously react and surrendered herself to whatever Chloe is going to make her body do.

What she does know is that Chloe keeps true to her word and doesn’t stop.

Beca’s orgasm hasn’t even ended yet and Chloe’s already fucking her again. It’s merciless and she just gives up and lets her head hang, not caring if she ends up with a friction burn on her forehead. She feels a hand on her stomach and her breasts until it’s following her right arm to thread their fingers together, Chloe’s breasts pressing against her back and teeth on her shoulder.

She thinks she hears something like, “You’re incredible,” before the teeth and lips and tongue return to her shoulder to move across her back until Chloe’s standing upright again. Her hands return to Beca’s hips and her pace is already speeding up until she finds the same tempo that had just driven Beca into an earth-shattering climax that she’s either still recovering from or still experiencing—she’s too far-gone to be able to know the difference.

What she does know is that it shouldn’t be humanly possible to come as hard as she just did and already be on the verge again in just minutes.

She’d ask Chloe what’s happening to her if she could.

The way Chloe’s managing to hit the exact right spot again and again makes it almost impossible to breathe and she manages to spare one thought as to how pathetic she probably looks as her legs start to tremble.

But then she doesn’t care anymore. The orgasm that overtakes her is literally nothing she’s ever experienced; she feels it in every inch of her body and she can hear Chloe moaning and saying things like, “Oh, my God, you’re so hot, come for me, baby.”

It’s hot and wet and she feels herself dripping on her inner thighs and the only reason she doesn’t collapse to the floor is because the table’s there to hold her up. She feels Chloe heavy against her again, breathing hard against her back where her mouth presses tired, lazy kisses across Beca’s skin.

Beca’s trying to catch her breath and it’s not easy with Chloe’s weight against her, pinning her against the table. She has a distinct thought, however, that she loves it. That she wants to struggle to breathe because Chloe’s on top of her after making her come so hard she’s unsure if her soul has returned to her body.

She’s sure they could stay there all night if the terrifying sound of screeching, twisting metal didn’t slice through their exhausted silence accompanied by their trusty kitchen table giving out and starting to collapse.

It happens so fast Beca doesn’t even process it until her bare ass is sitting on the cold floor with Chloe doubled over in laughter next to her.

“What the fuck?” Beca says, breathing hard now that she can once again, as she stares at the sad excuse for a table, two of its legs bent and splayed to make the whole thing slant at a solid 45-degree angle.

“I can’t believe we broke the table,” Chloe says, still laughing. “I’m just glad it held out as long as it did.”

It makes Beca laugh, too, even though she still feels a bit delirious from her release(s). “Honestly, I think I’d have been fine just riding it to the floor if it gave out in the middle of that.”

That makes Chloe laugh even harder and she turns to look up at her, still bent over, hands on her knees and red hair, the ends damp with what Beca knows to be sweat (Hers? Beca’s? Both?), swinging. She’s still wearing the strap-on and Beca’s focus shifts back to exactly why the table is broken and exactly why she would have been more than happy to let Chloe fuck her right through the floor.

She’s on her knees and pulling the briefs off Chloe before Chloe even notices.

“Oh, what?” she says in surprise when she does notice and then she’s stepping out of the harness so Beca can toss it up and into the sink.

“Bed,” she says as she lets Chloe pull her to her feet. Her legs don’t want to work so she’s grateful they only have a few steps to go to cross the room.

“You don’t have to,” Chloe says with a soft smile even as Beca turns them and pulls Chloe in to kiss her, walking backward until she’s bringing Chloe down on top of her.

Beca just shakes her head and drags her nails down Chloe’s back until they reach her ass, which she grabs and uses to push her north. “I know. But I want to.”

Chloe shifts with the pressure of Beca’s hands but not how Beca wants her to. She wants Chloe higher; she wants her face between Chloe’s thighs. Chloe seems content to stay put, though, as she kisses Beca with more and more enthusiasm instead of moving up like Beca’s trying to direct.

“Up,” she finally mumbles through a kiss. They’ve never done it this way before, another first in a laundry list of so many firsts they’ve shared over the last many weeks. She doesn’t quite know how to ask directly; Chloe’s far more comfortable and bold when initiating new things, but as soon as the cards are on the table, Beca’s quick to agree. (Tonight’s new strap-on adventure, for example.)

Chloe’s tongue slips further into her mouth for several seconds before she pulls back. “What do you mean, ‘up’?” she asks with a hint of a smile.

“I mean,” Beca has to wrench one of her hands out from where they’re trapped between their bodies because her hands had been on Chloe’s breasts when they tumbled into bed. She uses it to pat the pillow beneath her head. “Up.”

Chloe seems to freeze above her, even her quick breathing stopping as she stares down at Beca. She’s beginning to think she did something wrong because the pause feels too long for what she thought wouldn’t be a difficult thing to agree to when Chloe drops down and kisses her again. It’s hard and steals Beca’s breath and as soon as it breaks, Chloe’s moving, crawling higher until Beca’s tossing aside the pillow to make room for Chloe’s knees.

