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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

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Mae!!! I am so happy to see you opening up requests for Thawing Out because I am genuinely OBSESSED and I haven’t stopped thinking about it 💖💖💖 So, what if during practice, Remus (unknowingly, obviously) said something to r, like making a correction or something, and it’s something Peter had said. And Sirius recognizes it too!! And you can decide what happens 🥰 Love you! 💖

Thank you for requesting lovely <33

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, Peter mention

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2k words

You’re an angel on the ice. Gliding and sweeping, your movements so ethereal Sirius half expects to look down and find that your skates are floating above the surface of the ice, or that you’ve etched the next great work of art into the canvas beneath your feet. But he doesn’t, because it’s clear as day that the true art is in the creation, and it’s got its fingers clasped around his. Sirius feels lucky to bear witness.

You have the look of someone who’s given themselves over to their craft, your expression poised but eyes sparkling as you transition neatly from one move to the next until you’re coasting alongside Sirius. You’re wearing leg warmers today, far from unconventional in your sport but it’s humiliating how adorable he finds it on you. Your nails are short and neat, fingers surprisingly warm in his own, eyelashes fluttering as you tilt your head back.

You make it look easy. The way you arch your back until you’re nearly parallel to the ice, skating on only the edge of one skate while Sirius draws you in a circle around him. He starts to lower himself, finding the position you’d practiced off ice. Your grip on his hand is strong, your head tilting until the hairs escaping from your bun are whipping just above the ice, until Sirius is sure you can feel its chill on the back of your neck, and he can’t do it.

He keeps you a few inches above where he knows you’re supposed to be, holds you there with the momentum of his spin, and then hoists you up and into your spin.

You look at him bemusedly as you land on your other skate, a questioning flicker of eye contact Sirius pretends not to notice. You finish out the rest of your routine perfectly.

“That was great,” Remus says from the entryway. Sirius has noticed that he’s taken to watching you from there rather than from the bleachers on days when his hip isn’t giving him as much trouble. He wonders if Remus is almost tantalizing himself, standing on the edge of the ice but knowing he can’t go further. “Y/n, you had a lovely arch going into the spiral, but I want to see you stay more on that outside edge during the lutz-loop combination. Just play it safe on that one, alright?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking encouraged. “Sorry, I felt myself slip a bit there.”

“You managed it just fine,” Remus reassures you. He gives you a gentle smile, and Sirius stomach does something fluttery and unsanctioned. “It’s good that you noticed, we only want to keep an eye on it, yeah?”

You smile in reply. The commotion in Sirius’ stomach worsens.

“And Sirius,” Remus turns to him, “we still have to get a bit lower on the spiral. Her head should be below her knee.”

Sirius frowns. “I know.”

It’s a non-answer and Remus knows it, but he doesn’t snipe back at him. His brows twitch together thoughtfully. “We’ve still got a few days. Do you need more time to practice off ice?”

“No,” Sirius replies. He wishes the other boy would get angry with him, give him something to shoot back at, something other than kindness and temperance and this lame, irksome understanding. He almost wants to roll his eyes as he adds, “I’ll work on it.”

Remus seems (frustratingly) appeased with that. “Alright, just be careful on your left pick when you get down there.” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “We don’t need any more accidents this close to competition, Pads.”

Sirius waits for the flash of irritation. But your laughter rings out brilliant and lovely, and Remus is smiling at the both of you with something like fondness, and he can’t seem to find it.

Fucking James. Sirius ought to know better than to automatically trust anyone his best friend likes—you’ve both suffered the consequences from that once already—but it’s difficult to summon his usual disdain for Remus after watching the two of them chinwag and snicker like old friends at practice the other day. It was odd seeing James so familiar with someone else, but Sirius found he couldn’t muster any jealousy. As much as he loathes to think of it, you were right—learning James and Remus were old friends did make him think. In ways that remind Sirius why thinking is one of his least favorite activities.

He shoots Remus the bird over his shoulder. Unfortunately, in doing so, he fails to notice a blemish in the ice which catches his skate, causing him to pitch forward before righting himself.

Remus’ lips twitch, but Sirius holds up a hand. “You can keep your quips to yourself.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Then you can keep your looks to yourself.”

You implement Remus’ alteration to your lutz-loop combination flawlessly. It’s something you’ve always been good at, confident enough to take feedback and skilled enough to make the changes stick. It’s part of why you’re as good as you are, the amalgamation of every scrap of advice you’ve ever received and a fierce determination that's all your own. You jump and spin and twist your way through the routine beautifully.

Sirius, on the other hand, is not so great with critiques. The death spiral stays exactly the way it is, with your head safely above the ice and neither of you low enough to get full points. And that’s likely how it will stay.

He can tell you and Remus are both getting more frustrated, more disappointed, every time he fails to take it all the way, but Sirius can’t bring himself to go any further. His heart won’t let him.

“We’ll do some more off ice tomorrow,” Remus decides for him as you both take off your skates. “We’ve got the time, everything else is looking beautiful. Sirius, maybe work on getting low on your own today, so we’ve less to cover tomorrow.” Sirius nods down towards his skates. He doesn’t feel like looking at either one of you. “And y/n, the only thing I’m still noticing from you is that landing on your triple axle. You’re a bit wobbly. I want you to focus on controlling your descent and really sticking it. It looks nearly perfect, you’re just making me a little nervous—this would be a shit time to have to go into an early retirement, wouldn’t it?”

It’s said lightly, a hint of a smile at the tail end, but your face twinges like he’s snapped at you. Remus’ brow furrows in mild confusion, and Sirius feels a hard fist clench in his chest. He wouldn’t know what had made you react like that either, if you hadn’t repeated Peter’s words to him yourself.

He told the other coach that I was one bad jump away from injuring myself into an early retirement.

“I’m not actually worried about that—you’re too skilled for an injury that severe to be very likely, I just,” Remus is watching you carefully, clearly trying to reason out where he went wrong, “thought I should bring it to your attention. Only as a precaution.”

You nod several times, quicker and harder than necessary. “Yeah.” Your lips press into a smile. “I’ll be careful, thanks.”

Sirius sets his hand on top of yours, shit at comfort but meaning to try anyway, but your hand slips away as you get up and sling your bag over your shoulder.

“I have to get home,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as if in apology. Your expression is tight. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Remus echoes. He watches you go with a half-remorseful look on his face, like he doesn’t know what he’s done but he feels bad for it anyway.

Seeing as you haven’t waited for him, Sirius supposes he’ll be walking home on his own today. He sets his skates in his bag, beginning to tug on his shoes.

Remus broaches the silence almost tentatively. “Did she seem alright to you?” Sirius doesn’t know how to respond to that, but the other boy goes on before he has to. “Did…do you know if I said something to upset her?”

Sirius shrugs. “Nope.”

Remus can probably smell the lie—he’s not gone to any great lengths to conceal it—but Sirius doesn’t care. The look of hurt on your face has set a familiar protective ire buzzing beneath his skin, and Remus is the one who caused it. Neither of you owe him any explanation.

Remus falls quiet again, but he waits while Sirius finishes packing up, walks with him towards the exit.

“How long have you and James been friends?” he asks.

“A long time,” Sirius answers shortly. “I moved in with him and his parents when I was sixteen.”

“Oh.” Remus turns to look at him. Sirius feels his gaze, wide and curious, on the side of his face. “Yeah, a long time, then. It was nice to talk to him again. We used to run into each other so often, but I hadn’t seen him since…well, since I left, I suppose.”

There’s a melancholy that lays itself down over those last few words, the nostalgia in Remus’ voice smothered underneath. Maybe it’s that quiet tone, maybe it’s the image of James and Remus together, laughing and talking about their futures on the ice during early mornings at the rink, but Sirius feels himself softening.

“He mentioned something,” Remus says tentatively, “about your last coach. It didn’t sound like things ended well.”

Sirius pushes out a breath. “They didn’t.”

“Was he not very good?”

“No,” he can hear the frustration seeping into his voice. He wishes Peter were worse at his job. That he’d been an idiot, didn’t understand your styles, and none of you had ever managed to get along. It would have made everything so much easier. “He was good.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” says Remus, “but if what happened with him is going to affect how you two are with me—if it has anything to do with how I upset y/n today—I would appreciate if you told me.”

So Sirius does. He’s not sparing with the details, and Remus doesn’t begrudge him the anger that grips him as he talks about Peter’s betrayal, where it left the two of you, how it’s still coming back to hurt you even now. It makes him furious, but where he’d expected Remus to take it all in calmly, Sirius is surprised when the other boy’s jaw gets tight as he listens. He has questions: How long had you worked with Peter? Did either of you have to get involved with the case, or did his emails speak for themselves? Does Sirius know how long Peter was playing double-agent?

By the time they’re on Sirius’ block, Remus has begun alternating between shaking his head and huffy, revolted exhalations.

“I can’t believe he said that to her.” He shakes his head, guilt digging into the space between his brows. “I can’t believe I said it, either, but I was only trying to make a joke about myself, not…she’s far too skilled to have a fall like that—well, anyone could, but she’s only as likely as anyone else at her level. Which isn’t very many people.”

“That’s what I told her,” Sirius agrees. “I think she was mostly over it, but…”

“I reminded her.” Remus sighs. “I’ll have to make it up to her.”

“She’ll be alright,” he says honestly. “I think it just surprised her.”

“She’s really good.”

“I know.”

“She has to know that.”

“She…” Sirius hesitates. “Do we ever really know it, about ourselves?”

“Oh, come off it.” Remus gives Sirius a knowing look. His mouth tugs up on one side. “You clearly know how good you are.”

Sirius feels a pleased tingle of warmth in his face. He walks backwards up the stairs to his flat, leveling Remus with a cocky grin. “Am I?”

“Don’t. You maintain your own ego well enough without my help.”

“Oh, but it never hurts to have disciples.” He fishes out his key, unlocking the door. “You could remind me from time to time, just for fun.”

When he turns, Remus is watching him from the sidewalk with a gleam of something like amusement in his eye. “Nail the spiral,” he says, “and we’ll see.”

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takiishiluvr · 3 months ago

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ᯓ★ hot mess .ᐟ

𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼. you are a hot mess, even making one when your two best friends are all over you. ౨ৎ wc :: 6.1k ˖ ࣪⊹ consensual, threesome, eating out, fingering, nipple play.

๑⁠˙ note ! this is my first time attempt to write smut. please do enjoy nevertheless !

What better way to enjoy a summer day than at the beach? You had suggested the idea of craving the cool embrace of the ocean waves. Endo had already agreed to put on his swimsuit, while Takiishi, as usual, went along with whatever kept you in his sight.

Clad in your new two-piece swimsuit, you couldn't help but notice the extra attention you were getting today, especially from your two best friends, who now looked more like personal bodyguards. They trailed behind you like protective pitbulls, sharp glares warning off anyone who dared to look your way. Not even the sandcastles built by children were spared, well Endo didn’t want to step up on them, and Takiishi couldn't care less.

They sat on the towels, their muscular frames relaxed on the sand while you stood before them, arms crossed, casting a long shadow over their sun-kissed skin. Endo looked up at you with that soft, gentle smile he always had, while Takiishi just stared, his expression harder to read.

“Why did you get in my way?” the redhead asked, his voice laced with curiosity, maybe even a hint of annoyance. He wasn't used to being interrupted, not when he was about to do something he found so … entertaining. But it was you, so he couldn't care less in the end.

You sighed, affection in your tone as you explained, “This is supposed to be a vacation so we can all rest. Leave the fighting for when we are back in town. I don't want to deal with this. I just want to have fun and relax.”

Takiishi’s gaze softened slightly at your words, though he wouldn't admit it out loud. He respected you enough to let it slide, even if he wanted to punch those idiots for what they’d said about him, about you. But when you stepped closer, your eyes scanning his face, he couldn't hold onto that irritation for long.

“You're starting to look more like Sebastian than Ariel.” you teased, that sweet smile blooming across your face as you knelt beside him. His cheeks flushed, a little redder than before, and you reached for the sunscreen spray, gently applying it to his face. The soft fabric of your swimsuit top shifted slightly, drawing his gaze downward for just a moment. The way it hugged your curves perfectly didn't escape his notice, and he found himself distracted by how effortlessly the material clung to your skin. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, lingering for just a second too long.

You leaned in a little. focusing on spreading the sunscreen evenly, your fingertips brushing his red cheeks, and he couldn't help but notice how the sun had kissed your skin too, making it glow just a little more. Takiishi tried to ignore the way his pulse quickened as he tore his focus away from your neckline, attempting to focus on anything else. But the softness in your voice, combined with the warmth of your touch was doing something to him that he wasn't entirely prepared for. You noticed, of course. How could you not? The way his gaze lingered, the slight tension—it was almost cute how he was trying so hard to keep his composure. You smiled, a little more knowingly this time, your hands still resting on his cheeks as you finished smoothing the sunscreen.

“You should me bore careful, Chika,” you murmured, concerned about him “I’d hate to see you get sunburned out here.”

As you finished with him, Endo, who had been watching the whole interaction with quiet amusement, leaned back on his hands, a playful glint in his eyes. “Can you rub my back?” he asked, his voice dipping into that smooth, teasing tone that always made you smile. The sight of him made you swallow involuntarily, the infinity symbol tattoo on his neck catching your eye. It matched perfectly with the necklace he’d given you, a gift and a reminder of your unbreaking bond.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't resist his request. “You are impossible, you know what?” you muttered, though there was no bite in your words. Grabbing the sunscreen again, you moved behind him, kneeling to apply the cream on his broad back. You couldn't help but notice how his muscles tensed slightly under your touch, the warmth of his body radiating through your fingers. You took your time, massaging the lotion into his inked skin, your nails tracing over the tattoos that decorated his arms.

Endo let out a pleased sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. “You are so nice to us, Y/N. it makes me fall for you all over again.” His words weren’t new, but the way he said them now, with the sun setting behind you, made your pulse quicken, making the moment more special.

You chuckled, trying to keep your tone light despite the way your heart danced in your chest. “Someone has to be, or you’d destroy everything.”

Finally done with Endo, you wiped your hands on the towel and laid behind the two of them, their bodies shielding you from the remaining rays. The tattooed boy looked over his shoulder, his teal eyes filled with a soft fondness, as a blush appeared on his cheeks at the sight of you. Meanwhile, Takiishi stared straight ahead, but you could tell from the way he let himself relax at your presence, that he appreciated you even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

The calming sound of the waves and the warmth of the sand beneath you lulled you into a peaceful sleep. The last thing you remember was the conversation between your best friends. When you finally stirred, the sun was dipping, casting a golden glow across the beach. Rubbing your eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep as you slowly sat up.