“I’ve thought about this so much,” Chloe says as her fingers thread through what little of Beca’s hair she can grab.

Beca’s hands find and squeeze Chloe’s ass, scooting herself a little higher on the bed to make sure when she pulls Chloe down, she can easily catch Chloe’s clit between her lips.

It’s not the first time she’s had her mouth on Chloe; that had happened two weeks ago in the middle of the night in a burst of confidence and arousal. She’d rolled over and kissed Chloe awake and whispered, “I want to taste you,” and Chloe had nodded and parted her legs.

So she knows what to expect now, how Chloe will taste and how she’ll feel against her tongue but she’s still not ready for it. She’s not sure if she could ever be ready for what it’s like for Chloe to press herself against Beca’s mouth and moan and whisper things about needing and wanting Beca.

“That feels so good,” Chloe says through a breathy moan as soon as Beca’s tongue touches her.

Beca looks up at her and it’s truly a sight to see Chloe’s eyes fixed on her, the way her face is flushed, all messy hair and dark lips and heavy eyes. All that once Beca’s eyes get past the soft skin of her stomach and the curves of her breasts and the way her nipples are pebbled and hard. That all of it is because of Beca. For Beca. Being shared with Beca.

Her mind skips back ten minutes to how Chloe had just made her come—twice—harder than she ever had before and she moans, the memory driving heat right to her core. She channels it into what she’s doing, working her tongue and lips over Chloe.

Chloe’s moans are sinful as she lets go of Beca’s hair so both hands can hold on to the back of the couch. Her hips are starting to move and it makes Beca tuck a hand between Chloe’s legs to slip her fingers into her to give her something solid to ride.

“Oh, God, yeah,” Chloe says through a moan and her hips work faster.

Beca knows it’s not going to take her long; she knows all of Chloe’s tells by now. She can already feel how close she is by the way she squeezes Beca’s fingers and how her voice becomes breathy and ethereal. She closes her lips against her clit and sucks, fingers curling in time with Chloe’s pace.

She watches Chloe’s head tip back and sees the tension in her arms and feels it in her legs as she works to keep herself upright.

There’s a sudden stomping on the ceiling above them and for half a second they both freeze. Beca knows their neighbors hate them. They’ll probably have to move when this is all over.

“No, I don’t care. Don’t stop,” Chloe decides, hips immediately working even faster.

It feels like Chloe’s trying to defy their protest the way she gets even louder so Beca helps her, working her tongue and lips over her and her fingers inside her as thoroughly as she can while Chloe rolls and grinds her hips.

She’s being obnoxiously loud on purpose and Beca kind of loves it. She loves that Chloe wants people to know that Beca is making her feel good. She loves that she is making her feel good. She loves that her own moans sound so good with Chloe’s when Chloe reaches behind herself to touch Beca. She loves that Chloe always wants to make Beca feel good, even when she’s on the verge of her own orgasm.

Beca would say something if she could, a curse word or something about how good it feels or how good Chloe tastes but all of that would require her to stop, even for a second, and Chloe’s too close for that. Instead, she spreads her legs and rocks her hips up into Chloe’s touch to let her know how appreciative she is before she reaches down with the hand not between Chloe’s legs to push Chloe’s hand away. She knows it’s not a good angle for her. Chloe’s hand doesn’t leave, though. It grabs Beca’s and guides it to replace Chloe’s until Beca’s fucking both of them.

She watches Chloe lean forward again and marvels at the view and the taste as she watches Chloe start to fall apart.

It’s loud and she says Beca’s name. She calls her ‘baby.’ She begs Beca to come with her, and she does, which only makes Chloe moan even more loudly.

Someone’s probably going to knock on their door soon.

Beca really doesn’t give a fuck. Not when Chloe’s coming on her tongue and moaning her name and when she’s leaving fingernail imprints on Chloe’s ass.

“Oh, my God,” Chloe says weakly when it’s over. She’s still straddling Beca’s face but scoots back the tiniest bit to give Beca space.

Not that she cares or wants it. She’s still teasing her with her tongue, just enough to make her shiver and sigh and send tired, happy-looking smiles her way.

“You look so good like this,” Chloe says, fingers tracing Beca’s forehead and nose.

“So do you,” she answers, lifting her head enough to close her lips around her clit again, gently because she knows how sensitive she is.

Chloe whimpers and Beca wonders if they’re going to go again; it’s up to Chloe now. Beca’s ready for it even if she is exhausted. She’s not sure there will ever be a day or time when she isn’t ready for it. And she’s not sure how she feels about that...if it’s pathetic or not. She’s learned enough about herself through this new dynamic with Chloe that she’ll pretty much do anything Chloe wants her to do, and with very little convincing.

But, Chloe sighs and tilts her hips back to pull herself away and then she’s backing up until she’s stretched out on top of Beca to be able to bring their lips together in a slow, languid kiss that manages to calm Beca down as much as it keeps her turned on. She lets her hands idly roam over Chloe’s back; it’s warm and slick from her exertion and Beca feels the tiniest bit guilty of how unbalanced their physical contributions were to the afternoon’s events.

That is, until she remembers that Chloe bought that toy for the sole reason of knowing what Beca liked because she wanted to use it on Beca and she doesn’t feel quite so guilty.

“That was all….so fucking hot, Bec,” she says before kissing Beca again.

Beca had been incorrect; she knows they aren’t finished yet. Chloe just needed a break for a few minutes.

“Can I fuck you like that again?”

She knows they aren’t finished yet because Chloe only talks that way when she’s turned on.

Beca just nods. “Any time you want.”

Her answer makes Chloe smile and groan and kiss her hard and roll her hips into Beca and...yeah. Someone is definitely going to be pounding on their door before the night is over.

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“What’s up, my bitches!”

Beca groans at the sound of Amy’s voice cutting through her quiet morning. She’s been half-asleep tangled up with Chloe since Amy texted them both late last night to let them know she was on her way home. Neither of them had wanted to sleep. Sleeping meant time would pass quickly. Sleeping meant less time to talk and kiss and touch. They’d been up all night and if Amy hadn’t texted again to say she was in a cab on her way, they’d still be naked.

It’s nearly been two months and the stay at home order has been lifted. She was excited, of course. They both were. It meant they’d be back at work soon, back to some version of normal.

It also meant that Amy would be back and their version of Playing House would come to an end. Back to being friends. Back to being roommates.

Beca feels Chloe’s arms tighten around her and it feels bittersweet; the whole night had. It felt like something was ending. Everything felt like it was going to be The Last Time. The last time that Chloe would kiss Beca’s thigh, that Beca would touch Chloe’s breast, that their tongues and lips would meet.

She’d almost cried more than once. It felt a lot like breaking up. With someone she wasn’t even dating.

It had been as beautiful as it had just plain sucked.

“Hey, Amy, welcome home,” Chloe says as she pulls away from Beca to get out of bed and hug her.

Beca stares at the ceiling for a few seconds to make sure her face doesn’t look sad or pathetic before she sits up and plasters on a smile. “Hey, Ames.”

When their hug ends, Beca watches Amy look between her and Chloe, and then again. And a third time before she’s looking around the room and then walking around the room like she’s some kind of detective.

She points at the flatscreen they had finally managed to get mounted on a wall. “We have a TV?”

“You can only watch so much Netflix on a 16” screen,” Chloe answers.

“And we got a new table?” She knocks her knuckles a few times on the wooden table that is a nice upgrade from what they’d had. It has managed to withstand what the other could not.

Beca hopes she doesn’t start blushing, and Chloe’s side glance her way isn’t helpful.

“Yeah, you know, I moved it so I could mop the floor and a screw came loose on one of the legs and it was stripped when I tried to fix it,” Chloe explains easily. “And we got that one off the street, anyway. We had so much time, we decided to upgrade the place a little.”

“Upgrade, right,” Amy says with a laugh as she tosses her bag onto her bed. “As long as you didn’t shag on my bed.”

“We didn’t,” they both answer, perhaps a little too in-synch.

Because they had. They totally had. Not on purpose, it had just been where they ended up. And they laundered everything the very same day. It was fine.

The way Amy turns around is almost comical in its slowness and Beca already knows they’re busted. She doesn’t know how she does it, but Amy has always been neck-and-neck with Stacie in being able to figure out when anyone has had a hook-up.

Beca feels herself shrinking in her spot in bed until she’s compelled to pull the blanket up over her knees to her chin. Her eyes flit between Amy and Chloe because Amy’s staring her down like the easy target she is until —

“I knew it!” Amy shrieks, pointing accusingly. “I knew you twig bitches wouldn’t last in here without me before you were doing the horizontal tango. How long did you wait? A day? Two?”

“Amy!” Beca groans, pulling the blanket all the way over her head and falling backward to lay back down.

“It’s...complicated,” she hears Chloe say and feels the bed move and knows Chloe just sat down at the end of it.

“Does that mean you two are officially on the shaggin’ wagon? And we can finally stop this game where we all pretend you’re not in love with each other?”

Beca feels her throat close up at those words. They hadn’t discussed that. Have they said, “I love you”? Yes. Was Beca 100% certain Chloe meant it in a romantic, deep way and not a platonic friend way? No. They somehow made it through two months of an intensely sexual affair and had no clear resolution.

“Amy,” Chloe chastises. Her voice is softer when she adds, “Don’t. Please?”

“Okay, okay,” Amy says defensively but Beca knows that means she’s going to let it go. “Anyway, thanks for the TV; can’t wait to watch the home movies my boy toy and I made on a proper screen.”

“Over my dead body,” Beca says, still hiding under the blankets. She feels a hand on her foot, though, and nows it’s Chloe’s. It kind of pats it, and squeeze it, and wiggles it, and she knows there is meaning with it.

“I’m here. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

To be continued...

#bechloe #pitch perfect #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fic #fanfic #a whole lotta sin #desperate measures

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