As your vision cleared, you noticed the boys were still in the same position when you drifted off. Endo noticed you first, his lips curling into a teasing smile as he stretched his long limbs. “Hmm, someone decided to wake up,” he quipped, voice playful as always, “The sleeping beauty has risen to shine upon us~”

Takiishi followed, rising to his feet and stretching his arms above his head. His toned body came into full view now before he let his arms fall back down. “How long was I sleeping?” you asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

The redhead glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Two hours.” Your eyes widened, as you scrambled to get up, brushing off the sand that clung to your skin. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Endo laughed at your reaction, moving closer to put arm around you. “Relax, sweetcheeks. We’ve got plenty of time before we head to the fair.” His tone was soothing, and despite your panic, you could not help but smile, he always used nicknames to calm you down and it somehow worked.

Soon enough, the three of you made your way back to the Airbnb as the night began to settle in. Renting an apartment together was to keep the peace—less stress dealing with Takiishi’s outbursts and Endo’s casual approach to managing them. And it was better than paying for hotel rooms, and more money if either of them broke something.

Once inside, you wasted no time going first into the bathroom. “Please, no fighting while I’m gone,” you warned, giving them a pointed look before closing the door. You loved them, they were your best friends of course. How could you not love them? It was charming the way Endo always told you sweet nothings, and Takiishi took part in the physical comfort. They are always there for you, protecting you like an angel, and you feel like one despite knowing you were not.

The hot water felt like Heaven against your skin, washing away the sand, and by the time you finished, you felt refreshed, no longer feeling the need to sleep. Putting on some shirt and padding out into the living room, where you found Takiishi lounging on the couch, relaxed as his eyes were closed, head tilted back. He looked so dreamy, like a prince but the sound of the shower running in the background made him open his eyes. Endo had taken your place in the bathroom, leaving you two alone.

Without a second thought, you moved to the couch and nestled into Takiishi’s side, laying your head on his shoulder, as the scent of the sea still clung to him. You were wearing one of his shirts, an old one with a faded skull, or was it an oni, you couldn't tell but it didn't matter. It was oversized on you with no need to wear shorts.

His hand made its way to your thigh, caressing with a gentle touch, slender fingers moved beneath the hem of your shirt, and his grip tightened as he squeezed your waist. The sudden touch made you arch a little, but it was a comforting sensation, one that made you snuggle closer to him. Takiishi didn’t stop his soothing motions, he wanted to feel more, do more.

Just then, you heard the bathroom door open, and Endo walked in, his dark wet hair glued to his forehead, as he was dressed in a simple top and pants. His gaze immediately found yours, eyes softening as he smiled.

But before you could return the smile, Takiishi’s hand moved to your chin, cupping your face and turning your head, your attention, towards him again. Your breath hitched slightly, as your eyes locked with his golden ones. His lips were inches apart, so close, but he didn’t close the gap. You could sense his hesitation, the way he held back, waiting for you to make the next move. You didn’t do anything, instead, you remained perfectly still, heart pounding in your chest. His thumb brushed against your cheek, it was a gentle and possessive gesture, as his other hand was still resting on your waist.

Endo watched from across the room, observing the scene unfolding in front of him, expecting him to say something, as you felt the weight of his gaze on you. He moved, the couch dipping as he took a seat on the other side of you. You felt the way his chest was pressed at your back. His inked arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against him until your back was fully resting on him. You were sandwiched between them now, your body open and vulnerable to Takiishi, but secured against Endo’s chest.

Takiishi’s focus flickered down to your lips, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your cheek, as Endo’s breath tickled your ear, he was close enough that you could hear his heartbeat, that matched your own. It was intoxicating, they were intoxicating, and you couldn't think clearly or breathe normally. The tattooed hand gripped your waist making your stomach clench and the redhead's finger finally stopped, you thought he was finally going to lean in and kiss you but instead, he spoke “You are making it really hard to hold back.” a rough whisper that made you wonder what it would feel like to give in.

His words were something unexpected but you still didn't know how to react, you sat there like a doll, their pretty doll. You could feel yourself blushing, getting warm, much hotter than sitting in the sun on the beach. The way you were being caught between the two of them, with one’s fiery gaze holding you captive and the other’s strong arms securing you so you wouldn’t run away.

Endo’s free hand came up to brush your hair aside, his fingertips grazing your neck in a way that made your breath hitch. He leaned in, lips hovering just above your ear. “What do you want, angel?” he murmured, his voice tempting you to answer with your deepest and darkest desires. The question hung in the air, it made its way to your brain, but you could not process it, to focus on the way the hands on your body.

You wanted to speak, to answer but no words seemed to appear from the way you opened your mouth, only a slight moan, and that was enough for them.

Takiishi’s hand, which was still on your face, tilted your chin up, forcing you to look directly at him. He wanted you to look at him when he was so close to devouring you. “Tell us,” he urged, commanding you to admit what you were feeling, as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. But instead of speaking you simply leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment as you savored the way his finger was tracing your lip. When you opened them again, his gaze had only deepened and you felt Endo’s hand slide a little higher up your waist, his fingers touching the bare skin under your shirt.

The three of you stayed like that for a moment, one that you have been longing for so long. You have been longing for them, every second of the day, wanting them close, for both of them to take care of you, to be there and never let go.

“Looks like you forgot about the fair,” Edno whispered into your ear, his breath warm against your skin, the teasing in his voice was unmistakable. But there was also a hidden hunger, a need, that matched your own desires.

Takiishi’s hand slid down to your collarbone, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt aside, “We can find our way to have fun,” his voice low and rough, you didn’t respond, you couldn’t, as their hands began to explore your body, every inch of you. Endo’s fingers trailed up your sides, his touch was gentle, and each stroke against your bare flesh made you sink into the pleasure. Takiishi wasn’t far behind, he tugged the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. The fabric slid from your skin, your breath coming in short, quick gasps, leaving you bare before them, in all your beauty and grace, and they couldn't even take their eyes off you.

He leaned in again, his lips finally closed in the distance, capturing yours in a possessive and demanding kiss, as his hand cradled the back of your head as he deepened it. Takiishi Chika was asserting his dominance over you, just as much Endo Yamato was doing when his lips trailed along your neck, leaving a path of lingering and wet kisses. His teeth nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you could sense his smile against your skin as he latched onto the tender flesh, sucking and biting it. His hands were everywhere, a soft moan escaped your lips as they slid up, caressing your ribs before wrapping to cup your breast. It was overwhelming, everything was - the combination of both of them on you.

Endo’s lips moved lower, leaving love bites along your shoulder, tongue flicking out, soothing each spot he’d claimed, before moving on to the next. He was taking his time to ensure each mark was perfect, but despite his hunger, he controlled himself, making you gasp into Takiishi’s mouth. With every bite, every kiss, your mind began to blur, lost in the sensations of their hands and mouths on your body.

Any thoughts about the fair or anything else were slipping away. Takiishi’s hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple, drawing moans and melodic pleases from your lips that were quickly swallowed by his hungry kiss. Endo’s hands moved lower, slipping between our thighs, teasing you with the lightest that left you wanting more. He groaned against your neck as he felt your body respond to his touch, his desire clear in the way his grip tightened.

“Mine.” Takiishi said against your lips, voice full of need as his hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling you even closer to him, while his other hand joined Endo’s, both of your best friends driving you to the point of ever consuming pleasure. And you let them have you. You gave in completely, your mind and body surrendering to what they offered, your hands clutching at them, needing their touch, the sound of their voices murmuring your name. Their warmth, their closeness — you needed them, craved it.

This wasn’t the first time you had been intimate with them, but it had always been with just one of them at a time—never both together like this. You and Endo had shared your first time, leaving only the two of you tangled in the sheets. With Takiishi, it was raw and intense, like he was pouring every bit of his pent-up emotion into you. But this was a new step into your friendship.

The word “best friend” lost its meaning a long time ago. It was a label that didn’t define your relationship anymore, too small and insignificant to tie the unspoken truth that bound the three of you. You were more than friends but less than lovers. After all, best friends don’t lust after each other the way you did, they don’t want to claim and devour each other, and they don’t love each other. Endo liked you, and Takiishi, Takiishi liked you, and you knew you liked both of them. It was a twisted relationship, one you didn’t want to let go of. Not when it felt this good, not when the three of you fit together so perfectly, even in the messiest moments in your lives.

And right now, you are a hot, moaning mess beneath them. Takiishi’s hand slid down, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties, pulling them quickly down. His patience was starting to run out. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but the warmth of his hand replaced it. You were busy too, tugging at his shirt, wanting to get rid of the buried between your bodies. Your fingers grazed the hard lines on his chest as you stripped him bare. The sight of him, and his slightly tanned skin made you press your hips together. When you were at the beach earlier, you did your best to hold back. You had seen him like this before, had felt every inch of him, but tonight it felt different.

Fingers brushing against your most sensitive spot, making you part your lips and cry out softly, hips bucking at his against touch. You were so down bad for them, every nerve ending on fire as they pushed you closer and closer over the bridge of sanity, they were the only ones who could and deserve to have you like that.

You glanced over at your other best friend, catching the way he watched you with Takiishi. There was something, almost delicate in his gaze that made your heart race. He was drunk at the sight of you as if he was lost in some kind of ecstasy, on a rollercoaster ride, and the way his chest heaved with each breath as he struggled to keep his composure, told you everything you needed to know.

When you were done with Takiishi’s shirt, you turned your whole attention to Endo, leaning in to press your lips against his in a kiss he responded immediately. There was something different in the way he kissed you, something more urgent—as if he needed to feel you, to taste you, to lose himself in you.

Takiishi’s hands didn’t stay idle either, exploring the newly exposed skin of your hips and your thighs, his touch making you crumble, feeling lost in the way he was so gentle, despite him wanting to ruin you. He pressed against you in the front while Endo held you from behind, you were trapped as each of them pulled you in their direction, yet you couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to be.

As Takiishi’s fingers teased the sensitive skin of your thighs, you moaned into Endo’s mouth, your back arching as your body reacted by reflex, an instinct that was only beginning to manifest itself for them. Kissing and nipping at the delicate skin on your lower parts, while a tattooed hand brushed the underside of your breast. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the quiet hum of pleasure when they touched, kissed, and held you. They worshiped you like a goddess.

They continued to claim you in ways that were both familiar and entirely new, you knew that whatever was this between the three of you, it was something that did not need explanation or clarification because when you are in love, you don't need to know to feel it. You gave yourself over to it, letting the pleasure wash over you, drowning in a contract of being utterly, completely theirs.

The redhead’s lips traveled down from your legs to your core, leaving marks on their way. Sinking his teeth, you were aware of every moment, every breath, every flick of his tongue but then he paused, hands firmly gripping your waist as he kissed the soft skin there, his breath warm against your cold flesh.

Endo, still behind you, his fingers circling the sensitive buds of your nipples, making your whole body to be covered in goosebumps. You gasped, arching into his touch and your head fell back against his shoulder.

You could feel Takiishi’s breath against your inner thighs, his hair tickling you when his tongue finally flicked out to taste you as a loud moan escaped you feeling the pleasure of his mouth on your folds. He was roughly moving and exploring, fingers digging into your hips to hold you steady. He was going back and forth from soft and teasing licks to deeper and more quick movements. The feeling of his mouth, he was eating you like you were his last and most favorite meal, the pressure building within until you thought you might burst.

Endo’s hand countied to work their magic, punching and rolling, diving you into new depths of pleasure. He could feel the way your body trembled, your breath came in short, desperate gasps and it only made him more eager to see you fall apart by him and Takiishi combined. His mouth moved to your jaw, his teeth exposed now in a twisted smile, “You look so beautiful like this,” voice low and rough with desire “So perfect.”

The dual sensations—Takiishi’s tongue making you twist, Endo’s hands shamelessly playing with you—became too much. They haven't even started. Your whole body was pushed towards the verge of collapsing, and the way Takiishi moved faster, his lips sucking as he was being unbelievably fierce, he was going for it, all the way with the heat coiling tighter in your belly.

Endo pressed himself harder against you, feeling your body tensing as his hands never left your upper parts, fingers toying with your nipples in a way that made your vision blur from the pleasure. His mouth was back at your neck, kissing and biting, never stopped talking, “Relax, doll,” he urged, as sweet as commanding you, to make you understand that they are doing this for your enjoyment. “Let us make you feel good.”

You were helpless to do nothing but obey. And you felt it, that tension inside you snapped, body shaking when you came at Takiishi’s tongue, your cries were muffled against Endo’s shoulder. But the boy who made you orgasmed didn't stop, didn't relent as he countied to lap at you, drawing out every last bit of drop, he was drunk to the taste of you.

Endo’s hands finally stilled, his touch gentle now, almost soothing, as he held you close, comforting you. Takiishi slowly withdrew, giving your hips one final squeeze before he kissed his way back up, his lips brushing over your flushed skin as he moved to rejoin you. When his eyes met yours, there was a smirk playing on his lips, he was satisfied as for now.

“You taste even better than I remember,” he leaned in to capture your lips and you could taste yourself from his mouth, feeling a little bit sticky but sweet like honey.

Endo’s hand cupped your face, tilting you as he claimed your lips next, his kiss was softer, more lingering, as if savoring the taste of you, smiling into the kiss. Pulling away his eyes were filled with nothing but pure adoration.

There was no need for words, no need to define what had just happened. The three of you tangled together breathless, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure. The fair, and every plan for the night had been forgotten, replaced by a different kind of fun, one that made you feel so incredibly good.

As you slowly came down from your high, breathing heavily as little tears started to form in your eyes, you felt Takiishi’s hands tightened on your hips, again. He wasn't finished. In fact, it seemed he was just getting started. His tongue countied to torment you, pace quickening as if he was starving for more, desperate to feel you fall apart beneath him one more time.

It was overwhelming, and though you had just climaxed, your body was already heating up again, responding to the attention he was giving you. You could feel the need building, your fingers threading through his long reddish hair, gripping it as you pressed his face closer to your folds.

Takiishi let out a deep, satisfied moan against you, the vibrations sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body. He was completely lost in you, his movements became more urgent and frantic, he devoured you like a possessed man. He couldn't get enough of you, plunging deeper, his lips sucking harder. You were so sweet, so perfect — you were his’s. The way he was going at you—he was intoxicated by you, by the way your body was enjoying him, and nothing else mattered. Endo watched in awe, he was smitten by the way Takiishi was consuming you, the desire in him as he countied to pleasure you, oblivious to anything else around him. It was a sight both frustrating and appealing.

He was impatient, the thought of making you feel good too and not only touching and marking you … But he had to wait, he didn't want to get into Takiishi’s way.

His hand traced along your side, brushing against the soft curve of your waist, his breath hot. “Takiishi…” voice was filled with need and impatience. He wanted his turn, but Takiishi was completely devoted, so focused on making you come undone again, that he didn't seem to hear, he didn't want to.

Endo’s hand slid down to your thigh, as he watched Takiish’s head move between your legs, his tongue working you over as if you were nothing but a crying and whimpering mess. Every moan, every cry that escaped your lips made his patience wear thinner, his own desire burning to have you growing with every passing second.

You were on the verge of coming again, as you gripped Takiishi’s hair tighter, pulling him even closer to you. Your hips bucked against his face, and him in return responded with grunts, and more fierce licks abusing you, pushing you another blissful orgasm. Your beauty was a wild contrast to the raw and intense moment—face framed by messy stand of your hair, eyes glowing, pupils dilated filled with so much love and lust, that made both of the boys smitten.

“Y-yamato…” your voice was a desperate plea, turning your head to catch his gaze, but your mind was still hazy, all you could think of was the way Takiishi was making you feel—how he was driving you mad with every press of his lips. “I want Yamato… Chika, stop!”

But he couldn't stop, too far gone, mind corrupted to taste every last bit of you. He didn't hear your words, too drunk and full of your juices that mixed with his saliva. His hands must have left huge scars from so much pressing.

Diving deeper, moving faster, keeping up.

Endo never got angry without a reason, especially with Takiishi, as he tried to maintain some kind of self control. But the way you moaned his name, the way your body trembled beneath the other’s touch, was driving him crazy. He wanted to be the one to push you, to feel you clench around him as you reached your high, he wanted you too.

But he knew Takiishi would not back up, so he kissed you again, and again, and again — pouring his frustration as his tongue tangled with yours, trying to distract you from the person between your legs.

But even as you kissed him back, your body was still betraying you, hips moving desperate for more. Endo could feel it too, he knew that you won't focus on him in your current state.

“Fuck…” he groaned against your lips, hands squeezing yout breasts as he tried to keep calm, to keep himself occupied. “Man, let me have her.”

Your thoughts dissolve, your brain malfunctioning, heart shaking, body trembling. The familiar sensation forming in your belly, ready to snap, and even though you wanted Endo, Takiishi’s attention was making you go utterly insane.

The dark-haired boy could see it, feel it, there was no stopping Takiishi once he set his mind on something. So Endo did the only thing he could—he whispered in your ear, slowly and taunting, “Come for him. Let him feel how much you need it.”

And with those words, as if you were under some spell, a form of some illusion, the tension inside you snapped, as Takiishi forced another orgasm as he swallowed everything to the last drop, his tongue never slowing its relentless pace even if you were crying for him to stop because it was getting too much. “Chika, please, I-I can't take it anymore…” you were left completely breathless as you were suffocating in the pleasure, but you will take it along with the pain.

Endo was heart-stricken by how pretty you looked, as you slumped back on his chest, your legs were sore as you hissed just by the slight adjustment. He knew that there would be time for him later, it was just the beginning of the night after all. For now he will hold you close, to calm you down, someone had to, he knows you let him have his turn sooner or later.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your intense climax was still so overwhelming, leaving you on the brink of overstimulation. But, you needed to please Endo, to feel him, no time for exhaustion and resting.

Turning your head, eyes finding teal ones, his expression was filled with longing and that same lust Takiishi showed you minutes ago. Your fingers brushing against his arm in a silent plea. You didn't have to say a word; your eyes told enough. Endo understood you, always did, and the way you looked at him now—needy and still ready for more—set his heart racing.

A slow, almost sinister smile spread across his face as he gently repositioned you, his hands guided you onto your back as you felt the sickness between your thighs, evidence of how Takiishi had ruined you. But you were ready for more, you always are.

His fingers tracing the curves of your breasts, and your waist before settling between your legs. The first touch against your sensitive folds made you shiver, reacting to his familiar and gentle touch. He started slowly, easing his way back into you, fingers sliding through your wetness before he pushed one inside you, then another.

You cried, your tears flowed like a waterfall, they couldn't stop when your body arched when you felt him stretch you, fingers curling inside you in a way that made your toes curl. He knew you inside and out, like a pirate diving into the deep and dangerous waters, he didn't need a map, he had already been there.

“Pretty girl…” Endo murmured, as he watched the way your eyes fluttered shut as you lost yourself in him. His free hand moved to your face, brushing away the tears that had gathered at the corners, a more delicate gesture that contrasted with the toughness of his other hand. “So perfect for us,” he added, his own arousal evident in the way his voice trembled with want.

You could barely respond, or get what he was saying, too lost in the sensation of his fingers working their magic inside you. He was slow, wanting to make you enjoy this, drawing out every moan as he was about to make you come, even though you were still trembling from the last wave. His lips brushed against yours as he whispered “That’s it, yeah…I want to feel you.” His voice was as gentle as his pace.

Takiishi, who had been watching the entire time, couldn't tear his gaze away from you. The way your body responded to Endo, the soft whimpers—it was like a dream and it made him pumped again, even if he had you moments before.

Endo’s fingers moved faster now, his thumb brushing against your clit in a perfect rhythm, sending another wave of pleasure through your already overstimulated body. You could feel it coming and this time it would be even more intense.

You tried to hold it, but he was not trying to do that. Feeling the tears gathering in your eyes again, the painful pleasure was too much to bear, but you didn't want him to stop—you needed this, needed him.

“Yama…plea—,” you could barely form the words, trembling as you begged him for the sweet oblivion that he could bring you.

“So mesmerizing…” Endo moaned as he watched you, his gaze filled with something close to worship. He leaned down, lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss, his fingers never slowing down and then it hit you—like a tidal wave crashing over you. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, your hands gripping Endo’s arms as you cried out, your entire being consumed by the sudden overload of both pressure and satisfaction. Clenching around his fingers, muscle tightening, leaving you breathless.

He didn't stop, working you through your climax, until you were left shaking, slacking against the couch. His other hand countied to caress your face as he showered you with soft praises. His eyes flickered down to his fingers, stull coated with your essence. He hesitated for a moment but slowly brought them to his lips. His eyes slowly closed as he tasted you, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks, he was so in love with you that tasting you was one of the things he wished he could do every day and night.

He let out a quiet sigh, tongue darting out to trace each fingertip, savoring every last bit if you. His lashes brushed his cheeks as he opened his eyes meeting your gaze with a look that was both shy and charming. A smile tugged the corner of his lips, the blush deepening as he noticed your wide-eyed stare.

“You did so good, doll,” slowly withdrawing his fingers from his mouth glancing away from a moment, as if he was embarrassed by his boldness. Endo went to kiss you again, wanting to calm you down with his soft lips moving with yours.

You were a vision of divine beauty—a breathtaking mess that seemed to transcend mortal limits. As you lay there, skin glowing with otherworldly radiance, like a goddess caught in the throes of her own allure. Your smile, soft and knowing, was a silent promise of devotion and surrender. The twisted relationship had never been crystal clear, but in this sacred space it felt like the most natural and normal thing. Enveloped in their adoration, a cherished jewel in their midst, and they in return were part of you—your most treasured devotee. You were theirs, and they were yours, and that's how it should be.

Their eyes roamed once again over your tired body, taking in the way their adoration colored your skin; neck, shoulders and stomach were adorned with love bites, a constellation of marks that told the story behind their passion. Legs and thighs, too, had their imprint, a vivid display of their devotion. It was a sight to behold—a canvas of sensuality, painted by their affection, love and lust.

Yet, despite that, their love and hunger were far from sated. They weren't done admiring you, nor were they done ruining you. You knew that, there is still more to do but for now they will let you rest because whatever was about to happen next it would be just as intense, overwhelming, and just as perfect.

taglist ✦ @stunie @maruflix @fushigurioo @slerixx

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randombush3 · 6 months ago

Text

cool about it

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you can't find inspiration for your play

notes: this was rotting in my drafts and then i got drunk and finished it lolz

i refuse to read it back so have fun

The first time Alexia sees you, you are with your friends; sleeves rolled-up, wide smile on your face, a pool cue in your hand as you wield it like a weapon the minute one of the women beside you opens her mouth. She is drawn into observing, craving the knowledge of what you are being told; what is making you blush so furiously. She sees your mouth open, a blackhole that draws her in without mercy, and she barely survives the sound of your loud, raucous laughter

Suddenly, in the universe of football and media events and her little sister’s embarrassingly active love-life, you appear. Like a new star, burning bright, big and hot and… “You’re staring,” says Mapi with a smile. She knows not to tease, and she treads lightly. “You’ve been staring for a while.”

“They’re speaking English.” It’s an incriminating sentence, but it would have been futile to deny Mapi’s accusation anyway.

“I saw her at the bar. She spoke Spanish then.”

“You’ve been stalking her.”

Mapi nods, and holds Alexia’s drink in a silent push to get her over to the pool table. To you. “Because you’ve been staring. I was only making sure she wasn’t a psycho.”

“Thanks,” she scoffs, but, in truth, she is grateful.

As she saunters over (a newly regained skill, months down the line from her traumatic ACL reconstruction surgery), her confidence a believable façade, she decides that she is going to be Alexia Putellas. She is going to be cool about it, and she is going to impress you, and she is going to make you laugh so that she can hear that sound again.

Again, again, again.

“Yeah, sure, you can take over for Soph,” you say, nodding towards the woman who had been on the receiving end of your light prodding with the wooden stick all of friends regret allowing three-drink you to be in charge of. “So you’re spots, I’m stripes. I’ve got two left until I can pot the black, and you, er, you might be at a disadvantage here.” You rub the back of your neck as you peer at the balls on the table, almost all of them left behind by Soph’s inability to play pool. “How about we just, um–”

“Está bien.” Alexia pretends to understand a lot more of what you said than she really does, regretting her choice to approach you in English, but she gets the jist. And, although you make her feel as though life has only just begun, she remembers her competitiveness very, very clearly. “Voy a ganar,” she scoffs.

She holds in her celebration as you break out into a grin, immediately rising to the challenge, glad your friends have tired of the pool table so that no one can interrupt the battle you are about to commence. A battle with a very pretty woman, you must admit.

You lose.

You blame it on Alexia – she tells you her name as she pots three balls in a row – and try not to acknowledge the taunts from your friends at the bar, most of them having watched the entire game from afar to have something to talk about tomorrow. “You win,” comes your pitiful concession after a brutal defeat. “So, what will your prize be?”

It’s an easy answer.

That morning, throat hoarse from the cries that left it the night before, eyes red and tired and way too sensitive to light for you to consider drinking a drop of alcohol ever again, you wrap your arms around the warm body in the unfamiliar bed, finding the intimacy to have lived on longer than it should for a one-night-stand. Barcelona is warm and sunny, the day one to be enjoyed, and the company the best you have had in a while.

It isn’t just that Alexia is a goddess. It isn’t the Amazonian ridges of her stomach and the firmness of her thighs, nor the softness of her hair or the deft movements of her fingers against your scarred skin. No, that is not what has, in just one evening, made you fall in love with her. (You bite your lip as you are overcome with emotion, chest filling up – with which feeling, you do not know –, heart pounding into your bones as the rhythm of your desire to be in Alexia’s life sets into the very framework of your being.) No! How could it be that? How could it be that when there is more?

The coarseness of her determination; the slippery confidence, delicate and sharp, as though it is both the petal of a rose and the thorn that will prick you. Her humour, mistranslated at times, but always ready to make fun of idiots (most often, a specific idiot with a neck tattoo, as you come to realise).

Personally, you believe it to be unfair that Alexia, Alexia Putellas, is simply ‘all that’.

Getting to know each other fails to feel awkward, though you spend a lot of time waiting for the tension to appear.

She discovers who you are, how you have moved to Barcelona for inspiration, finding that very thing lacking in dreary Leeds (the most depressing place on Earth, you could argue). She learns of your dream, although you label it as your ‘plan’: to write a play and to see it on the stage, preferably a grand theatre in the West End. Or in Stratford, where upon lies the greatest soil from which a playwright can grow.

You show her your empty pages, devoid of black print marks. White and white, that goes on until it is clear that you have tired of pressing the ‘enter’ button as though it will ignite a story within. A story that hasn’t yet come, mind.

“Do you think it will work?” she asks you, her accusation carrying nothing but curiosity once you see past the abrupt manner in which she interrupts your lengthy monologue about your severe case of writer’s block.

Maybe you intend to be a little vague, for the sake of your racing heart and your delicate emotions, because you only shrug. You have already found your inspiration, not that you are going to tell her.

Alexia is forward in the sense that she checks how temporary your presence is in her city before asking you out on a date. Your answer of ‘however long this shit takes’ is enough for her to be sure that she wants a second. A third, too.

Then, before you know it, it has been a year.

A year of Barcelona, a year of Spanish sun, and, excitingly, a year in which you have been cured; fingers blessed with movement and ideas and words on the tip of your tongue that run free in Alexia’s ear as you talk and talk and talk. She listens and listens and listens, and switches into the focus of your pairing when you go with her to watch her team play and play and play (why the fuck does football have so many matches?!). The final stage direction, all curling italics and sentimentality, sits at the bottom of the page.

The end of your play.

It is finished, it is done, and, soon after you have revised it one last time, it is sent to your producer friend with a nervous click of the ‘new email’ button and the hope that he is thankful for the times at university when you cared for him when he drank himself so silly that he barely made it to his lectures two days after the night-out.

“It feels good,” you tell Ingrid, the girlfriend of the idiot with the neck tattoo, beaming as she inquires about your work. “I feel like I lived through it to get to this moment, you know? All that’s left to do is for him to read it and decide whether he’ll pick it up. Then, table reads and funding, of course. I’d want to direct, but, also, I’m not going to sell this one. Leasing it and taking a percentage of the royalties will make me loads more, because, Ingrid, this one is the best thing I’ve ever written.”

There is a moment, usually, that comes after you have finished writing. A brief, sharp sort of panic, where you question your worth and your talent; you wonder if you have been lied to your whole life, and that your version of the same twenty-six letters of the alphabet, jumbled up on a white canvas as though you are (after a sleepless, usually) Picasso, is terrible. Or, worse, bad.

Bad. Bad is so… plain. If it is just ‘bad’, you have failed as a writer. If it is not outrageous or unbelievably horrible, or, as one obviously hopes, incredible and amazing… if it is just ‘bad’, well: “Alexia, I’m terrified.”

Alexia kisses your neck (you do not feel the finality of it, or maybe it is that you do not want to) because she knows it isn’t bad; she is more than aware that your play, your new creation, is really rather good. Brilliant, even. “Tranquila, mi amor,” she murmurs in your ear, bringing her arms to rest on your tense shoulders, a hand closing your laptop on its journey. “Le va a flipar.”

“You think so?”

“Sí.”

“Are you saying that because we’re together and you love me?” Your voice is small and unsure, and its teasing lilt is thrown off-kilter by the croak of your anxiety. “Or do you mean it? Please, I hope you mean it.”

“I mean it.” She hates that she does. “Yes, of course I mean it. I love you and I am proud of you.” She hates it, she hates this, and she hates the talent your mind wields; something that is going to rip you from her grasp. It was bound to happen.

Your phone rings; soft, electronic trills dancing in the space between you and the coffee table it has been placed on. “I think that’s him,” you whisper, the volume you had intended to speak at smited by the nervous lump in your throat. Alexia nods mournfully, but you are too busy accepting the call to see.

“Let’s do this,” he says.

…

The first frost of London comes that January. It’s unusual, the locals claim, because the city exists in its own polluted microclimate, but their statistics do not stop the layer of ice from freezing onto the windshield of your car. You are glad London feels just as cold as you do.

Your play is beloved by the actors who speak your words, and the critics amongst your friend group, who for once, have no criticism to give. There is promise here. It is going very well.

You drive to the theatre, ready to sit in on another rehearsal. Though your original intention had been to direct, you pawed off the role to an old school friend upon her return from Broadway. Your decision, you tell her, comes from a lack of experience in direction. You pretend to have had an epiphany: you only want to write the plays.

In truth, this is a lie.

Of course it is a lie.

But how can you direct such happiness, such love and romance, if you know that the very thing that inspired each line has ceased to exist?

Alexia feels like she has ceased to exist.

On the outside, she seems relatively fine. She trains well, plays well, makes appearances where she should, says what you’d expect of her, hopes to make the world a better place. She walks Nala as though the Pomeranian does not whine for you to hold her leash, and she visits her mother and sister even though they continue to ask her why she did what she did.

At night, she scrolls through social media, fingers always leading her back to you; your life; your work; your experiences that you no longer share with her. She cries, then, usually: a common occurrence nowadays.

There is a gaping hole in her chest that has been made by her sticking her fucking foot in it.

She has questions, naturally; each directed hatefully at herself. Why? Why, why why? Why on Earth did she tell you never to come back? Why did she blame you for leaving?

You were always going to leave! Alexia knows that, hates that she knows that.

You came to Barcelona because you couldn’t write, and you wrote. You wrote, you made her fall in love with you, and, when you had finished, you discarded the life you had unexpectedly built all because of some stupid, stupid play.

A play titled–

A play.

A… Alexia can’t even bring herself to think about it.

No, all Alexia can think about is how insignificant she feels when you are no longer in love with her. You: sophisticated, intelligent, brilliant, adoring. Her?

“Lex, you can’t mope if you’re the one who broke it off.” The words leave Alba’s mouth in jest but Alexia recoils as though she has been whipped by her sister’s tongue.

“I’m trying to be cool about it,�� she replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It seems as though the globe has spun a full circle on its axis by the time Alba formulates her response, dumb-struck by such fucking idiocy.

Alba hopes her sister feels like a fool – she hopes Alexia looks at herself in the mirror and… laughs, at this point. The whole thing has been ridiculous, in her opinion.

First, her sister claims she is in love with a playwright with no plays to her name (Alba is examining the facts objectively, here, because she did quite like you); then, poof! Like a rabbit in a magician’s hat played in twisted reverse, away you go, and it somehow isn’t even your fault.

She’d like to hate you, for her sister’s sake, but she finds herself loathing her own blood as it thins and thins until it trickles just like water.

Okay, maybe she is being a little dramatic there, but she is still annoyed with Alexia.

Alexia – whose existence as more-than-a-footballer is fading as she loses herself to waves of futile guilt – hates that she cannot hate you. She is plagued by emotional constipation, and though she tries to squeeze the situation for a drop of cruelty from you, she fails to discover a gram of relief.

It would have been kinder for you to have been cruel. Mercy is getting Alexia nowhere, and she would run to you if it were fast enough. Mercy is what renders her in a perpetual state of regret. Mercy is what keeps her up at night, but maybe mercy is what she likes having because it is yours and, in that way, she carries a piece of you with her.

To confuse herself even more, to skew her mind further onto a path of unconventional self-destruction, she silently begs the mercy you have left behind to disappear so that she can learn to do without it. It’ll become a crutch and she wants it ripped from her grasp so that she can learn to walk on her own. She’s capable of that, she tells herself.

(It probably isn’t true.)

…

Opening night.

You’re wearing something far too nice to be comfortable, and there has been a champagne flute in your hand since the lunch held by the investors of the production company. The bubbles have served their purpose, clouding your mind with thoughts that weren’t to do with Alexia and her Alexia life and her Alexia smile and her Alexia way of making an Alexia-shaped cavity in your heart.

It gushes quite a bit, because Alexia is strong and big and capable of damaging you to this extent. You reckon your surprise is foolish but fuck off, you’re trying your best.

Comfortingly, not one scrap of red velvet is visible once the audience is ushered inside the theatre.

It’s beautiful here; small, old. The perfect place to fall in love, just as you did. Or at least, experience the good part through deliciously talented actors and a stellar script (your horn has been tooted enough times for you to give it a go).

Fear creeps up your legs as you take your seat in the front row, guarded by friends and family and proud English teachers who’d believe in you, but you take another sip and it simmers down.

“Careful,” whispers your mum, shoulder nudging yours as you place your plastic cup (no glass in the auditorium) on the patterned carpet just as the show is about to begin. “You’ll not remember this if you don’t take a break.”

And you’re halfway to announcing you don’t want to remember anything at all when the curtain goes up and a woman walks onto stage.

It’s sobering.

The audience is restlessly quiet, anticipating the brilliance they’ve been promised with an impatience that demands to be sated, but the actress takes her sweet time.

She walks from stage left to stage right, then up and down. She’s passively searching for something.

Someone.

(It’s the fucking point, and you knew this would happen because you typed out these exact stage directions once upon a time. Alexia had misplaced a sock – a lucky sock, she claimed – and her passion, her desire to discover it, had weirdly morphed into a scene you could see being played out on a stage.)

“Figure this out later,” speaks the actress with a satisfied smile, folding her arms over her chest. Finally, the audience’s breaths catch, enraptured by the vaguest cop-out of opening lines you could’ve chosen.

They love it, though; they lean forwards in their seats as they are plucked from London and dropped into the middle of Barcelona. It’s mildly unnerving that you can’t escape the journey, clearly a member of the audience even if you don’t need to be told the story, but you land without the masses in the rows behind you.

You land right into Alexia’s arms.

There she is before you, in all her glory, proudly displaying the blue and red that she is so admirably dedicated to. Muscular and tanned, beautiful in the way that she always is, but shining brighter than just that.

And you fucking hate it.

When you imagine Alexia, you imagine her crippled and bed-ridden. Cracked knuckles come to mind, too, and she can barely speak without descending into rattling sobs that hack on and on until she somehow falls into fitful rest.

You come prepared for absolution, expecting to see her dying just as you are, so it’s no wonder that your fists clench at her blasé declaration of “no regrets”.

(By the way, Alexia’s not really there. You’d been stalking her Instagram and so that’s why she’s wearing her training kit, and… and you’re drunk!)

There are many things you’d like to say to her.

Alexia had always been apprehensive of your relationship. She was closed-off to new people, and though she was certain of your importance to her, she was untrusting of much else. It happens when you’re famous; there are many wrong turns to take. And she needed to stay on the right path.

It was impossible to pass Alexia’s test.

For you, that is clear. Broken up with, told to leave and never come back, and begged to find someone else are not descriptors of the winner, nor she who achieved full marks. You’re a bit of a stranger to failing, but you’re trying to forget about it so that it never happens again.

You’re breaking a sweat trying to banish her from your brain, barely registering the applause rippling through the theatre as you reach the interval. Trying to get her out of your head is like tugging at your intestines – a hand down your throat renders you dumb, and pains sears through your stomach as you are emptied and left to be a carcass.

“Is it good?” you ask your mum as you head to the bar in the foyer.

“I wish you had let me meet her.”

…

Alexia has never been to London outside of football before. She’s played in the north and in the south – she’s won every time – and it’s summery enough right now, but she is still a foreigner in the city.

It’s fitting, this feeling of being lost, and it’s acceptable to feel it here because she has an excuse. Lost in Barcelona would be ridiculous.

(But she is.)

Why is Alexia in London when she could be in Spain?

Well the only answer is that she has a ticket to a play in a theatre just off the West End that reminds her of someone she once loved.

She thought it might help, seeing as she hasn’t scored a goal in four weeks with no assists to excuse the drought. Her manager gladly gave her the weekend to recharge, and she escapes matchday seven of Liga F under the guise of illness.

While sleeping with your pillow, your t-shirt, she must have absorbed whatever the fuck you were on. By osmosis.

That block.

And now she has to act like she can’t read your mind.

Her ticket, acquired last minute by a friend in high places as a massive favour, means that she has a front row seat to a damned play. She is well-prepared for the dread that wrenches her gut.

The silence settling over her is uncomfortable and impatient, and the lights go down with a sense of impending doom. It’s a bit like being on death row, Alexia thinks. Here she gets to see the good things – a last meal of whatever she would like (you, of course that’s you) – but it is only because of her inevitable execution that this happens.

The necklace hanging from her collarbones is a noose, the seat is a wooden box about to be kicked out from underneath her, and she needs to make her decision now: does she scream? Should she–

She’s pulled out of her insanely dramatic spiral by a woman walking onto the stage.

Her shoulders are hunched slightly and she has that look in her eye; that pang of hunger.

The actress is recognisable, sure, but that is not the familiarity that strikes Alexia.

It’s the character.

It’s you.

Walking from right to left, towards the back, down to the front, the actress is desperately searching for something.

Inspiration, Alexia assumes, a smug smile briefly brushing her lips as the opening line breaks the tense silence.

“Figure this out later,” you say.

The actress is experienced but she has never read a script like yours before. It moved her to tears, though you claimed it was very happy.

She lies awake at night, furiously envying those who could love like you do.

She pities you, partly, because it’s no secret that the story of this love ended when you came here to put the show on.

She has had to fall in love with someone – method acting, according to the director.

It’s not quite the universe exploding and stars being born that your relationship must have been, but it’s alright and she is glad to see him in the audience.

He’s next to a woman who does not seem to be enamoured by the beauty of the plot.

A woman who seems absolutely fucking horrified.

Her eyes are wide, fists clenched.

You – the real you – are watching Alexia with curiosity, more interested in her reaction to the play than the play itself. You wonder if she knows the significance of tonight; the reason you are here once more.

In one month, the set and costumes will be packed up in boxes and taken onto the main street.

It’s a dream come true.

You’re here to announce the good news at the end of the show.

…

“Alexia.”

She tries not to turn around but she does.

The night is cool and fresher than she’d expected the London pollution to allow, and the lamp posts are scarily looming over her as she forces herself to not run into your arms. You don’t wear a coat, although your year in Barcelona has borne a certain nostalgia for a warmer climate, but Alexia is wrapped up warm.

“How… how are you doing?”

You cringe at how apologetic it sounds. She broke up with you.

There is a year that will be forever lost to love and happiness, bliss in Barcelona that was always going to be too good to be true.

There is a year that you will never get back, but there is a breakup you must deal with.

It’s not a brick wall, it’s a hurdle to jump over.

Breaking up won’t be the end of your worlds.

Knowing this, despite the weakness in her knees and the aching of her heart, Alexia lies. For your sake, she lies.

“I’m good. It’s nice to see you.”

You’re drowning but you’ll eventually remember how to swim.

“You too,” you say with formulated sincerity that one day will grow naturally. “Score a goal next time you play, though.”

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

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chlorinecake · 9 months ago

Note

Okay this is my first time doing one of these but could you do like how the enhypen members would react to seeing you practice their part in the choreography of one of their songs

「 ✦ enha reaction’s WHEN YOU LEARN THEIR PART IN A DANCE CHOREOGRAPHY ✦ 」

𓂃 𓈒 or when they see you dance for the first time

idol bf ! 엔하이픈 x non idol ! f. reader ⃘ 🎧

contains ∿ 🧋 pet names, kisses & teasing genre fluff, crack, est. dating 1192 words

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 ✴︎

He would be quite impressed honestly, taking pride in his sweet girlfriend wanting to mirror his talent in some way.

“You gotta get the head isolation down at this part, though,” he critiqued, putting a finger to his lips while dancing Sweet Venom.

“Well, if it looks wrong, blame yourself, because that’s who I’ve been copying this whole time,” you teased, poking him in the side of his waist and making him chuckle.

“Hmm… maybe your performance just needs a little bedazzling... Be right back!”

Your boyfriend ran out of the dancing studio, telling you to close your eyes once he came back before nestling a cowgirl hat atop your head like an angel on a Christmas tree.

You reacted immediately upon seeing your reflection in the mirror, a now smiley Heeseung standing behind your frame, “What?! Wait- When did you get this?”

Literally your face right now: 😭

“People don’t call me an ace for nothing, babe. Now c’monnn, let’s dance together this time…,” he urged in a sing-songy voice, playfully tugging at your hands while spinning you around, “I wanna see my pretty cowgirl dance for me some more...”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 ✴︎

“Yeah, I literally have the world’s coolest girlfriend now…,” Jay huffed proudly, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head after catching you dance in the living room.

“Now? What do you mean now?!?!,” you asked offendedly, pouting at him slightly.

“This wasn’t exactly how I planned to bring this up, but are you ready to become my Mrs. Park?”

“I've been ready since the day we met, Jay,” you smiled, burying your face in his chest while hugging him, “But I would've danced your part in a song a lot sooner if I knew it'd get me a ring...”

“Oh? So a diamond is all you want me for now? Wowwww, babe-”

You gave him a look that automatically let him know you weren't too fond of the comment he just made, “Kidding” he said, ruffling your hair playfully, “I know you love me... enough to copy me, apparently.”

“Should we break out in synchronized dancing now?” You offered, playing Sacrifice Eat Me Up from the beginning on your phone.

“Yes… but only if you can keep up with me, of course.”

*Insert Jay's infamous Roblox smirk*

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 ✴︎

The definition of 🧍‍♂️when you pulled him aside to show off the new choreography you'd been working on for the past hour.

Goofy laugher pt. 1

“Is this actually happening right now?,” he asked while laughing shyly, just after you finished ✨performing✨ for him…

“What do you mean? D-did it look bad?,” you asked worriedly, part of your heart still feeling warm though from hearing his shy giggle earlier.

“No, no, you did great, it’s just… why my part?” He continued, hoping to draw the conversation in a different direction, given how flustered he truly felt.

“Because you look hot while doing it... I felt inspired,” you said cheekily, walking up to Jake and placing your hands on his chest, Jake’s hands wrapping around your waist as he looked back down at you.

“Babe, you can’t say stuff like that then act all playful without expecting my brain to short-circuit,” he sighed, face heating up as he looked back down at your giggling frame within the hug.

“Well, did I at least do your part in the dance any justice or did that make your brain-malfunctioning even worse?,” you pouted with puppy-dog eyes as if to persuade his anger, even though you already could tell he liked it.

“No, love… I'm just in shock, honestly... you did criminally well.”

*Insert second-hand embarrassment from Jake's corny ahh pun*

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 ✴︎

Sunghoon was initially kinda salty about you having locked yourself up in the garage all morning on his day off, but all those feelings went away once he caught on to what you were up to.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could come in here,” you yelped, just as your boyfriend barged in the garage, catching you mid dance move.

You had been practicing Chaconne because you knew it was one of his favorite songs and you figured it'd cheer him to see you supporting his interests.

“Don’t mind me,” he started, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, “I’m just observing... please, continue.”

“God, Hoon, you’re embarrassing me,” you whined, covering your face from the way he was staring you up and down in this moment.

“It’s cute, though… watching you stress yourself out trying to dance like me when the pro's been one call away this whole time.”

The pro?, you thought to yourself, the self-proclaimed title being enough to snap you out of your bashfulness.

“I might’ve been practicing for a while, but I’m already doing some parts better than you,” you scoffed competitively, making him laugh at your words to the point where his dimples started showing.

“Cocky and shy? What an interesting combination… did you get that from me, too?”

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 ✴︎

Sunoo smiled knowingly as he walked into the dance studio, grabbing a nearby rag to pat-dry the sweat on your face, “you’ve been avoiding me all day and working out like crazy, so what’s going on?”

“I’ve been working on this tough choreography, actually … but since you’re here, maybe you can help?”

“Oh, okay,” he chirped, watching as you started to dance out the steps to Fever, stopping when you got to the part you’d been struggling with.

“How do you do this part? It just looks so much better when you do it…,” your voice stalled as you saw his cheeks expand with a smile on the mirror, “SUNOO!?”

Goofy laugher pt. 2–

The guy was quite literally laughing his ass off at you right now, feeling both a mix of embarrassment and flattery at your actions.

He noticed you pouting, covering his mouth to stall his giggles before speaking, “I’m sorry babe, you just looked so cute while dancing, I couldn’t hold back!”

“It’s supposed to look sexy though,” you whined, knowing that it’d get him to hug you in response.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 ✴︎

“So is this your new idea of teasing me?,” Jungwon asked upon getting back home from work, the first thing in sight being you in front of the TV, quite literally passing the mic to one of his fancams.

You audibly scoffed at his words, pausing the video and giving him a look, “This is hardly teasing, Wonie… just ‘cause I’m your girlfriend, it doesn’t mean I can’t fangirl over you from time to time…”

He sat his duffel bag on the ground, walking up to give you his usual ‘I’m home’ kiss and hug before responding, “Fine then… but you definitely need to keep practicing that footwork if you want me to take you seriously.”

“Heyyy,” you whined, playfully smacking his shoulder which only made him laugh at how adorable you look, “now who’s teasing?”

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 ✴︎

“Okay, I do not stick my butt out like that when I do it. Watch,” Niki corrected, initially having cringed upon catching you dance Bite Me, but had now turned your little activity into a whole ass dance-off.

“Yes, you 110% do... you always have to babygirl-ify the dance moves,” you replied matter-of-factly, starting from the pre-chorus and flipping your hair more than necessary just like him.

“I know you’re about to start spewing trash whenever you use made up words,” he scoffed with fake annoyance, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips after seeing you dance so passionately.

“Stop, I can tell you’re smiling! Just admit that you’re impressed by me, Riki, and take the L… or W since you have a talented girlfriend…”

“Fine… you’re right… I am highly impressed… both by your dancing skills and choice of vocabulary,” he confessed playfully, giving you a side hug and kissing the top on your head.

“Maybe we should work towards debuting as a couple duo now... I just know that everyone would bias us…,” he thought out loud, making you giggle at his words.

tysm for reading this quick lil fic ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆

��𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @nikisdubblchococake @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 13 days ago

Text

Professional Indiscretion

Inspired by this post

Warnings: non/dubcon, degradation, demeaning behaviour, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Summary: a colleague returns from a recent vacation but is less than relaxed.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’ve honed the skill of indifference long ago. The voices that carry from down the hall meld together in a dull buzz as you push them to the back of your mind. You’re less concerned with the latest water cooler gossip as your deadline bears down on you.

You hate when a project comes down to the line. It couldn’t be helped. What should have been a two-person assignment was dropped solely in your lap. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Your colleagues are less than reliable.

As their voices glaze over each other, you shrug of your resent. They all have their obligations; golf rounds or the windfall of courtside tickets. You’ve never been afforded the luxury of a half-day to go play. You are the dependable one; as far as your coworkers are concerned, you have nothing going on besides picking up their slack.

Work is work. You don’t linger on it; you just get it done. A peel of laughter jars you from your focus. You should close your door but that’s just an invitation. The last time, they simply moved in front of your door and spoke even louder. It’s like a game to them.

Caroline’s bubbly laughter trills down the hall. She’s joined the rabble. One of the young temps the men love to flirt with. ‘Oh it makes me feel young again.’ Ugh, you couldn’t imagine turning the clock back twenty years. You’re happy that era of your life is over.

You squint at the monitor and review your work. There’s a subtle tap on your doorframe. Your flicks up and back down. Loki.

“Yes, how can I help you?” You ask as your fingers flutter over the keyboard.

“Good afternoon to you too,” he drawls as he breaks the threshold.

“Afternoon,” you continue to type. You try not to think of how this was meant to be his project.

“I’m only doing my rounds. As you know, I was recently abroad and I brought back some sweets,” he crosses your office and sets a blurry object down in your peripheral.

“That’s generous, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” You say.

“You’re welcome,” he overrides your protest.

You sniff, “thanks.”

He’s quiet as he stands across from you. His gaze hangs over you like a dark cloud. You check the auto-save and retract your hands. You push your shoulders back and look at him.

“You were the only who didn’t come out to congratulate me,” he muses.

You sit straight. You are not unkind or inconsiderate. You just don’t come to work to socialize. You signed the card they sent with the flowers.

“Congratulations on your wedding. It seems it was a success,” you say.

He doesn’t react right away. He just stares at you. His green eyes are sharp and his lips a thin line. It isn’t the ego stroking he was looking for. You’re not quite sure what more to say. You’re not very familiar.

He scoffs, “I see.”

You blink, confused by the derision in his tone. You look at him past your monitor as he slowly pivots on his heel. It scuffs loudly and he marches to the door. He stops right before it then delicate grabs the handle and draws it shut.

You tilt your head curiously, “I’m just finishing up a project, so I don’t have very much time--”

“You’ve always been a dry old spinster, haven’t you?” He slithers as he faces you again.

“Pardon?” You’re genuinely stunned by his accusation. It’s not the first time you’ve met with that sort of spite. There is a contempt reserved only for older women.

“Yes, you strut around here as if you are a queen. Above us all, and I come to you with a token of good will, a souvenir from my honeymoon, and it only reminds you of how utterly pathetically alone you truly are,” he sneers. “So you offer me that trite look and your empty tiding.”

You scrunch your lips in surprise and cup your hand in confusion, “nothing of the like. I’m sorry, I am rather busy with my work--”

“Oh but this isn’t just today. It’s how it’s always been. You cannot be happy for anyone for your own misery,” he tuts.

“If that’s what you think,” you sit back calmly. “I think you should go.”

He lingers on the other side of your desk, “it’s because she’s young, I know it.”

“What?”

“My new wife. I see how it makes you bristle to know a man of your peerage couldn’t be bothered with you. You see, women age differently. They become bitter.” He snarls.

“I hardly see how this is appropriate. I am asking you to go--”

He sets his stance and lowers himself into the chair across from you. He smirks and pushes back his dark curls. Your spine locks up. That look in his eye, you’ve seen that in men before.

“I know what the matter is,” he pushes his feet wide and grips his thighs. He postures so his shoulders are wide and high. “How long has it been?”

You refuse to acknowledge his jeer. You shift to your monitor and go back to your editing. He clucks.

“Months, years?” He suggests.

“I’m busy,” you insist, keeping your eyes averted.

“What the wife doesn’t know...” he growls.

You flinch, appalled by his suggestion.

“Leave,” you say.

He snickers. “Are you so resigned to your feeble existence? Those lonely nights? In your condo, drinking your chardonnay, reclining on your chaise and reading the latest lascivious rag written for pruny old divorcees?”

You freeze then slowly look at him. It could be a cruel assumption, though it isn’t untrue. In fact, it is far too accurate to be a coincidence. Down to the chaise and the chardonnay.

“And that toy you keep in your jewelry box,” he curls a finger to mimic the curved shape. “Do you even feel it anymore?”

“Get out,” you hiss.

He smirks and arches a brow, “come.”

He beckons with two fingers. You clutch the armrests of your chair and your nose flairs. You glare back at him, horrified. A newly married man and he’s here propositioning you. What’s more, he’s been watching you.

“You’re disgusting--”

“Get up,” he rubs his thigh. “And come here.”

“HR--”

“Oh, I know Bradon well. I will be happy enough to explain how you’ve grown so jealous of my young wife. You’re overworked so of course you couldn’t control yourself--”

“He wouldn’t believe you--”

“Wouldn’t he? We play squash on Sundays. He knows my character well. An upstanding member of the country club--”

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say? Hm? Congratulations on your pretty young wife. Now, you should go home to her,” you snip.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he taunts as his eyes narrow snakishly. “I want you to come sit in my lap so I can show you how useless that toy truly is.”

“You are--”

“I am your villain,” he undercuts you. “And you have two choices. You can finish that project and submit it and have it tossed out for your indiscretions or you can do what I tell you and still have a job to support you wined-up erotica sessions.”

You curl your lip, repulsed. There’s no point in asking why. Men do not operate on logic.

“What’s it going to be?”

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath. You push yourself to your feet and steady yourself. You move stiffly around the desk, eyes on the wall as you near him. As you get close, he grabs your hip and turn you. He forces you down so roughly that your ankles bend.

You catch yourself on him, grabbing his hands as he grips you tight, and you writhe against his obvious arousal. A man like him can only get off on his own ego. You shudder and grasp his wrists.

He pulls you back against his and rests his chin on your shoulder. You squirm as he untangles his arm from your hold. He hooks his arm around your stomach as his other tugs at your skirt. You huff and claw at his sleeves.

“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point--”

He shoves his hand against your panties, pushing the satin between your folds. You gasp and twitch. You push your thighs together and crush his fingers. It only adds pressure.

“You remember the day I started,” he turns to nuzzle your neck as he speaks, “and you had to make it known that you weren’t an assistant advisor, you were a senior.” He moves his fingers between the clutch of your tensed thighs. “That you were above me?”

“No, I--” you gulp slap at his wrist.

“Oh, and look at you now. Still above me, eh? Right there... on top of me,” he buries his hand against you and nips at your neck meanly. “You will be on your knees soon enough,” he flicks his fingers harshly and you spasm. “Right where you belong.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #one shot #drabble #au #marvel #mcu #thor #avengers

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 months ago

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Kidnapped

Fridolina Rolfö x Baby!Reader

Summary: Frido kidnaps you

Frido thought that her parents were going crazy when they called. She thought they were losing their marbles when they complained that they missed a full house and were planning on adopting.

She'd swept it under the rug until she received a picture two months later of her parents in a baby's room with a tiny baby sleeping in a crib. She hadn't even realised they were being serious until the picture.

But now, as she stood with you in her arms, she understood it completely.

It had been all too easy to escape with you for training this morning. With her parents coming to visit and the time difference from Sweden to Spain, they had both been out for the count and Frido had taken you with her.

She was still technically injured and only joined in with light training so this was a perfect way to bond with you.

"Frido," Ingrid says as she steps into the locker room," What...What have you done?"

She stood in the doorway in shock, blocking the entrance before she was shoved out of the way by the other girls. Each of them had a similar reaction, stopping and staring before being brutally shoved over so the next person could take their place.

"Hmm?" Frido asks, not looking up from where she's feeding you your bottle," I just finished my gym session. Why?"

"I think she means the baby, mate," Lucy butts in, eyes wide as she stares with no shame," Was the knee injury just a cover up for a pregnancy?"

"What? No! This is y/n. My little sister."

"That's a baby."

"Well, yes, but she's my little sister too."

"I think she looks very sweet," Irene cuts in before anyone else can drag this out any longer.

Irene approaches and you draw your eyes away from where they've gone cross-eyed to see your bottle to look at her. You keep suckling as you stare at her with unblinking eyes.

"This is Irene, älskling," Frido coos," She plays football with me."

You keep suckling as your eyes cut towards the rest of the girls who have begun to line up to get a closer look at you.

"So," Patri laughs," Did you steal her from Sweden or-?"

"My parents came to visit," Frido replies as she detaches you from your bottle and places you on her shoulder to wind you," And I'm letting them have the day off."

"Did you tell them that?"

Frido's face goes a little red. "I left a note. It's not like I kidnapped her!"

"This is like the textbook definition of kidnap," Patri laughs, pulling a silly face at you when you're turned back around to face her," But she's cute so I'm glad you did it."

Frido looks down at you. "She is, isn't she?"

She didn't know what to expect from you when her parents came to visit. She'd seen you briefly in video calls and received routine pictures and videos of you but meeting you in person was different.

You were so small and sweet and you fit just perfectly in her arms. You'd reached up to her with your little baby hands and patted at her cheek and she fell in love with you right then and there.

Ingrid comes to greet you next.

You're more aware of everyone now as you sit propped up on Frido's lap. Your little legs kick out occasionally as Frido sways you side to side. You seem to like that because you let out little peals of giggles as Ingrid approaches.

She smiles at you and Frido beams at her.

It's not that she needs approval but Ingrid's one of her best friends and it would mean a lot if she liked you too.

Ingrid goes down onto her knees so you're at eye level with her. You stare at her like you stared at Irene before Frido rocks you slightly. Your face splits into a smile and you giggle again, kicking your legs out and stuffing your fist into your mouth.

Ingrid grins, looking up at Frido.

"You should be careful," She says," If you keep kidnapping her then your parents might never let you bring her back to see us."

Frido laughs, lifting you up until you're both pressed cheek to cheek. "They'd never be able to separate me from my älskling. I'm going to take her everywhere with me!"

"She's your sister," Ingrid reminds her," She'll have to go back to Sweden at some point."

"No!" Frido declares, shaking her head and laying several ticklish kisses on your cheek, sending you into another round of bell-like giggles. "She's staying with me! They can't have her anymore!"

"So, this kidnapping is a permanent thing," Ingrid teases.

"No!" Frido looks at you and your little gummy smile and the way that you kick your feet out even though you're dangling in her arms. "Maybe!" You shove your fist into your mouth and Frido coos. "Would you like that, älskling? Living with me? Spain is so much warmer than Sweden."

You gurgle and Frido takes that as agreement.

"You're staying with me, huh?" She says as you suddenly get distracted by your own feet, reaching down to tug at them. "I know. We're going to have so much fun together."

"Fun together on the run," Patri teases," Because that's certainly kidnapping."

"I'll lay low at Ingrid's for a while. She and Mapi have already got everything set up for a baby. Me and älskling will be fine."

"They've got things set up for a child," Patri reminds her," Their cub isn't a baby anymore. Sorry, Frido, you've got no chance of outrunning the law."

Frido grins as you kick your feet and giggle again. "We'll work something out."

#woso x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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beat-the-morning · 2 months ago

Text

Car rapids || Hozier x reader

Kinktober: Day 3 - Quickie

prompt list

Tags: quickie, car sex, semi-public sex i guess, dom/sub undertones kinda

Summary: Things get hot while on the car with Andrew on the way to his parent’s house for dinner, unfortunately you can’t be late, so it’s time to be quick

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: idk if i did yesterday’s since im scheduling these as i finish them but i probably didn’t because i don’t like writing it. So sorry for that. Anyway hope you like this one that i wrote between 11pm and 5am but i did like it so make of that what you will. Tomorrow’s prompt is facesitting I’ll see you all there

|| 💙FULL FIC UNDER CUT💙 ||

Your hands were on the wheel, eyes focused on the road as you drove across the Irish countryside. Your boyfriend, Andrew, sat next to you, looking out the window while he hummed along to a song playing from the car speakers. You and Andrew had decided to go on a little weekend getaway to Galway, just the tiniest change of scenery since leaving Ireland was out of the question, given the dinner with his parents on Sunday, which you were driving to right now, being a bit over halfway there. For once and by powers unknown to you, you were on time, early even, maybe because you told Andrew that you were already running late when you told him to finish getting ready when you were actually not, something that, once he found out about when you were already in the car and moving, he had (jokingly) complained endlessly about for the first fifteen minutes of the journey before apologising with a kiss to your cheek and putting on some music.

As you continued to drive, Andrew’s eyes wandered from the passing views over to you, a tiny smile forming in his face as he looked you up and down, his hand moved to your thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, trying your best to suppress a smile. “Andrew.” You warned him.

“Hm?” He hummed in question, fake innocence in his voice as he spoke. “What is it, baby?”

“Hands off,” you gently scolded him, “can’t focus on the road if you’re all over me.”

“It’s just a hand on your thigh, love, nothing more.” He smiled, his grip tightening a little.

“Last time you said that we ended up having a pregnancy scare.” You reminded him.

“You’re the one that told me to finish inside when I wasn’t wearing a condom,” he teased back, chuckling softly, “and you’re on birth control now, anyway.”

“Not my point.”

“Then what was it?”

“That it’s never ‘nothing’ with you, or with me.” You said, the last words coming out in a flustered whisper.

“So I should take my hand off your thigh?” He smirked, knowing he was slowly winning you over.

“Maybe…” you mumbled, “you can keep it there, if you want, but no higher.”

“As you wish, baby.” He nodded, leaving his hand on your thigh, his fingers drawing small circles on it. He went back to looking out the window as you drove, a comfortable silence falling over the both of you again, only disturbed by the soft music.

°*°*°

“I was thinking,” Andrew said, breaking the silence that had fallen over you both a little over an hour ago, his hand still on your thigh, “you practically never drive, you’re always my passenger princess, especially in longer drives.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “why do you say that?”

“Because you’re driving right now, why?” His grip tightened on your thigh again.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “you drove us on the way there and then drove everywhere while we were in Galway, thought I’d let you rest from the wheel for a bit.”

“That’s sweet of you,” he smiled, “so it’s not because you don’t like my reckless driving?”

“No, I actually really like it, it’s fun when you drive like a maniac.” You chuckled, “ and I like the things we do while you’re driving, too.” You added, a cheeky smile on your face as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Andrew smiled too, a clear idea in his eyes now that you had brought up the subject. “Yeah? You like it when I finger you while we drive through the middle of nowhere, baby?” He teased, you nodded, biting your lip as you felt his grip tightening again. “Use your words.”

“Y-yeah,” you whined softly, suppressing a moan.

“D’you want me to do it while you drive, baby?”

“Can’t.” You answered, “I get distracted easily, I could crash your car.”

“Stop the car, then,” he suggested, his voice smooth and sultry as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Let me make you feel good, pet, it won’t take long.”

“You always say that,” a whine escaped you as you feigned resistance to his advances, in reality, your eyes were already looking for a good place to stop the car. “To you ‘not taking long’ means at least forty five minutes.”

“Won’t take more than ten, fifteen at most.” He whispered, “just stop the car and get on my lap, let me feel you around me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds you make, sweetness.”

You found a spot to stop at right as he stopped speaking, and thank God you did because you had seriously considered stopping the car in the middle of the road and fucking him right then and there. You slowed down, driving to the side of the road and stopping the car as Andrew’s smile widened, he leaned closer to you as he clicked his seatbelt open, his lips finding your jaw and planting soft kisses as you clicked your own seatbelt open. You turned your head towards him, your lips finding his and immediately latching on, passionately kissing him as you moved from the driver’s seat and onto his lap, straddling him as best you could. His hands moved to your skirt, pulling it up as fast as he could, a couple curses escaped him between kisses as he struggled to get the maxi skirt out of the way. You giggled softly at every curse of his, your hands working fast on his belt and jeans, quickly undoing them and pulling them down along with his boxers just enough so his cock, already hard and with a flushed tip, could spring free from its confines, slapping against his clothed stomach and making him whine lightly.

You spat on your hand and started to gently jerk him off while he struggled with your skirt and your hips gently grinded on him, you core desperate for some attention. “I’m going to rip this thing off you, I swear to God.” He muttered under his breath in frustration, moaning softly as you moved your hand. You giggled softly. “Not funny, baby.” He scolded you.

“You know you can just lift it up, right? You don’t need to take it off completely.” You reminded him, your lips finding his neck, peppering soft kisses along it.

“But then how will I see what pretty panties you’re wearing today?” He complained, still fighting the skirt.

“You do that and we’ll be late to dinner with your parents, and I’m not going to explain to them why we're late.”

“Fine,” he conceded, lifting your skirt and caressing your ass for a couple seconds before smacking it sharply, making you whine, “and don’t bring up my parents while I’m trying to fuck you again, yeah?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled softly. Andrew moved your underwear to the side, pulling you closer and blindly positioning you above his cock. You slowly sat down on it, making both of you gasp at the feeling. You moved your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing on it as he held onto you, planting warm kisses on your neck.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect.” He moaned onto your neck, starting to thrust up, meeting you halfway. His hand moved from your side to your pussy, his thumb finding your clit and flicking it quickly, pressing on it every so often, making you whine softly. Your hands moved to his hair, gripping his long curls while pure white pleasure ran through your veins like the most potent drug. You felt that all-familiar coil form in your lower abdomen, your breathing becoming ragged and whiny. “Almost there, baby? Already? You’re really sensitive today, you never get like this so fast.” He teased, each sentence finishing with a kiss to your neck.

You wanted to argue back, but when you opened your mouth to do so all that came out was a loud moan, your face heating up from slight embarrassment as Andrew chuckled. The coil in your stomach became stronger and stronger with each passing second, your legs shaking slightly, bouncing up and down on his cock was becoming increasingly difficult as you felt your orgasm coming, “Fuck! Andy!” You moaned loudly, stopping your movements out of sheer ecstasy, your legs shaking with pleasure, Andrew continued to fuck you, thrusting up into your pussy as he played with your clit. “Please! Oh my god! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease” you begged in a desperate moan, you weren’t even sure what it was you were begging for, Andrew did though, he kissed from your neck to your ear, whispering softly as he fucked you mercilessly.

“It’s okay, darling, come for me, let me feel you, baby.” He lightly bit your earlobe as you found your release, the coil in your core snapping as you moaned loudly, your hips shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His hand moved away from your clit and to your hips as he lifted them up and down to fuck you better, overstimulating you as he chased his own release. He came not long after, his hips snapping up to yours as he filled you with his cum, soft groans escaping him while you whined from the overstimulation.

He came down from his peak, kissing your neck and face as you still tried to ground yourself. “Fifteen minutes,” he said with a smug tone.

“What?” You asked softly, still a bit out of it.

“We took fifteen minutes, told you I could be quick,” he chuckled.

“How the hell do you know that?” You mumbled into his shoulder, your post-orgasmic tiredness catching up to you.

“Car clock,” he said smugly, “it was 2:07pm when you got on my lap, and now it's 2:22pm.”

“You’re impossible,” you giggled, thinking it funny how he had made a mental note of the time just to prove he was right.

“You love it,” he smiled into your hair. “I think I’ll drive the rest of the way, you look exhausted, love.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, getting off his lap and settling onto the passenger's seat, after fixing your underwear and skirt. Andrew fixed his own clothes, adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his height, and began driving to his parents’ house, still on time for dinner.

#hozier x reader #hozier fic #hozier smut #hozier fanfiction #hozier #mornfic #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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nhaaauyen · 4 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun.

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?" You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments.

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika.

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today," She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm.

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers?

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you. You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn.

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch. You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready.

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits. Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice.

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her. You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself. You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in?

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?"

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes.

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold.

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back.

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat.

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team.

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out. You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners.

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases. Sevika.. Was being obedient?

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?"

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly. You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop. "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages. You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it.

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment.

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us. But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord. Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands. “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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angry-geese · 11 months ago

Text

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says.

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die.

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says.

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious?

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say.

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say.

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #not osha compliant #jjk #my writing

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pinkrangermemes · 6 months ago

Text

EPIC: The Musical

lyrics that absolutely fuck me up, feel free to change pronouns and such as needed

"A mission to kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before."

"I'd rather bleed for you."

"This is the will of the gods."

"Don't make me do this."

"The blood on your hands is something you won't lose. All you can choose is whose."

"You're as old as he was when I left for war."

"How could I hurt you?"

"I'm just a man who's trying to go home."

"When does a man become a monster?"

"When does the reason become the blame?"

"Forgive me."

"We should try to find a way no one ends up dead."

"You can relax, my friend."

"Think of all that we have been through. We'll survive what we get into."

"This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms."

"I see in your face there is so much guilt inside your heart."

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you."

"Have you forgotten your purpose? Let me remind you."

"Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind."

"Don't disappoint me."

"What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?"

"Don't you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?"

"Your life now is in my hand."

"A trade, you see. Take from me like you took from me."

"You shall be the final man to die."

"It's just one life to take."

"When we kill him our journey's over."

"Captain?"

"You've hurt me enough."

"When I kill you, my pain is over."

"Mark my words now. This is not the end."

"Remember them."

"Who hurts you?"

"If nobody hurt you, be silent."

"He's still a threat until he's dead."

"Finish it."

"What good would killing do, when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?"

"The blood we shed, it never dries."

"I am your darkest moment."

"I am the infamous _______!"

"This way, you won't disappoint me."

"This way, you won't waste my time."

"Unlike you, every time someone dies, I'm left to deal with the strain."

"I'll remind you, I saw you as a friend, but now we're done."

"This way, you won't plague my life."

"This way, you'll close the door and have your damn goodbye."

"Since you claim you're so much wiser, why's your life spent all alone?"

"You're alone!"

"This day, you sever your own head."

"This day, you lost it all. Consider this as my goodbye."

"Don't forget how dangerous the gods are."

"How much longer 'til your luck runs out?"

"You rely on wit, and people die on it."

"I still believe in goodness."

"Lead from the heart, and see what starts."

"And what will we do when it tears us apart?"

"You're like the brother I could never do without."

"How much longer 'til your strength takes leave?"

"I can't have you planting seeds of doubt."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Sometimes killing is a must."

"Friends turn into foes and rivalries."

"Never really know who you can trust."

"The end always justifies the means."

"So much has changed, but I'm the same."

"I'm left without a choice and without a doubt."

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves."

"You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great."

"You are far too nice."

"Mercy has a price."

"Unlike you, I've got no mercy left to give."

"The line between naivete and hopefulness is almost invisible."

"What have you done?"

"I am your darkest moment, the monster that always draws near."

"Remember me."

"There's only so much left we can endure."

"Think of your past and your mistakes."

"No, I'm not a player. I'm a puppeteer."

"I can hardly sleep now, knowing everything we've done."

"It's a game of wits, but you don't have to play."

"A foe like ____ is not to be messed with."

"You could be hurt or you could beat her."

"I'll help you conquer her."

"Wouldn't you like your outcome preferred?"

"Don't thank me, friend, you very well may die."

"Did you do something to them?"

"I don't know who you are or why you're here, but let me make this one thing clear."

"I've got people to protect, friends I can't neglect, so now there is no turning back."

"Back at home my wife waits for me. She's my everything, my _____."

"Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road."

"This land confuses your mind."

"All I hear are screams every time I dare to close my eyes."

"I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died."

"Why would you let _____ live when ruthlessness is mercy?"

"I keep thinking of the infant from that night."

"____, when you come home, I'll be waiting."

"Even if you're the last thing I see, I'll be waiting."

"I took too long."

"I'll always love you."

"Your past is always close behind."

"I see a song of past romance."

"I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand."

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you."

"We've suffered and sailed through the toughest of Hells, now you tell us our efforts were nothing?"

"I see a wife with a man who is haunting. A man with a trail of bodies."

"How has everything been turned against us?"

"How did suffering become so endless?"

"Do I need to change?"

"What if I'm the monster?"

"What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?"

"If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away, would that make us stronger?"

"So what if I'm the monster lurking deep below?"

"If I gotta drop another infant from a wall in an instant so we all don't die, then I'll become the monster."

"I'll become the monster."

#since I haven't seen one yet #epic the musical #roleplay prompts #rp prompts #roleplay starters #rp starters #rp memes #roleplay memes #epic the musical starters #sentence starters #rp sentence starters

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bubblegump-1-nk · 6 months ago

Text

Lost in Translation

pairing: Fem!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which you and Theo are best friends, and secretly in love. But when Theo accidentally overhears a conversation between you and Enzo, he realizes you might not feel the same way…

Note: Ok y’all I’m sorry I PROMISE this will be my last Theo fic in a little while, I’m really going to try to write for other characters (and dw I won’t cheat and write for Lorenzo’s other characters ;)). On that note, I am going on many trips this summer and don’t know how much I’ll be able to write so I just want to get this story out before I leave for my trip tomorrow. Update: I didn’t finish in time and I’m currently halfway across the world writing this, having been awake for 23 hours straight, so if it stops making sense towards the end, pls forgive me 🙏🏼

~~~

It was a particularly warm day in March, so you and your friends decided to carry out your free period by the Black Lake. The sound of the waves lightly crashing onto the shore and the light breeze dancing through the trees was enough to make you want to fall asleep on the plush grass beneath you, but Pansy’s voice brought you out of your dreamy state.

“Y/n?” She spoke again, when her voice didn’t get your attention the first time.

“Mhm.” You muttered from where you were laying in the grass, a smile small placed on your face as the sun hit your skin so nicely.

“Dreaming of Theo?” Hermione inquired, causing Daphne to giggle due to your friendship with Theo being a little too “friendly”.

You shot up and glared at the girls. “How many times do I have to tell you, we are only best friends.”

This caused Daphne and Hermione to laugh even harder, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“Ok, ok, whatever. Y/n, do you have the charms work?” Pansy asked, annoyed that her question had been ignored thrice.

“Yeah, I have it here.” You said, shaking your head to forget the altercation as you rummaged through your satchel.

“Speak of the devil.” Daphne said, causing you to look up.

Class must have gotten out already, hence why Theo, Enzo, and Mattheo were walking your way now.

You gave Pansy your homework and went back to resting on your makeshift grass bed.

“Forgot our invite?” Mattheo said, as the boys reached your group.

“You had class, idiot.” Pansy said, scribbling down your work.

“When has that ever stopped us.” Mattheo said, as he sat down and threw his tie off and gave Pansy a sassy look.

You felt your body being moved by strong hands you immediately recognized as Theo’s.

“Hey, you.” Theo said, as he looked down at you. He had moved you so your head now rested on his lap, a much more comfortable pillow.

“Hi Teddy.” You said, your eyes still closed.

“Theres other people here too, y/n”. Enzo joked, his mouth full with food.

“I know, I just don’t tend to say hi to people I don’t like.” You joked, making a face at Enzo.

He threw a piece of candy at you, but it was intercepted by Theo who put it in his mouth.

“What’s in the bag Mattheo.” Hermione asked, changing the conversation topic and drawing attention to Mattheo’s bag which was slowly and quietly jumping up and down.

“These idiots spilled some of our potion into my bag and it hasn’t stopped jumping since. You should have seen it before though, it’s calmed down a lot since then.”

Theo and Enzo began to laugh, and the rest of the group followed suit.

Theo’s hands were playing with your hair, like second-nature.

Enzo’s gaze burned down on the both of you, and you slowly made eye contact with him. You had drunkenly told Enzo about your feelings towards Theo after a party a couple weeks ago, when he brought you back to your room (a job that was usually taken by Theo).

—

“Careful, y/n, watch your step.” He had said, as he helped you back into your room from the Slytherin common room.

“Your the best Enzo, you’re really my best friend.” You had responded, turning to face him as you said it.

“Yeah you’re mine too y/n.” He said with a small chuckle. You two had known each other for ages, and your bond was like no other.

As he was helping you out of your clothes, you started to explain your feelings.

“Enzo, I can trust you right?” You asked, biting your lower lip.

He stopped momentarily, nervous. “Of course you can trust me, y/n.” He said, taken aback by your silly question.

“Ok, because what I’m about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone about. And I mean it. Not even your cat.” You said, turning to face him, your expression completely serious.

“O-ok, yeah. Of course.” He said, surprised by your quick change of tone.

“I mean seriously. If you told anyone it could ruin everything.”

Enzo gave you a skeptical look, what the fuck were you scared to say he thought to himself.

You took his silence as an invitation to speak again.

“I’m in love with Theo. And I mean really in love with Theo. I’ve thought about it for some time now and I just had to tell someone about it.” You rambled.

Enzo was silent for a moment, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Fucking finally you realize!”

—

“Mattheo, stop it! Do it yourself!” Daphne’s voice brought you and Enzo out of your shared daydream. Daphne snatched her potions essay out of Mattheo’s hands and slapped him with it, causing him to yelp out.

“Will you two stop it? Anyways, we better get going y/n.” Hermione said, collecting her stuff and getting up.

“Where to?” Theo asked.

“Harry and Ron are meeting us at Hagrid’s in a bit. We have to help him with some baby dragon he found.” You explained, getting up from Theo’s legs.

“Ok, see you at dinner then.” He said softly, helping you put your things away.

“See you.” You said to him, and then loudly to the rest of the group as you walked away with Hermione.

Theo stared at you as you walked away, his being consumed with you.

Dinner was quick, and as you made your way out of the Great Hall, you detached yourself from Hermione, Harry, and Ron, to grab Enzo.

“Come with me.” You said, pulling him by his arm and giving him no time to ask questions.

You pulled him into your dorm room and closed the door.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m gonna stop being a pussy and confess! I’m tired of being hopelessly in love and I want to do something about it.” You explained.

“Fucking finally!” He said, repeating the words he had said that fateful night.

“And you’re going to help me practice.”

What..?” Enzo asked, a confused expression on his face.

“I need you to help me practice what I’m going to say. Please.” You said, throwing the last word in there to make it sound more like a question than a command.

“Ok yeah. Anything to finally get you two together.” Enzo asked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, I can’t do it! What if he doesn’t like me back, and then I ruin our friendship and I lose him completely. I’ll tear the group apart. I-I can’t do this.” You say, sinking down to the floor, your worries consuming you.

Enzo follows you down to the ground, and grabs one of your shoulders gently. His other hand lifting your chin to look him in the eyes.

“Y/n, I love you, but you’re being so fucking stupid right now. Of course he loves you, it’s so painstakingly obvious. I mean everyone knew before you two realized it. He practically crumbles at the sight of you talking to other boys. So please, just do this.” He explains, putting emphasis on the last sentence.

“You’re right. I- wait, he gets jealous when I talk to other guys?” You ask, diverging the conversation.

Laughter erupts out of Enzo, and it vibrates through out the entire room.

Little did you know, Theo had had a similar conversation with Mattheo the night of that party a few weeks ago, which was the reason for his absence in taking you to your room

—

He was sitting on the astronomy tower, smoking a cigarette when Mattheo appeared.

“Party’s down there, mate.”

“I’m not interested.” Theo had said, watching as the smoke from his cigarette mixed from the smoke created by his voice in the cold air.

“Why’s that?” Mattheo asked, sitting down next to Theo and taking a cigarette from the open pack on the ground.

“I can’t stand it anymore. Seeing her with other boys.”

“Y/n?” Mattheo asked, in which Theo confirmed with a small nod.

“My chest physically hurts when I see her flirt with other people. I’m physically hurting knowing I can’t be with her. Knowing I can’t love her.” Theo explains, tears brimming in his usually stole cold eyes.

“Then tell her. I assure you she would much rather flirt with you than those tossers.”

—

So now, Theo was on his way to your dorm, excitement and fear teeming inside of him. He was repeating the speech he had prepared earlier with Mattheo over and over in his head, but he knew it was useless. He knew he would forget all of it the moment he looked into your angelic face.

He ran up the stairs to your dorm room, pushing people aside and muttering apologies as he did so.

He ran down the hallway, excited to get to your door. He finally reached the dark oak, but was surprised by the laughter he heard inside. That wasn’t your sweet laugh. It was loud and boisterous, a boys. Theo waited outside your door, listening in. Had he misread the signs?

“Enzo stop it. Stop laughing.” You said.

Enzo? Theo thought, confusion clouding his mind.

“Ok, ok, yep, sorry.” Enzo said, laughter still slipping out of his lips.

“I love you, ok?” You said, after slapping the side of his head.

“Finally you realize. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” Enzo responded, and Theo’s heart dropped. It dropped and dropped until he was sure it was laying on the floor somewhere. His throat closed up and mouth got all dry.

You were in love with Enzo? How could he have missed that? How could he possibly have missed that? Tears threatened to spill, and he was damned if he let anyone see him cry. He ran out of there as soon as he regained feeling in his legs.

Theo wanted to crawl into the Black Lake and drown. How could the girl he’s been in love with since he was a child love someone else? One of his best friends for that matter. Why was his life always so unfair?”

“Ok, ok I’m ready.” You say, after having finished your little improv love confession with Enzo.

“Ok, so what are you waiting for?”

“Now? You want me to go now?” You ask, your eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening.

“Yes, now! Stop wasting time!”

“O-ok, ok, fine, I’m going now.” You say, reaching for the door. “Will you wait for me? In here, please.” You say, turning back to face him.

“Of course.” He said, a smile small on his lips as he crashes down onto your bed.

You finally reached Theo’s dorm, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you knocked on the door.

It was strangely silent on the other side, until you heard footsteps reaching for the door.

You fought back the urge to walk away, your stomach was flipping and your palms were lightly sweating. Wtf am I doing? You thought.

“Yeah?”

You were taken aback by Mattheo’s presence, even more so by his face. He looked almost, unhappy to see you. Something you had never experienced.

“Is Theo here?” You asked, eyes trying to dart around Mattheo’s body to see inside the room.

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite understand, but it seemed angry.

“Nope. I’ll pass on a message if you want.” He said, uninterested.

“Er, no it’s alright, I’ll just come back later.” You explained.

“Or maybe not.” He said, closing the door in your face.

You stood there shocked, had he really just done that? What was going on? Where was Theo?

You concluded that he had probably been with a girl, thus his urgency and blocking you from seeing inside. Whenever girls got with the boys, they were typically jealous of your friendship with them (although you never understood because they were all practically your brothers), so perhaps he wanted you out before the girl got angry.

You left, walking back to your dorm. The confidence dissipating out of you, and you decided you would just do it tomorrow.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo was actually in the room, wallowing over his lost love.

The next morning you slowly got out of bed, rolling around in your comfortable sheets as the sunlight seeped into your room. It was a slow Saturday and you had nothing planned other than a Ravenclaw party you were debating attending.

You slowly got yourself out of bed, reminding yourself of the large task at hand: tell your best friend your in love with him, no big deal. You got dressed and made your way down to breakfast, and you kept finding yourself wiping your sweaty palms against your shirt.

As you walked into the Great Hall and made your way over to the table, you noticed immediately that Theo was absent, and Mattheo as well. You quickly scanned the table to find Enzo and when you locked eyes, he gave you a sympathetic look followed with a shrug. You went over to your table and quickly ate breakfast.

The rest of the day was just as strange. You didn’t see Theo all day, which never ever happened. You two were practically attached at the hip. It was strange not having his presence around you, and you swear you were having withdrawal symptoms.

The strangest thing occurred towards the end of the day, when you were walking down the hallway and you saw Theo walking a ways away in your direction. But as soon as he saw he, and you swear he saw you, he turned sharply into the boys restroom, looking down.

“Cmon y/n, please come!” Pansy said, trying to drag you out of your bed to go to a party with Daphne and her.

“I’m sorry, Pans, I’m just not feeling it.” You stated. You had been crying for a while, coming to the conclusion that not only does Theo not love you, he hates you.

“Ok, ok. But, if you change your mind, you know where we are.” She said, finally giving up and leaving your room.

Enzo was leaning on the arm of a couch, drinking fire whiskey and laughing along to Draco and Blaise’s remarks.

The Ravenclaw common room had been expanded, yet it still felt stuffy with the huge amounts of people inside. Blue lights were dancing around the room and music was pumping loudly throughout.

Theo and Mattheo were sitting somewhere else, Theo stating he couldn’t stand even looking at Enzo or he would kill him. But eventually, he got enough drinks in his system, trying to numb the pain of his heartbreak, and got up to make his way to him.

“Wow, mate. Where you going?” Mattheo asked, grabbing Theo’s forearm.

“I’m not gonna lay a hand on him.” Theo said, glaring at Enzo and shaking his arm out of Mattheo’s grasp.

He took long strides over to Enzo, Draco, and Blaise, and his cup sloshed back and forth, liquid spilling over the sides.

“Hey mate.” Blaise said, him and Draco both unaware of any drama.

Theo nodded to him and Enzo shared a tight lipped smile, and looked down at his cup. The air was so tense it could’ve been cut in half with a pair of scissors.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Theo asked, after beats of silence and staring daggers at Enzo.

“Uh- I- my girlfriend?” Enzo asked, taken aback. The fear emanating from his voice at Theo’s violent look.

“Yeah, your girlfriend. Y’know, y/n.” He said, his voice laced with brutality.

“Y/n? What are you talking about?” Enzo asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

“I heard you talking to her. Saying how much you loved one another. Ringing any bells?”

“Wait, Theo, what the fuck are you talking about?” Enzo asked, Blaise and Draco listening in intently.

“Wow, you are a shit boyfriend. I fucking heard you saying how much you love each other when I was outside of her dorm. It was two fucking days ago and now you can’t even remember?” Theo said, his face fuming with anger.

“Holy shit, that’s why you started acting all weird? Mate, that’s not even close to what was going on.” Enzo explained, Blaise and Draco were watching like it was a reality tv show.

“Oh, so your love confessions were just pretend, or?” Theo said, talking to his best friend as if he was scum.

“Yes, you idiot! She was practicing what say to you!”

“What?!” Blaise said, covering his mouth when he realized it was out loud.

Theo blinked, looking around to all the boys. Mattheo had appeared when he heard the commotion getting rowdy.

“What..?” Theo asked, looking intently at Enzo.

“She’s in love with you! She asked me to practice what to say to because she was going to tell you. But then you got all weird and stopped talking to her. Now she’s sure you hate her and she’s been crying for hours.” Enzo explained.

Theo looked at him with blank eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” Mattheo said, pushing Theo towards the door.

Blaise and Draco cheered, and Enzo sat back releasing a breath, thankful that he hadn’t just been beat to death by Theo.

“Go away Pansy!” You said, after a knock was placed on your door.

You had been laying in bed practically all day and were wallowing over your lost love.

“It’s not Pansy.” Theo said shyly.

“Theo?”

“Can I please come in.”

“Uhm, yeah.” You said, quickly sitting up and trying to make yourself look more presentable.

The door opened slowly, and Theo walked in, his face was soft and kind.

“Can we talk. Please.” He begged.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, eyes searching his face for a clue of what was to happen.

“I’m so sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were in love with Enzo and I- I just couldn’t handle seeing you.”

“What? Why would you think I’m in love with Enzo?”

“I came round to your dorm last night to talk to you, and I heard you and Enzo inside. You were talking about how much you loved each other. And I just, my heart broke. Because I’m in love with you y/n. I’ve loved you ever since I have known you and I couldn’t bear to be around you after hearing that you loved my best friend and that I would never have a chance to love you.” He ranted, tears coming to his eyes as he stood before you.

“Theo, I- I don’t love Enzo.” Was all you managed to get out, because your throat was closing in quickly now and tears were threatening to spill if you said anything else.

“I know that now.” Theo said, with a light laugh. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ruined everything between us but I want to make it up to you and if you still have any feelings for me at all, please, please tell me because I can’t go on pretending I wouldn’t burn the entire world for you if you asked any longer.”

You smiled, tears falling from your eyes.

“Of course I fucking love you! I’ve been in ruins thinking that you hate me, Teddy.”

He melted at the nickname and made his way over to you, sitting on your bed and wiping your tears from your cheeks. You both were smiling at each other, and after gathering yourselves for a minute, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

You laughed at the silly question, because, of course you wanted to kiss him and answered by smashing your lips onto his.

GOD SORRY THIS IS SO LONG and the ending is super rushed because I didn’t want to keep writing

#slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #theodore nott #jealousyfic #harry potter #theodore nott x y/n #angst #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #enzo x reader #miscommunication #best friends #friends to lovers

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littleseasiren · 1 year ago

Text

Tell me often

Summary: You’re afraid to tell Bucky you love him too often, but he needs to hear it more.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Fluff

Words: ~ 1000

You startle when you hear the door softly open and close but smile when you don't hear any footsteps. Bucky must be home.

"Bucky? I'm in the bedroom."

"Don't move, babydoll." He groans as he enters the bedroom.

When he sees you reading a book on the bed, his eyes soften as he smiles at you. He walks to the edge of the bed before sinking onto his knees and almost collapsing on top of you, only his strong arms holding him up so he doesn't squash you.

You can't help laughing as he sets his head on your stomach, his hair tickling the skin not covered by your camisole. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you softly as he groans against you.

"You ok, babe?" Your voice is laced with concern as he huffs against your chest.

"Yeah, it was just a long day. The meeting started ok, then..." He becomes quiet once again, clenching his jaw against your stomach.

"You want to tell me about it? It's ok if you don't want to."

He takes a deep breath and gives you another short squeeze. "One of the agents came to the meeting and started saying the mission failure was my fault, that having me there was a bad idea and that they should remove me from active missions."

"What! Are they crazy?" Your voice increases in pitch with your irritation. "You weren't even in charge of the team! How the hell do they think it was your fault?" You wrap your hands in Bucky's hair, playing with it to give you something to do.

"Apparently, having the Winter Soldier there is distracting, not knowing which side I'm on." Bucky's tone makes you worry even more: it's flat and emotionless. Does he believe this idiot? When he feels you draw in a deep breath he talks before you can.

"Don't worry, babydoll. Steve already ripped him a new one. And surprisingly, Tony jumped in too. He told the agent that I'm not the Winter Soldier anymore, and that everyone knows I'm on their side. When he wouldn't back down, they fired him and blacklisted him from ever going on active missions again. It just - it just brought back some bad memories, you know? I just need to snuggle with you a bit more then I'll be fine."

You move his hair to the side, then trace your finger down his temple, over his nose, circling his full lips before moving back to his temple again. Concentrating on your faint touch helps calm his anxiety. "What can I do to make it better?"

He stills for a moment then you feel his breath against your stomach. "Can you - can you..." he starts but doesn't finish. You give him time, knowing he sometimes struggles to vocalise his needs. He growls against your stomach before he clears his throat. "Can you tell me how you feel about me? That you like me?" That you... like him? What was he talking about, this man of yours?

"Bucky, I need you to look at me." You wiggle until he reluctantly lifts his head and sits opposite you on the large bed, close enough to touch. "You want me to tell you how much I like you?"

Bucky's cheeks are tinged pink as he nods silently at you. "Bucky, you idiot. I love you! I love you so much, babe!"

Bucky closes his eyes as goosebumps appear on his skin, a smile growing on his face. When he opens his eyes again, you see they are filled with excitement and happiness. He breathes in deeply as if savouring the moment.

"You know that, right? That I love you?" You can't help but ask.

He glances up at you, the look in his eyes making you pause mid-breath. A flash of uncertainty appears before he looks down and plays with the bed cover.

"Bucky, babe, I love you so much. There is nothing in this world that will stop me from loving you. I'd tell you all the time if I could."

He's quiet for a moment before his beautiful blue eyes meet yours. "Why don't you? I mean, why can't you?"

You clench your hands together as you think about how best to answer him. "Um, well, I grew up in a very loving family, you know? We were close and we were never afraid to remind each other how much we cared. But I sometimes forget that not everyone is like that. My previous partner got angry when I said it too often. And I didn't love him nearly as much as I love you. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm just saying it without meaning it." You glance up at him, "Does that make sense?"

"It does, babydoll. But every time you tell me you love me, you mean it, right?"

You gasp at his stupid question. "Of course!"

"Then it will never be too much for me. I'm not like that moron who broke your heart. Maybe...um, can you tell me more often?" He grasps your hand as he pulls you into his lap, his large arms wrapping around you. "Every time you say it, I'll know you mean it, I promise."

You squeal as you wrap your arms around his neck; he wants you to tell him how you feel more often! "Of course, babe. How much more, just a little bit or lots?" You don't want to overdo it.

"Lots more, so I don't forget. Tell me every day at least, if that's not too much?"

"It's not! I Love you so much, Bucky Barnes! I love you so much that it feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest! I love you more than a canary loves to sing, more than the sun loves the moon!"

The smile that lights up his face is contagious as he lays you down on the bed and starts kissing your neck, pulling you as close as humanly possible. "I love you too, babydoll. I love you so much!"

If Bucky is ok with you telling him how you feel, if he knows how much you really mean it, then you might just have to tell him every chance you get.

Even if it's every minute of the day, just so he never forgets.

Tag List:

@morganmofresh @dottirose @cjand10 @Krm22332 @buggy14 @crazyunsexycool @tripleoyaa

@mandijo17 @fluffysucker @shelbygeek @moviegurl2002

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #Bucky angst #bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x Female Reader #bucky x you

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happyhauntt · 7 months ago

Text

bury these bones — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: spencer's day isn't anything more than average, but a surprise phone call and impromptu hospital visit have him rethinking his expectations.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, a little angst, reader is autistic & a mom, no use of y/n. swearing. mild description of injuries (not serious), references to the 'lauren' arc of season 6, hospitals, this is mostly just flirting with a bit of background angst. i did do some research but honestly all facts & figures in this are probably Not Accurate and should absolutely never be repeated.

─── word count: 1.9k.

IT ISN’T OFTEN THAT SPENCER is the first one into the office. More often than not, Hotch is already at his desk by the time dawn breaks, and Morgan can usually be found finishing up in the gym. Nobody ever expects Rossi to arrive on time — he usually strolls in a little after 9:30 with his blazer slung over his arm and a half-finished espresso in his hand — and Emily maintains some semblance of a work-life balance by appearing no sooner than work is supposed to start, if she can help it.

The point, Spencer supposes, is that his routine usually falls comfortably in the middle and yet, today, as he emerges from the elevator and heads towards his desk, the bullpen is almost eerily quiet.

Bizarre, he thinks, setting his bag down by his chair. The BAU is so often abuzz with activity, the low hum of worker bees all in a hive slipping into background noise, that to see it so empty is… jarring, to say the least.

Spencer heads for the kitchen after a moment, ears ringing in the silence, and makes a pot of coffee before meandering back to his desk. A glance at the clock tells him that it’s still early, and as a mouthful of too-sweet coffee sits on his tongue, he reaches into his bag and draws out today’s paper, flipping through to the crossword.

Silence is golden, after all. If he’s lucky, he’ll beat his personal best.

He’s halfway through, about to move on to 6, down, when the phone rings. The shrill sound of it pierces the air, and Spencer can’t help flinching a little as it startles him. Eyes dart all over the bullpen, trying to locate the source of the noise, before they land on Emily's desk. The offending phone trills on and on. One of the lights blinks red. External call.

He discards the newspaper on his desk, tucking a spare pen inside so the page isn’t lost, and strides across the office to Emily’s desk to answer the phone. It won’t be the first time he’s taken a message for one of his coworkers, and he suspects Emily would rather this than letting the call ring out.

“Agent Prentiss’ phone.” His voice feels too loud in the sudden silence of the office, now that the ringing has ceased. “Dr. Reid speaking. Can I help you?”

“Dr. Reid?” The voice crackling down the line lilts with confusion, and his chest floods with warmth at the familiarity of it.

He can almost picture you, in his mind’s eye. The exact expression on your face as you hear him speak instead of Emily, the little scrunch of your nose, your head tilting to the side. It’s the same look you have when you find something strange inside a cadaver.

The same bewildered wrinkle appears between your brows when you’re on the plane after a case and Spencer’s trying to teach you how to play chess, and you start to laugh and tell him you’re hopeless, but his persistence is endearing, so you let him explain the rules all over again.

(You’ve only been part of the team for a few months, only accompanied them on cases a handful of times, but the sound of your voice is as familiar to him as the moon on a winter’s night. He can’t quite put his finger on when or how he became so attuned to you, drawn in the same way the moon pulls the tide, but he’s certainly not complaining.)

“I keep telling you to call me Spencer.” An amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You scoff. “That’s not professional.”

“Our technical analyst tucks fluffy pens into her hair, and on our last case together I walked in on you dancing to Abba in the middle of an autopsy. I think professionalism is a thing of the past.”

“Bite me, Dr. Reid,” you say, but your words are flooded with affection. “Where’s Prentiss? Why are you answering her phone?”

Spencer shrugs. “She’s not in yet. Anything I can help with?”

Silence. If not for the sound of your breathing, Spencer might think the call dropped.

Another moment passes before you swallow thickly, a quiet gulp that sends an odd zing skittering through Spencer’s nervous system.

“I need a favour and I don’t want to worry Jackie.”

From what he’s heard about your sister-in-law, Spencer thinks that’s fair. “Sure, what is it?”

“Can you pick me up from the hospital?”

Recent surveys conducted by NORC at the University of Chicago suggest that almost half of the American population dislike hospitals, so Spencer knows he’s not alone in his discomfort, but none of his facts and figures are helpful the moment he steps into the Emergency Room at St. Sebastian’s.

The clinical scent of disinfectant sends a thousand tiny spiders crawling up his spine. He tries not to gag but he swears he can taste it at the back of his throat. Spencer forces himself to pause near the door and shuts his eyes, just for a moment, to focus on the solid ground beneath his feet rather than the lurching of his stomach.

In his line of work, he’s no stranger to hospitals. To meandering through long, dim corridors in search of something to occupy his thoughts, of all the beige and stark white walls so bright it hurts his eyes, of lumpy hospital beds and IVs itching beneath his skin and that smell.

He was here, not that long ago. He’d wept when they told him Emily had died in surgery, and she’s fine now, but he can still taste iron on his tongue and sometimes it’s still hard to believe she’s alive until she walks through the door unharmed.

��When he opens his eyes again, the ER is still the same, but the unpleasant churning in his stomach has started to subside. At the desk, he reels off your name, stuttering as he goes, before the nurse directs him over to Bay 3.

I was in a car accident. That’s what you’d said on the phone, and his whole body had gone suddenly cold even though you’d seemed oddly cheery, and he’d had to remind himself to breathe. You were calling, not a nurse or a doctor, so it surely couldn’t be that bad.

But he doesn’t believe it, not really. Not until he sets eyes on you himself. Not until he can see the truth right in front of him.

You’re sitting cross-legged on one of the narrow ER beds. The curtain is pushed out of the way, and he can see your shoes have been tucked neatly beside the bed and your socks have little mushrooms on them. You’re not in a hospital gown but jeans, and a laugh bubbles up in his throat because your shirt says ‘meaner than I look’, which is patently untrue in his experience — but he also files this away in the rolodex of reasons you should call him Spencer, because you were going to show up to work dressed like this, and he never wants to hear the word professional out of your mouth again.

He also wants to take a picture, kind of, because there’s something so endearing about the image. He’s often grateful to have an eidetic memory, but never more than in this moment. He wants to remember this forever.

Spencer clears his throat as he approaches. The smile you send him as you look up and notice him is bright and wide and it makes him feel all warm and happy, like a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight.

“What happened?” His gaze is wary as it trails over you from head to toe, quickly cataloguing all your injuries. You hadn’t explained much over the phone, and he hadn’t thought to ask in his haste to reach the hospital, but now his eyes snag on the bruise blossoming over your cheek and it’s all he can think about.

You don’t look too bad, all things considered.

The bruise looks worse than it feels. The collar of your shirt is speckled with blood, but the cut above your temple is shallow and sealed with two steri-strips.

All-in-all, it could’ve been worse.

“My tire blew while I was driving into work this morning,” you tell him as you tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “The car spun out. All of this—” You gesture vaguely at your face, “was caused by the airbag. But I’m fine.”

It’s not that Spencer thinks you’re lying. It’s not.

But you can’t quite look him in the eye, and you’re wearing the same guilty expression you have when you pilfer the last of the coffee, so he’s not about to take your word for it.

A quick glance at your chart offers all the answers.

“You have a concussion!”

“A mild concussion! Mild! I don’t even have a headache!”

It’s a good thing you called him— or, well, Emily, rather than your sister-in-law. According to you, Jackie has been known to freak out over a paper cut. This might have given her a coronary.

Spencer frowns. “You needed a CT scan.”

“Precautionary measure.” A nonchalant wave of your hand follows your words. “I’m a doctor too, remember? I’m fine. Really.”

“They say doctors make the worst patients.”

You grin at him. “I already had a meltdown in the bathroom earlier. Scared a nurse. I think he wanted to sedate me but then he saw my lanyard and he took me to a quiet room to decompress. I’m good, I promise.”

The lanyard in question is covered in little sunflowers and tucked inside one of your shoes for safekeeping. Displayed on one side of the little plastic window is your Quantico identification; on the other, a little slip of paper Spencer suspects you made yourself, judging by the pink floral background and slanting script that I’m autistic and trying my fucking best.

The sight of it is familiar to him now, the same way your smile is seared onto his brain for eternity, but he recalls seeing it for the first time and chuckling. You’d offered to get one for him, too, gleefully declaring that you’re just like a sunflower, Dr. Reid, and there’d been so many butterflies in his stomach that he could have taken flight, then and there.

Now he merely hums, and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. Stepping back, he watches as you slip your shoes back on and shoulder your bag, having signed a release form not long before he arrived.

“Hey, Spencer?” Your voice is small, and the way you’re looking at him, all wide-eyed and wonderful, brings those butterflies back tenfold. He hopes the flush of his cheeks isn’t too obvious.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for coming to get me. I’m really okay, I promise. I’ve had worse.”

His heart pinches.

He doesn’t like that you’ve had worse.

“Well,” he says, after a moment too long of staring at you, “mild or not, I’m not leaving you alone for the rest of the day. We’re going to follow the concussion protocol. 65% of people reported developing hearing and memory problems as a result of missed symptoms of head-related trauma last year.”

You’re watching him. The corner of your eyes are a little wrinkled. A fond smile toys on your lips. “I expected nothing less, Dr. Reid.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #* chapter update.

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